When I was taking a writing workshop, I found out my instructor has a blog, and from that blog, I found out that he works for a film company, and from that film company blog, I found out that they were looking for writers. I sent him an email–hey, I’m not stalking you, but are you guys still looking for writers, for this serial film project you’re doing online? And he wrote me back and said hey, you would be perfect. Please apply.
I got an email a little while back from the director saying, Hey! You’re in! You’re going to be writing a couple of episodes for this project, and our first writing staff meeting is in a few weeks. Are you in? It took a couple of drafts in order to turn down the squee to an acceptable level, to sound rational and considered and not like a crazy person everyone would regret having on the team, for me to write back and say Hello! I am so pleased to hear that, and excited to be working with you guys. OMG WE ARE BEST FRIENDS. I backspaced the part about being best friends. I danced around my living room. I said Whee! a lot. A lot.
Of course, I’ve never actually written a screenplay before, or worked
on a serial drama, or with a staff of other writers. I’ve never been a
part of a project like this. I’ve never written anything in the sci-fi
dystopian epic crime-drama-mystery genre. Ordinarily that would send me
into a wave of panic and worry that I was going to fail and explode, or
explode in my failure, or die horribly in some tragic way, angst and
woe, angst and woe. Maybe that will come later! Maybe I’m saving it up
for hours before I am supposed to appear at this first staff meeting
with my new set of best friends. But right now, I am merely excited.
I want to be a writer, when I grow up. I want to write things that
don’t just sit on my computer and molder until I get up the courage to
work them over and fix them and send them out into the world. I know
that there’s something to be said for writing for yourself–which I do,
when I sit down, initially. But writing seems like a process,
ultimately, that begins in your head and ends with you getting into
other people’s heads. It’s a conversation, and conversations generally
go nowhere, sort of fail, when there’s no one listening and no one
responding. I’ve spent a lot of my life listening to the other half of
the conversation–other peoples’ stories, and books and poems and
essays–and I want to step up and step in and introduce myself, and say
hello, this is what I’ve got to offer.
It’s spurring me to remember the other projects I’ve got in various
stages of completion, to want to see them finished, to want to get
started on being more of a writer, less of a person who writes
sometimes. When she can get over the inexplicable anxiety that stalls
her, keeps her from sitting down, concentrating, doing what she’s got
to do. What I want to do with my life: things I love. And I want to
love doing them. This film project, that’s one step. There’s lots more
steps to go, and right now I feel like I can charge up them just like
Rocky, except with less boxing. And then maybe I can apply this to
other parts of my life–exercise, cooking, cleaning the bathroom,
making dioramas and watching television dramas. It is possible that
anything is possible.