wilderworks

Today may be the last day of my present form of monotony, though I may exchange it for a worse one. Tomorrow, I will head off to join the seasonal staff of Center Court Displays, a little company that owns and installs Christmas decorations for malls and casinos. I will bebop around. During the days, I'll be staying in hotels they've provided, eating on their meal passes. Through the nights, I'll be hanging enormous Christmas decorations. Nocturnal Christmas installations for one month. My schedule looks like this: Monday, November 1st - Friday, November 5th: Park City Mall, Lancaster PA. Saturday, November 6th - Wednesday, November 10th: Jersey Gardens Mall, Elizabeth NJ. Thursday, November 11th - Sunday, November 14th: Landmark Mall, Alexandria, VA. Monday, November 15th: Travel to Las Vegas. Tuesday, November 16th - Wednesday, December 1st Ceasar's Casino and Forum Shops, Las Vegas, NV Thursday, December 2nd Travel Home. Somewhere in there, I

I'm having a very hard time finding motivation. I'm having a very easy time finding resistance. I'm repulsed almost by the act of writing. Looking forward to a month of hanging Christmas decorations, without a project to return to at the end of the day, or an idea to consume the hours during it, is not appealing at all. Since, of late, the things I've been successful in writing have all been for production, I can only imagine that my reluctance still rests in my desire for interaction. Even now, two years later, it appears that Darwin's Kids has spoiled me. Before it, I had no problem losing myself in a project, even with only one interested party, even if that party was only me. Now, without feedback, without people waiting for the next draft, without dreaming about and debating over the production, I can't get through the surface. My thoughts drift. My will is weak. I've never felt in such a haze; I don't feel engaged. My old dependable

I am feeling wretchedly untalented this evening. In response to a bunch of screenplay synopses that I sent to a producer, who requested said synopses, I received the following message: "It's hard to tell, based on your synopses, whether I would like to read the scripts or not. They could all go either way, be fascinating and brilliant, or somewhat bromidic. That can be a good thing, you make me curious, but people with little time, might put you back on the stack." For those who aren't certain, here's what I think that means: bromidic adj 1: dull and tiresome but with pretensions of significance or originality; [syn: corny, platitudinal, platitudinous] To make myself feel less like a complete jerk, I did what I often do: I made a list of things I have accomplished. My list looked like this: This is a very pretentious and, ultimately, silly list. I decided I had better start anew. So I've been working on a new short script. This is what I

Here is a souvenir from my little tiny road-trip up the east coast, through North Hampton and Amherst, through Boston and Salem, to a little Sheraton shaped like a castle, up in a town called Braintree.