It's been 2009 for about a week now. The sound edit of DW has resumed. Some visual effects work is in progress. I've met with my partner on the New Orleans project. We were both relieved that the other had not been giving it a lot of thought lately. Not because we're no longer interested, it's just time to write the next draft and see where we are once that's in hand.
How to do that? Well, I think it's pretty simple. Apply ass to chair, open Movie Magic and start typing. The difference being that I don't plan to knock out a draft in a weekend this time. Tomorrow I'm going to sit down and map out a schedule to write this in a timely yet very regular manner. I would rather write for two hours a day two hundred days of 2oo9 than ten hours a day for thirty days of the year, which is a fair estimate of my writing output for oo8.
I'm getting tired of beating the hell out of myself to accomplish something. I get a perverse sort of pleasure from it - not unlike sprinting uphill until I vomit. It's as if I'm not doing anything unless I'm bleeding. Hell bent for leather. Or self-flagellation for idleness and lack of manic productivity.
It's the easier softer way or the highway.