Friday, July 13, 2012

Stream of consciousness

I couldn't organize my thoughts earlier, so I just did a little stream of consciousness writing.  Luckily, I type very, very quickly.  Here are the results:

I want to write.

I want to sleep.

I want to cry.

I can’t focus.

My head is too full.

Is this what happens when you go too long without writing?  There are too many ideas to get out at once, so they all jumble together and won’t allow one another a turn.  Take turns, ideas!  You’re ruining this for me!

I just want to feel like I am making a difference.

Being a mom is making a difference, I know that, but it’s not the only mark I want to make on the world. 

I want to feel like I’m contributing.

I’ve never been further away from that than I am right now.

Moving took me further away.

I wanted to move West, but we moved East.  This is not conducive to a screenwriting career.  Neither is not 

I see other people writing, other people gaining some experience or celebrating their success, and I’m stuck.

I want to do so many things, but all I end up doing is sitting around playing facebook games when I’m not taking care of my kid.

No more facebook games.


I want to write songs.

I want to record songs.

I love to sing.

Do I want to be a singer?

I don’t think so.  No.  Definitely not.

Do I want to be a songwriter?  Probably not.

Do I want to be a writer?  Yes.

What kind?




I don’t know.  I just need to get something out and on the screen so that I can figure it out.

Is it so hard to write a novel?  Why do I only think in screenwriting terms?  Isn’t it much easier to self-publish a novel than it is to self-produce a movie?  Definitely.  I need to be writing a novel.

Why can’t I get it out that way?

Maybe I’ll turn the Us story into a novel.  That would be good.  Not too visual anyway.  But I already 
wrote fifteen pages of screenplay.  I’ll have to translate those to novel pages.

I still really want to write the Elvis movie, though.


Why isn’t anyone ever excited for me?  I feel like people look at me like I’m nuts when I tell them about what I’m writing.  Or they don’t care.

My sister never even read the screenplay I left at her house*. Why not?  It’s good.  I think it’s good.  It’s funny.  Maybe it’s not that good.  Maybe it is, though.  I like it.  I’m going to say it’s good.

I need ot write something.

Other than this.

This is not really a good thing to be writing.

Oh, ice cream.  With peanut butter pretzels.


After I ate my chocolate ice cream with peanut butter pretzels on it (seriously, you should try this.  It's delicious), I began adapting one of my screenplays into a novel.  

Expunging my brain of clutter actually worked.

*I later found out that my sister was actually reading the screenplay I left at her house at that very moment.  She loved it.

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