I tend to go through stages when I write.
I prewrite, first and foremost. On everything. I rarely use any of my prewriting, and I really rarely end up sticking to whatever half-assed plan I come up with, but I always have some image in my mind of me, planning the entire plot, every intricate twist and turn, and that much less editing. Of course, once I start, I throw all of the ideas about “quality” and “talent” out the window, but that’s neither here nor there.
Anyway. I call that the excitement phase. New plots! New characters! New worlds!
And then I inevitably realize that I’m going to write a novel (or, in recent cases, a script). I start to freak out. Terribly. I rip at my hair and curse myself for attempting to do so. Being as many (all) of my novels have been a product of a NaNo-type event, I’m really feeling the pressure of a deadline. One week before it starts. Four days. Three days.
I get to the two-day mark. (Sometimes a bit more or less time, but I’m generalizing.) I calm down. I smile. I think, I can do this! Positive thoughts all the way. There’s a spring in my step and I’m genuinely excited to try to pull off this crazy endeavor.
And then it starts. I realize what I’ve done to myself but I push through it and inevitably finish what I start, though the feeling of panic and Shit fuck what have I done why am I doing this never really goes away.
All that to say that I’m excited for Script Frenzy. I have no idea how to format a script (the articles, while helpful, don’t stick in my brain too well). I have no idea if my characters are going to be flat or not. And yet… it’s the calm before a storm. I can smile and be excited for April and think positive thoughts until then.
(And while I’m doing that, let’s not think about the fact that it’s one hundred pages to be written. Ignoring that little detail until I have to acknowledge it.)