The End

It feels almost anti-climactic. After the build-up of Charlie's unfortunate demise (and my own denial around that), the fact that Draft One is done kind of pales in comparison.

But if you think about it, this whole month has been its own story, with complications and rising action, the whole bit. I guess yesterday was our climax, the narrative explosion of our writer finally realizing that she must eat her own young. Gasp!

So today, the aftermath of my murderous evening, is the denouement. The scenes where everything comes together. Loose ends get tied and we wipe our eyes and file out of the theatre as the credits roll.

Today, finishing my draft meant constructing the narrative sequence out of mountains and mountains of scenes. I had written in vast chunks, you see, one character taking over the script for pages and pages on end as their story unfolded almost faster than I could type.

So, today was a tying together day. Interspersing storylines and building a whole from all of these parts. It was fun. It was tedious. It had an element of loss and one of deep accomplishment.

I came here to write a screenplay. And I did. My experience has been nothing short of life-changing and...oh Gawd...I'm beginning to sound like a high-school valedictorian speech or the final statement of the principled lawyer in the courtroom drama. Truth and justice for all. I feel sentimental, I guess. Like anyone would with an ending. Here we are, at the place we've been working towards, the place we've been dreading, The End.

I really shouldn't get too maudlin, though. My plan is to let it brew for a couple of days before I look at it again. Roll up my sleeves for a second draft...or whatever it tells me to do. It may look me in the eyes, raise an eyebrow and say, 'Fine thanks', and that'll be that until I let someone else's trusted eyeballs take a read.

I guess that's the great challenge of The End. It leads one to thinking What's Next. I don't know. I really don't. I've had a feeling all along that this screenplay is supposed to get made. To become a real boy in the form of a movie on a screen with actors and directors and the whole lot. How that will happen, I don't know.

My fantasy has been some Diablo Cody fairytale, where some successful Manager finds me on the blogosphere (where is that exactly?) and immediately makes me famous. If you're reading this Mr. Manager...I'm ready when you are. My friend Andrea thinks I should send it straight to Peter Dinklage. Dear Pete, Here's your Oscar. Love, Mel.

I guess this is the place where faith is important. Although, faith has been critical all along. Faith and presence. It's all we can do. Stay present. Be true. Bring joy and love to the work. And have faith that good things are happening.

Tonight, I will be celebrating. Drinking real-live French champagne and, I think, dressing up just a little. I've been schlumping around in Writer's Wear for long enough. Time for a bit of rouge and sparkle. The End doesn't come very often, you know.