I received very useful feedback on my treatment today, some of which made me quite excited as it offered more potential for the story (including one really obvious idea I was stunned I hadn’t considered before).
As the afternoon wore on the gloom gathered. Not over the comments, but just over the magnitude of the work that lies before me. I don’t have simple changes to make. It’s heart surgery.
I had hoped to be working on the script after today’s session, but I require a demolition and reconstruction job on the plot first.
I aim to have it completed by the end of the week. I have an upcoming deadline on the first draft of the screenplay for the beginning of April, and it is unmovable. 90-120 pages due in 6 weeks. It’s certainly not impossible, and I think I could work through it quickly if I’m ruthless in tackling these problems now.
Everything comes back to finding the emotional truth of the story.
What the fuck am I trying to say?
What’s the story, the theme, the premise?
You know, the basic shit.
Each time I write another draft I get closer to unearthing the essential core of the story. Or as one guy in my class put it: what’s critical to my story.
At this point I’m irritated at myself because I feel that I ought to have this sorted by now.
I’m being a coward with the story.
Come on you limp-wristed bitch, give me your best shot!