We don't get to chose what is true. We only get to choose what we do about it.
surrounded by strangers who love me (un)strangers made strange by pain
In death, lie. In living, cry. Carry me home to remember to be remembered.
Nothing was ever how you wanted it to be. Not anymore. Not for me.
I start with a beat sheet, which is more of an abbreviated outline. It hits all the major plot points. From there, I move to note cards. But the most important part of my process is my inspiration board.
Who can judge the judge?