Let’s start with the obvious: nothing is going according to plan
By now, I was hoping that I would have already shot, edited and uploaded at least one brand-new short. The first five were always just the beginning.
Of course, it’s easy to point the finger at current events, but the truth is I was too burnt out to do anything.
Learning all the technicalities of budget movie making and doing everything in my power not to humiliate everyone who agreed to help out took such a toll on me that, when all the adrenaline finally wore off in January, I could barely move. Winter weather didn’t do me any favours and neither did the need to find some steady to work finance future entries. But still, right from the jump, my year wasn’t going according to plan.
I fortunately managed to find a full-time gig at the start of February, but readjusting to the startup life as well as being around people every day monopolized my daily allotment of energy. I still had no bandwidth to write for myself in the off hours. Every February day was the same: wake up, eat breakfast, metro to work, smoke twice walking from the metro to the office, bullshitted my way through the workday, come home, eat dinner, play Dragon Quest XI: Echoes of an Elusive Age on Switch until it was time to go to sleep.
It was only at the beginning of March when I started to get the itch again. Images, lines, outlines of characters, fragments of scenes began swirling around my head. And so I started writing it them down and seeing where they’d take me.
The floodgates opened, I was writing again and feeling optimistic that Don’t Worry wouldn’t suffer the same fate so many of the other projects I’ve been a part of: a would-be embarrassment that has been mercifully forgotten.
Surely, I don’t need to tell you why this didn’t work out. Though, COVID-19 is only part of the reason. Who knows how things would have played out if there wasn’t a global pandemic, but, at the beginning of the stay-at-home order, I started to feel a stinging pain on my tongue. The pain would only get worse as time went on. Eating and drinking became more and more difficult. Eventually, I woke up one day with one side of my neck completely swollen and sores lining the inside of my mouth.
The walk-in clinic hooked me up with some steroids, antibiotics and an anesthetic mouthwash, but I still couldn’t eat or drink. I don’t remember much about this time besides feeling like I was wasting away.
15 pounds lost in a week later, the pain was gone. Although not for long. It came back, as did the swelling, after a few days of respite and that’s when I started to get really scared. The pandemic had only gotten worse, getting an appointment at the walk-in was not happening and there was no way in hell I was going to go to a hospital. Instead, I chose to ride it out, ruminating on symptoms and writing as much as possible.
Every few minutes, I’d google facts about mouth cancer, do a self-exam and then finish my thought in whatever new Don’t Worry I was working on that day. The pain lingered for over six weeks and I was convinced the lesions on my tongue were cancerous. And though I’m still trying to find someone, preferably a doctor, to do a biopsy, the first order of business was always finish the scripts. Get these stories as close to perfect as you can and then get screened for oral cancer.
I started to think, “Isn’t it a shame not to share the things I sacrificed my health for?”
For better or worse, I did a lot of thinking about my mortality when I was sick, desperate to crank out as many more shorts as humanly possible, and it made me so sad to think that I was pouring all this time, effort, heart and soul into these stories that will never see the light of day if I die tomorrow because, when I die—whether it be tomorrow or many years from now, I’m taking all my passwords with me.
And besides, there’s no guarantee things will go back to the way they were. What happens if I can’t safely organize another shoot? What was all this for?
Finally, we arrive at the purpose of all this.
All those thoughts of dying quietly alone in my apartment and with nothing to show for it has made me want to share the new shit I’m working on.
And while I know I could maybe have just emailed these to friends, I have a hard time asking for help. I’ve sent too many unread scripts over the years. I know all too well that whenever those scripts go unread, I invite ruminations on if I matter.
So, instead of rotting at the bottom of a friend’s inbox, they’ll be here. First drafts, second drafts, notes on what inspired each piece, why I’ve made changes, etc.
I’m fully recovered from that mouth infection scare—that is not cancer! don’t give in to the anxious lies your mind makes up!—and what I want now is to share the process with anyone who cares to look at it. Hopefully you’ll read, offer your approval and some constructive criticism, maybe even want to participate in the making of when we can safely be closer than 2 metres apart.
If not, at least there’ll be some proof that I was here and doing something with my time just in case the worst happens.
Thanks,
Iain.
PS. Sorry for being so morbid and melodramatic but c’mon you knew what you were getting into.
Still unsure whether or not this is a good idea but fuck it whatever here goes nothing.