Wednesday night, I had a good talk about the tv pilot with Mark, my writing partner (and hopefully future contributor to this blog). So in a way... some work got done on it (don't forget; Bailey has scars, Miranda doesn't). But it feels like I slacked off since I was planning on going to a coffee shop to do a pass or two on a scene. You see, everything was going according to plan, then "work" got in the way. I left late. Mark called and asked if I wanted to meet up for a beer.
Sure, I could use a beer. Initially, I turned him down. Got work to do. But then I saw my plan go out the window. (the plan was complicated, relying on the TTC [uh...] and the ability to leave work on time [yeah, right]) So what ended up happening was the usual shits and giggles, some brainstorming, followed by the requisite "We're geniuses. This is G-O-L-D."
Uh-huh. Then of course, I end up feeling like crap the next morning. And guilty. Guilty hangover.
The interesting thing was our conversation about character. The pilot is an ensemble and we had slightly differing opinions on who you could call the main character. Actually, we agreed on which character is becoming numero uno, but it's not who we originally intended to be the protagonist, our Jack Sheppherd. Our Malcom Reynalds. Our Bugs Bunny.
Now, this is not a bad thing. Characters are coming to life, taking over the story and all that other crap writers say when they're buzzing from a creative burst. The only thing that concerns me is that - at least as far as the way I write - this is a sign that the former main character has been somewhat neglected. I mean, this is an ensemble, but imagine if the crew behind LOST were developing their stories and designing their characters... and Locke suddenly became Bernard. Or Dr. Artz.
So, while I agree that our new protag will fill that role nicely and won't change that, at some point me and Mark are gonna have to put some serious thought into this other, neglected character. 'Cause when characters come to life, it's awesome. Until they knock on your door with a chip on their shoulder and slap you around for neglecting them.
Either that, or they start a band.
A grunge band.
A whiny grunge band.