Wow! I can hardly believe it. Brigitta the novel and Brigitta the screenplay are both done. Four years and nine total drafts of the story. No more editing! Well, until a producer or editor tells me to, but only if they pay me first!
So, what's next? The possibilities are endless... first draft of the 2nd novel? Edit an old screenplay? Something brand new? I love starting new things...
Actually, I took a break yesterday to celebrate (I'm a hard core Victoria Day observer). And today, I started editing a series of poems from almost 4 years ago. I've always wanted to finish them and it feels like a nice change of pace.
If you don't write poetry, I highly recommend it. You can write or edit a poem in an hour. You can finish it and feel complete. That doesn't happen as often with scripts or novels. Short stories are good for that too, but nothing beats dashing off a poem. Well, okay, getting paid a lot of money for dashing off a poem would beat that.
The project is called The Polly Papers for reasons I won't explain just yet. And since you've been so patient with me, I'm going to share a draft of one of the Polly Paper poems I worked on today. It's still pretty raw, so be gentle with me (see? even seasoned - salt & peppered - writers get nervous about sharing their work-in-progress). And I have no idea if blogger will keep the line breaks correctly. Ask my editor / publisher how anal I am about my line breaks. Grrrrr.
Ext. Polly and the Sun
Polly becomes a measurement
Something besides the waxing of the
moon to tell time
She doesn’t want this kind of
Someone will discover something about
themselves, she thinks
and blame it on me
A hungry seagull catches a crab in
the water w/a quick dive
brings it to the beach and swallows
still snapping in its belly
Things often gnaw at her
from the inside
like at the Last Hour of existence
would she know where her
Significant Other was?
Today the egg section at Safeway
was empty a strange reflection of
the Last Night on Earth when everything
was up for grabs: cheap wine, cars,
No one wanted to die alone
Except one young gentleman who had
loved once and lost
Polly could relate to that
not the loved and lost part
the alone thing
controlling how you go
Eventually she will leave
she “accidentally” turns her laundry pink
so she can throw it
As if she needed any more pressure
behind her sighs