That is NOT the case.
Every second of writing that script felt like walking barefoot over shards of glass. I would write a bit and then I would sob, wanting desperately to erase what I’d just written. Oh God, that’s not a scene, no one acts like that. I have no idea what to make happen, who should talk next? I hate myself. Then I would force my fingers to type more, every word feeling like I was bleeding from every orifice. I was engulfed with fear of making mistakes, of writing something stupid, of encountering story problems I couldn’t think my way out of. I was, in short, terrified of the process. It was not fun.
What drove me to continue? Sheer obstinate grit.
While everyone else on the planet celebrated Christmas (except those people who don’t, and that’s fine, no insult intended), I wrote. A few times I made myself laugh at a joke I’d written, and then I’d get to the next scene, not know what to write next, and collapse again. Side benefit, in Codex, I was able to craft a lead character as neurotic as I was! Every fear I had about my own weakness, uncertainty about my future, and how others would judge me I poured into her reactions and dialogue. I brainstormed every funny thing that had happened to me while gaming over the years and twisted the incidents ever so slightly to fit the new world I painted. I ate nothing but takeout pizza and Doritos for days, until even my dog thought I had terrible breath.
My friends tried to get me to take breaks: “Come to the mall. Let’s go to old-lady Jazzercize class. Get out of the house for a few hours!” but the awful disciplinarian in me chanted, FAILURE, FAILURE! and I couldn’t. I was too scared to stop. (The mental abuse was overdramatic and awesome!)
I wrote every minute, up until the evening of December 31, 2006. At 7:45 p.m., I finished the first draft of my untitled sitcom script about gamers. Thirty-nine pages. And as I typed the words “The End,” it was the proudest I’d ever been of myself. And I started sobbing.
My boyfriend stood in my office doorway. “Congratulations! Do you want to go out to celebrate?”
“No. I can’t go out now.”
“Why not?”
I sobbed, “I’m . . . too . . . happy.”
I’d accomplished my goal. But I had to be ruthless with myself to see the task through. Joan Crawford–wire-hangers bad. But you know what? I don’t regret letting that horrible person inside bully me at all. I finished something for once, and it was worth every second of suffering through that terrible, forgot-to-buy-relatives-a-present holiday season.
If ideas flow out of you easily like a chocolate fountain, bless you, and skip to the next chapter. But if you’re someone like me, who longs to create but finds the process agonizing, here’s my advice:
– Find a group to support you, to encourage you, to guilt you into DOING. If you can’t find one, start one yourself. Random people enjoy having pancakes.
– Make a goal. Then strike down things that are distracting you from that goal, especially video games. (Unless it’s this book; finish reading it and THEN start.)
– Put the fear of God into yourself. Okay, I’m not religious. Whatever spiritual ideas float your boat. Read some obituaries, watch the first fifteen minutes of Up, I don’t care. Just scare yourself good. You have a finite number of toothpaste tubes you will ever consume while on this planet. Make the most of that clean tooth time. For yourself.
The creative process isn’t easy, even for chocolate-fountain people. It’s more like a wobbly, drunken journey down a very steep and scary hill, not knowing if there’s a sheer cliff at the end of it all. But it’s worth the journey, I promise.
I sometimes look at successful people and think, I could do that! I could be there. I WANT to be there!, coveting the end result without understanding the WORK that preceded it. I wanted to have written a script, but I had no idea how to get there. Thank goodness, I had people who encouraged me to attempt it, or I never would have been brave enough to try. I owe it all to the Chick-In ladies for their support; I needed it.
I celebrated the New Year with a script in my hand and thought, I can’t believe I did it!
So . . . what do I do now?
-?7?-
Web Series: A DIY Journey
I guess we can borrow some cameras, stand in front of them, and say the words typed in the script. Is that how this “filmmaking thing” works?
“Walk me through this slowly. People can talk to each other while they play video games?”
“Yeah. You just install separate voice chat software while you play.”
I was sitting in a fancy office, looking out onto a beautiful view of the Hollywood sign. A producer sat across from me. She was a friend of a friend of someone’s yoga teacher and was literally the only person I could get to meet with me about making The Guild as a TV show. I was pretty sure her blonde highlights cost more than my monthly car payment.