Pissing in the Wind

Feeling wet and wild.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Lately, I feel like a wound-up, screwed-up, Energizer bunny. Except, one without direction and purpose.

I run in circles, and into walls, like a wild thing, bouncing off barriers both real and imagined.

I am a writer. Have been, forever. And forever, I have been chasing a dream that increasingly, seems beyond my reach: To be a working screenwriter.

My manager, who resides just outside of L.A., has been shopping my most recent screenplay, which, I believe I’ve talked about here. It’s called “The Month We Fell Apart,” and it documents a time in my life that can only be called surreal.

Here is the log line, which is a short description, or “elevator pitch” of what the script is about:

A strong-willed woman’s rocky relationship with her parents takes a revelatory turn when all three receive a life-altering diagnosis.

Stage 4 lung cancer for my parents. Stage 1 breast cancer, for me. As mine was caught very early, I was fortunate. My parents, not so much. They died nine months later within a couple weeks of one another.

Although I am fond of most of my work — like many artists — I had to open a vein to write this. It is the best work I’ve ever produced and I am enormously proud of it.

From the description, you might think TMWFA is all “doom and gloom,” but this is not the case. There are elements of black comedy as my mom and dad were characters. My mother, especially, was funny as hell, and both displayed a level of courage that blew me away.

The script has been sitting with three fairly prominent production companies. I have a director attached, and up and coming Indie guy from Canada who is a true mensch. And, he loves the story. He really gets it.

So, we both wait for either a green light or a pass from these companies.

As each day goes by, I wonder: is my rep working hard enough? Is she truly invested in this, or is she (as I suspect), more involved with family issues? She recently became a grandmother, and I’m very happy for her, but this is my blood, sweat and tears.

I want to ask her the question I posed here, but I’m hesitant. I don’t want to “start something,” which is weird, because normally, “forthright” is my middle name. But, I don’t want to have to start looking for another manager. That’s a whole other, time-consuming process.

So, I wait.

And, while I wait, I think: “Sherry. Why don’t you just give this movie shit up and write a book? Turn one of your screenplays into a novel, and THEN Hollywood will come knocking.”

It’s a thought. But, I’m getting tired. Weary of working and wondering and waiting and hoping that IT will happen.

That said, I probably will write a book, because I’m a fucking idiot who never gives up. Never says “no way.” Driven. Abnormally so. Is there something wrong with this, do you think?

For those of you who are like me, do you think you’d be happier if you could settle for less? I would love to hear from you.

Then, there’s Medium, which I love being a part of. But, this, too, is hard work. We have to keep grinding away, creating content and more content. Write and engage. Engage and write.

My mojo has been MIA, lately, so I feel like a party-crasher, but I know I’ll get it back. I’m edging close to a thousand followers here and that will be a milestone for me.

Will this make me happy? It won’t hurt, certainly. But, the mini-me inside is urging me to step back…take a deep breath and think about what I want.

Right now, my answer to that is simple. I want to make it. Whatever “it” is, I want it. That, and sex. But, that’s another story, if I can summon up the cojones to write it.

I’ll just keep writing. That’s all I can do. But, pissing in the wind is fucking with my battery.

Somebody — please get me an umbrella.

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thank you for putting up with my ramblings. Are you up for more?