It felt like a real struggle to get out to my writing expedition last night. Through the whole evening – that first 45 minutes at the library, the drive over to Starbucks, the 45 minutes there, my conscious brain kept saying: it’s not working tonight. You’re not inspired. Why did you even leave home? You’re not going to get enough done to justify it.
And somehow, all during the time I kept thinking that, feeling grumpy and sipping my grande hot chocolate w/ whipped, I still wrote three pages of screenplay to get me to 106.
And then I got home and wrote six pages of a script for a Serial Killers entry (episodic 10-minute play showcase at Sacred Fools – it’s been over three years since my last entry). I finished a half-hour before the midnight submission deadline. I hadn’t even planned on submitting for this cycle, since the idea I wanted to do was more demanding, production-wise, than I was prepared to commit to right now, and because it had a major role for Adam, who is out of town. But my friend The Hairy Russian was ancy to do a new one, and I am making it an active goal to become a company member. So I invested a small portion of my brain on Sunday (from the parts that don’t need to pay attention to football) to brainstorming an idea. I hit on one I liked, wrote the first two pages that night, and; as I said, finished the script last night. We’ll see if they take it.
My conscious brain had been so sure last night that I was just going to pack it in, watch Battlestar Galactica, and wallow in being lazy and unaccomplished. But apparently my subconscious had different ideas, and took charge of my hands.