Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Every so often, I fall into what can only be described as melancholia (okay, depression). Me, usually so chipper, so perky, so up and optimistic.
Yeah, even screenwriters get the blues.
I usually feel this way when I get a rejection that I was really hoping wouldn't be, when I'm flabbergasted over notes/comments that makes me question my creative judgement and/or talent, when I feel I haven't lived up to my ability, I question past choices and a slew of "what if's", when the writing isn't going smoothly or a hundred other things that all point to the inevitable conclusion: I suck, I have always sucked, and my two produced movies were freaks of nature.
And so I agonize and wonder if this isn't the time to chuck the screenwriting game and move on.
As Julie, my good bud, puts it, screenwriting isn't a sprint, it's a marathon, but there comes a time where you have to say, after beating your head against the wall and getting nowhere, when to give up, when enough is enough. How many times does your heart have to break before you say the hell with it.
When French women get depressed, we REALLY get depressed.
I was spoiled early on, having one of my very first scripts sell so quickly, and then get made. Everyone assumed it would be easy after the first sale. So did I. Instead, it's been just the opposite. I could go through a whole laundry list of why I haven't broken through. Poor representation. Bad timing. The writer's strike. And I've gotten close enough, tantalizingly so, to know that I'm not THAT bad. Yet it's still not enough. I honestly don't know what I'm doing wrong. And I'm tired of it.
I'm tired of running in place with holes in my sneakers. I'm tired of trying to write to a marketplace that seems to be always one step ahead of me, and I'm tired that when I do write for myself, no one seems to be on my page. I'm tired of the highs and lows; it's like being on a frigging roller coaster at Six Flags. One minute someone thinks your idea is the best thing since sliced bread and you're flying so high you need oxygen, and the next, someone tears you down as if you're a complete neophyte, and you feel lower than a slug, you're gum under someone's shoe, you're a bug on the windshield, snot in...well, I think you get the picture.
I knew it was going to be hard. But hard for this long? I dunno. Something's got to give. I feel like a rubber band, stretched to the limit.
Now aren't you happy I've unloaded? Makes you long for the days when I just posted You-Tube videos.