was i going through the throws of an aneurysm when i wrote the first draft of my play? reading it now its like my brain was deprived of oxygen during its inception. what a lifeless. pointless piece of shit. filled with bad dialogue. theres little meaningful exchange between the characters as if the two people in the room hardly care that the other one is there. and why should they? neither one has anything that compelling to discuss. it struggles for humor. has logic gaps. and is rife with with trife.
it is everything a good play isnt. ahh..well at least ive thrown daylight on the miasma that it is. perhaps now i can give it proper burial. cremation woulld be best.
with my newfound 20/20 hindsight i can say im surprised i printed it. on paper. and let other people read it. out loud.
and no i dont have any prescriptions hiding in my medicine cabinet..nor was i drinking. i was sober as a nail when i wrote it…and therefore fully responsible for its disaster..
maybe my stone cold sobriety is the problem. ive become boring. a malaise of sorts has set in deep. in a few years it will turn to rigor mortis. im alone. unadventurous. and more adverse to risk than ive ever been. real risk aint ordering chinese from the shack on the corner. some will disagree. yep. im bone dry. less fun. I’ve regressed into a shell of myself and in full swing writing a second version of the play (completely revamped and wholly exciting) and living in this hell hole called new york does. regression is only natural for nice people like myself in these surroundings.
we all know addictions dont equate excitement in screenplays or anythign else creative wise. too bad because how incredible would it be if we could find genius in a bottle and drink it. in this twisted real life, where nothing easy and gifts from the gods tend to destroy the benefactee, the talent has to be there to start with. if so ,why do so many accomplished writers drink the drink? good question.
i cant answer that. well not in this essay.
so now im sifting through the wreckage of the first draft, trying to salvage gems from that barren wasteland of dialogue while working on the second draft. and praying for rain*.. theres a few things there that i can reuse. but most of it is caca.
i guess the good discovery of this whole thing is that i can see how bad the first draft was and i can fix it. i have a confidence my writing is better now. and over the course of the year i know ive taught myself how to write much better dialogue. im better for it. and so are the readers.
*rain is good. though clouds coming to fruition throw it down onto your scalp. and water your brain. flowers grow. we writers harvest them and they becomes scripts…