Thursday, November 4, 2010


I try not to have bright ideas late at night -- inspiration keeps me up until 6AM. I'm like a mogwai: no epiphanies after midnight, please.

Forty-seven minutes ago I stepped out on the balcony to breathe and think about anything. Anything besides this shiftless dull weight that I've allowed to oppress me during this two-month-long stasis/sabbatical/bender. The moist, chilled air hit me with an answer I wasn't yet ready to receive. An idea. A key. The conclusion to a script that I haven't touched in one year, a Draft One that has cowered on my shelf waiting for me to expand its life with a sibling, Draft Two. I've avoided writing this script because there were other scripts more urgent, shows needing to be shot, many many many beers requiring my attention. But now, from the balcony, I've got the answer. I want to write this new draft now.


But it is 4.48AM. Write some notes if you must. Get started tomorrow. Please sleep.

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