While doing laundry the other day at my mom’s house, I worked on my screenplay for Script Frenzy.  She asked me what I was writing, so I told her about the month-long writing challenge.  She asked me if there was a prize when it was over.  I said no, I would just get a finished screenplay out of it.  She said, “Oh, so it’s just personal.”  Meaning, it doesn’t really count if it’s not going to be published, optioned, bought, whatever.  I knew my mother didn’t mean it quite as sarcastically as I took it, after all, she has always supported my endeavour to write and seek multiple useless degrees in writing.  But it still made me upset, almost like I had to defend that what I was writing was just as important as if it had been under contract.

In a way, I guess it’s good that I still felt that internal pang of pissed offedness and I haven’t given in to complete apathy about the whole writing thing.  Now I just wish I could get back the same pang of excitement I used to have about it.