Vindication.

Working on a script for months, it's easy to lose sight of what you were setting out to do in the first place. You start out with that fantastic feeling in your stomach, a combination of nerves and loving the spark that your idea is giving you. And then you get down to it. Progression. And, as with any creative exercise, problems arise. And you endeavour to fix those problems. And so it goes on. Until you reach a point where you feel that this script will sit unfinished for weeks. Maybe months. And the danger of things becoming a slog can creep in. And you trudge on until it's done.

And then you read it and all the blood drains from your face.

After some alcohol (but never immediately after - danger danger!), the rewrite begins. Irritance at problems staring you in the face. Going back to notes. Wondering if it'll ever be what you want it to be. And you finish it, to the best of your abilities at that given time.

And it's become something else. And you've lost sight of that wonderful feeling the idea gave you when you started out.

Until you let someone read it. Just for an opinion. Not a script expert, but you trust their word. Is it any good? Would it make a good movie? How shit is it? Presuming that everyone else can see all of the glaring errors and bad plasterwork over those initial cracks. The reply comes. You shut your eyes tight before you open it.

And then, for a little while at least, vindication hits you. It's worth it after all. Someone else saw what you were aiming for when you started out, and confidence returns. It's not shit. They like it. A lot.

And all is right with the world.

Ah.

Time for a beer, methinks.