call my name

Stagnation is Death

The last month has killed me. After finishing two scripts and sending them to everyone I could possibly send them to, I've done nothing but wait--Wait for the competition to announce the next batch of winners. Waiting for friends to give me their opinions on my scripts (FAIL, friends). Waiting for the Hollywood insiders to give me a Pass or a Recommend. Patience, I've found, is not my strong suit.

Write more! you'll say. I know, I should. I've tried, but for the life of me, I canNOT find a new story that captures my interest. I need something fresh, dark, gritty, and realistic with high stakes, but every story I think up sounds so cliche to me right now. I don't know why. My muse has left me for now.

Not that it would make a lot of difference. At this point, everything is riding on those two scripts. If they fail, I'm not sure I could stay here; or, at least, not without significant changes. If they work, then I'll have everything I've been looking for regardless of my current project.  Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to care enough about the next battle. I'm just not sure it matters enough right now. The stakes aren't high enough.

So that leaves me pacing my studio apartment like a lion in a cage, hoping for something to happen. Hoping to escape the concrete bonds of this sun-choked city and do something real. My hometown is ridden with unthinkable trauma, and I can't even so much as lift a finger to help. I'm so, so tired of all this. I need out, just for a bit. Just for a month.

A week, even.

A day.

I need something to bring me out of this.