Writing a script is always a scary thing. Why, you may ask? Because I have no confidence in my words. Because hey, I’ve written awful crap before. And the thing is you don’t know it’s crap until its too late. And once you know you’ve committed that mistake there’s always that trepidation that you’ll do it again. So I’ve been second guessing myself for what feels like years now.
Not to say the second-guessing isn’t warranted. In hindsight, a lot of that stuff I written since was crap.
And one assumes that it takes a certain amount of crap to wad through before you reach what might be good stuff. But how do I know when I’ve crossed that threshold? Because I think I finally have a script that I don’t hate. I don’t see anything particularly wrong with it. I just don’t know if anything’s right with it. Is this the one worth taking beyond paper and putting myself through the stress of having to interact with people and spending money and shooting and not being a lazy bum over? Because I do have that itch.
But you know, I’ve been starring at those pages on and off over the span of a year. I can’t tell anymore. So then I have to ask people to read it, and I hate doing that. Hate it something short of burning rage. Because don’t people have better things to do with their time than to humor me? They probably do. It creates this odd feeling of guilt, imposing myself on someone I would call a friend. “Hey friend, I’m gonna make you do an hour or two of homework! And you’ll either do it and resent me for it, or ignore me and I’ll assume you don’t like me anymore.” I hate that shit.
But I do it anyway, because… I don’t know. I crave validation? I want someone to tell me how awful I am at this shit so I can move on? I don’t know. Am I any good at this shit? I don’t know. Probably not. I just don’t like asking people for favors.