It’s been awhile since I posted here, but to be fair — and I am trying, more and more, to be fair — I’ve been busy.
Way back in March, Big Shot Manager introduced me to Lovely and Hilarous Actor, and since then Mr. Lovely and Hilarious and I have been working on a screenplay that I am literally two hours of work away from completing the first draft of … which explains what I’m doing suddenly blogging after all this time. Yes, I am my own worst enemy.
Anyway, more about the screenplay and Mr. Lovely and Hilarious if / when it becomes a movie. On to the other stuff I can dump here for now as a record that I really was, um, working, since last I posted here, and not just gallivanting about.
Around the same time as I was meeting Mr. Lovely and Hilarious, I was trying to figure out if the magazine that had bought a short story of mine, “Dirty Darlene,” was, in fact, ever intending to publish it, or had just closed up shop for good. Eventually, I decided it had closed up shop for good, but then a couple of weeks ago the editor re-appeared and apparently “Dirty Darlene” will be up on the mag’s site Oct 16. I will believe that when I see it.
Then I placed another story, “James Dean, My Love, My Copyboy,” with a new mag called Armchair / Shotgun, out of Brooklyn, which believe it or not, is actually printed on PAPER. And BOUND. Like a real, live LIT MAG. That should be out later this fall.
And I got a little more serious about sending out “Nothing Will Prepare You,” which involved, for about two weeks, employing a Virtual Assistant in India. This was not a great experiment — apparently fiction loses a LOT in translation, and my goal of off-loading the soul-killing work of FINDING VENUES was never met. Instead, I spent twice the time trying to explain to the VA that I was not writing sci fi, or porn, or horror, that I would have spent generating my own venues lists. So that killed a bunch of time
Oh, and I eventually got a truly wonderful rejection letter for “Nothing …” from The New England Review, which was actually pretty thrilling because it was so personal and encouraging and made me think I might not be the hack I was beginning to think I was. (See “sudden interest in writing screenplays.”)
Oh, and I got knocked up while all this was going on, too. Twins. Boys. Like I wasn’t already intent enough on tanking my own career.
Anyway, because I at least KNOW that about myself, I am going to go try to finish the first draft of the screenplay now. But first, the reason I started writing this post in the FIRST PLACE … (aside from the obvious attempt at procrastinating):
Today I was reading the Oct 11 issue of The New Yorker, and I came across Nora Ephron’s piece “My Life as An Heiress,” which is about the weeks she thought she might be coming into money, and would be able to abandon the screenplay she was struggling with, and that she was just writing because it was a job. I would just reprint it here, but I can’t now, because The New Yorker has a new digital edition that makes that too difficult, so I’ll spoil the ending for you. Basically, she doesn’t come into much money. Which turns out to be a good thing, because it forces her to finish writing “When Harry Met Sally.”
Go figure. And with that, and the obligatory, “Because of GOD,” or even, “It was this cold, Spanish tile,” I head back to work.
** UPDATE! Two hours later: first draft screenplay complete! Woo-hoo! **