Day 87: Finishing The Falling Joys.

On January 3rd, I started turning a script of mine that I've always liked into a young adult novel.

I've never written a novel before - for readers of any age - so I can't say as I knew what I was doing. I just followed the script, expanding on various scenes when it felt right, and turned it into something that felt like a book.

Now that it's finished (well, a rough draft, anyway), I feel very strange. My first reaction was to cry, which really makes no sense unless you consider the whole "risk and rejection" thing.

I used to be fearless when it came to my writing. I used to think there was nothing I couldn't accomplish, nothing I couldn't do. When I wanted to be a music critic, I made it happen. Ditto with being a columnist. When I wanted to go to film school, I went. When I wanted to sell a script, I did. When I wanted to write for television, I did.

I'm not saying there wasn't insecurity along the way - of course there was. But beneath the surface (and generally on the surface), I believed in myself. I might have beat myself up for being overweight, or not being beautiful enough, but nobody and nothing could shake my belief in my writing.

Then, after several years of success, came the rejections. One after another, brutal and relentless. What had changed? All kinds of things. I'd gotten older, my work hadn't always been good enough, I'd turned down several things to try and make my own movie, I'd been arrogantly telling people what I really thought instead of playing the game, I'd gained weight (yes, in Hollywood, that matters, even for a writer), I'd decided to write with George and my (our) agent wasn't entirely suportive, there was the onslaught of reality television, some bad luck, and, finally, a return to my solo roots that went nowhere ...

Finally (as I've said here before), I just walked away. I couldn't bear to be one of those laughable Hollywood types who clings, reeking of desperation, so I walked.

Now that I've finished the rough draft, I guess I'm scared. Writing it has been this amazing, pure process, and I guess, in addition to worrying about its future, I'm sad it's over.

I wrote the book in 1,700-word chapters (26 of them), and I emailed Maggie every chapter after I finished it. She didn't respond as an editor, really - more as a reading enthusiast (have I ever mentioned that Maggie might read more books than anyone else I know? And that list would include some pretty voracious readers). After every chapter, she wanted more - she truly enjoyed it. She always wanted to know what was going to happen next. She prodded, she pushed, and she wouldn't let me go back and obsessively rewrite.

It was incredibly cool, not to mention motivating (thus the completed rough draft in record time). I know it's silly, but I'm sad to see this thing we've shared come to an end.

So ... what's the book about? I don't want to give it away, but the picture is a clue - the script was initially inspired by an old movie that I love. My story resembles that film in almost no way whatsoever, but the film is what first got me thinking. Many years ago, a friend of mine named Zoe (okay, it was a more complicated relationship than the "friends" tag implies) encouraged me to watch this movie - knowing I would love it - but I resisted. Why? Because I'm a dumbass. Anyway, I finally watched it one afternoon (we're talking years later), and I loved it. More than anything, I was swept away by its unabashedly romanticized belief in true love.

What's next for The Falling Joys? Well, first I need to get it into First Draft shape, and then I'll give it to a few people to read.

After that, I guess I just need to believe in it ... and in me.

It's like riding a bicycle, right?