Tuesday, 3 December 2013

The Right Path

August 2001: They killed Buffy Summers! She died saving Dawn's life, and everything.

January 2002: Oh, never mind... They resurrected her!

That gap of 5 or so months were an important one - because I started to learn more and more about the "they" I referred to up above... the programme makers.

Growing up reading Doctor Who text books, I could memorise every writer and director in the show's history. I knew their names, and I knew their jobs. I had a vague idea what each role did, but then again, not really.

During those 5 months in 2001/02 I became obsessed with the world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and its geek Demi-God writer/creator Joss Whedon.

I wanted to be him. Literally, I wrote my own Buffy stories. I read up on his life, and wanted to have experienced all that myself! I even watched re-runs of Roseanne just to catch up on more of what he'd written.

But this isn't an essay about Joss Whedon.

Inside, I'm trying to describe a time to you where I so perfectly understood what I wanted to be, and do. That summer/autumn/winter gave me a purpose, and it was fun. Too often these days I forget that fun, and worse still, that purpose isn't there.

Walking around Westfield shopping centre the other day it suddenly hit me - horribly, at once - I'd lost my way. Somewhere between January 2002 and today, I've become the person I am now, and that marks the death of the person I was back then.

Does that matter? Should we embrace change, and its new ideas? Of course.

September 2005: The first day of college. I'm studying film. Wheeeeeeee!

June 2006: I write April 3rd script - quote unquote, "But with change comes the unexpected. That could be scary, or daunting..."

Now: It's scary.

I regret the days spent doing 'other things' - all those tasks that in the long term don't mean anything, or won't add to my life's worth when all is said and done. Days spent in the office, or sleeping in far too late. Nights spent browsing crappy websites, endlessly, just because I can. Not enough days spent writing; contributing to what I am, or could be.

This is a wake-up call, aged 24 and more than a half. Time to get on and do what I wanted to do back in 2002, and 2005, and 2007.

Write.

Right.
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