Day 2

And off we go. Day 2- my writing is definitely rusty, but it felt good to at least get some words down on paper. Off we go onto day 2.

Today's suggestion: Write about someone who is pretending to be someone or something that he is not. So here we go:

The lone drunk Scotsman at the bar looked at me as I walked in. It was a quiet, empty place at 11 AM on a Tuesday, the smell of cigarette smoke permeating every orifice in my body- I could hear the smoke being expelled from the lungs of patrons past. My tie was loose, and my hair soaked from the rainstorm raging outside. 11 AM on a Tuesday wasn't my usual time to patronize a place like this, but I had just told my boss to fuck off. In the world of studio films, this wasn't necessarily done. Especially since I had just approved a $235 million budget for a film that wasn't about to be made.

I was overseas, and had been videoconferenced in. My boss had just shut down the biggest project I'd ever greenlit- and I was furious. But that's not the biggest point. I'd been drinking heavily for months. I show up to work, I do my job, and I do my job well- better than probably all but 3 or 4 people in the world. I can recognize talent from a thousand miles away. I'd earned my studio over $4 billion in the projects I'd found and associate-produced in just under 2 years. A rising star, if you will. And married with two small kids. I was a miserable sack of shit masquerading as the most impressive man in the room. Obsessed with my outer appearance, success, family, happiness- I couldn't keep it all together.

Scotch helped. So did whiskey. So did vodka. Beer, not so much. LSD, not quite- made me a little crazy. Crystal meth made me clean incessantly but didn't do much for relaxation. The best combination was liquor and my wife's Xanax which I stole daily. I was out of my mind by 3 PM daily- and no one knew.

So now, overseas, alone and ashamed, I sought out my truth. I sought it in the bottom of a bottle, drowning me slowly and drowning me quickly at the same time. The Scotsman raised a glass to me as I ordered my second drink, seeking oblivion- the oblivion he obviously already had according to his blurry red eyes. Did I want to end up like him? Old, drunk and alone? The answer today is yes. Yes, I want to be drunk and alone. I don't want success, I don't want pressure, I don't want family. I want emptiness, sorrow and remorse. I'm LOVING misery. I want it. Give it to me, sweet vodka, sweet scotch. Empower my loneliness. Stroke my sorrow ego. Make me empty. Make me whole.

Day 1

Cracked open the book today- first page that's a suggestion says: "What are you waiting for? If not now, when?" And off we go. It's day 1, so if it's not perfect, give me a week or so to get back into the swing of things.

"What are you waiting for? If not now, when?" A good question- something valid at this point in my life I guess. I mean, I suppose this is really the perfect first entry in this book. But what if it wasn't? Is this something the editor pulled out of a large stack of notes that Monica put together, or did she come up with this and immediately say, "YES this must go first." My bet is is the first- maybe not even the editor, but Monica herself. Was this a project that she got stumped on? Did she have writer's block and then write a book about writer's block to remove her own writer's block? These are questions I must know the answers to. However I don't know the author, so I'll make up some answers that work for me.

My bet- Monica tore through her first novel (or two) with a bit of ease. The third one- a struggle, a battle of epic proportions. Frustratingly slow writing. Sadness. The smell of failure surrounding her like the scent of slightly old dog food- a damp, sad smell. But then, THEN came the idea- the idea to change to lives of MILLIONS of writers around the world. A BOOK! A book about writer's block and how to bust through it- not just a guide, but actual suggestions and ideas. Monica would empty her brain onto paper so WE, the other writers, the amateurs, the students, the random Starbucks-dwellers would have a guide and have Monica to thank. And thank her we did. "THANK YOU, MONICA!" rang the heavens, or at least the heavens in her brain...and yet here I am, writing her ideas. So Monica, I hope this was your vision. I hope that I can do you justice. And I hope, dear God I hope, that you can help me.

A new project

About 3 years ago, I picked up a copy of "The Pocket Muse: Ideas and Inspirations for Writing" by Monica Wood. It's been sitting on my shelf ever since, with nary a crack or a look through. This past week, I decided to take some suggestions, find some creativity and start a new project. The new idea was this- work daily on a writing practice (since originally, career-wise, I wanted to be a writer- when I was in second grade I won a Young Author's blue ribbon and I've had the bug ever since) and develop (hopefully) some good stories along the way. I'll also keep you posted on music and books that are keeping me inspired as well.

Monica, here's to ya, and here's hoping it goes well- or at least is interesting to someone besides me.