  I don't have it tonight.  And I knew that from the get- go,  when I left Little City with the first act of my step outline.  Thought I could grab dinner,  head back,
 plug up,  put the world aside and write. never happened.  And I knew it would be that way.  And there's nothing wrong with it. you have these nights sometimes,
 the nights where you've got the time,  and you need to use it,  and you sit,  and you stare,  and your mind doesn't clear,  and your characters don't want to cooperate,
 and you wait until after midnight to check the new updates of your required reading of sites for the new day,  nullifying your usual morning computer romp.  You turn yourself from the computer and to housecleaning issues -  pictures need to be put in order,  notes from classes finally thrown away,  beer bottles from a seven-
page night taken to recycling. and as soon as you do it,  you think,  " No,  can't start this.
I'm supposed to be writing tonight.  And it's back to the chair,  feet up on the desk,  fingers on the home keys.  Stare.  Blank.
 Is it obvious that I'm trying to manufacture it right now?  Sometimes you can do that. blog's a great tool for just letting the mind romp,  the words come out,  and as they hit the gate ready to proceed into immediacy,  you give them different assignments,
 start to stylize,  pick up beat patterns,  motifs,  allusions. the fingers dance on the page,  you aren't even looking at the keyboard,
 just at the screen,  but not reading the screen,  because you already know what it says,  what you're worried about is what comes five,  six,  fifteen words down the line,
 when you hit a stumbling point at a comma or a need for a semicolon or a new sentence or even a paragraph.  When it's going well,  the paragraph isn't daunting,  it's welcome. old thoughts pushed towards new subject matter,  keeping the spirit alive and enticing the reader to continue the voyage through a written language that somehow transcends the character/
eye specific relationship.  2: 14.  The paragraph smote me.  I fucking love writing.  That might be why the past two Tuesdays have been so goddamned difficult.
 Not because my thesis advisor is playing bad cop.  Not because the script's not ready.  But because,  at the back of my mind,  I wonder if I can be the person to get the script where it needs to be.  And not just the script,
 but any writing I've done in the past,  or will do later.  I can create characters. I can provide sweeping themes. I can post conflict. I have a good stand on beat progressions and how certain words create certain rhythms.
my grammar doesn't suck. but all that aside,  and a few good drafts into the bag,  can I provide life to the static page?  First semester here,  Bob calls me into his office to talk script.
 And he gets down and dirty about why he got into teaching -  I wasn't a bad writer,  but I wasn't as good as I knew I needed to be.  I couldn't enjoy my writing because it wasn't what I demand from others.  He then told me that this isn't information he bandies about to everyone. he wanted me to listen.
 And it stuck with me. Bob's not stupid,  and Bob doesn't just say serious shit to make you shit 'em and realize you've got a lot of work to do.  But it's odd,  because unlike anyone else in my program,  Bob hand-
picked me.  I didn't even apply for the MA Screenwriting gig;  I applied for MFA Creative Writing,  with a script rife with technical errors.  Bob saw it,  liked the characters,
 enjoyed what story was there,  and told me he wanted me in.  So here I am,  two years later,  with a script he can't stand,  but that has gotten positive reviews from other sources.
 Yet I see the holes Bob points out,  and now I can't see anything else.  Denton once said that the last thing we can do as writers is doubt ourselves. when we start to do that,  we lose all confidence and will never turn the corner from writing speculative works to selling scripts and getting hired onto jobs.  He might be right,
 but I doubt my abilities constantly.  At the same time,  some days I throw bones down and love the hell out of what I see.  The test is to come back to it weeks later and feel the same way.  That happens much less frequently.  About 40 blog posts.
maybe 50 total pages of script over my career.  That stuff is great,  but it's such a small sample of what I've produced.  But if I've got that.  Even if it's such a small sample,  doesn't it prove that I can do it?
 The great conunudrum of authorship:  you see that you've done it before. you just can't do it right now.
