The script.
I have already lost count… I do not remember, what is it edition…
It is eternal process:
а. Read.
b. Terrified.
c. Delete.
e. Retype
It is surprising, when I finish the next edition, it is pleasant to me (somewhere)
But… after time, I open the script again, and I begins sick from that delirium with which I have written.
Characters are empty and unequivocal, action scene are senseless…
How is it possible to exist with such woman beside?
Notebooks, pencils, napkins from restaurants on which are written those or other phrases. And which I lose somewhere, always.
Sometimes I forbid to itself to read, when I write.
Because I start to change style (zut, what style????).
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий