I'm Not William Hung

I've been growing increasingly impatient with that ridiculing voice of self doubt that prowls around my computer. It says, "hey failure, what makes you think you are unlike those hundreds of thousands of wannabes clogging up electronic mail systems with their mediocrity and keeping Hollywood chiropractor offices full of postal carriers suffering from luggage fatigue?

That voice says I should be writing on a Big Chief tablet and it thinks my time would be more productive in a tomato garden than in front of a keyboard. That voice points at my duds in the Nicholl and the Austin Film Festival as proof of my ineptness as a screenwriter. That voice says that like William Hung, my talent amounts to little more than wishful thinking and tenacity. That voice is a liar, a very intimidating one.

Do I rebut that voice with "Shut up! I am a writer, you abstract outgrowth of my own insecurity!".. ? Huh? Do I? No. I usually say "begging your pardon, Mr. Sycophantic-evidence-of-my-mental-illness, you're right, I'm a poser and will never be a real screenwriter". Then I cower behind a subservient part time job until the voice wanders away from my computer long enough for me to pound out another story or, at the very least, a notably imaginative grocery list.

A successful screenwriter once told me that the voice of doubt is actually a good thing because it thwarts over-confidence and prevents complacency. I think he must be referring to a voice of reason, not a voice of doubt, but who am I to question a pro who readily admits that he hears voices? So based on this declaration, I decided to stop avoiding that voice, stop ducking behind doors and stop slinking to my keyboard only when the voice has his back turned.

I've got a plan. It's an idiotic one that would merit extra medication in my warm milk and an invitation to wear a lovely white sleeved jacket. But it is a plan, none the less and even a bad plan is better than no plan at all. So, how have I decided to cope with this outspoken nuisance in my head? I've decided to embrace him as a member of my writing team. Oh, and also to name him Sal.

Sal, for all his mocking and taunting, is a pretty intelligent bully. He's not a half bad writer either and his insults are not entirely without merit. So, playing on his sense of superiority, I am recruiting him as a writing partner. Sal wants full creative control but I am convinced that he is needed more as a story editor. That label seems to suit his notion of self-importance so we are striking a deal. Sal is to leave me in peace to write what I want for as long as it takes me to write it. In return, he is entitled to edit each scene as mercilessly and with as much malice as he deems necessary. These are good terms for us both. But there is one more condition that Sal insists on.

"You must no longer refer to me as a voice of self doubt" demands Sal."It is insulting and counterproductive."

Certainly, I must humor him anything if we're to get on with it so I agree to whatever it is, except for the tomato garden.

"In the future, "says Sal. "Should you discuss me with your colleagues, you must refer to me by my proper title, a voice of reason."