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.