I’ve never liked award shows, which is why it’s weird that I’ve done good enough to be nominated for one.
Screenwriting was the category, the most important, yet least appreciated, part of the filmmaking process, at least from my experience. I wrote a screenplay, an original, thank god, that an old friend of mine liked. He passed it on to one of his other old friends, who then went to another old friend. Then that old friend gave it to a director who convinced one of the big time producers to make a movie out of it. There were some edits to the script and a lot of improvisation during the actual movie, but it was still my name on the paper. A good enough name to be projected onto a big screen in front of the most prestigious and connected in Hollywood.
Now I’m here. At least I got some credit for my work, for once. Everyone I know just goes for directing.
Whether they are acting, editing, catering, or playing with their own, cheap, camcorder cameras, people want to be the big man in the chair. Never the guy in front of the computer, or the typewriter if you are just that old.
I don’t blame them, really. That is just how life goes, but it does get lonely when you have nobody to talk to about the craft of clacking keyed letters into something profound or facetious, depending on the kind of script you’re writing.
For the winner comes some recognition for the work they put in so far, as well as the pathway for future jobs from those who want a writer for a guide to artistic acclaim. For the losers, it is back to the writing salt mines. Back to the obscurity and the endless networking and emails, just for the chance of getting nominated again.
Screenwriting was the category, the most important, yet least appreciated, part of the filmmaking process, at least from my experience. I wrote a screenplay, an original, thank god, that an old friend of mine liked. He passed it on to one of his other old friends, who then went to another old friend. Then that old friend gave it to a director who convinced one of the big time producers to make a movie out of it. There were some edits to the script and a lot of improvisation during the actual movie, but it was still my name on the paper. A good enough name to be projected onto a big screen in front of the most prestigious and connected in Hollywood.
Now I’m here. At least I got some credit for my work, for once. Everyone I know just goes for directing.
Whether they are acting, editing, catering, or playing with their own, cheap, camcorder cameras, people want to be the big man in the chair. Never the guy in front of the computer, or the typewriter if you are just that old.
I don’t blame them, really. That is just how life goes, but it does get lonely when you have nobody to talk to about the craft of clacking keyed letters into something profound or facetious, depending on the kind of script you’re writing.
For the winner comes some recognition for the work they put in so far, as well as the pathway for future jobs from those who want a writer for a guide to artistic acclaim. For the losers, it is back to the writing salt mines. Back to the obscurity and the endless networking and emails, just for the chance of getting nominated again.
I hope it will be me, if only because I don’t think it will be me.
Will the judges, the voters, the academy, the universe, defy my expectations?
That script did take five years to complete, after all. One of my first stories. The one I felt the most passion for when I first started my career in writing. It would be nice.
My shelves have also been feeling very empty these past few weeks. They could use a golden statue to brighten things up.
The two presenters share a joke I can’t laugh at. One of them breaks the wax seal and holds the letter up for the other to read. There is a moment of suspense, a smile on the presenter’s lips as she rises up to declare the winner.
And the award... Does not go to me.
Better luck next time, I guess.
This was fun.
Hours pass. I walk home, after congratulating the other winners of course, thinking about what I should write next.
Ideas are already bubbling up from my mind. For the first time tonight, this is the best I’ve ever felt.
That script did take five years to complete, after all. One of my first stories. The one I felt the most passion for when I first started my career in writing. It would be nice.
My shelves have also been feeling very empty these past few weeks. They could use a golden statue to brighten things up.
The two presenters share a joke I can’t laugh at. One of them breaks the wax seal and holds the letter up for the other to read. There is a moment of suspense, a smile on the presenter’s lips as she rises up to declare the winner.
And the award... Does not go to me.
Better luck next time, I guess.
This was fun.
Hours pass. I walk home, after congratulating the other winners of course, thinking about what I should write next.
Ideas are already bubbling up from my mind. For the first time tonight, this is the best I’ve ever felt.
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