Has it really been nearly three months?
I’ve been so far down Ye Olde Scribe’s Underground Bunker™ I had to check my calendar.
It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since December, when I met an indie filmmaker from Los Angeles looking for a cool new project to shoot.
He dug some of my earlier scripts enough to want to collaborate on a project.
So, I pitched him an idea, he loved it, and here we are.
Now, just this week, we’re finishing the final polish on a feature-length movie script the director hopes to start shooting this spring. Tentatively aiming for April!
And (he said dramatically) … I’ve been informed the first table read is slated for Sunday! Can’t wait to get some feedback on our crazy little adventure from other folks.
I know, I know … a million things have to go right for a movie to get made.
But even getting this far in the process—from devising a premise to outlining the screenplay … to actually having what I think is a pretty terrific story—feels really good.
You work and work in your little writer room, toiling away with cautious optimism and persistent doubt …
and a bit of a caffeine addiction …
and a new eye twitch …
and an unhealthy hummus habit …
and one really comfortable pair of sweatpants you keep promising yourself you’ll throw in the wash but that would mean going pants-less during work hours …
and even post-pandemic-you has to set some sort of boundaries with yourself or face ending up a cross between Ted Kaczynski and Bruce Vilanch.
Besides, I can just throw them away when they get really bad.
To make things even more interesting, [ONE WEEK FROM TODAY!!!] we’re getting ready for a big move back to the country. A place with plenty of peace and quiet … but questionable satellite internet—is there any other kind?
Fleeing to the sticks also means no more food and booze deliveries, which is good for the heart and liver but sad sad news for the self-loathing brain and the rumbly tummy.
Buuut (he said convincingly) it sure will be nice to have a proper office again.
Ever since we sold our house and moved into an apartment seven years ago, my work spaces have consisted of either the floor next to my bed—how bohemian!—or the little bamboo desk situated in front of my easy chair in the living room. [Which every repairman and delivery-type-dude was super jealous of.]
And, while both workplaces have worked remarkably well (really, Ben? Remarkably?), I can’t wait to have a dedicated space for all my books and typewriters and the many other various anachronisms in danger of dragging me back to the 20th Century.
I cannot yet share any details on the plot and characters … but it’s shaping up to be a funny, quirky, refreshingly different tale of adventure and mystery with just a smidge of hysterical weirdness.
OK. More than a smidge.
I’ve been told it’s Kaufmanesque … which is either a huge compliment or the kiss of death. I’m lookin’ at you, Robert McKee!!!
Well, I’ve still got a few boxes to pack and a Shih Tzu to wrangle and a wife to feed breakfast to. So, au revoir, mes amis.