Act III Doth Beckon


The sky is cloudy and the pace is slow.  My phone is dying and I can’t seem to pull my head out of my ass.  I get in these moods every other week or so.  I pay attention to myself and I notice these patterns.  Usually I get this way following a day of completely disappointing non-productivity.


I was on a roll with Highwaymen.  Wrote two new scenes and the end is in sight.  It’s good too.  For a first draft anyway.  In a week or so it will be ready to show to the Roughriders.  I’m excited.  With them on board this project could really move.  Their last home game drew a national television audience of 1.34 million, an all time record.  I’ll take it as an oman.

I did spend the morning catching up with an old friend.  Linda used to be my program manager at SCN.  I read her what I have and she’s into it.  She said it’s better than a lot of projects she’s been intimately involved with on TV.  That made me feel good.

In the afternoon I headed to the university to check out potential classes.  There was a philosophy class that looked interesting and an English class that focused on Joss Whedon’s, ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’.  No dice though.  Looks like I’ll spend this semester completely focused on my projects.

A photo shoot in the evening was also cancelled.  I was actually happy about that because the time would better have been spent writing.  Of course, prying my ass off the couch was too great an effort.  Instead I wound up analyzing why the TV series I’m currently addicted to is so bad.  Mostly it’s the writing.  Lots of exposition filled scenes with no action, lots of action with no turn, lots of characters with no dimension… flat flat flat.

Still I watch it.  It’s a series that ran 10 seasons, spun off two other series, and three movies.  ‘Firefly’ got cancelled after 12 episodes.  There’s no justice sometimes.

I’m going to take this day by the balls and turn it around.  Upon publishing this article, I’ll be finishing up some reading, and then heading to the university for some much needed writing.  Act III doth beckon.

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