My sense of optimism from yesterday evaporated first thing this morning, as is the way of these things.

Got that First Draft completed, but I look at it, and it’s a stodgy, unfocused thing with crass dialogue, cliched characters, a confused narrative and a rickety structure. It’s pale and bland, like an unhealthy brick of lard, and seems light years from anything resembling a coherent script.

It doesn’t seem to help that the scripts I read every week are usually glittery, poised and delicate things, beautiful in their simplicity, breathtaking in their brevity.

But at least this first draft exists. It’s there. And it won’t go away. It’s ready to transmit, even if, just at the moment, the signal is weak.

Hey-ho, there’s only one thing I can do in the circumstances. Shove it in a drawer for several weeks or months.

And rack up some more of those 10,000 hours on something else.

I want that MA to start, and soon.