There's a short period in every project where the greenest of writers has power. Blink and you'll miss it, but after the treatment's been done, the salaried never need you more than when you've just started, or are just about to start, the first draft - but haven't finished yet. It's a negative power, but still, the power of NO is mighty.
And it feels bloody good to say it.
Would I have even contemplated using it without having guaranteed work lined up?
Probably not.
If there's one thing more powerful than the mighty NO, it's fear of penury.
However, I was rewarded for my earth-shattering decision by an e-mail with some wonderful and rather scary news about the success of some pitches, which seem to be entering development proper. The Karma police are on my case.
If any one of these ideas reached production I'd be a very lucky and happy boy BUT...they're for someone higher up the food chain in the same organisation I just said no to. Will I be able to prevent frenzied vampire execs from sucking the life blood from my babies? Just think of me as Van Helsing wielding a Pentel P207 in place of a stake.
danny-k asked why this blog seems to have started two years ago - answer is I tried it for a while, but it turned into a diary along the lines of;
Didn't leave house till late. Got to office later than I intended. Felt guilty and inadequate. Frittered around doing nothing in particular thinking 'I should really start work now' for an hour or two, till it was so close to lunch I thought I might as well start after lunch. Bought lunch and paper. Read paper, realised another hour and a half had gone by. Felt guilty and inadequate. Got panicked about how little work I'd done (none), felt guilty and inadequate, decided to go for fast walk to get blood and creative energy working. Felt better. Sat down. Had overwhelming urge to see if there had been any more entries on metafilter. Wasted more time. Felt guilty and inadequate. Frittered around till it was so close to tea time I thought I'd be much better starting fresh and motivated the next day. Went home. Watched X Factor/I'm a Celebrity.../Hell's Kitchen/Big Brother. Felt guilty and inadequate. Woke at three in the morning from a panicked dream about failing exams, realised I now had even less time to meet deadline than I'd planned. Felt guilty and inadequate.
Next day got up and did the same.
It was as depressing to write as it is to read.
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6 comments:
It reads like mine. Only more interesting.
You're clearly a writer manque*. **
*the only reason I wrote this reply is because I've never actually had a legitimate reason for writing that word down, and you know what? It feels good.
**or a writer monkey.
I'm going to write that in my passport immediately;
Profession - writer monkey
- "danny-k asked why this blog seems to have started two years ago - answer is I tried it for a while, but it turned into a diary..." -
Ahh, the agony to go with the ecstasy. And I thought it was just us wannabes that lived like that. Perhaps you were just practising your Thetan state of mind? Mind you, if that 'diary' contained a hint of the gem like that in your Thetan blog of 2 entries previous:
- "...and often happens to me on train or bus journeys. I think it has something to do with the motion, the repetitive noise, the fact that the world passes you without demanding your attention, and that you have no responsibility at all other than to sit there. You kind of disengage from the world around you..." -
Then I'd want to read it. Never mind that you're describing your Thetan state. Just reading that description makes me ask: What happened next? When this 'other you' reached its destination. Did you step down from a dust encrusted Greyhound bus, nervously straighten your US Marines bemedalled uniform, check that no one had seen you arrive, then hitch a lift into that backwater hometown that was glad to believe it had seen the last of you?
I read somewhere that blogging was set to become this century's form/replacement of the last century's novel. See what your Thetan blog has done?
Funny stuff...and here's to good karma.
Thanks, danny-k. Now you've come close to revealing my true, ex-Special Forces identity, I have no choice but to pack that dusty bag and leave behind the widow with the deep eyes, the haunted look and the child who had bonded with me so unrealistically quickly.
And this time I'd dared to think I might have found home...
cheers wcd. Great blog yourself.
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