My Soul Hath Elbow Room!

7 pages, and I think I may be developing a plot by pure accident.

Which is good.

As long as it wraps itself up.

Oh hell.

Having never written anyhing but prose before, this is... somewhat weird. I'm absolutely certain that visually, this screenplay would suck even if Steven Spielberg were to direct it, but since that's pretty much inevitable in a first draft of a first script, I'm pretending that it's all fine...

Weirder, though, is how easily I've slipped into imagining it like a TV show. I'm clearly overexposed to the genre...

March 21: Eighth Doctor appears in my head with radio script, charms me into doing Screnzy for him.

March 22: Lewen and Merrigan elbow their way back into my subconscious, wondering what's happened to plans to write their Time Trek thing and apparently unaware of the need for them to wait until I finish the Whofic of d00m.

March 23: Dora, Charles, Peter and the rest of the Blue Moon Inn crew, who were sent away a while ago to think over their backstory and not come back until it made sense, return with a fleshed-out concept that is actually pretty damn cool. And want me to write about it.

March 24: Genesis Floe, who has had two pages written about her so far before the story was scrapped, pops up and tells me about her new sci-fi gig. And wants me to write about it.

March 25: Exodus cast go on holiday.

Would somebody please SHUT THEM ALL UP?

Or at the very least, teach them to form an orderly queue. That's orderly, Unam; stop shoving. I said stop. Don't push back, Merrigan, that's not - oh, and Peter's stolen your wallet. Someone catch him, he's getting away and the Doctor's got a broken ankle...