Punk Rock Girl read my screenplay this weekend. Not for the first time, but for the first time in a couple of years. This came as a surprise to me. It seems I was fast asleep, and she was looking for the copy Neil Gaiman's Coraline that I recently purchased for her. That would be fine, if it wasn't a lie. Coraline was sitting right where she left it, on the kitchen table underneath the new socks I purchased at Target this week. They are the ones with moisture wicking so that your feet stay dry and don't develop fungi. But that is a story for another day.
In order to understand my horror upon seeing her with my screenplay, I may need to give you some background. I occasionally write for a living when the rest of the BS inherent to my job fails to occupy my time. I enjoy writing for a living. There are better topics to write about than temporary staffing, but you can't always get what you want, as Mick once said. My ability to successfully navigate this deadline-driven, theoretically stressful environment has resulted in my reputation as a robot among my coworkers. This notion is silly, and I resent them for it. But I didn't want to get to know them better anyway. Now...where was I.
Screenwriting inspires me to a greater degree. I love the translation of written dialogue to the big screen. Unlike my standard proposals at work, these are documents worthy of actually caring about. So to put words on paper in this capacity is a much more daunting task. It is an art form that means something to me and reflects my soul (note: souls do not exist) to a greater degree than anything else I create, except for maybe the Roger Rabbit pencil holder I made for my dad in art class in sixth grade. He still has it. It is hideous, as is everything formed with these wood blocks God (note: God does not exist) gave me for hands.
My screenplay is not a bad screenplay. Does that imply that it is good? I would not make that assumption. It is a flawed screenplay. Flaws that can be fixed, but flaws nonetheless. That is all I see when I look at it. Disappointment and error. I don't see the positives or joys. But isn't that the necessity of the whole thing? If I were to focus on the great things I achieved, why would I be driven to achieve my full potential?
The business of Hollywood drives me absolutely insane. The city is filled with writers and producers based on sole credits in college short films. Does this make them a screenwriter? They seem to think so. In an industry driven by ego, what does a title actually mean? I am not a screenwriter. I am not paid to do so, so I am not. I have too much respect for the art form to make false claims.
What does all of this mean?
1. It couldn't thrill me more that Punk Rock Girl wants to read my screenplay in one sitting. I love that she believes so uniformly in my abilities.
2. In my eyes, the screenplay is a 120-page list of my shortcomings in their purest form. Maybe that is a beautiful thing in a poetic sense but it makes me feel like a nervous puppy on the 4th of July.
3. I need to rewrite my screenplay. My characters deserve better. Maybe attacking my own imperfections is the only way to address my plight.
4. Diablo Cody is a uniquely American problem. She must have been an awful stripper, but she's a worse screenwriter. Of this I am certain.
My incoherence is particularly on display this morning. I don't know if it is the topic at hand or a weekendly residue in need of scraping from my consciousness. Only time will tell.
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