romancing.

Hello, my name is Amy, and I'm a commitment-phobe.

I'm sure there's at least one boy out there -- maybe two -- going, "Yes! I KNEW it!" I'm sorry. It's not you; it's me, really. There's something about the emotional involvement of being with someone for more than twenty minutes that makes me want to leave the state. I could tell you why I'm such a cut-losses girl, but no one showed up here for that sentimental nonsense, did they?

Luckily the Hockey Player shares my trepidation about all things sappy. It took us nine months to admit to the L word to each other -- and I mean "like." [No guys, of course I don't mean 'like.' For real?] We have our one-year coming up next week, and for a while I was freaking out about it. Then I got over it. Maybe because I realized I was being dumb. Maybe because I'm just looking forward to a nice dinner out. Maybe because I'm leaving for Israel the next day and that's a great way to shake someone if you really need to.

There have been very few things I've been signed onto beyond a one year lease, but writing is one of them. I wish I could tell you how old I was when I started writing about the Island of Many-Colored Ponies, but all I know was that it was WAY before I started dating. In high school I spent as much time scribbling ideas down on napkins as I did doodling my married name in the back of my math notebook. I've turned down invitations just to get the day's writing in. Writing is, for better or worse, has been part of my identity and my future for as long as I can remember.

However, all is not well in our marriage. Times are tough. It's been feeling a bit one-sided lately, like I've been doing all the work and not getting any love back. I'm feeling neglected, ignored, and unappreciated. It's difficult to commit so much of your time and energy to something and see it go nowhere. At the end of my life will I be satisfied with the stack of screenplays in the closet, just to be able to say that I've written? Or will the monument to rejection hurt more than help? I do just fine on my own. I don't need writing. How long would you let yourself love someone without any acknowledgment? And am I taking this metaphor too far?

I know I just wrote about discipline. And I do have a project for V that I will pursue with vigorous commitment to make it the best story I can. But during the last few weeks, if I haven't wanted to write, then I haven't. And I'm going to go to Israel with my dad and my aunt and hope to have a spiritual revelation about life's purpose. I kid. I'm going to go to Israel and hope the Middle East doesn't fall into nuclear war while I'm there. I will be grateful for that divine intervention alone.

Meanwhile, the Hockey Player took me to see Star Wars in 3D this weekend, so I think I'll keep him around for a little longer. On the other hand, he doesn't get his own invitation to my best friend's wedding and I'm holding onto both the Coldplay tickets I won, but if he keeps doing what he's doing, I think his future looks good.

Discipline.

There's something sweet about procrastination.

I've basically had Draft Two of Consideration done for about a week. It needs a good scrubbing, a once over to make sure I've set up all the scenes properly, I've made all the correct changes, and my typos are all cleared up. I just haven't gotten around to it. I printed it off tonight, all 72 pages of it [how did that happen?], and I consider that an accomplishment.

I blame sweatpants. They are a complete motivation suck. Sweatpants, Words with Friends, and Downton Abbey.

I am a complete extremist when it comes to discipline. Either I have a plan and I'm sticking to it, I'm writing every day, turning down invitations from friends. Or -- or I'm not writing. At all.

However, discipline is a huge motivator for me. Not my discipline, obviously, but the discipline of others. Competition is fierce in this industry. And I know that one day I'm going to be up for an assignment against some guy [yes, it will be a guy] who has sacrificed too much so he can spend every free minute writing. And when that time comes, I don't want to be at a disadvantage just because I used to come home and put on sweatpants and Downton Abbey.

I know that I am, if anything, only a moderately talented writer. My biggest talent is my strong desire to be a writer. Writing is a war of attrition -- if I keep writing, I'll keep getting better. It may not be the fastest road -- because you know what? I really LIKE Downton Abbey! -- but sometimes, persistence is more rewarded than aptitude.

One of the highest compliments the Hockey Player ever gave me was that he thought I was fairly obsessive about writing. That glow kept me pushing through the day job and the harsh Michigan went for at least nine hours. But that's all I really have to say on the subject, because I have a 72 page script sitting next to me that needs a decent flaying.

First I am totally checking Twitter. Carson Reeves replied to me, and now I'm completely crushing.