W. P. Johnson

Archive for July, 2017|Monthly archive page

Drink Up

In Uncategorized on July 21, 2017 at 7:25 pm

I’m hungover.

I mean, I am painfully, skull crackingly, sit down to pee and cry, vomitingly, perhaps even dangerously hungover, so much so that I am googling whether or not it’s possible to die from a hangover. Unfortunately it is not.

My tolerance ain’t what it used to be and in recent months I’ve dropped a few pounds, making it even harder to slam back shots and beers like I did when I was in my twenties (I mean, how the hell did I drink so much back then?). But I sort of knew what I was getting into. I went out to meet a friend of mine, ubering there as to not risk driving later, with every intention of getting kind of lit because I hadn’t done it in such a long time and started to feel like maybe I was missing out on something or losing my edge only to find out that whatever I may have missed out on probably happened during the eventual black out I experienced and if I ever had any edge to begin with, what remained was lost in the uber ride home. Thankfully I had my wallet and phone on me. But not the capacity to hold my lunch, nor any kind of mental capacity to express whatever horror I was experiencing as I moaned and screamed at midnight and was thrust into a cold shower by my wife to somehow sober me up and freeze the crazy out of me. The cat was afraid of me the next morning, but don’t worry, we’re cool now.

Still… it was fun. I hadn’t really cut lose in a long time and it was good to see my friend and just bullshit and catch up. Plus, I had given myself a reason to drink, which is that of having finished a pilot episode for a show idea called “Train Tracks” (you might remember the short story with the same name). Prior to that I had finished a full length feature for Dream Dress and will know soon whether or not it’ll make the first round of cuts for a horror script contest. So, what the hell- drink up.

Just not today. Today, I take shots of Gatorade.

In other random news, the novella of Dream Dress is selling okay for a self published novella (about 3-4 copies a month) and occasionally there’s a spike in the sales rank, which tells me someone just bought a copy. I’m hoping it starts to pick up some more steam soon and gain some kind of popularity amongst lolitas who inspired the story to begin with, but these things take time. After all,  as far as I know, I’ve written the only lolita based horror story in existence, so unless every lolita hates horror and spiders, I think it’ll start to find a small audience and hopefully that same audience will follow me to The Eight Eyes That Watch You Die when it’s finally published next year. I just hope all those lolitas don’t mind the lack of ruffles in my other stories.

The pilot for Train Tracks has been submitted to screencraft for notes, and I think it’s some of my best script writing so far and sets the stage for a lot of great storytelling. After I write another chapter for Possessed, I’m going to take a crack at another feature, then another pilot. Screenwriting has been very rewarding and oddly more fun than regular writing. I don’t think it’s something I’ll give up any time soon.

My provisional agent has yet to respond with revision notes, but like the ground swell of sales for my novella- these things take time. I’ll admit it though- I’m nervous. Not that I won’t ever receive revision notes, but that the agent won’t really like the book in its current form. Or maybe the notes won’t be that great. What the hell do I know? This is my first rodeo after all.

But then again, maybe the revision notes will show up today and they’ll be wonderful and exciting, and maybe he’ll already have a few publishers he’s talking to that he’d like to pitch to, maybe the script for Dream Dress will sell, and maybe Train Tracks will be the reason I get hired as a staff writer on a show, and maybe this and maybe that. So many maybes. The thing that I really think though is that had I not worked so hard and pushed myself for so long, I wouldn’t even be considering the potential for any of these possibilities. Imagine that? Not even thinking that something good might come of my work because I didn’t do it. The twenty year old me probably thought about that alot as he drank the night away and slept in every morning instead of writing because the task of it seemed too daunting and the excuses too vast. But not anymore. Now I sit down and I get my ass to work because I love it. I don’t have to work towards it. I’m already there.

If that hasn’t earned a drink or two, I don’t know what will.

Until next time, here’s to being scary.

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