December 5th Blog.

The boy and his shabby bastard sword crumbles under the weight of near defeat. The confidence melts away with his sweat and blood. He spits, gathering himself, knowing the next few minutes will decide his fate.

"Still alive, boy?" The Dragon sneers. He's close now, the wind shifting under his wings, a mighty wind bringing in the end of all ends. 

The boy wipes his brow.

"Not yet, Dragon." He meant it. 

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The title of this blog rings a bell if not a tune. Becoming the Dragon is a Trivium album or song. Is that what's knocking on the door to memory lane?

Looking back to the summer, I was busy, wasn't I? A lot of writing, a lot of completion, a lot of change.

Some updates:

Unity Film's pockets ran out of cash. No more writing meetings, No staff. I can't spend too much time disappointed as it was a great year and a half. Pearl is onto Draft 7; who knows if I would've gotten it that far without Unity. Sitting in the quiet, comforting garage office, listening to Logan and Marie type away as I worked through the Acts, will always be a core memory. I needed that office. My spiral was accelerating and finding comfort in the ambiance, listening to the gospel from our Priest Austin, laughing with and brainstorming with Pope Jeff; it all became my church. I will always be grateful. And hey! Unity still lives on, even if it's only through the Pope. It ain't over until the fat lady sings.

Speaking of the Pope. My pinky still has paint on the nail. I didn't get it all in the shower. Paint everywhere. Even in the nooks and crannies. All the nooks, and especially deep in the crannies. Jeff's been working on home renovation and offered some work. I accepted. There wouldn't be paint on my pinky if I didn't. I know It won't last. I've given up on hope. I get my hopes up repeatedly for something to work out, and when it fails or fades, the disappointment hits harder than Kimbo Slice.

Call Me Baby is done. Well, the short is. The work persists now in the form of a feature. The short is at thirty pages; I will, I must flesh it out to sixty. The time is now to prove that I can make a fucking movie. For fuck sake. And not prove it to the world, fuck the world. I'm proving it to myself, damn it. This is all coming to an end, I promise.

Draft Seven of Pearl is well underway. 

There is nothing else. 

Please don't forget about me. I'm still here for now. One day at a time. 

One day. Then, hopefully, the next.