a question

How is the screenplay going?
How is the screenplay going?
How is the screenplay going?
How is the screenplay going?
How is the screenplay going?
How is the screenplay going?

Fuck.

I don't know what has happened, D.

This is the sound of temperature dropping.
This is the sound of something freezing.
Locking.
A cessation of movement.
Of creativity.
And quite frankly, I'm scared.
The ghosts of self-loathing have returned and to avoid them, I've resigned myself to petty distractions.
An overdose of television.
Endless hours surfing the world wide web of shit.
And sometimes I'll go to my room, crawl into bed, cover myself with blankets, and wish for...

I spent nearly three weeks freewriting: seated at my typewriter I was a vessel, typing anything and everything that came to mind regarding my screenplay. Bits and pieces. Slices of monologue. Dialogue. Visions. Actions. Developments. Choices. Scenes and sequences.
Then, satisfied with the background info, I decided to begin working on the actual screenplay.


FADE IN:

The sound of a ringing alarm clock.

INT. DOE'S BEDROOM - AFTERNOON

We see a figure in bed, covered with blankets from head to toe...


I typed two pages and the following day, well, everything fell apart.
My previous post reflected a terrifying moment of dispossession. It was as if I had evacuated my body and slipped inside the flesh of someone else. Bad thoughts were abound. Thoughts of escape. Retreat. Self-annihilation. Bad thoughts.
And as I type this, I'm attempting to collect the pieces. My creative process is a visual one and at this moment, I'm blind. However, I feel something shifting, albeit slowly, but a transformation is occurring inside. I can feel it. I'm regaining something.

I appreciate your concern, D. I really do. When I have one of those "moments," I'm the loneliest man in the world. I feel like a mannequin in a department store at closing time. The fluorescence dies, one department at a time, and there's this feeling of a "closing in."
A foreboding collapse.
And it's terrifying.
And trapped in those moments, I'm helpless.
I'm a plastic mannequin.
Frozen.
Trapped.

But I can feel a shifting. Inside.
I'm regaining something.
I can feel it.

mc