CRESTFALLEN - And The Quest for the Golden Rationalization.

When we last saw our hero, he was nose to the moderately overused grindstone metaphor, when suddenly, hordes of crusty footed monkey ninjas poured through his window, broken glass and cringe worthy shrieks heralding their arrival!

"We've come for your nearly completed, yet utterly brilliant screenplay!" cried the Leader of the monkey ninjas. As he flashed a gleaming battle worn katana.

The other monkey ninjas, rattled there ancient martial arts weaponry, stained with the blood of other fallen screenwriters.

"I'LL BE DAMNED, before I let you take, what I've obviously spent months and months, carefully crafting. You simian fiends!" Our Hero, rather heroically shouts. "I am not afraid to shed monkey blood, from rivet to rafter, in this my pristine and uncluttered domicile!" he continued.

The monkey ninja leader, grimly advanced on our hero, it's eyes a glowing alabaster, it's fangs, surprisingly clean and well maintenanced.

"You labor under a misunderstanding, Foolish writer. We have not come so far..."

"How far have you come." our hero queried.

"Quite a long and arduous voyage, have me and my blood thirsty...Wait.. did you just interrupt me?" said the Monkey leader.

Embarrassed, our hero says, "Sorry, I thought you were finished."

"Was the fact that my mouth was still moving, and words were still coming out of it, not give you a clue that, I had indeed, not stopped speaking!?" The now furious monkey ringleader croaked!

"ENOUGH BANTER!, Give us your, obviously brilliant, blah, blah blah, screenplay, NOW!" the simian assailant bellowed.

"NEVER!!" shouted our hero.

At that moment, the now restless, evil ninja attackers, lunged into to battle. A wave of crusty monkey feet, flashing teeth and gleaming martial arts weapons, was all that could be seen, as the overwhelming numbers, brought down our valiant hero. As he lay in a heap, clothing torn and bloodied, the mockingly triumphant simian thief, hung in the now shattered window pane. Holding the only digital copy of our hero's screenplay, and said. "Now no one will know of your brilliance. Now no one will be entertained by your ability to match tone, with dialogue". "Same time next year, foolish writer...we will be watching...and waiting." he snickered, as he and his evil brethren disappeared into the night.

As our battled but unbroken hero, struggled to rise to his feet, he could be heard saying, "Yes. Oh yes, you will see me next year...next year."

The End.


Now....

Were that we lived in a world, where crusty footed, ninja monkeys actually existed, as well as the added bonus, of having an uncontrollable craving for the unfinished screenplays of writers everywhere, there would be only reality television, and poorly written nightly news.

And since we don't live in that world, the cold realization, that I was going to miss the Scriptapalooza Competition, it me rather hard. I'd always been either too busy, or unaware of it in the past. And since following Scriptapalooza on both Facebook and Twitter, I felt more connected to it, more on point. So much so that my hubris got the better of me. At the time I surmised that I could complete 2 screenplays, and one teleplay for the Television competition as well. One could say, I hung "them" out there as far as anyone should.

And on the evening of April 11th, at 11pm, eastern standard time, "they" were lopped off. I realized that I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I tasked myself with writing an entire feature film in less than 48 hours. Completing Act One, only fueled my bravado, the bold little competitive voice in my head, nattered "This is nuttin.. you can do this, super-genius!". It never registered that only other super-genius I knew of, would inevitably wind up with and acme rocket placed in an inconvenient and uncomfortable bodily orifice, primed to explode.

And explode it did, into a million little pieces, and a million different reasons to avoid claiming failure, until the moment I simply owned up to it.

I'd failed. I'd set a bar impossibly high, and so lofty a height, it's doubtless anyone could reach it. And I did this with all my senses about me (relatively speaking), and wide awake and fully aware of the consequences. I said I was gonna do it, and there would be nothing to stop me, but me. And as prophetic as that sounds, it's true. I stopped me. I failed.

But, it's not over until the pleasing plump lady sings. In the most epic of fails, I learned and discovered. I learned that I need a process. I discovered that coming up with an idea, and barreling through until the end, is not a process, it's more akin to punishment. I learned that I need a comfortable, relatively clean, and relatively quiet environment to write. I need to eat, to be satisfied, not full. And I need to be free of distractions. I discovered, I'm probably like every other screenwriter out there. And I felt a relief, a great cooling, and calming relief come over me. I've no ones expectations to live up to, save my own. I've no ones standards to live up to or surpass, same my own, and I don't have to impress anyone. My writing will do that. And, I will from time to time challenge myself with a 48 hour screenwriting assignment, just because I can.

Hubris aside, I am good, and getting better, and if I take care of me, and continue to learn , and discover, I'll be where I dream I will be. Ain't nobody stopping me, but me.

And possibly a horde of talking, crusty footed, ninja monkeys.