Friday, 23 April 2010


You know two blogs ago when I vaguely mentioned that there might be a down side to screenwriting?

Greetings friends from the bottom of the well.

So I sat down last night with the good intention of writing something perfect, knowing that time is short and I need to get a wriggle on in order to complete this task and not look like a gigantic loser who is shunned, even during elections by politicians.

Instead I watched the leaders debate and Tweeted about hating David Cameron, then I ate a massive sandwich, then I deep conditioned my hair, filed my nails and wore a facemask, then I put away my washing (something I NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER do unless I'm supposed to be doing something else), then I watched an hour of a Bollywood film (3 Idiots - half good half rubbish, it's nice to see men who cry in films, but then the whole everyone crying thing gets a bit dull and I just want a good old song and dance routine,) following all that crap I had a bath and started to FREAK OUT.

There are too many distractions in the world.

I'm thinking of politically re-aligning completely, not Labour, Lib Dem or Green, I'm joining the Luddites. I'm all for shutting off the internet and closing down phone lines. I need to kill twitter and facebook and hotmail, I want to burn all my books and instruments, and ....washing. I'm not sure how the Luddites find each other. Do they hang out in trees? Maybe I could become Amish. How do you go about that? I've seen Witness and King Pin. Does that help?

Even then I'd probably still be able to distract myself from writing, there's always doodling, or daydreaming, or inspirationally putting up giant houses to the twinkling sounds of keyboard music.

Can I have my brain removed temporarily? Could I just leave the bit that wants to write music video scripts? That wants to do it all the time. Every day, every minute - just create and create and create?? Without building a resentment for toast, television, the internet, other people, products, pets and anything that isn't what I'm supposed to be doing?

Can I be a luddite and continue writing a blog? Would I have to carve it into trees or possibly in lipstick on mirrors in pub toilets?

Now I remember this feeling. I remember, halfway through the writing of my first novel, that I started to crave prison, or hospital, maybe a broken leg or a mystery, painless illness that keeps me in a secluded and boring hospital ward where I'll be FORCED TO BLOODY WRITE.

Will someone come and break my leg?
(Please don't come and break my leg.)

Sigh. xxxxx

1 comment:

  1. You need deadlines. Do you want deadlines? Big scary sensible enforced ones? With threats behind them?