Six Week Spec Round 2-Week 1 Update

Seven pages. It's nowhere near my goal of twenty-four, but it's more that zero, so allow me to take a moment and celebrate the small victory of ANY number of pages written. Pages with some decent dialogue and others with utter nonsense. Pages containing visual descriptions that make me smile amongst a sea of bits that aren't up to snuff by a long shot. 

*hands on knees, gaping smile*

Is someone afwaid? Who's got a fwowny face? AH boochie woochie woo woo!

Two things: a) My coffee has just kicked in; and b) you're damn right I'm bugging out. Being aware that if I wasn't nitpicking I'd be a fool, does little to settle my nerves.  

This is not my first venture into screenwriting, but it is my first feature length and the first time I'm writing with expectations of others reading it, and by others I refer to those that know their shiznit. Whether or not you agree a first screenplay should ever see the light of day is another issue all together. Assuming all goes to plan, this will be Black List material when I am through, and then on to the next project I go.

If I am going to finish this in six weeks, I NEED to stop editing as I write. I re-read my stuff, and can tell it's caacaapoopies, but I'm supposed to ignore it and move on? WOW is that ever hard. That's my goal for this week: learn to vomit-write this mother lover and lysol later, without worrying the germs will infect the entire draft. So. So. Difficult. But it must be done!

Thinking of the other writers and hoping your drafts are coming along splendidly. I raise my caffeinated beverage to you all. Here's to an invigorating week 2!

Six Week Spec Round 2: Balancing Life's Little Needs and Wants

Today marks my first day of the second round of the #SixWeekSpec challenge. Last round, I was one of the #Unselected attempting to plod along with the rest of the screenwriters to complete my script in six weeks, which I unfortunately failed to finish. Defeated, yes, but once I heard others were jumping on board to take part in the challenge again, I wanted in. 

The fear of the seemingly insurmountable task of writing a script in six weeks is still present, but a shift in my belief as a writer has taken place, and it tells me I can handle the process this time. I'm absolutely terrified, but very excited, actually, not unlike my first time riding the Cyclone roller coaster this past summer in Coney Island. My husband and I were with our kids, and our oldest refused to join me, so I went alone. I pranced over to the ride assuming there'd be a long line in which to get myself mentally ready, but there was none. I had to get on, right away, and then, we were off! I was loud, so very loud. I don't think I blinked once. It was frighteningly awesome, and then it was over. 

November 3rd came up real fast, but I have no choice but to hop on and enjoy the thrills as I'm all too familiar with how quickly this will be over. My husband and kids are backing me with support, too. They have agreed to help out around the house to allow me the extra time necessary to attack my writing with gusto and enthusiasm. At the same time, I need to find a daily balance between my own Working/Stay-At-Home-Mom responsibilities to make these next six weeks pass as smooth as possible. Rapidly approaching deadline or not, my family will still require and deserve my love and attention, decent meals, and clean underwear. 

Just as I have a daily page count goal, I also have a daily cleaning schedule which eliminates the dread of taking care of the entire house in one shot: one day for floors, one for dusting, one for bathrooms, you get the point. Some days I meet my page count, some days I don't. Some days I get to the cleaning task, sometimes it gets skipped until the next day or next week. 

Big batch cooking has also been a happy autumn addition to my routine. I love me some soups, stews, and chili. Reheating a pot of homemade deliciousness as opposed to takeout is easier on the wallet, too. 

It's the little changes that can make a difference in the amount of thought and energy put into the everyday necessities, to make room for my writing. Once I get regular exercise thrown into the scheduling mix, I'll be golden. Alas. Not everyday is perfection, but I do my best either way and my sanity is better for it.

To those I have joined for Round 2, I'll try to keep my hootin' and hollerin' to a minimum. If the twists and turns get too intense and you need a hand to grab, I've got two. Best of luck to all! 

A Toast To The Six Week Spec Writers

Today marks the end of Geoff LaTulippe's Six Week Spec Challenge. I was one of many screenwriters fixed on celebrating the completion of a first draft in six weeks alongside his Selected Ten. Perhaps, after two or three evening bourbons, I would have even felt ballsy enough to upload the draft to The Black List's website for feedback, as well. Unfortunately for me, all possible outcomes must be left to my imagination, as my script never left the notepad stage. I could easily blame lack of preparation, time, and a general understanding of just how daunting the task would feel for my first attempt at a feature length film. If I'm being honest, I let my self-doubt win versus powering through my writing obstacles, subsequently allowing my unselected status to lessen the pressure of the deadline.

Despite the disappointment for not accomplishing my goal in the specified timeframe, during these six weeks I have developed a greater respect for the craft and a greater level of excitement for what was once a hobby and is now my desired career. Being able to call this type of writing, "work," makes me happier than a sprinkle on a cupcake. Therein lies the key: if this is indeed my job, I need to treat it as such; self-imposed deadline or not.

Alas, the mental switch from writing when I can to fully considering myself back at work, (after almost a decade home with the kids), came too late within the six weeks to make a proper run at finishing on time. The story needed work, with certain holes requiring more research before a vomit draft could properly commence. Accompanying the remorse, I take with me the knowledge that I can and will finish this spec with a little more time, and it will be all the better for it.

To my fellow Six Week Spec writers, whether you have met your goals or have graciously bowed out, I raise my glass to you. I'm proud to have been a small part of the experience and wish you all bright successes with your screenplays. Cheers!

Giving Permission And Letting Go

At the beginning of this year, I began declaring myself officially a writer, specifically a screenwriter. Well, I do so in my head. Sometimes I tell others, but ohhhhh Lordy, are there ever a bunch of, "buts," and, "you know, I'm trying to be one, when the kids' schedules allow." Do I have a finished spec script, manager/agent, and offers for paid work? No. Do I still consider myself a writer? Yes. Sometimes. I guess? Oofah.

It's a tricky little bit of business, giving yourself a title. People in the workforce have titles handed to them due to succeeding at job interviews or earning promotions. Men and women in charge of caring for children, be them blood related, adopted, or fostered, are parents/guardians. Cooks in restaurants are chefs, those who educate are teachers; you see where I'm going with this.

Lauren Jefferson wrote an excellent post a few months ago on this topic, "What Do You Do?"; the reading of which made me cry and subsequently delete my previous draft of this very post. Had I published anything at that time it would've been a link to her blog with the title, "What She Said," and a photo of me unceremoniously shoving three soft taco supremes in my gaping pie hole.

So, I get it. I'm actively writing. When I'm not writing, I'm researching, studying, reading, watching movies, acting out scenes and having imaginary conversations during dish washing and in blessed, solitary car rides to hear possible dialogue choices out loud. I do all these things because I am a frabbajabbin' screenwriter.

Why do I still cringe with not just the so-called self given title, but the right to be one? For many of the reasons so well put in Jefferson's post, and permission. 

Permission Part 1: Guilt
Taking care of my children and our home has been my focus since our first baby was born, almost ten years ago. Though I wouldn't trade my experience raising our three children, I know I'm not alone when I say it's easy to lose yourself when fortunate enough to be placed in this position. A full-time parent's job is demanding to say the least, and to desire switching gears to put myself as my number one priority has felt absolutely selfish. Yet, we're teaching our children to follow their dreams. What kind of example would I be if I didn't chase my own? Brian Koppleman's Six Second Screenwriting Vine, No. 311 hits the nail right on the head, "Anytime you worry you're selfish for pursuing your dream, picture the mood you'd be in everyday if you weren't. Which of those people you think your loved ones would rather be around?" I'm well aware of my tendencies toward assholism when my breaks from the house consist solely of grocery shopping; everyone in the family benefits from mommy taking time to recharge. Embarking on a career should be no different.

Permission Part 2: Not Up To Snuff
I have never pledged for a sorority or have been a member of any other exclusive type of club, but I've always imagined being properly accepted into the screenwriter community as a similar situation, where certain criteria, mere writing not being enough, has to be met before being allowed to pull up a chair and swap stories with the cool folk over a finger of Glenfiddich. Criteria such as: completing a minimum of ten award winning scripts; knowing the difference between bourbon and scotch; having seen each of AFI's Top 100 films ten fold plus knowing the names of each film's cast and crew from director to craft services; being able to recite non-Monty Python related films; knowing whether or not Orson Wells was lactose intolerant or if Humphrey Bogart had an unnatural fear of clementines; *clearing throat* my apologies, I'm getting carried away. 

It's been drilled in my head time and time again that my first screenplay is probably going to suck assballs. To expect Oscar winning gold to come effortlessly from my fingertips is just silly, but you can bet your sweet bippy I'm aiming higher than a pile of cow dung. Knowing I may have to wait a while before I deem my work worthy of another person's eyes can be disheartening; I don't want to suck at this, I want to be great, and not later, but now.

The list of classic films I have yet to see is staggering in both length and content. If put on the spot, I'm unsure if I could name the director and screenwriter of some of my favorite films. Although I'm working on correcting my faux pas, the fear is admitting to such crimes would result in having my best pens confiscated, the deletion of my Final Draft app, and the prompt shunning from my like-minded Twitter companions.

Questioning my right to write from a mom standpoint or feelings of inadequacy in the brain department, be it ability as a writer or knowledge of facts in my chosen of field, does little to fuel the creative flow. Writing has stopped on many occasions due to these debilitating intrusions. What's a gal to do? Two choices: A) tell 
the pity party to piss off by: permitting myself to go after what I want; finding a balance between family time and me time; spending my energy perfecting my craft instead of worrying what others think of me because I haven't seen Godfather 2; and most importantly, know the the process will be difficult and require hard work, but enjoy the journey anyway; or B) let doubt win and drown in regret. Do or do not, there is no try. 

From Breaking Bad to Enlisted

Inspiration for me as a newbie writer has come from many sources; family, relationships and personal experiences to name an obvious few. Lately, I've been fueled more by watching greatness from others. Their works capturing my mind and tweaking it just so, allowing the creativity to run fast and free as a twisting fork aids the juicing of a stingy lime.

*clearing throat* 

You know what, skip the lime bit. I went and got fancy, but I have something to say and distracting myself with sudden margarita desires does nothing for my productivity. I'd like to also state my awareness of imminently coming across as a needy fangirl looking for love and approval from those I wish to refer to as peers at some point in the future. Deem it butt-smooching if you will, t'is not my intent.

As mentioned in my earlier post, binge-watching AMC's Breaking Bad catapulted me back into desperately wanting to write my own screenplays. My current goals may not lie in the realm of television, but this show has changed me without question. The way the characters were written with such honesty and humanity and the level of severe awesomeness they were portrayed with by the cast, at times left me as weepy and emotional as the gut-wrenching episodes did throughout the series. Superb through and through, and though I wish it wasn't over, its story arc is complete.

Speaking of complete arcs, there's another series that has been weighing heavily on my mind, which unlike Breaking Bad; a) I've been watching since its premiere, and b) as of this post will not have a chance to see its story through to its conclusion: Fox's Enlisted. Enlisted's final episode airs this Sunday, June 22nd at 7/6c, as Fox has decided to not pick it up for a second season. Quite simply, between the delivery of the dialogue, the timing and choices in the editing and the terrific cast, this show is the epitome of my sense of humor and has quickly become my favorite comedy. I certainly was not expecting it to be cancelled. Television shows that provoke loud, obnoxious laughter and tears from touching moments are meant to stay and play for a while. I am a sad lass.

Why do I bring up these two particular series? They are far from similar and pitting them against each other would be absurd. Yet, as polar opposites as they are, they have both inspired me in their own  ways; and I don't consider one more important than the other. Breaking Bad reminded me, with the force of a cast iron skillet to the head, how much I want to not just write, but to strive for excellence. Enlisted has allowed me to fully embrace my inner goofball and write, with gusto, that which makes me laugh my unladylike guffaw, not what I think the masses will find amusing. If I'm going to do something well, it has to be done for me. 

Vince Gilligan and Kevin Biegel's series have helped solidify what it is I want to do with my life, if given the opportunity to have one outside of my present mommy/homemaker role. In no way do I suggest any of my final works will resemble either of these shows' subject matter or hold a candle to their greatness, but I thank the writers of both series for raising the bar for what I am now aiming.

On a side note, if my bringing attention to Enlisted's final airing remotely helps it gain enough viewership to perhaps find another home, sweet biscuits, wouldn't that just delight me to no end. Arrested Development found another home, just saying.

A Brief Intro

A good amount of time has passed since I've dabbled with online writing. Previously, recipe creations and assorted food related ditties were my articles of choice. Heck, I'd be hard pressed to think of one conversation this past week that didn't at some point touch on the topic of food; sumptuous savories delighting me as they do. Recently, a fire has been relit under my arse to return my writing focus to an area I've been neglecting, my original passion: movies.

Filmmaking has been a goal of mine since my teenage years. Whether actively persuing a career in the industry as an on-set PA or office employee at various film related companies, writing and producing my own creations was a desire I never intended to let go. Let go I did, for the sake of my bank account and to find a more stable working environment. Logical life choices took precedence over silly little dreams as I got married and soon after left the workforce to stay home with our sweet children. "One day," being my motto with its convenient unspecific-ness allowing me to hold onto that last thread of possibility while continuing with my everyday monotony.

Then, last November my husband and I binge-watched AMC's Breaking Bad for the first time, post the series' finale, and hot shite my brain has not been the same since. AT ALL. I may have been affected by other television shows in the past, but I have never seen one as well written, directed or acted, EVER. I dreamt about it almost nightly for weeks and my own stories, buried deep within for years, began to resurface with intensity. That "one day" was here, and it was wearing cranky pants.

Yup, here I be, late to the party with a screenplay in the works and a blog for my musings; corny font to boot. I'm well aware of the task that lies ahead as I look to make myself known in the sea of other screenwriters and bloggers. I care not, so write I shall, for whatever size audience I have and allow what is meant to happen, happen. The dishes and dust bunnies can wait.