Last night, I went through a bunch of my old writing stuff during the Eagles game. Im trying to piece together a picture of what stuff I have and what stuff I might be well-considered to develop. What I decided is that everything i have sucks and will only make bad movies. I will die destitute, my name, like Ed Woods, a punchline.

Maybe its not as bad as all that. Maybe. It does look like I have a lot of work to do, though, and Im not really sure how to shoehorn it in with everything else I do. I think I have to do less, but the only stuff I can cut out lives in the “for fun” category, and, while some people can probably function in a fun-vacuum (a fun-cuum? Sounds like a comic book villains weapon), Im pretty sure that I cannot.

Between now and the end of the month, Id like to get things in some kind of order, story-wise. Ive stopped again with the writing of the Brooklyn Project serial pieces, although I have the best of intentions (and wrote one last one the other day under the influence of too much wine). I havent worked on the Shock Jock outlines in two months, and I havent figured out if Leilani and her sunken ship are even worthy of a film. Theyre almost worthy, but by that logic, what isnt?

I know Ive complained incessantly about the lack of input in my writing since Ive been to LA, so I wont do it again. Im going to try a different tack, I think, and just see where it gets me. Also, I think Im going to stretch ideas out in casual conversation by lying in a grandiose fashion to total strangers. They might think Im crazy, but if it helps me get something written, maybe thats okay.