Obviously, it’s my mother’s fault

I’m struggling. Adaptation is hard. This was meant to be the “easy” module, or at least I’d convinced myself that it would be. Find a good story. One that I like. One that’s already been written, where someone has done all the hard work, and hey presto, the script basically writes itself. These were the naive thoughts that filled my foolish mind. Oh, how little I knew.

I’m meant to have a rough treatment ready in two weeks time. So far, I’ve zero written. Zilch. Nada. I’ve been carrying my note book, the original text, and my USB full of information with me everywhere, just in case I get some inspiration. The only thing I’ve managed to do is leave my bag behind me in cafes twice, leading to an overwhelming sense of panic until it was retrieved again (on the second occasion days later). I don’t believe in accidents, so on some unconscious level I wanted to leave that bag behind. To be rid of it and all that it contained. Basically, to get away from my own feeling of inadequacy at struggling with the adaption.

I thought about adapting a different story, in fact I’ve thought about adapting every other story I’ve heard/seen/read over the last few weeks because they’d all have to be easier than the one I’ve chosen. Right? Maybe not. I just need to do it. No more procrastination. No more avoidance. No more leaving my bag in cafes ’cause I’ve inadequacy issues and was probably breastfed for too long. I will, in every sense of the word, adapt.