Reay Jespersen

Just to keep you posted, there are three writing-related items of note at this point:

1) A local agency I’d pitched to late last year has recently gotten back in touch with me asking to get a sample of my material.

2) A local group of producers who created and sold the first season of a new series to an international network has expressed interest in checking out my TV series ideas for potentially producing, and are currently reviewing the package of material I sent their way.

3) Barry just sent me a link to a site that has one page screenplay competitions. There are a handful of drabbles I’ve written up that I think would lend themselves well to such tight length constraints. The dealine’s in a week and a half, so I’ve got to get my screenwriting software re-installed on my new desktop and get crackin’.

As night fell, he stood on the edge of the building, watching. Some of the local capes had already paid him a visit, telling him to toe the proverbial company line with either veiled or blunt threats; some even questioning which side of the law he stood on. Which should have been obvious: he only pursued those wrongly escaping the loose-knit net of the law. Criminals, rapists and killers walked free routinely. Their victims deserved justice, and if the law failed to deliver it, he was certainly going to.

Time to get to work.
He leaped from the building.

There was a shy knock on the door. Judy answered it, finding Satan standing on the doorstep.
“Morning, Stan,” she said cheerfully, always having been more comfortable with the truncation.
“Morning, Judy,” Satan said warmly. “Listen, my, uh… lawnmower’s acting up again, and I’m sure you’ve noticed my front lawn…” He smiled sheepishly as she nodded. The neighbourhood committee would have a fit.
“Ours is in the garage,” she said. “Help yourself.” He thanked her and left.
She closed the door, shaking her head. Always loaning to him. Such was life in street number 668, the neighbour of the Beast.

Jed stood on the dropfloor in rank with the other soldiers, all standing in armoured exoatmospheric suits. The computerized voice in their helmets let them know it was fifteen seconds to drop. Those who didn’t already have their visors down and locked did so, and got into drop formation.

Jed and the others would drop through the hatch doors and fall from ultra-low orbit to strike the target far below with extreme prejudice.

Five seconds.

Jed always hated this part. It wasn’t the flight or hitting the ground, but the initial, lurching drop that always got him.

He fell.

He balled up the note paper and threw it into the round waste bin. That wasn’t right. What was he trying to say? Something about cycles… repetition. The former professor left his desk and began a casual pace, letting his mind wander, which always cleared it.
He sauntered past his bed, and past the doctors studying him through the round portal-like window in his padded door.
Ah-ha! He ran to the note pad and wrote down his thoughts.
He studied them.

He balled up the note paper and threw it into the round waste bin. That wasn’t right…

It was just a matter of time, really. Here I was, all gung-ho about having this one main concept in my head (a kids’ book with a brother and sister going on a huge adventure, in the tone of Narnia but minus the religious overtones) and being able to focus on that as my main writing project. And then it happened: other totally viable, appealing ideas popped into my head. And not along the same lines, either. As my brain is wont to do, it went for a wander and came up with something totally different than what’s at hand: in this case, a concept for a horror film. Better still, as a quick check of IMDb told me, one whose name (which is tied directly to the thrust of the idea) has surprisingly never been used for a horror film before. And in fact, while I was writing down the concept for that, an idea for another horror film occurred to me, so I wrote down that one, as well.

So back the old conundrum: to continue with Project 1, which has a lot of promise and cool potential but which has now dimmed somewhat next to the shining star of the newer idea (I am somewhat like a crow in this respect, always getting distracted by and attracted to the sparkle of a new idea), or start with Project 2, which appeals more so will inherently lead to better writing than something I’m making myself do less willingly, but which will leave Project 1 undone? The real hell of it, and this has been proven countless times before, is that if I start Project 2, another idea will come along part way in, and it’s back to square one. It could all be shown in a very small, sad flow chart.

My mind, however, was already made up for me a while ago. Not in regard to the specific Project 1 vs. Project 2 in this case (and did I mention how awesome both ideas are? Because really…), but rather, the decision to stop leaving work undone in favour of a more sparkly idea. As has been demonstrated to an embarrassing degree in the past, that invariably leads to a whole lot more stuff started than finished, which rather defeats the purpose of my wanting to finish writing projects in order to peddle them to publishers and producers. And other “p” words.

So there you have it: the awesome Project 2 will have to wait its turn until awsome Project 1 is completed. Which may take some time, but that’s the way it’s gotta be. That, as the kids these days say (because I’m nothing if not “street”), is the way I roll.

Word.

Just as a note, today marks precisely the half-way point of Tracy’s 100 words for 100 days challenge. I’m still going strong, sometimes just ensuring I make those 100 words minimum (Drabbles, and such), but as often doing more than that (and on occasion, much more; my daytime high thus far is slightly over 2200 words).

I already know I’m going to keep up the daily writing even after the challenge is done, but I’m looking forward to rocking the last half of it.