Sorry for my absence.... not really just felt obligated to say that.

I've been writing a script.

"So what asshole so have the rest of us."

Fair enough.

Anyway, it occurred to me tonight as I was writing that this script is like one of those war movies where the battlefield medic has to drag the victim (i.e. the script) back behind the lines and resuscitate the body. It's lifeless and dead on the field of play. It can't help itself. The shooter is long gone... no one to point fingers at. The Generals are no where to be seen and its just me and that hundred yards to safety... one yard at a time.

This script is like a piece of dead meat. If I wasn't being paid to do it...

It's a rewrite assignment.

A producer's passion project. Joy.

I've been dragging and carrying this motherfucker to the field hospital for a bloody three week campaign. I have to stop every ten feet and resuscitate the sonofabitch. It's dying, maybe was D.O.A. when I got the freaking thing.

It's pulse is weak and it is slowly slipping away.

I encounter problem after problem. It's hemorrhaging... I stop the bleeding only for it to sprout another leak. It's got a broken leg, no wait, it has no arms and then it has no feet. I can't get it anywhere. It won't help either... it just lays there and looks at me with those eyes... it's telling me what it thinks of me as I struggle, battle to save its skinny ass.

It's a bloody mess. I am a surgeon -- no that is too classy -- I forgot. I am a fucking battlefield medic dodging artillery and bullets trying to desperately pull this lifeless body to the trench and somehow bring it back to life.

Pulling and dragging, kicking and screaming... and that's just me I'm talking about.

The point is. Sometimes the script is like a dying patient. Do we keep trying to resuscitate it or let it go and move on? 

I wish I knew sometimes!

Damn the torpedoes... er... money!