So, today is Saturday. I woke up at 11 AM, and I swear on my heart, the first thought was the screenwriting project that I’m supposed to deliver today. The very specific scene that’s pending, while the rest of the screenplay waits for me to crack it so it can be shipped.
And when I started scribbling here, it was already 1:35 PM.
If you ask me “Where did the time go?”, my honest answer would be:
- Taking cigarette breaks
- Running to the refrigerator on a scavenger hunt
- Gulping down at least a liter of water, one sip at a time
- and…
Then it’s just blank. I have no clue.
It all started yesterday. The plan was to finish the one scene at night, take a break, and review it in the morning, then ship out the screenplay.
But yesterday, when I came home, my nieces and nephews had shown up. And they were in the mood for a party. So, between ordering McDonald’s, waiting for it, and then hogging on it, then retiring to bed, time flew.
All the while, in the back of my mind, there was this nagging voice: I could simply go into my room and write. No one would mind, given they know me so well by now.
But for some unknown reason, I stayed out with the kids and time slipped.
This morning, I was more determined than a soldier behind enemy lines, with just a single pair of bullets in his rifle.
And yet, time ditched me again like the one who gets away every time.
So, here I am blogging, when I’m supposed to be screenwriting. But don’t get me wrong. I know, going by the patterns, the screenplay will be delivered today.
But if I were to take up the screenwriting now, my mind would wander about how this blog would conclude, given I’m clueless about that right now.
And while I’m here, my mind is hooked on the one pending scene I’m yet to crack. The characters are in my room, dressed in their costumes, ready to play their part but waiting on my cue.
And here I am, gesturing to them that I won’t take long, though I have no clue how long I’ll be on this blog.
So, by now, you might have already labeled this as an “act of procrastination.” Be honest, haven’t you?
First, let’s acknowledge it and live with it. But then, we are writers, so let’s dig deeper.
What kind of procrastination is this, if it is so after all?
Is it procrastination to writing? Which can’t be the case, because this blog is happening as we speak.
Then is it procrastination to a particular project? Which can’t be the case either, because the elephant is already out of the room; now it’s just waiting for the tail to get out. And any sane person wouldn’t give up at this stage. And contrary to the people who have dealt with me, I think I’m fairly sane.
So, then what could be the real reason?
Or could it simply be a state of readiness disguised as avoidance? Maybe that’s where I’m stuck: my want to be professionally productive against my need to experience meditative writing.
To some, even today, writing isn’t about pandering to the critics and audience. It’s about experiencing a state of nirvana every time you pick up a pen and paper. Everything else is a byproduct of it, not the end goal.
But if that’s the case, then what’s interrupting the meditation? If meditation is an internal experience, the interruption could only be external. Then, in regards to the project in question, why does that one scene seem like a problem when the rest of the screenplay is already intact? Is it because that one scene appears external to the rest of the story?
So those few who cannot even enjoy a healthy family moment without craving to slip into the room and write—procrastination might not be the real issue.
Perhaps it’s something more sinister: the fear of failure.
So, the scene I’m writing is complicated. It’s about two characters meeting for the first time, while neither of them is aware that eventually they will be the antagonists of the story, both independently as well as collectively.
And I’m not sure how to play out the first meeting of these antagonists. That’s where I’m stuck. I have a few ideas, but they all seem like an organ from somewhere else, not matching the body of my story.
Maybe I have a general idea of how the pending scene should play out, but some pieces of the puzzle are missing. Maybe I’m trying to substitute those missing pieces with something rudimentary or half-baked, and my subconscious is aware of this deception and rejecting it.
A story is a body after all, and every element of it is an organ. You simply cannot do an organ transplant if the body rejects it. Because if you force it, then the body might crumble.
So, here I am, donning the surgeon’s apron in the operation theater, staring at the story lying on the gurney, and a piece of an organ I know will kill it if I proceed as planned.
Perhaps this is a moment of deliberation to avoid having my patient die on my table.
So, is it possible that, as with surgeons, I’m patching up the patient and keeping it under observation until the more opportune time for the surgery, until I find the right organ to patch it up?
Somehow, now I’m able to meet the gaze of the characters in waiting. Perhaps I know what I would do with them after all.
So, I guess that’s where this blog ends, for I have real writing to do.