I finished a first draft last week. It’s what I call a working first draft – a partially muscled skeleton of a script that I don’t show anyone for fear of their never reading my scripts again. I think one of William Goldman‘s Screentrade Adventures – or was it Stephen King‘s On Writing? – had a name for it. Can’t find the reference. Anyway:
- I have completed a draft;
- it has a beginning, middle and end;
- and I’m still excited by the idea behind it.
While I was typing out the epilogue, I found I had a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye – touching reminders of why I’m so attached to the story. It was great. If When I have that effect on the reader a few drafts from now, I’ll be pretty effin’ stoked.
The current draft is a pretty measly 85 pages long. The story’s a 120 page kind of script. The missing pages are currently in the form of, at best –
INT. HERO’S PARENTS’ HOUSE – EVENING
Our HERO has dinner with his MOTHER and FATHER.
– SAYS SOMETHING TO REINFORCE HIS ALREADY-ESTABLISHED RELUCTANCE WITH WHICH HE DINES WITH HIS PARENTS –
– SAYS SOMETHING TO REINFORCE HIS PREVIOUSLY HINTED AT DISAPPOINTMENT WITH HERO –
MOTHER puts her cutlery down.
Stop it – just stop it!
HERO and FATHER look at her.
– or, at worst –
INT. HEROINE’S OFFICE – EVENING
PLACEHOLDER – until I decide how to establish our HEROINE as ‘a woman not to mess with’ without making her come across as having regular testosterone injections.
This week is time-out from the script. I’ve got my work cut out for me.
And I can’t wait.