This is the typical cycle of my feelings towards any given script I write:
Stage 1: in which I am wildly enthused about my most recent scribblings. And decide that it is by far the best thing I've ever written.
Stage 2: doubt creeps in. It's good but...
Editing ensues. It's brilliant again! Stage 1 and 2 can take a little while.
Stage 3: It's bloody awful. Irredemable. Why did I ever think I could write. I'm an idiot.
(At this stage I pause and go away and do something else to forget about it all. I'd like to pretend that 'something else' is generally a highbrow cultural event, but more often than not its those Friends repeats on E4. Still! What's wrong with me? I have no idea.)
Stage 4: Revelation: the final piece slots into place, and I have a script that is - in my head at least - somewhere on the scale of not bad to quite good.
In case you're wondering, I'm somewhere between stages 3 and 4, so metaphorically speaking on the Friends repeats.
Something is definitely missing from my latest script. I just can't work out what.
One problem is that I feel like I'm beating people around the head to make my point. So it needs some nuance. And after months and months of writing short, sharp scenes, I've gone a bit mentile and decided to write a sustained piece over 15 minutes real time, which requires quite a lot of skill with pacing that I'm not sure I have yet. But for it to work at all, it has to work in this format.
Wonder what Ross and Rachel are up to.