I confessed that I was dragging my feet on writing the Season Finale of my TV series because I didn’t want to be finished spending time with those characters.
I also feared that I would finish the script, deliver it to my producer, and then nothing would happen.
Like I said, sometimes I hate it when I’m right.
It’s been three weeks since I finished Episode 10, and there has still been no feedback on the script from my producer, nor has there been the even more important conversation about how we move forward from here.
Sure, there were a few emails promising a phone call, and one where he dared to tell me to relax, but that phone call still hasn’t happened.
And how well do you think I’m doing with the whole relaxing thing?
I hate the way I feel right now, and I believe I have every right to be frustrated. I dedicated almost a year to creating this series, outlining the stories, and then writing the scripts.
I did that in addition to working my full time job, writing for The Nite Show, running five days a week, and fighting my way through a Maine winter.
All the sacrifice, hard work, and lack of sleep was worth it, though, because I knew I was on to something special with this project. I was also tired of waiting for Hollywood to come calling, so I made a conscious choice to take more control of my writing career by creating something of my own.
The mere thought of having to market myself to Hollywood makes my face melt like I glanced at the Ark of the Covenant.
I’m not good at playing the Hollywood game. I’m not a schmoozer. I don’t have the confidence needed to cold call agencies and production companies. I lack the daily recommended amount of narcissism necessary to wheel and deal my way to a deal.
What I can do is create a TV series, write every word of every script for Season One, and deliver a kick ass story that people will want to binge watch.
I just can’t take it to the next level. If I had the money and the resources, I’d go all Kevin Smith on this bad boy and make it myself. But I don’t have a comic book collection to sell, nor do I have access to a college dorm and a mansion.
And so I wait.
Still dreaming of the day I walk into the production office, see my name on the door, and the show’s title plastered everywhere.
I’m jotting down notes for Season Two. Even fleshing out ideas for other series so when this one hits it big, and people come to me looking for my next project, I’m ready to go.
I’m just dying of frustration in the process.
You don’t even know how difficult it has been for me to keep my cool through all this. I finally wrote to the producer the other night, and keeping that email civil was, perhaps, my greatest challenge as a writer.
I really don’t know what to do right now. I’m hoping that venting on my blog will lessen my frustration, but even so, it will only be a temporary fix.
I’m open to suggestions, soothing words, and gifts of a chocolate peanut butter nature. Thanks for listening, Modern Philosophers. It’s nice to know someone is listening as I die a slow, painful death by frustration as I try to live my Hollywood dream…