Pixie Dust

Isn't that a great picture? It's of my oldest daughter, Adrienne. She looks carefree, happy, enthusiastic, excited, innocent, unafraid.

It's the way I want to feel when I'm writing. Curious about that locked door. Anxious to go down the unbeaten path. Willing to fail. Willing to try. Taking changes, even if I fall flat on my face.

That's the way I was when I first started screenwriting. I had no idea of what I was doing, so I had no expectations. It was fun, it was exhilirating. I wasn't supposed to succeed, so anything I did, well, it was for my own pure pleasure. When I sold my first script (and actually had it made), you could have knocked me over with a piledriver.

And then, you know....the bar was set. I had something to prove. I had to prove that I wasn't a "one hit wonder". And sometimes, I slogged through the writing just to plow through it, instead of for the joy, the pleasure, the love it brought me. Because I do love writing with all my heart and soul. Screenwriting, articles, blogs, grocery lists...

Last year I spent (for me) a lot of time and energy on a project that I really didn't care for. I was trying so hard to mold this idea to fit someone's box, a square peg into a round hole, if you will. And I was miserable, and I made myself even more miserable, because I didn't want to admit that I couldn't do it.

I'm now working on a project that is as uncommercial as they come. Decidedly out of the ballpark. And I don't care because I feel good about it. I want to see how far I can go with it. How far it will take me...even if I'm the only one who ever reads it. And it's okay. Yeah, it might end up being a waste of time. But so what?