Funk

Man, the ol' post-project heebie jeebies are worse than usual re the film. I can think of a number of reasons why, the most interesting being the autobiographical subtext of the story and its juxtaposition with the end of a certain path in my career.

A writer/filmmaker's relationship to his work is a mine field. And everything changes over time, of course. I look back at some of my short stories from the 60s and 70s and plays from the 80s and think, Man, this is great stuff, did I actually do that? And yet, at the time, I'm sure I was depressed after finishing it, wondering if it was worth a shit, if I'd just wasted still more of my time.

There's no answer because there's no question. The solution is to move on, though in the past I'd go on quite a bender to celebrate, or not, the end of a project before I cleared my head enough to move on. Actually those were pretty fun times, by and large, nothing like reckless abandon if you can survive it, and miraculously I survived far more than I had a right to survive, the gods caring for me for reasons still unknown.

The long Christmas break between terms will be an excellent time for me to regroup and get ready for a new direction in 2011. In the meantime, it's one foot after the other and a readiness to duck at any moment.