Hot off the Printer

The pages are still warm, and scented with toner.

Mmmm… I like the smell of fresh toner in the morning.

It’s harbinger for all that’s good: a finished project.  After weeks of blood, sweat and a thesaurus, I have completed my screenplay. Or novel. Or how-to guide. A glorious feeling of relief, excitement, and accomplishment floods my synapses and gives me a “I-rock-the-sphere” high that has me rolling on the balls of my feet and humming a few “Ta-Da’s”.

I eagerly grab the paper off the printer, and bring the stack to order by gently tapping the bottom against my desk, while patting the top and smoothing out the edges.

Then I cradle the stack in my hands. I admire the dark black ink decorating the white crispness. I marvel at how I’ve taken all those swimming, speeding, undulating thoughts racing across my brain, zig-zagging from one hemisphere to another, without substance, without matter, and making them into something real and solid, a physical embodiment of my imagination.

I am a god.

For a few seconds.

Then darkness knocks at my door with a sprightly cheerfulness incongruent to all the devastation it’s about to reap, bringing what all writers fear. Not insecurity, doubts or uncertainty. They come later. It brings the most dreaded, dangerous, soul sucking specter of destruction…

The Rough Draft.

Oh yeah, as I hold the papers in my hands I can’t resist reading them. Just a peek. Just to prove what a star I really am. I know what I’ve written is gold. I want to recapture the glory and bask in my brilliance.

But what do I see… Is that a typo? Does the character really sound like that? Who wrote this description—a first grader? Could the motivation be more contrived? And where’s the bam? In fact the entire screenplay is a snore fest with convoluted plot twists. It completely sucks. Why do I bother writing? I am clearly over my head!

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Think positive. Happy Thoughts. Back away from the shredder.  The end of the second act isn’t too shabby. And there are moments of witty repartee that delight. It is salvageable. It’s just not done. Again.

But in the back of my mind, as a read what I consider my greatest monstrosity yet, I can’t help thinking, the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect different results.