Finishing the script for the short film

The script for the short film adaptation of The Silver Stopper (the Colette story) is finished! Finishing a project I love leaves me a bit muddled — on one hand, there’s the exhilaration of success; on the other, there’s the blueness of it being all over. So, pulling myself together: finished! Bravos, self-applause, cheap champagne and a celebratory dinner at the appropriately Parisian Le Métropolitain. I reminisced with a diabolo, an old childhood favourite: lemonade mixed with a mint syrup so marvellously fresh that it’s like drinking a delicious toothpaste.

What a surreal feeling to have completed a project in only two or three months, which for me is such a short time, it’s positively supersonic — my Max and Lucia short story took perhaps six months to complete, and I’ve been writing the Nights in Paris novel for two years now. (But I can’t dwell on that thought, it’s too disheartening.) I’ve registered the script with the screenwriter’s guild, which felt awfully grown-up and professional. I’ve also given the script to a couple of friends who have worked in film and theatre; now I’m anxiously awaiting their comments. I haven’t experienced sending off your small, only child to a faraway boarding school, but I imagine that there are some similarities. Should I have kept her at home, all to myself? Will the teachers think she is as much of a genius as I do? Are the other children cleverer and more popular than she is? When she comes back, will she have been so influenced by other people that she’s unrecognisable? Will she turn into a brat?

Enough worrying: I’m old enough to know by now that criticism has to be considered carefully, but it doesn’t have to be acted on if it doesn’t feel right. At a university creative writing course, I took everyone’s criticisms to heart and rearranged my novel in progress until it was completely changed, only for the class to be horrified and say it had been much better before. “But it’s what you told me to do!” I wanted to yell. Arrgh. So now I know. If this child does turn into a brat, at least I can change her back.

J’ai fini, j’ai fini le scénario! Ca m’a pris seulement deux or trois mois pour l’écrire, c’est vraiment extraordinaire — ça fait déjà deux ans que j’écris mon roman… On a fété ça en dînant chez Le Métropolitain, et j’ai évoqué mon enfance avec un diabolo fraîchement pimenté de menthe, comme un boisson fait d’un dentifrice délicieux…