Must. Press. On.

So, I live in Austin now (whaaaaaaaat?!). I know; you're shocked. So am I, kind of. Not just by the fact that it's January and I had lunch outside today, or by the fact that Whole Foods seems to be one of the hippest hang outs on the west side, but mostly by a strange, unfamiliar feeling that has crept its way into my conscious: I have got to be the least artistic person in this entire city.

Seriously, it's like everyone here is a struggling artist of some kind. You know how in LA, you can walk up to any waiter in a California Pizza Kitchen and find an actor? Here, it's like the crowd in a record shop on a Tuesday afternoon. All the time. Everywhere. Writing screenplays is like child's play to these people.

Not surprisingly, intimidation is doing nothing for my writing. It's the same effect as when I watch a really, really great movie. It's that feeling of "wow; why do I even try." Luckily, there is a cure for this seemingly unshakable doldrum: an almost good movie. A not-a-bad movie. As a motivator, it is far superior to the straight up bad movie in that you can see where they went right, but also where they took a weird detour into muddled plot and tripe dialogue.

It's perfect.

Never is it so clear to me what a great movie is as when I've almost, almost seen a good one. I know how to make it better, make it good. And that's all I'm asking for here, to write good movies. Great, probably not. Bad, I hope not. I just want one good movie that ten years from now people will look back on and say "ah, remember that movie? That was a good movie." And then their friend will say, "whatever happened to that screenwriter," and the other guy will be like, "didn't she invent something, like, really huge. She's like a millionaire now."

I also want to invent something huge that's worth millions.