Sunday, April 10, 2016

on a cloudy sunday, just two days after turning twenty-two...

...i finished the first draft of my first screenplay.
there are tens and tens of drafts to complete in the future.
i'll probably have two revised versions between now and the twenty-first of the month.

but in this moment, i have a script.
the front page reads very plainly {though lovely}:

The Living Child

and at the bottom of the one hundredth and sixteenth page it reads:

THE END

there really aren't any words that fully describe what it feels like to complete
story-telling at this caliber.

but what i will say is that it felt a lot like taking a deep breath for one hundred and sixteen pages,
and then finally being able to exhale.


i met my protagonist, helena cain, four years ago.
over time she's changed so much.
but that's because i've come to know her more fully.

her husband, harrison cain, has softened.
although helena is my protagonist, so much of my heart adores harrison and
his tough exterior, though softly molded heart.

they jump out of the page right at me.
thursday morning i wrote my toughest scene.
i couldn't believe how the words poured from me.
but they were heavy words.
that's what made them tough to write.
with every word, it was as though harrison was nailing a coffin shut.
or opening a door.

i don't know which.
he was sobbing on the paper,
and my own eyes welled right along with him.


i think that storytelling is so much like birthing a child.
you labor and labor, and then you have this thing. and though it is inherently flawed,
you can't help but see the perfections of it.
and you want to defend it. and you love it.
but there comes a time to send it out into the world,
and not everyone is going to like it,
and it might fail in the ears and minds of some,
but it's yours.
you made it with every fiber of your being.
you loved it first,
and when no one else did.

and you hope that the world will see it for the thing that it is.
you hope it will be loved.
you hope it will be well.


that's how this feels for me.
granted i am not at all trying to literally compare it to the 
inexplicable thing we call birth and motherhood.
but still, as a writer, this is my baby. 
my first born.
and i love it. 
and i can't wait to see it evolve with time.

my hope is that the world will love it, too.



p.s. one of my favorite writers posted this quote on her blog, and i found that the words resonate
entirely with how i have felt the past few days in regards to my script:

"Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself...It's a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent." | Harper Lee

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