Isn’t it odd how alluring distraction can be, and the way we can conjure an excuse to justify our sins?
I have stuff I need to do, I have stuff I want to do, and there’s stuff I should have done, all of which would likely have taken place were it not for Social Media, of which I presume I am trying to play a part in right now.
THIS digital utterance would likely fit into the second category of that procrastinatory paradigm, with the practice and habit building I need to do being in the first, and likely all rolled in together, should be stuffed into the big finish.
I need to build a profile, and manufacture evidence of my writing prowess/addiction to unreasonably long sentences, with excessive tangets, and sidebars (not to mention caveats).
I think the opportunity to do as such has recently foisted itself upon me as part of my day job.
I’ve just been moved into a different office, as part of a different team, for an unspecified duration. When I first learned of the move I went into a full-on period of mourning, having applied to work in the old building 10 years ago, and then applied to join the team I was on some 6 years ago, and at no point did I ask to be moved here. I pronounced my imminent terminal exit with the appropriate level of underplayed spectacle, à la me, so as to elicit the appropriate maximum disgruntled reaction and attention I craved, and lo’ it was duly granted. Shortly after I learned the move is only 12 months, and I had to walk it back. Now it turns out it might only be a be a couple of weeks, so I am entirely emotionally addled.
My reaction was entirely heart-related, which is what inspired the wailing and the teeth-gnashing, but once my voice and jaws got tired I managed to unlock the brain perspective.
For the past decade, I have worked in a University Art School, which is home to the disciplines of Fine Art, Graphics, Architecture and Fashion, and I have predominantly had a blast! It was my house, everyone knew me, and broadly, most people liked me. I thrived off being in a creative environment, having lofty discussions about things I knew little about, expanding my intellect and broadening my knowledge to sound cleverer to people who don’t know I’m an idiot. I’ve now taken up residence in the part of the University that looks after Film, Creative Writing, and is the home of the MA Screenwriting programme I completed a few years ago. Once my initial sadness at not seeing my mates every day began to give way, a slightly more pragmatic idea took hold, that I could make more of my new surroundings, and I started to imagine the benefits of the move.
On Day 1 I reconnected with one of my tutors and left the room with a suggestion I pitch a Producer, one of our guest lecturers with my Queensferry Rules script and a suggestion that we follow up soon with a coffee. Not a bad start to my new tenure.
Obviously being a new face on the premises I’ve triggered a trace level of “excitement” in the staff (my word, not theirs) as many knew of my name and “legend” (small L) as a good person to have around. I’m now trying to exploit my novelty angles and exploit the opportunity to exhibit value beyond someone that enters numbers into spreadsheets!
I dug out the synopsis I wrote last year when things were moving in the right direction with The Production Company, as well as the One Page pitch sheet that I wrote and fired them off. Now that I’ve reread and tweaked the One Page I completely understand why he’s not banging my door down.
It was a piece of crap!
That page is the most anodyne, unemotive, neutral waste of words ever committed to page or screen. I love the script, I love the story, but in that idiotic way that a novice tries to save all of their surprises for the finale, it says nothing! I’ve vaguely written about some stuff that happened, I now realised it was engaging as when I’m on the phone to my Mum and I’m barely listening to nonstories about people I barely recall from my childhood doing nothing…
It said nothing! And certainly, nothing that would convince a stranger to sacrifice an hour and a half of their day to read it, with a view to then spend the next 2 years of their life finding just shy of a million to make it!
At least I know not and can fix it so it won’t disappoint anyone else that gets the chance, well not like that anyway…
I’ve barely looked at Twitter or Instagram, or any of their vacuous ilk since I decided to write this. Partly because my screen is now more visible than it was in the other gaff, and the rampant rattling of keys is less obvious than innocuous silence of browsing. Although the clattering has perhaps been a little out of sync with actual productivity and may prove suspicious by its absence for the remainder of the day/week/month, depending on when I pull my finger out again to commit more waffle to my blogospheric trajectory.