“When asked about rewriting, Ernest Hemingwy said that he rewrote the ending to A Farewell to Arms thirty-nine times before he was satisfied. Vladimir Nabokov wrote that spontaneous eloquence seemed like a miracle and that he rewrote every word he ever published, and often several times. And Mark Strand, former poet laureate, says that each of his poems sometimes goes through forty to fifty drafts before it is finished.” 
― Susan M. Tiberghien, One Year to a Writing Life: Twelve Lessons to Deepen Every Writer’s Art and Craft

These words ring well and true to me today.

William Goldman’s remark – “Writing is rewriting” – is one of the most-quoted yet least-followed pieces of advice in the world of storytelling.

I’m not certain why. Perhaps it is the endorphin rush we feel when typing FADE TO BLACK or LIGHTS OUT or THE END depending upon form (although, as I have never attempted the novel, my mind tells me that novelists spend an extraordinary amount of time rewriting, editing, etc); perhaps it is the experience of completion, an euphoric and almost hallucinatory moment, in which the blood, sweat, and tears have finally produced a progeny. We have given birth to our tale, and for one brief shining moment, we experience the pure love that a parent does, as they hold their newly formed child in their arms. We are dazzled by our creation.

I did not launch this blog to tell people “how to” become a writer. I don’t believe one can teach writing. I believe one can foster and nourish growth and voices. There are tools that can be learned – structure, dialogue, clarity of action. There are books, classes and workshops for these tools – and I am not a teacher. I am a perpetual student, of writing, and of life.

I did begin this blog to share my journey as a new screenwriter in a place as strange as Hollywood, documenting my highs and my lows. Each full step forward is a culmination of mini-steps, lurching forward, stumbling back, regaining balance and momentum before that full step is finally made. This is my confessional, if you will.

I have not shared anything for a very long spate, for as most know, life is what happens when you make plans, and a great deal happened on my end. Healing takes time, a great deal of it, and the work continues. And so, I find myself again in the world of placing words on the page. This is not like riding a bicycle. There is so much to remember, so much to relearn. Today, I am sharing a little slice of my life as I fumble my way back into the life of storytelling.

Almost three months ago, I wrote a short piece for theatre. A ten page moment-in-life on a subject I am passionate about. Three weeks later, I had ten pages that I felt were ready to be looked at for criticism. I asked three souls whom I deeply respect, and they were kind enough to read my piece, think on it, and give me the gift of the objective view through their notes.

I worked further, applying notes, rewriting dialogue, distilling ideals, discarding the unnecessary, and giving the character(s) their due. I read it aloud, more than once, rewrote more, and finally surrendered.

Or so I thought.

While mulling the piece over in my mind, I kept returning to an alternate ending I had considered. There were two ways to end. I chose one over the other, partly on principle, in regard to the message of the subject, the assembly line of autocracy and the treatment of people as disposable items. All well and good, and yet…

I realized that I had chosen a film ending for a theatre piece. I had not embraced the elements of theatre in a way the form deserved. I chose an ending which would play out quite beautifully as a series of shots, in a Todd Field style, but that was film and I am writing for theatre.

And so, today, I reopen Final Draft, and begin to explore my alternate choice, why I feel it is a better and stronger choice, and continue to work on my ten page piece.

Ten pages. Three and a half months and counting. Hard, rewarding work – none of it spontaneous. Hopefully it may have eloquence.

Now, go write.