...For me to be blogging about (like my day, heh) but I thought this was amusing:
Last night I started breaking story for this episode of television I'm working on. It's not there yet, but I have arcs for the characters and I know where I want it to go.
It was hard work, but incredibly satisfying.
And sitting back against the wall with my eyes closed, thinking about things like A-story and B-story and act outs, it occurred to me that, hey, maybe I can do this.
Just like it occurred to me this weekend that I shouldn't be going to school here, I should be going to school in L.A. But that is for another time.
Now, I have to go to class.
Also, you guys, college is going to make me fat. The food here is suck. =(
So I haven't written prose in a while. And I opened a new Final Draft document but ended up running away, so I did this instead. It's rough and short, but after being blocked for a while... it's something. :)
"What are you doing?" she said.
"Nothing," he said, and picked up another stone to skip it across the stream.
The breeze ruffled through a nearby branch shaking a few leaves from their perch, fiery in their death.
She watched them flutter to the ground. "I've always wondered why leaves are prettiest when they die."
"Isn't that morbid?" he said, the stone agreeing with a wet plop as it sunk. "Damn."
"Your mother told you not to swear," she said automatically.
"You better not tattle."
"No, I won't. And no, it's not morbid."
"What's not?" He wasn't looking at her, instead examining yet another stone, this one flatter than the other.
"Thinking about the leaves, when they die. Think about it. They turn such pretty colors."
"Maybe they've got the right idea," he said, tossing the stone in his hand thoughtfully before chucking it into the water. It resounded with another plunk. He shrugged. "Going out in a blaze of glory and the like."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she said, now sitting beside him, legs dangling over the creek bed.
"Dunno. Heard it somewhere."
"Oh. Well, maybe."
They sat in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
Lazy Friday afternoon, fluffy white clouds outside my open window dancing to my music, pine trees remaining stationary and silent in their vigil.
I'm swaying to this song on repeat, holed up in my dorm room, door ajar. People walk past, some going to class, others going home for the long weekend. To say that I'm not a little jealous of them would be a lie, but that's okay.
In my mind, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere warm, somewhere comfortable.
Is it December yet?
There are so many things I want to say bubbling up inside me, but I don't know how to say them yet.
I will say this:
I love Maine. I love you. And I wish you were here to share this with me.
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