Insomniactive Productions, 1630 Cullom Street #2, Birmingham, AL, 35205
I am so very tired, and I'm finally starting to feel it. Worse, I think it's finally starting to show.
I feel like I'm no longer capable of getting everything done. One week, the parody cover for RevolutionSF.com slips through the cracks; the next, I've skipped working on whatever current script I'm writing for three or four days. Deadlines creep up on me and slip silently past, turning around at a safe distance to thumb their noses at me before crawling back into the shadows. And it hits me: I've overcommitted myself.
I've been thinking that it was me not being as young as I like to pretend I am, but it's more than that, and less. I'm realizing that it's not that I can't do everything that I want to do, but that I'm too tired to do it, too lazy, too ready to give myself a break. I've just finished working full-time and getting a second college degree and picking up freelance jobs that were more free than I would have liked; three years, give or take, of putting my nose and other sensitive parts of me to the grindstone.
And now I'm backing away. No one likes a guy with no nose, anyway.
There were thoughts of giving in sooner, honestly. You could probably see it in a few of the columns, where I either gave in to cheap gimmicks like parodying Playboy interviews or 'Dear Abby' columns, or just strung together a few sentences here and there about whatever was pissing me off that week. The worst part, though, was that I slipped off the track. This column was intended to run weekly (which, though it might not have appeared weekly, was written that way -- at least there's that) for one year, focusing on comic books, horror, and science fiction, and the state thereof. I didn't have any more or less definition to it -- just commentary on the state of things RevolutionSF related.
And then Spetember 11th happened. And then after that, I started to happen.
Regardless, it occured to me this week -- today, in fact -- that I have run out of things to say, at least for the moment. I've stopped reading comics by and large, so that's gone. I hardly have time to watch TV, so there's not much sci-fi or horror outside of the occasional King or Barker book, or (killmebeforeidoitagain) the latest Friday the 13th installment. There's just not a lot inside the envelope I set for myself for me to talk about without retracing old thoughts and ideas.
There's also the fact that, much like other twelve-year-olds, I can't stay focused on any one thing for very long. It's time for me to get back to writing screenplays, shooting films, and hopefully making another record sometime soon. I want to get back to the place where these things come out of me because I have no say in the matter, not because I set myself another deadline.
There's also the fact that I want to relax a little. I want to find myself a single job and drop most of the free freelance work. I want to lay on my couch and watch television and DVDs until my eyeballs bleed technicolor. I want to spend more time with my friends and my wife. I want to take this evil whiteboard down in my office, or fill it with script ideas, or draw pictures of naked people dancing in pagan rituals on it.
And so it goes. Thanks to all of you who subscribed and boosted my ego a little over the past year plus a few weeks. Thanks even more to those who read my column on the site and sent in responses, whether you were wrong or not. I needed to vent, and I needed people to listen (because in cyberspace, everyone can hear you scream, but it's really easy to ignore).
I'm sure I'll be back at some point, when I've gotten tired of making movies for the moment, or when the musical muse has flitted back to her rock in the West Andes. Much like George Lucas, I'll come back with plenty of hype and even more disappointment. But this I solemnly swear:
No Jar Jar.
What -- you're still here? It's over. Go home.