The other day, I remembered that 2012 is going to be an exciting year. And then realised we’re 7/12s of the way through.
Apart from making me feel like my brain
is falling has fallen through a hole in my saggy toddler-mum trews and lies spat on, in a wet puddle alongside the rotted tendrils of my once-feted perspicacity*, my “WTF” double-take at the calendar brought me up short.
First, I reacted like a self-loathing drunk (swap “what did I DO last night?” for “where have I been the last 7 months?”); and second, I felt like a working-from-home parent who sees that it’s two-thirty in the afternoon (“Oh, shit.”) This is not diminished by often being that W@H parent.
“Yes, Kirk,” I muttered to no-one at all, “it’s time to get creative on yo’ass.”
Five months before 2013 gets here. It’s not a number I especially warm to.
So here’s the 2012 To-Do List (in the order in which they’re salvaged from that wet puddle of fallen brain):
- Find two wonderful theatre producers. One for a big society drama that makes you weep, one for a physical, druggy, political, post-Afghanistan one-man show. I know you’re out there, Auntie/Uncle Magic
- Complete my spec TV serial script (from that fantastic Channel 4Screenwriting thing that might have a wee connection with the first six months of my 2012) with the magic dust I pilfered off the shoulders of giants
- Get a decent draft together of a new political show, inspired by a bloke in the South West. I say no more…
- Pin down those two pitchable ideas that are haunting my head – oh, yeah: and PITCH THEM!
- And if – in the middle of all that – I find a wonderful agent (another Auntie/Uncle Magic), I’ll be happy.
No pressure. Advertising it all on the web to make me accountable, no hassle. Ha ha ha bonk.
* I assume you know no different