Goodbye Treacle

Work Buddy and Terpsichore, the governess who expertly guides us through the twists and turns of the pharma business, call them Treacle Days: times when you’re floundering around and don’t seem to be making any progress. The past week has felt like that.

Is there something about January that messes to the wiring in our brains? My Best Girl used to say that she felt “out of sorts” on days like these.

I guess it came from trying to chase down an idea that stayed just beyond my grasp. And it bugged me. Last week I had to go out two days in a row just as the weather turned, wandering about scribbling notes, just to try and clear out my head and hunt the little sonofabitch down. That vexed me more.

Who was it said that the actual writing of the script comes last and takes the least amount of time? I’d put my money on Goldman, but I could be wrong. Each night I’d sift through the pages of notes that littered the desk, trying to make the connections, looking for the in.

I don’t see the point of starting a script until I have the plot, characters and motivation, and a true grasp of everything involved sorted in my head. Starting out without them fully clarified, what’s the point? It may all come together over time, but more likely than not the pages will end up abandoned in a desk drawer after the flaws become too pronounced.

I like to know the foundations are solid, which usually means the detailed treatments to work from are almost non-formatted scripts with described dialogue. It’s virtually prose, but then that’s where I started out.

What I was looking for wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. Maybe I was looking for a distraction.