I’ve finished a first draft of the script and have handed it in to The Producers.

It’s pretty good. But not great. It’s a first draft. The fact that I can note that parts of it are downright crummy and other parts fat and lazy, and other parts some of the better work I’ve written, and not get too glum or too excited about any of it, is a sign that I’m actually growing up into an adult – an adult writer – which is something very few people ever get to do. It’s a privilege, an honor, a blessing, to not be so narcissistically wrapped up in the outcome and quality of work as I used to be. The work is the work, and the quality is none of my business. I’ve said that to myself a lot over the years, but I’ve been unconvinced most of the time. It usually sounds like I’m whistling through the graveyard, trying not to be frightened, becoming increasingly frightened with the increasing effort applied to avoid being frightened.

To be great is no great thing. To be right-sized is very, very rare.