Monday, April 28, 2008

More Musings From The Front Lines



As I market my latest spec, it came to me that I'm not just shilling a script. In a very real sense, I'm shilling myself. My voice, my words, my tone, my dreams, my creativity, my imagination, my soul, me, me, me.

It's a hard thing to accept that people may just not be interested in...me, me, me.
So why do I put myself through this agony time and time again? Am I sadist? Lord knows, I've been shit canned to the curb so many times that you'd think by now I'd be gun shy.

But no, I'm pimping myself like a ho in the hood. This is the part I hate. I really do. I don't relish this at all. Yet I remain ever optimistic that my knight in shining armor will come galloping up (or maybe drive up in his shiny foreign car).

I can't imagine doing anything else. I can't imagine not doing this. So I guess I'm stuck like a rat in a maze.

Hope springs eternal. Like kittens, puppies and fools.

1 comment:

Cathy Krasnianski said...

Sadist...? No.
Masochist...? Possibly. But then, aren't all writers?