Immediately after composing that last entry, I stayed up all night and finished A Darkling Plane. It was one of those crazed, 16 hour runs. When noon came, and the finished, printed script sat beside me, I covered my head in pillows and couldn't sleep. I remember a time when that was a weekly occurence. I remember, dimly, a time when it seemed nightly.
So. It is done. I may have slipped it in just under a year's time. My last screenplay, Occult Blood, was finished only weeks after arriving in Harlem, and A Darkling Plane started up a few days later. Late last August, I estimate.
Thus. I wrote four screenplays in my first year out of college, and a fifth in my second.
I cannot place what happened there, except to imagine that it's somewhere around fear and disappointment. Doubt and discouragement. How will a fifth screenplay (or, now, a sixth) do what the previous have failed? How can I believe this is requisite to entering a new life? How could writing ever free me of solitude? I suppose that as my faith in those chimeras fail, so goes my ambition, my creativity, my energy, and my spirit.
And I'm left so tired.
On the 25th, Momentary Engineering goes into production. Check it out here.