On a Writer's Life

MONDAY

11:15 AM
Wake up bright and early to get started writing. But first...breakfast. Ham and eggs with cinnamon powder sprinkled all over everything = yummy.

12:30 PM
With breakfast safely out of the way, realize that it’s already lunchtime. My, how time flies. Help myself to some more ham and cinna-eggs. God, so good. Now, on to the writing...

3:45 PM
Interrupted right in the middle of a very tense Halo game by bossy agent wanting to talk about the direction my career is taking. Explain that this is a really bad time and hang up, but it’s too late...the other team has already scored. They are cheaters and I HATE THEM. Depression sets in.

6:19 PM
Finally get around to calling agent back. He reminds me that the romantic comedy script I promised Paramount is due Friday morning, and wants to know whether he can read it yet. I haughtily explain that I haven't felt the need to write anything yet. Agent acts like a dick about the whole situation, to be honest. His negative energy is distracting me from more important tasks, such as smuggling this bomb inside Zanzibar’s base. Agent asks, goddamn it, are you still playing Halo? I hang up quickly. He’s a wily one, that agent.

9:30 PM
Two and a Half Men? More like Two and a Half Million Laughs!

11:00 PM
On the whole, a productive day, even if I didn’t get any writing done. I celebrate with a few beers.


TUESDAY

2:43 PM
Wake up caked in vomit with a splitting headache. Looks like it’s going to be another one of those Tuesdays. Wash down some Tylenol with a few bourbon shots and sit naked in the shower until I feel better.

5:15 PM
Get out of the shower. Wife and kids are already home, getting dinner ready. Wife asks if I got any writing done today. The lie comes to my lips easily. Maybe a little too easily, I will later muse. But by that point, I will already be drunk again.

9:34 PM
Made some real progress this evening...the script now has a title! Decided to call it LOVE. Short. Simple. To the point. Why has nobody ever thought of this before? I celebrate my greatness with bourbon.

11: 58 PM
Room spinning. Oh well. Pledge to wake up bright and early tomorrow to get some real work done.


WEDNESDAY

9:45 AM
Too bright. Too early.

11:30 AM
Finally roll out of bed. Could really go for some ham ‘n cinna-eggs right about now.

12:40 PM
Polish off third plate of cinna-eggs. Leave the dishes in the sink for the wife to worry about. I’m a WRITER, not some Puerto-Rican dishwasher, and I’ve got writerly things to do.

2:55 PM
Stare at blank computer screen for two hours. Much like my bowels, my imagination appears totally blocked. I need a turkey-baster filled with piping hot inspiration to loosen the blockage and send my brilliance gushing forth in a brilliant stream of gushing words. No better place to find inspiration than the pages of my favorite magazine...Variety!

4:21 PM
SCRIP DOC HAM HOCKS SOCK HOP? What the fuck does that even mean? I don’t understand a single goddamned article here. I think RAYROM is supposed to be Ray Romano, maybe? He’s either playing a vampire in a movie or he turned into a real-life vampire, I’m not sure which.

9:02 PM
You know, that Lost show just plain confuses me. Why don’t they use their cell phones to call for help? That’s the first thing I’d do. Just goes to show why those guys are stuck writing for TV instead of working in the Major Leagues.

9:03 PM
Inspiration strikes: I shall watch Major League.

11:10 PM
Wild Thang! Da-da-daaa-da! You make my heart sang! Da-da-daaa-da! Oh man, what a classic. They just don’t make ‘em that good anymore.

11:48 PM
Drinking interrupted by phone call from annoying agent. Yes, yes, 24 hours until deadline, got it. I inform agent that script is already finished and is in excellent shape, since that’s obviously what he wants to hear. Agent is so relieved he starts crying, right there on the telephone. Seems like a situation rife with comedic potential, so I go ahead and tell him I was lying and haven’t written a single word. Agent starts crying again, but in a different, sadder way. I hang up to avoid embarrassing him any further. Plus, Halo match about to start.


THURSDAY (DAY OF DOOM)

9:55 AM
Wake up unreasonably early with a bad feeling in the pit of stomach. There’s something I’m supposed to do today. Something important. Was it eating breakfast? Perhaps. Just to be safe, I eat four whole plates of cinna-eggs.

10:56 AM
Tuckered out from all that eating. Settle down for a nice, long nap.

2:19 PM
Oh no.

3:00 PM
Writing feverishly. What should I name the characters? Decide on Bob and Roberta. As if it matters. Can’t think of names for their wisecracking best friends, so I call them Mr. T and Sassy Lesbian. I’ll find/replace better names later if I have time.

3:29 PM
Okay, concentrate. What should this stupid story be about? What was the title again? LOVE? Yeah, fine, whatever. He can be a quirky architect, and she’s a champion dog breeder or something. Whoops, the building he designed fell over and squashed one of her dogs! Now we’ve got some goddamn character-derived drama to bring them together! I’m a genius.

3:45 PM
Supposed to pick up son from soccer practice. Fuck him. Can't afford to break this writing streak. Must remember to call wife to pick up son instead.

6:19 PM
Wife asks where son is. Forced to explain that he's probably sitting on a park bench at the soccer field, staring off sadly into the distance. Wife got upset. Fuck her. Nobody understands an artist.

8:28 PM
This thing needs some tragedy. Hey, Mr. T, watch out for that bus! Ha ha! See you in Hell, Mr. T! What page am I on…oh God, only 52? Need at least 30 more. Maybe just 20 if they’re triple-spaced and really good. Don’t want to wear out my welcome, after all.

10:43 PM
Bourbon makes my writing sing. I’m David Fucking Mamet right now. I don’t even remember killing off Sassy Lesbian, but the other characters seem sad, so I guess she’s gone now. Sorry, Molly Shannon, no happy ending for your character, ha ha. 72 pages now. That’s enough, right? I think so. Time to wrap this bastard up.

11:58 PM
Surprise, surprise: Bob and Roberta are in love. Smooch, smooch, let’s have a baby and live together forever, we’re so happy, who gives a shit. FADE OUT. SAVE AND QUIT. No time to spell-check. Email script to agent, along with a severely-worded note expressing my dissatisfaction with his conduct over the last week. Debate ending the email with “you cocksucker,” which seems needlessly antagonistic. Then again, a chastised agent is a productive agent…isn’t that the old saying? Positive I heard that saying somewhere. Decide to leave “cocksucker” in and send the email on its merry way.


FRIDAY

12:01 AM
Time for bed, and for a well-deserved rest. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.