The week passed in an eye blink, except when implementing The Last Track edits. I had hoped to bask in the home stretch by today, but alas, nearly a hundred pages remain. So that’s it, I’m dropping the hammer for real now. Nothing fun, irritating or distracting is coming before finishing a large chunk of these revisions tomorrow.

Except one bit of frivolity…

Four consecutive days away from work did wonders for my interest and focus level in writing. The 2006-2007 school year is now a memory. During the regrouping period, I watched a bunch of DVD’s, read a few books and tackled those edits. Roughly one hundred and forty pages remain to be implemented.

It’s been a long road and the end of this journey is near. The Last Track took almost three years to move from a very rough draft to something I can pitch to any agent or interested party with confidence. There is really nothing more I can do with this manuscript that would improve it more than changing the toner cartridge in the printer; I left nothing on the table. Back then, if someone told me what a pain in the ass writing a novel is, really the effort it takes to get it right, to make it the best I’m capable of, I would have pushed them down the stairs for heresy. And I wouldn’t have listened, either. Writing is mystical, magical, worth any sacrifice. Right?

More often than not the process has been fun, and it is its own reward. Ultimately, I did it because I have to, and no matter what happens now, to me the ride was worth the fuel cost for the trip. Even at full retail. Sometimes I wonder if it was worth a divorce, but that’s another discussion.

Though all the above rational are valid, I’ll state this with absolute conviction: I’m aching to start another project. Whether it’s resuming The Confession, or a new screenplay idea, I’m ready for new ground. Oh, the places I will go.

Boy, 40 days of quiet time, free meals and a private room sure can make a body miserable.

At…long…last I reached the halfway mark on Oriana’s edits. Yay!

Never have I struggled so much with revisions. Line edits have proven incredibly painful for two reasons:

1) Her corrections are right on the money. Every time I start doubting the red pen, I read the before and after version aloud. Oriana: 841. Me: 5.

2) Where she misses the mark–this is rare–she’s close enough that I yield. Begrudgingly. When I make some bank doing this, I’ll call more of the shots.

Hope to finish all line edits on The Last Track by June 18th, which is the point full on active querying resumes–if necessary. In her infinite kindness, Oriana offered a second pass, probably very granular touch ups.

My check for the Nicholl’s competition cleared, so it’s a good bet my entry reached them in time. In six weeks they announce semi-finalists, which is a good turnaround for judges who consider 5,000 screenplays. By the way, the only contest I would consider entering that has a fee is Nicholl’s, because no other competition offers such a generous prize ( $30,000 ), publicity and a chance for five pitch meetings with studio executives. A review of the last ten year’s winners reveals that within two to three years of taking home the gold, nearly the entire winner’s circle are full-time screenwriters. Therefore, there is a direct and tangible benefit of winning the contest.

And a chance like that is worth a few bucks on the front end.

After copious amounts of seafood, steak, and music, the 2007 school year ended with a bang. And a few coffin sized coolers of booze. For the first time in my tenure, I stayed on campus; one of the teachers lent me her son’s bed, since he was visiting relatives. Corbin, their house cat, slept next to me just like Buddhapuss. Walking back to my car the morning after was a very strange experience–rather like stumbling between the dorm and the dining hall after an intense bender. And the fact I had my parent’s green hate tank, instead of my own car.

Speaking of the trusty 2001 Nissan, I walked out the UPS store Saturday afternoon and discovered a shiny white 5 series BMW parked in the fire lane in front of Blockbuster’s blocking me into my legal, striped spot. Where others might see inconvenience, I see a chance for entertainment.

And maybe a paradigm shift. I cranked the ignition, dropped the car into gear, and rolled backwards..slowly. When it became clear I was not yielding to their socio economic statement, the honking started. I continued in reverse. More honking. About two feet before I left gray marks on the passenger front panel, the BMW driver confronted three realities:

1) My car is old and looks it.

2) I probably wasn’t stopping.

3) Should we collide and report the accident for insurance claims, there is no justification for parking in a fire lane to drop off a DVD. That’s a pretty hefty citation on top of the other essentially needless repairs.

And so the 5 series backed out of the fire lane and I completed my K turn. Pulling even with the car, I waved to my new friends and drove off in good spirits. Curiously, they refused eye contact.

Not sure what’s up with that…* evil grin *