So I've finished my screenplay.
As in, really, mostly done.
It's sooo funny, the first week or so after completing it, I was like 'yayyy! wooohoooooo! How much do I rock!!!!' It was fabulous. I love celebrating. Then...something happened. Thoughts about being finished triggered starting up with the noise-makers and party hats again. I'd do the Dance of Joy again. But really, it was starting to feel a little forced, a little phoned in; more of of a 'whoopee' than a truly heartfelt 'WAHOOO'.
Writers 'get it'.These things, these, books, poems, whatevers we write; they're a part of our lives. The story takes up lodging our brains. Until it's finished, we have no idea how much real estate it occupies.
Then we're done. Or sort of done, or mostly done; done as we're going to be at the moment. And it's as though the really annoying renter upstairs; the loud one, with insomnia and the polka dancing; has moved out. First we enjoy the peace and quiet, then the house starts to feel empty-ish, we realize, 'oh yeah, that room doesn't have to be empty, I can rent it out to someone else'.
So I'm taking applications; doing a mental search for the fresh or unfinished.
I wonder what I will write next?
