I thought I broke the story for the rewrite of the Harlem movie.
I thought I broke the story during our trip to Cedar Rapids. My brain had some downtime while we were there. No surprise really: the retirement home, while lovely, was not exactly a hotbed of buzzing energy, and Cedar Rapids itself -- well, it does have a Starbucks but not much else.
So what I'm trying to say is that I thought I broke the story.
I repeat: I THOUGHT I broke the story.
Now that I've had some time to think about it, back here in the madness of everyday life, I realize that story just doesn't hold up as is.
So I did not break the story, yet it is broken.
Maybe it means I can't think clearly when there's nothing else to think about.
Maybe now I'll go try to learn German in a weekend. Maybe then I'll figure this damn thing out.
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1 comment:
the way I look at it - you have never broken a story... it is constantly in the process of breaking... lots of little pieces all over the floor - and as a writer it is our job to find the crazy glue and put them back together before Mom gets home...
it'll come... just might need more than a weekend at a retirement home to do it.
put on another jazz cd and drift....
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