So, I’ve unearthed the bones of a Script out of the swamp that is my imagination, and have laid it out in a rough shape. So far so good. It’s got that walk-away-from-the-misshapen-person-dear-and-for-Christ’s-sake-don’t-look-it-in-the-eyes! vibe about it, but it’s early days and I’m optimistic.
I threw out my dark and dreary idea, and have come up with another concept, which is completely different, but the best part is that at the moment I’m excited by it.
I have rosy first-love feelings… where I ignore its story neuroses and plot irritations in favour of the dream of the wonderful life we’ll have together, where we’ll tango in exotic locations, make sweet, but naughty, love, get hitched by a gay Elvis impersonator, and end our lives together as faded but attractive writer and script with our cabinets groaning with awards. Ah bliss!
In all likelihood it will descend into periodic madness: me shouting “where have you been, you bastard; is that lipstick on your trousers!”, it driving my car into a bog, me being conciliatory and making it up over a half a dozen bottles of wine and a pot of coffee, it turning up with a bunch of roses, a contract, and an producer by its side… hmmm, a threesome, how kinky!
It’s all before me. Like a patchwork quilt made from Tim Burton fabric, Charlie Kaufman padding, and stitched together with David Lynch thread (it’s invisible, but yet the whole thing holds together – how does he do that?). Ah, I can only aspire to such a crazily beautiful blanket.
The swamp also holds the genesis of A Play, and at least one Short Story. The Short Story requires research, upon which I’ve embarked. So does the Script, and I’m googling and reading up on the background for the madcap scenario I’ve cooked up. The Play, on the other hand, only requires me to be vividly insane and brilliant.
The first is a cinch, but the second one will take work. It might be some time before I stick my arm into the swamp and attempt to drag those bones to the surface.