This whacky blog site cost me yesterday's entry. Who cares because it's about as active as a urinal in a convent. But who am I to complain. Try, try again. Right? (Chorus of , "right").
To reitterate, do I rewrite the story of three years and four drafts as it's the flagship of my breaking-in endeavor; or do I start the next story, a high concept, chick comedy that I'm not too into besides it's potential marketability?
Yeah, I know. I want to get into the business. For that I should be ready to write my most embarrassing moments on alligator carcasses at a Bayou feeding farm. But something about the first, a Historical Thriller just gnaws at me. I love the story. I put years into it. It's my first. It's in four, about to be five, contests this year and faring well. Got it to an intern (for what that's worth) at Benderspink. And I just accommodated the critique from A Feeding Frenzy by revamping the first act to pep it up and make it more thrilling.
I know there are writers out there all thinking the same thought. "This would be such a good movie!" And then you hear their pitch and crack your face trying to give'em a reassuring smile while thinking, "How could you delude yourself?" So looking from the inside out I could be the worst of that bunch and not even know it; like Pappion with his head locked in a hole in his solitary confinement cell door asking the guy next to him, "How do I look?"
I heard some writers fall into the research trap. Where they toil away researching their story to the point of exhaustion because researching puts off actually writing. So their dutiful research becomes another form of procrastination. Just like me typing this long ass blog. It's making me feel good about myself hearing my laptop keys CLICKING away; and I see paragraphs forming like tumors, but am I actually getting anything accomplished? NO.
So I guess I'll wrap up with a Harvey Corman line delivered to the camera during his dastardly plot monologue from Blazing Saddles, "Why am I asking you?" | 
