So, I didn’t cross the Script Frenzy finish line. I didn’t make it to 100 pages. In fact, I’m only about 1/2 done (51) pages.

I didn’t work as dilligently as I could have. I did, however keep the story from morphing too much and stuck to my treatment.

It will definitely need a re-write. The beginning is somewhat devoid of my personal style, which pushed it’s way to the fore as the month progressed, so the beginning and middle are different in flavor.

I also learned more about the characters as time progressed.  Now, this is a natural

occurance, even desirable, as long as the added character depth doesn’t make the script

too much longer.

I will finish this. I can’t work on it this weekend though. I have work work to do.

Courtesy of the Magic Hat Brewery

“Make your move to improve your groove”
“Time is slow wnen there are acres to mow”

Beverages:
Magic Hat #9
and
Magic Hat Hocus Pocus

Or at least the torture.

This is it. I’m hanging it up for National Novel Writing Month. I’m going to erase my measly 3000 (plus or minus) file. It’s really atrocious. Trust me, Jack, you don’t want to read it.

Am I going to thy this again next year? Who knows. I do, however, have some ideas.

Some folks write weblogs brimming with ringing manifestos. Their online journals are a call to arms. They’re trying desperately to awaken a world full of sleepwalkers.

Others delve deep into the mysteries of and banalities of pop culture. They place the wonderful weirdness of mass movements under the microscope and dissect the who, what, when, where, why and how of fads and fashions. They’re not entirely unlike lepidopterists cutting up glittering butterflies.

Still others produce highly personal journals. They rip away their skin and bare all, allowing us to exercise our voyeurism, even as they exercise their exhibitionism. Perhaps we learn a bit about ourselves in the process.

Do I really have anything intelligent to add to the conversation?

As an aside, there was a time when weblogs were like travelogues. They chronicled a person’s travels through the wild, wild, web. They were k kind of like trails of breadcrumbs left in the electronic wilderness. They were definitely an offshoot of web surfing, that zen-like time-suck consisting of traversing the web link by link by link, with no real end in mind. Anyway, does anybody write weblogs like that anymore?

So, I’ll make one last push tomorrow to get caught up on NaNoWriMo. If I don’t get back on track, I think I’ll hang it up.