Dustbunny is stuck under the bed
I’ve been at a standstill with my short script, Dustbunny. I wrote it in February 2025 and haven’t touched it since. It’s done well in competitions, landing semi-finalist and finalist placements, but never a win. Because I love the story so deeply, I want it to be the one that finally does. I’ve received thoughtful critiques and coverage with genuinely useful notes, yet every time I try to revise, I freeze. I’m afraid of making the script worse or over-editing it to the point where it becomes unrecognizable.
I originally wanted to turn it into a film, but now I’m not so sure—especially if this isn’t the big break I was treating it as. There’s a constant anxiety that by now I should have something substantial under my belt, while at the same time knowing that making a film requires real money and commitment; it’s not something I can do lightly and then shrug off if it doesn’t work.
The goal is to live as a screenwriter, but with pieces I care about. But what happens if the stories you want to tell aren’t what the masses are looking for? I don’t think I can write anything that doesn't have a piece of me in it.
So I am at a crossroads, unable to choose: do I step away for now and pour this energy into something entirely new? I’ve written many poems, short stories, and scripts, but this piece feels different—it feels like a part of my identity, which makes the idea of moving on feel especially devastating, even if it's a temporary pause. The existence of this script haunts me in everything I try to start anew. It's thumping its feet impatiently and whispering in my ear, “You still have me to worry about.”
