Running with the Wolves Project: Day One

To start off, I'm just going to introduce you to what this is all about. This is motivation; this is support; this is a somewhat-daily account of what I'm going to be doing over my summer break.

Over the month of April was Script Frenzy, as I'm sure some of you may have known, even participated in. I know I did, along with the rest of my junior year Creative Writing course, all of us to varying degrees. With my "partners" Alyssa and Tristy, I completed a total of sixty-four pages, where our goal was set to one hundred twenty by our teacher, Mr. Grace. Well, I completed forty-seven of those pages. Alyssa finished fifteen. Tristy hastened to do her two-page-contribution the day before our deadline.

On that Sunday night, as I basked in the last day of that weekend with family movies and dinner at home, I was blissfully unaware that, as I had done my part, Alyssa and Tristy did not. They had promised to redeem their procrastination by pulling all-nighters and getting the page count up closer to where we could receive at least a B on the assignment. At the time, we'd gotten--- frankly, I'd gotten us to sixty-one pages, virtually alone. I thought I could at least let the pressure get to them and find our page count around eighty or ninety.

Apparently, both we lying when they said they were excited to help with my brainchild, the script.

I received a text message around eight o'clock that night just before a late dinner that read: "Can you finish the script?" It was Tristy.

I replied, "I'm about to eat dinner. Did you get anything done?"

I could even hear her skepticism over technological advances. "I got as much as I could done."

I sighed as I sat down at the dining table and looked at my full plate and unopened new book. "Fine. I'll do as much as I can."

With a smile, she texted back, "Okay, great! Thanks!"

Peeved, but hungry, I put down my phone and began slicing at my pork chop. Not even two cuts in, I got another message, this time from a frantic Alyssa. "Can you finish the script?"

Déjà vu. "Tristy already asked. I'm eating dinner now. I'll do it when I'm done."

I set down my phone to looks of disapproval from my parents, who don't pay for unlimited texting. Still, after months of telling all of my friends of my technical disability, I heard my phone ring with "It's OK, But Just This Once" by Gym Class Heroes, the alert I get whenever I receive a message. Sheepishly, I put down my knife and fork and opened up my phone. The message read: "Alright, but can you hurry up? It's due tomorrow."

Duh. I knew that. I thought you did, too. I'm guessing otherwise now from your lack of contribution.

"I'm eating. I'll get to it later."

I thought that was the end of the conversation with my relentlessly moody friend after five minutes of no reply. I was wrong.

With a forkful of mashed potatoes, my phone began buzzing and reciting the song. I let out a breath and rolled my eyes. Open, "view", read. "Do you think we'll finish?"

No, Alyssa. I don't. I think I'll finish my dinner before I write a few more pages in the couple hours you've both given me. You should have struck the idea of finishing on Friday, when you decided to not work on it.

I didn't really reply.

After dinner, I found there to be two extra pages done on the script. Two.

I don't know if it was out of hopelessness or frustration now, but I teared up a little and closed the Scripped program. I couldn't deal with this right now.

It turns out that Tristy worked on it on Saturday after getting a message from Alyssa asking her to, but ended up with the two pages I'd seen. Sunday, she woke up refreshed and rearing to go... and open up the webpage and leave for a party, though she'd gone to a rave the night before. After hearing this, I remained silent, taking out my outline of the script and setting it on the table. The other two looked at mine and took out theirs, the ones I'd drawn up in sync with my own so that they wouldn't get lost writing along with me.

Alyssa had the nerve to ask me at this point if I had finished the script. Without moving, I replied, "No. I just opened it up and closed it. It wasn't my weekend to work on it."

"But you said you would," Tristy brought up.

"So did you," I pointed out. I then slid their outlines toward me and brought them together with my own, crumpling them up and walking to the trash can to throw them away. Needless to say, I did whatever else we had in the year on my own, including the extra credit assigned: film or perform a peice of your script to present to the class. I did a parody of it.

Now, for the summer, I'm leaving this experience behind to start anew with my latest idea, Running with the Wolves. It's a romance/fantasy with, you guessed it, a werewolf love interest. Instead of being a complete Twilight fangirl, though, I'm drawing inspiration from traditional lycanthropy. For the first few days, I'll be researching, thinking, and imagining, starting my script no later than next Monday.

What I need from you is support, encouraging comments and messages telling me to not give up or slow down. I'll be juggling this project with babysitting a four-month old baby, practicing with my band, writing music, ignoring my affection toward our guitarist, searching for a part-time job, completing a summer project for senior class English AP, signing up for scholarships and grants, and finding a new best friend, as my previous one has decided to put herself before others.

Here goes nothing.