The Third Season of Twin Peaks

As Beckoning Chasm points out, this has become the blog equivalent of the second season of Twin Peaks, with unresolved cliffhangers aplenty, and your protagonist seemingly trapped inside the Black Lodge, apparently incommunicado for all eternity. (Add to this the fact that Blogger has now lost this lengthy post twice.)

Yeah. Well. Here is how it goes in my little life:

The video game project is the Energizer Bunny of my professional side – it just keeps going and going. This current phase can’t go on too long, as the production end has postponed their phase twice now and made it clear they are not doing so again. Presentation of the (almost but not quite) final scripts was made to the folks at Baylor Friday, and they judged it good, with a few minor tweaks.

I still have a ton of ancillary material to write, but the part of the project that ate enormous gouts of my time like Saturn consuming his children appears to be just about over (haven’t I said that before?).

Now, a year ago, as I was wrapping up my direction of a stage adaptation of Henry and Ramona, I was asked to commit to directing another children’s play, this time a musical version of Judy Blume’s Superfudge in a year. A year from now? I replied. I have no idea what I’m doing a year from now. I may not even be alive. Oh come onnnnnnnnnn, was the rejoinder. Oh, well, the game project will be over by then, and I’ll need the money. Sure.

So. Juggling three creative endeavors (time to revisit the first video game project, apparently) at one time. And, oh yes, I’m performing at church again tomorrow. Not Satan this time. I’m Doubting Thomas (which is also stunningly apropos). I feel the creative card in my brain overheating.

The net result of all this, of course, is dropped balls. There is a phone call to a producer I was supposed to return last month. I haven’t. I hope that number is still on a piece of paper somewhere on my desk. There is, in my home office, a cleared path from the door to my desk. There’s a CD I burned for a friend, sitting next to my computer, making mock of the fact it hasn’t made it to the post office yet. I still have to do my taxes.

I used to watch a movie a day. I’ve watched one movie in the last two months. Well, and some episodic TV, to unwind after a long night at the computer.

The ones that hurt, though, are the balls that drop simply because they are not paying gigs or family-related. The pixels you are staring at now is one of those. The archiving of reviews at the B-Masters site is fitful at best. I’ve barely poked my head into the B-Movie Message Board – thank God there are three other moderators. The Bad Movie Report hasn’t seen an update since November of last year. The one that rankles the most, however, is Attack of the 50 Foot DVD, for which I do receive remuneration of a sort. Given a day, I could do something there.

I’m not being given a day.

So for all of you who read this – both of you – that is the cluttered, hectic state of my life. It’s nice to have a brain that everybody wants, at least for the moment, but it would be nice to spread that evenly over the bread of my life instead of having it sit in one cold lump in the middle.

It’s not that I don’t love you anymore – but you knew what you were getting into when you married a cop.