I started writing something one time. Really didn’t have any direction when I began, but, well, that’s pretty normal, ya know?
I started writing this thing about a bar musician. He was so burnt out from playing mediocre covers to drunken hordes of “music fans” that he played a solo totally wrong. Wrong notes…wrong key…wrong as wrong could be.
……..and they cheered. Loud and happy. Blissful oblivion.
But this isn’t even about that, though it sort of is.
When I started the story, it was so easy. Words flowed almost too fast.
And then……….the words dried up. At least, the magical words dried up. I could’ve still kept writing, but why? The Magic was gone. The perfect words had given way to good words—good, but not what the story deserved. Good, but… oh, well.
I got to thinking about this old story tonight when I saw the commercial for ABC’s new show “A Million Little Things.” The effusive praise included a quote saying something to the effect that it was the greatest premiere episode ever. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a vehicle that allows James Roday to ascend to his Shawn-Spencerian “Psych” glory,) and maybe this IS, in fact, the greatest premiere ever.
Or maybe “New Amsterdam” took that title last week when I found myself watching—not wanting to commit an hour to a new show—thinking, “How can they keep up this pace for an entire season?!”
Guess that’s the theme here. I hope it’s only some old pessimism rearing its ugly head. The realist in me tells me that no writers, no matter how good, can create the feverishly emotional sequences that elicit laughter and tears in the same scene, scene after scene.
The romantic in me hopes that they can: that they are better than I was fifteen years ago painting the picture of someone who had been beaten into submission by the realism of HIS reality.
The optimist in me says, “Good luck. The world can use all the magic it can get.”