Encouraging words from Scott, my spritual guide/sometimes writing partner/story guru/fresh set of eyes. He read the 80 pages of the script (still got 20 to go) that I managed to crap slowly out over the last month and a half, and though I maintain a constant level of doom and gloom, he bucked my opinion that it's a total loss; he thinks it may even be better than it was before. Whuh? ...Let me tell you what, that little ray of hope might actually be enough for me to run with over these next, last, terrifically difficult pages. Because a hopeless writer is a short walk to a miserable drunk.
I feel like I haven'd done anything else in ages. Haven't read much, haven't watched my Netflix's, didn't even catch the Golden Globes. Gotta get this thing out off the docket so I can move on. And, you know, I mean move on to starvation, since I have no job, no money, no hope, etc.
Not much to report, and not much time to report it this morning. Although Sissy Spacek has now officially responded that she likes it. It's not quite "I'm in," but it's a good start. Other than that, I'm taking a few meetings here and there and fielding an offer to work in New York for the glorious month of February. Oh, can I? Can I be sleeted upon? Step in frozen slush puddles and icy garbage water? Joy! (Okay, but really, in another, less sarcastic way... joy!)
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