And so the final rush begins.
There will be no more lollygagging on scenes just to see how I can make them wriggle and writhe.
There will be no more loitering on location shots.
No more finagling with inconsequential dialogue, no matter how cute.
Supporting characters must now remain supporting. There’ll be no more tussling with the headliners for the limelight.
Scissors and pruning shears will be taken to the plot.
Sex scenes will be scattered about proportionally.
I will start at the beginning and head directly for the big “The End”; i.e. no stopping at Stuckey’s , the DQ or Whataburger for snacks.
Pound will be done in seven days come hell, high water, specters of failures or their sidekick parrots (see yesterday’s blog for the story of Frank and Lola).
The next week will not be pretty.
There will be pain.
Alas, my dog will suffer the labors most of all. She will spend her time in the window, staring longingly out at a world without mad authors on a deadline.
There will be crumpets and parrot nibble.
And in the end, seven days from now, there will be relief, a small swell of accomplishment and a much needed trip to the psychiatrist.
Now, let’s get this party started, shall we?
*moans from the dog, the writer and the world at large*