Status Reports, Pronto
I’m rounding the bend on this script. Stumbling over the dividing line between second act and third act, actually. And then it’s just another couple dozen page and — whammo — draft six is born. No longer weak and trembling, it steps into the sunlight and shakes off all that blood and goo and blows a farmer’s snot of embedded mucus out its nose.
It’s ready to kick some ass.
At least, that’s the hope.
I was wondering, then, “Well, what will I talk about today?”
I want to keep it lean and mean. I want to get to work on the script; no time to dally here, much as I love all your shiny pretty faces. (Even you, Rick. Even you.)
Then it hit me.
Hey, I just gave you a status report.
Now I want a status report from you.
Yesterday’s post was about giving form to your ephemeral habits and turning them into your Official Penmonkey Stats, and so it seems like a good follow-up post is one where you all chime in, telling me and one another just what you’re working on. How far are you? How’s the project going? Got any questions? Concerns? Heroic moments? Frustrating trip-ups? Let’s make today an open forum. Cheer. Vent. Help each other. Throw things at my beard to see if they’ll stick in its wiry vine. See, old friend Keith the other day said in an email (paraphrasing), “It’s funny that you wanted this to be a community of writers when you started it 10 years ago, and now it really has become that.”
I like that. That’s nice as cookies.
I figure, fuck. I’ve been chattering at you about writing advice for a good long while now, and you’ve been chattering back. Let’s crystallize that. What’s up with your WIP (Work In Progress)?
Hell, what is your WIP?
Me, I’ve got the screenplay. HiM. On page 83 or so. It’s coming well, but again, we’re talking six drafts over the course of… what, a year? More?
Got the novel. It’s out of my hands. It’s in the hands of the agent, and actually, I think it’s out of her hands and onto many editors. That novel is Blackbirds, and it runs a few words shy of 70,000.
Then we have the TV show (it has a name, but I can’t share it yet), which is in the scripting phase for the pilot.
So, that’s where I’m at.
Don’t be shy.
We won’t bite you.
Well, okay, somebody will probably bite you. Yes, you’ll probably get an infection. Hey, I’m not responsible. Don’t come whining to me about your staph infection or your Captain Trips or whatever the hell it is. Not my problem. I’ll just sit here in my plexiglass bunker and spaceman suit while you all die from the Uber-Pox. I’ll be writing novels for the roaches and the rats!