I’ve been taking sometime to focus on writing a comedy script. It’s the first time I’ve been lucky enough to have nothing else to distract and because of that I was able to get a new draft done. This chance to be reclusive is what I’ve been wanting for so long. Which is why it’s taken me a few days to realise why I’ve been feeling so off.
On Friday I finished the eighteen page outline of a six part series. It’s part of the self produced comedy series, MELLOWING, I’ve been making with my main man Matthew Gundel. Up until now we’ve been doing one episode at a time. Just doing that was a real challenge. This time I thought it would be a good idea to write a bunch all at once.
I’ve just sat down almost every morning and plodded through it. By going deeper into the characters and stories (past drafts were all plot, just a bunch of things that were happening) I’ve opened a Maersk shipping container full of cans of worms. Worms everywhere. Just you wait until the Maersk’s hear about this. Disgusting.
The writing itself was isolating in a deep work, trance state sort of a way. It was fulfilling. I loved it. What followed was isolating in a different way. There was a complete absence of any external positive affirmation. No one clapped or even smiled because I was sat on my own the way all good isolated people should be. I tried to celebrate myself but just felt rubbish. I tried reading it to people but it’s a vomit draft mess that only I understand so that only led to tears. Maybe I should be celebrating the fact that I seem to finally enjoy the process more than the result? That alone should tell me I just need to carry on.