writing

Howdy, sports fans. Iggy here. I don't have much time-- I've been waiting tables at this Chicken & Waffles house in Birmingham, Georgia for six hours, then I ducked into this supply closet to update you guys on my quest. But I think my boss is on the warpath.

This job sucks.

But you know what? I would rather work at this podunk chicken & waffles restaurant, serving griddles to fat Southern women, than spend another second as an engineering major.

(Whew! I managed to tie that intro into my overall blog concept. High five to myself!)

So this entry is about me writing stuff. It's not really that long of a story, actually. (Thus my clever "I don't have much time" intro, which really means I don't feel like writing a lot today. Yes. It all ties together.)

When I was but a wee Iggy of ten years, I met a man at my church who wrote Christian fiction for young adults. We struck up a kind of friendship, the special kind that grown men and ten-year-old boys can only have...

...purely writing-related. Duh.

Anyway, my author friend decided to write a book with me and a friend as the main characters. It was kind of a horror series-- we fought a gigantic sea monster-- but with the power of the Bible behind it all. I actually got to write a little segment of the book! As a ten-year-old, I was already kind of a published author. And my writing interest wasn't done yet.

In seventh grade I wrote eighty pages of a novel. It was called Code Red, and I wish I had an excerpt to post, because it was totally the best thing ever written. It was about this secret agent team, led by Gray Bradford the super-spy, against an evil terrorist group called Stingray. By the way, when I said "the best thing ever written" I actually meant "the lamest thing ever invented by humanity". (Sorry for any confusion.)

But I would move on to high school and write more random stuff, and then my first year of college, I wrote a story called Six-Six-Seven which turned into a full-fledged book, almost 140 pages long.

Then this spring, after I decided to switch into film, I wrote my first-ever screenplay.

It's called Jack is Dead, and if you ask nicely enough, I might even post some snippets of it.

So what's the next step for me? I'm going to work on Jack until it's actually good enough to send out, and then I'll canvas the city of Hollywood with the script and try to find an agent. Then my next project will be to transform Six-Six-Seven into a screenplay (since I always pictured it as a movie, anyway).

I can't tell you how amazing it feels to have a full script written and locked away. This is how I know I'm a writer. It feels like the greatest thing I've ever done as a human-- even more than getting into the college I'm at.

Sure, it kinda sucks as a script.

But at least it's finished? (Question mark?)

Uh oh. I think my boss knows where I am. (See, I'm using the chicken and waffles conceit as a bailout because I'm tired of writing this post. In case you needed me to decode it for you.) I'd better get going. Last time she made me mop the kitchen using only my own saliva. I tell you, that floor tasted disgusting. Let's just say it's a good thing I like maple syrup so much.

Peace.