I e-mailed off the first-first draft of the horror on Tuesday morning. It's more draft-y than I normally send out, so that I can give the director an opportunity to add his scenes and thoughts. It'll come back to me for a rewrite, and THEN I'll be able to finalized and present what I will call my own first draft -- the draft that I will send to my own readers for fresh, unbiased perspectives. At that point, I should have fulfilled my first screenwriting contract.

Now what?

Work on getting a manager, work on getting a manager, work on getting a manager. On that front, my writing partner and I have calls out, one nibble, and more calls to make.

Then, take a short break to refresh, catch up on my movies and TV shows, and figure out which idea rattling around in my head excites me more.

I've got a couple to play with. One is a comedy about retired cowboys, which sprang from overhearing two guys on the Warner Bros. lot comment about how all the guys who played cowboys are all retired. That's pretty much all I have on it, but the idea amuses me.

The other is a sci-fi piece that has its genesis in some WWII bits that I've encountered in connection with Paris Island, first deployments, gung-ho recruits interacting with grizzled/embittered veterans and an image of a female, sax-playing grunt blowing jazz tunes in her bunk just before the first combat drop.

What a choice, eh?