wilderworks

It's Sunday. It's almost 1 PM, and I'm out at Grounded Cafe , a coffee shop and internet cafe on Ventura Blvd. I found it with the Yelp application on my cell-a-ma-phone , and I decided to give it a try. There is another place with free wifi and pay coffee recommended by the program: it's called Crave . I drove past it. It looks very busy and bohemian, and there wasn't any street parking within five blocks. So, maybe next weekend. Maybe never. I am trying to reduce the cost of these writing expeditions by making them coffee-only, or snack-only, instead of full-meal. Perhaps I could do that at Norm's, but it feels wrong. It feels like I'm taking up a profitable booth. This is likely ridiculous, since the booths are rarely even close to filled. But coffee shops are places where you are supposed to do this sort of work. I guess this is who I've become. My binary opposite. Someone who writes in public. Necessity makes for strange bedfellows, even when we...

Is This What's Been Missing? This evening, I followed my own instruction and I scribbled down everything I knew about Sick Day. I did so in the sloppiest, most freeform manner I could muster. I put Fletch Lives on Netflix streaming, which chased away my intellect completely, and I doodled down the movie. Until that moment, I'd honestly forgotten about all the scribbling and doodling I've done on my past screenplays. But tonight, in pieces, I remembered sitting in the LA courthouse hallway, waiting through at jury duty, drawing circles around ideas for Zaniness Ensues . I remembered sitting in backseat of my car, in the rain, on break from my all-night hospital job, scribbling as quickly as I could in cursive, until I sorted out Blaring Static . I remembered laying on my stomach on the carpet, drawing lines all over dozens of notebook pages, until I cracked the third act of Storybook Park , which became Gravedigger's Son . I remembered the rush I felt each...

It's wonderful to see how short the journey is from despair to hope. It can happen in a touch, in a word, in a glance. It's almost enough to make one forget how quickly the return trip could be made. Today I got to work late. Alli got a flat tire last week, and her car was in the shop today. She borrowed my car in the morning, to run a few errands, and then intended to take me to work. Of course, somewhere in Century City or Studio City or some other Well Outta Walking Range City -- she locked her keys in the car. I couldn't come and pick her up, because, after all, it was my car. Jared drove out to pick me up, and so, my work day was cut an hour short. Too much time when I look at my bank account, but too little time when I evaluate my mood just prior to that 7:00 PM whistle time. There are new floors at work. They're black tile and already scuffed. It all smells of adhesive and melted plastic. It's hideous and inorganic. And today was frigid and dam...

I am going to get rip-roaring, riotously, ridiculously drunk. I am going to get vengefully drunk. I am going to drink until my ancestors pass out. I have sent out invitations to everyone I know -- join me in a night of old-fashioned, flagrant irresponsibility -- right after I finish work and walk the dog. But they're, to the last, afraid to follow me off this masochistic precipice. I will repel alone into the mouth of the cavern. Tonight, I plan to post the words, "Don't jump! It's not worth it!" on absolutely all the Myspace profiles I can find. It should really confuse people.

I recently find that I am frequently talking to myself, just slightly aloud, just slightly under my breath. Sometimes, I just mouth the words. This is clearly the beginning of my unraveling. I'm a really, really excited about it.

I wonder if I'd be happier if I wrote more. I wonder if I'd write more if I ate more. I wonder if I'd weigh less if I exercised more. I wonder if I'd have more energy if I exercised more. I wonder if I'd write more if I had more energy. I wonder if I'd be happier if I wrote more. The boredom of work is exhausting me. I can't focus in the face of all that tedium and distraction, mixed in such perfect balance. I went to the free 11:00PM improv comedy jam at the UCB Theater on Monday. Mel, from work, was there, and he got called on stage to perform. Robin Williams was also there, and he was on stage, improvising ridiculously with folks from the neighborhood. It was the most fun I've had in a long time.

I had a very nice date. She probably didn't. Hi, have we met? I'm an idiot. I felt very cloudy. I'm not sure what I said. I felt like I was losing her attention. I couldn't get her to open up more than once or twice, and yet, I felt rather comfortable with her, looking in her eyes, which is rare. Very rare. I do so much better with women I'm not interested in. When I first got there, the restaurant she'd suggested was closed. So very closed, I imagined it was out of business. This was a prank. I walked up and down the street, in the rain, with my duck-head umbrella, hoping I wasn't getting stood up, almost certain I was. This was a mean prank. I sat in the car listening to NPR. At 8PM, Talk of the Nation started -- the show whose transcripts I spend two hours a day checking for errors. I got out to check for her one last time, and there she was. I closed the door, and locked my keys in the car. Alli earned her keep and brought me the spare set o...

RE: STORYBOOK PARK & A DARKLING PLANE Congratulations! You have been chosen as a quarter-finalist in the 12th Annual Writer’s Network Screenplay & Fiction Competition . Your submissions received very high marks in both storytelling and concept . As one of 661 quarter-finalists advancing to this stage out of over 1,800 entrants, you will now compete for the semi-finalist round of the competitition. We will notify all semi-finalists by mail no later than November 30. If you’d like to view a list of the quarter-finalists or the upcoming semi-finalists for the 12th Annual Writers Network Screenplay & Fiction Competition, please visit www.fadeinonline.com after November 30, 2005.

Congratulations J. Wilder Konschak, "Storybook Park" has reached the Quarterfinalist round in the 2005 Slamdance Screenplay Competition. We received over 2,000 submissions and 200 of the best have been selected for the quarterfinals.

My most recently completed feature-length screenplay, A Darkling Plane , has been chosen as a Quarter-finalist in the first round of contests it was submitted to. In particular, the American Screenwriting Competition, sponsored by Hollywood Scriptwriter Magazine and Flat Shoe Entertainment. It represents the top 5% of those screenplays submitted. Now, this is very early indeed, and the likelihood that it will progress is very slim, particularly since this was the original draft. However, it is rare that Quarterifinalists are "published," even online, and because it has been published, online, it makes for an excellent addition to my resume, joining Intelligence, Blaring Static, and Occult Blood amongst those scripts of mine that have received some recognition. Wish me luck, and here's the website. American Screenwriting Competition Quarter-finalists.

Should you live your whole life, even twice, and do nothing else, you need never hear the same song twice, you need never read the same sentence again, nor view the same picture or painting for more than a moment, and neither film nor play nor episode nor even joke need ever be repeated to you: for you will not run out. Life is so very full.

Here is a souvenir from my little tiny road-trip up the east coast, through North Hampton and Amherst, through Boston and Salem, to a little Sheraton shaped like a castle, up in a town called Braintree.