wondering what the stick will say….

I’ve never peed on a stick. I’ve peed in the woods, in ditches, hanging off rear bumpers, I’ve even peed in a wetsuit, but I have never peed on a stick. Okay, fine, I’ve never peed on my bike either, but that has little to do with where my head’s at this morning.

This morning, my head is in that strange little place that comes after waving a flag and shouting “DONE!” A place not dissimilar, actually, to finishing a grueling race — like some of the gruelers I’ve had already this year: 10 miles in flour-like snow, 28 miles of crazy-uneven terrain, and 13.1 miles of hot hills. The kinds of races where you finish and you think, honestly, any combination of the following:

Yay! I did it!!
That was fun.
Sort of.
Why’d I sign up for that?
What the hell was I thinking?
Never doing that again…
Don’t even talk to me about another race!
Wow, cute tutu!!
Whoa, nice medal!!
This place is soooo cool!
These runners rock!!
If I try this again next year, I’ll smoke my time!
Right???
Hey, when’s the next race???
Geez, I love this crazy-ass shit!!
Um, here we go again….

Trust me: writing something, FINISHING something — it’s kinda like that.

It’s only the morning after unleashing a draft of my new script to a few early readers, and my mind is already running the gamut of emotional roller coaster highs and lows. Seriously. It’s been pinging from one extreme to the other — from imagining shades of wit and greatness in those pages, to imagining my poor readers wallowing in stinky garbage. I’m not even joking.

I printed a copy of “THE KNOCKOUT” for myself, but I promised myself I wouldn’t crack it open for a week. It can taunt all it wants, I ain’t touching it! Of course, it’s like a leaky faucet now — screaming for attention, its annoying drips plinking and plopping like some sort of water torture, trying to break me. 

But I’m not gonna break!! As much as I already know there are a gazillion things in that script to fix/change/improve/punch up, I will not make one scribble, not one note. Nope. I gotta suck it up and wait. Let it be “out of my hands” for a little while. 

Because here’s the deal — I trust my readers! This first round, the next round too, and whoever comes after that. I try to choose those who won’t “pull any punches”. If I need a smack-down, hey, fire away! If things don’t work, or aren’t believable, or — gasp — aren’t funny, I need to know. It’s tough being so close to something for soooooo long. It’s like those times when you say something to someone and your brain has already been in the midst of a conversation which, in reality, you’ve not yet had, so you say something and the other person looks at you with those “what the fuck are you jabbering about” eyes and you realize, Ah, crap, that was just in my head. I know stuff and I intend for certain things, but execution on the page is a whole ‘nother thing. 

And so I wait. 

Like I said, I’ve never peed on a stick but, while I know you don’t wait a week or two for +/- results for those, I still assume this waiting period is sorta like that. Good news? Bad news? Which is which? Which way do I think it will go? Which way is this meant to go? What’s next after either outcome????

So ….. in order to remove myself from that, I gotta get busy working on other things. Yes, there will be some research and planning in the marketing arena, but venturing too far down that road becomes a bit “cart before the horse”. Hence, the word “some”. 

I also photos of “piles”. Yes, I am a piler, not a filer. Always have been. Likely always will be. Oh, I really like boxes, too. Like those boxes that reams of paper come in, the ones with the nice lids? Love those. You can pile all kinds of shit in those! I’m guessing most writers are pilers, not filers. Could be wrong, but I’m going with my gut — that piling isn’t so bad for “my kind”. Anyway, above is the pile for “THE KNOCKOUT”, albeit spread for photographic purposes. Strange — it’s so small. Considering all the anguish and sweat, so freakin’ small…. 

And here’s what I’ll dub my inspirational possibility pile — 

— a semi-random assortment of materials my fingers have touched since last Thursday in an effort to stir the Muses from their slumber. 

Much like with races, the mind is wired to wonder “what’s next?” It can’t be helped. I honestly long for the day when I have an actual, professional, Hollywood manager to talk with about my “piles”. I can line up all my potential projects in my head just fine, I can make a case for which story to write next and why. I can even slam the gears of my brain into acknowledging which stories are better suited for — choke — a novel over a screenplay. My brain can toss around debates about genre and scale of a story — big budget vs. an indie. It can traverse a lot of terrain if allowed to wander. Which my brain is allowed on a regular basis. Just part of the gig.

This week — this “waiting to see what the stick says” week — I will attempt to have my brain spend equal amounts of time in two camps: in the relax/unwind/decompress camp, as well as in the gear up/grab a pen/wonder/wander/get inspired/dip a toe/consider/decide camp. Not sure which camp has better accommodations, but I sleep equally well on comfy, king-sized beds as I do on hard floors in a sleeping bag. No clue which has a clear-watered lake and which has a mud-hole, but I’ve swum in both kinds, so hey — whatever. I think I’ll survive a week….