By the time I get the final scenes done, the proto-draft will hover around one hundred thousand words. Much too long but that’s all right. First you weave the fabric, then you cut out the garment. Yes, I’d love to get everything right in one take/it’s a wrap. Maybe if I live to be a hundred?
Stories never play out the way you’d like. Take your favorite fantasy whatever it may be. The kind you prefer to alcohol or sleeping pills as your bedtime ritual. You’ve put aside the book you’re reading (Moby Dick in this instance). Shooed away concerns about schedules, bills, what such-and-such meant when he/she said… You’ve picked up the fantasy where you left off the night before. Tarnation and may your twisted mind be damned – it ain’t playing like you want it to. Happens. Often.
Spent some time at a musician friend’s house next door yesterday. He was recording a musical group of three other friends. The sound “studio”? Laughable. A room stuffed with – with stuff. Plus instruments. Plus mikes, stands, musical scores, cabling, empty beer bottles, full wine glasses and overflowing ashtrays. Think the documentary Supermen of Malegaon and you’ll get a sense of how creativity plays out, far from the multi-million worlds of big-bigger-biggest deals.
Are we there yet, characters?
Not quite. Almost. You’ll be disappointed, they say. They’re a considerate bunch. They know me well by now. They hate to let me down, yet they know they must.
Allez? To a 4/4 beat? A 5/8?