February Sweeps - Day 33

I didn't have much time to write today, though I believe there were still twenty-four hours in the day.  I don't know what happened, exactly.

Except I did go to the library for a little while, and I finished my script (the first draft, at least).  I explained in February that I wrote a short story version of my idea, because I expected it to get rejected.  But to my surprise, they wanted me to go ahead with it, which I got done in three days.

Actually, it was pretty easy, just taking my story, pasting it into a new document, and stripping it way down for a scripted version.  I didn't even change all that much, really, just a few lines of dialogue here and there, as well as softening the tone a little (it was one of the notes I was given, despite me softening it anyway, since it's not really about my dad anymore).

Unfortunately, it looks like my short story may never see the light of day, as the contract they gave me says they own everything, from the finished product to the idea, from the dialogue to the title, from the music to even that stuff that ends up in my bellybutton after I've worn a dark sweater all day.  That upsets me, because of the story I was going to send Marshal, but what can you do?*

I haven't signed the contract, but if I expect to be paid, I'm sure I have to.

Tomorrow I have to be up really early for work, but I fully expect to get some excellent writing done.

I also wrote the first kill in that horror story I keep not finishing.  It really should've been the screenplay, and the script I wrote today should've been the story.

In other news...

'Nuff said.

I was going to go on a hike today, as a reward (??) for finishing my first draft, but my nephew called me to come get him.  He got a headache and had to come home from school early.  My mom is worried that that will happen when I take him to Vegas next week.  And I wasn't worried until she started worrying, like the Coronavirus.

I'm going to set a friendly goal for tomorrow of 2000 words.  One never really knows how long the day will be, which sounds like a song lyric, but isn't.

That reminds me, I (vaguely) know a guy named Tanner and on Monday, that one One Republic song (at least I think it's One Republic) was playing on the radio when I heard him say, "Hey, I'm really sorry" to somebody** and I immediately said, "Oh, it's too late to apologize."

He surprised me by laughing really, really hard at that.  He said it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day.  That made me feel really good.  I think I'll name a Dead & Breakfast character after Tanner.

Or maybe I already have.  It gets hard to remember when you write that many stories in such a short period of time.

Which reminds me, it's four days into the month and I haven't published a doggone thing.  Perhaps I should take a couple of blank sheets of paper to draw cover art with tomorrow.  I keep meaning to (I can always switch it out later).

Words Today: Only 813 (but two were "the end")
Words This Month: 4,791

I was going to leave it at that, but in doing a Google Search (I don't actually use Google--it's too cool for me) for a picture of Jon Lovitz as Harvey Fierstein (that's what the above photo is, in case you're anybody who's not me), I saw this heartbreaking statement come up:

As I have said multiple times in 2020, I'm trying to be more empathetic toward people, and not just focus on me all the time (but hey, focus on me every once in a while, couldn't you?).  There's a downside to empathy, though.  I've read this person's statement/post/message several times through, and it just makes me so sad.  It makes me want to do another #youareenough video.  And other things.

If you've never asked, "What is so wrong with me that I'm friendless and alone?" then take a moment to count yourself fortunate.  Or to consider the less so.  I want to put my arm around this person and say, "Whatever you need, I'm there for you.  You wanna punch me in my stupid mouth?  Go ahead, if it'll make you feel better."

I assume "f 22" refers to the poster's gender and age.  I think of when I was twenty-two, and my best friend and I had made all these plans of stuff we were going to do, bust out of that one-horse town, all the places we would go, drive across the country to hit Disneyland and Universal or Six Flags, find a band we liked and go to their concerts in more than one venue, be each other's best mans at our weddings, go for an aimless drive one afternoon and just camp out under the stars when we got tired of driving . . . and then we went to McDonalds one night and he told me, "I'm sorry, man, none of that stuff is going to happen."  He had met someone, and had inadvertently gotten engaged (oh, I might have only been twenty-one when that happened), and now, all bets were off.

And he was right, we never did any of that stuff.  She didn't like me much, or him doing things away from her, and our friendship just ended up atrophying a little, then a lot.  Guess he was wise beyond his years.

But I shouldn't be talking about me here.  I worry about the above poster.  Man, that sucks to be going through that.

I hope she found friendship and acceptance and someone to share private jokes with and someone to quote Bruno Mars songs to her first thing in the morning.  I hope she didn't give up, and woke up one day and realized that the heartbroken person she was at twenty-two was miles and miles behind her.

It's a nice thought.  But I don't know that life works out like that.  I honestly don't know.

Damn you, Jon Lovitz.

*I guess I could just do it on the Rish Outcast, or in a Patreon address.  Nobody's ever going to listen to those.

**Okay, it was me, but the story works better if it wasn't.