Writing Life: This Feature Isn't Going to Write Itself (Or: The Vomit Draft)

So, I'm about a third of the way through writing the feature script I mentioned last time. Reason for celebration? Hardly. I can't help but beat myself up for not being further along.

I was at a WGA Foundation event the other night and one of the panelists talked about the fact that uncertainty is a part of being a writer, no matter whether you're a showrunner, a staff writer, or a baby writer just starting out. Being a writer is being uncertain. About your skills, your work, yourself. You're full of doubt about everything because that's part and parcel often about being a writer. 

I've been agonizing over this script in a way that I haven't with my others, reworking the first act over and over again, rewriting dialogue and scenes, and taking tentative baby steps when I ought to be making huge leaps.

Life has a way of intruding upon writing, whether it's family, relationships, work, stress, time, etc. There have been a number of starts and stops with this one in a way that hasn't been the case with writing my spec pilot scripts.

I'm not a procrastinator by nature. (Though if I sometimes fall down that rabbit hole, it's often into an nth rewatch of Parks and Recreation Season 2 on Netflix.) I don't believe in the blank page. I do believe in what I like to call the "vomit draft" of a script: that first draft where you don't hold back anything, you don't censor yourself, you don't agonize over every line of dialogue. Whether it's screenwriting or journalism, I've always been a big believer in that concept. When you're a journalist with a deadline of a day, or an hour, or 20 minutes, you can't agonize over every word and every comma: you've got to get something on the page and publish ASAP.

This is not to say that your vomit draft will be perfect. Far from it! But that's not the point. The idea is to not hold back, to not get stuck in your head, to turn off that little voice of self-doubt or your personal censor and JUST GET IT ON THE PAGE. You can fix it later. You can edit later. You can rewrite later. You can throw the whole thing out if you like. But later.

Now is about just filling the blank space, trying to get the words out of your head and onto the page. Nuance can come later. Witty repartee can be added when you are in the right headspace and can focus on the dialogue. But the vomit draft is all about speed, efficiency, and progress. You've just got to move ahead. You can't get stuck in the weeds if you're going 120 miles per hour.

The past few weeks have been filled with detours, family drama, and setbacks. But I was reminded about the vomit draft and it reminded me of how I've practiced that speed and pedal-to-the-metal determination for over a decade. I need to get back to that mentality, to forge ahead and not self-censor. To lose myself in writing again and lose track of the time, the outside world, the multitude of commitments and worries and what-ifs.

Because that's what writing has been for me: a state of mind-altering bliss where I can lose myself for hours without getting up from the computer. And I need to reclaim that ethos again.

After all, this feature isn't going to write itself.