Today I had an idea for a screenplay I want to write.
I really like this one too, but I don’t have time to put it to paper. There’s a lot on my plate right now.
This has happened before. Had I world enough and time, there are probably three or four screenplays, novels, and clusters of short stories I’d be working on.
But writing stuff is so time consuming.
If you really have respect for the art, you have to take it seriously. That means agonizing over structure and crafting every phrase into the perfect vehicle for your thoughts.
I wish I could duplicate myself for the sake of exploring every project I want to undertake.
There’d be the Alex working on his doctorate in Medieval studies. Next to him is the tea-drinking, weak-eyed novelist, Alexander. Then there’s Zander, the screenwriter, whose pages are dominated by labyrinthine notes, rough-hewn storyboards, and coffee stains.
(We all think he’s a bit of an asshole, especially since he started asking everyone to call him “Zander”, but he has some solid ideas)
Even this fantasy has its problems though. Almost immediately after wishing for my artistic duplicates, I realize that I’d probably start to mistrust them.
I’d be reading an article on Old English versification of Latin prose and glance over at Alexander. I’d ask how his latest chapter’s coming and just wouldn’t be able to resist making a suggestion or two, maybe questioning his overtly terse sentence structure.
Knowing he’s me, he’d in turn be worried that I wasn’t working hard enough or on the right track. “Have you finished sketching out your Major Field proposal?” he’d say with a smug little glance over his thick glasses . I’d resentfully turn back to my article. He just doesn’t understand the process…
Naturally, Zander would be working on his screenplay at some barely known coffee shop. Pretentious fuck. Do you really have to be seen writing something to write it?
That actually sounds like kind of a fun story that I won’t have time to write.
This post is not quite as therapeutic as I’d hoped.
In any case, I suppose I’ll just have to keep slogging through my impulses and ambitions, and the ones that lodge themselves in my brain long enough just might find realization some day.