I don’t know who or what in the Universal scheme of things decided that at this stage in my life I needed a kick in the bum, but I’m grateful I listened, or that they kicked hard enough for me to notice.

I went to my class last night and waited for the critic of my short film Young at Heart. I expected to be squirming and embarrassed and wishing I’d been smarter than to send in a script that took an hour to write.

I squirmed and I was embarrassed, but for very different reasons than I had expected. The instructor liked it. I had a bit of a Sally Field moment in my head, you know when she won the second Oscar. I had expected a critical response to my writing. After all, it’s what I give myself every time I put finger to keyboard.

I did get some suggestions I will implement to make it stronger. But nothing much. It was suggested I transform a telephone call into a face to face show down, and introduce the husband a bit earlier. General little things that I didn’t know made up most of it.

I walked out of class on a high last night. As I stood on the station, looking at the Sydney Harbour Bridge and waiting for my train I couldn’t help but feel that I had somehow or other broken down a gate, or barrier I’d erected years ago.

I enjoyed the positive criticism. I enjoyed seeing how the instructor saw the characters. I couldn’t help but smile when he said “I wanted to see them dance” and before I could help myself I said “they were supposed to, I chickened out of writing it, I thought it was cheesy.”

I’m always being told by friends and family to stop doubting myself. To trust. I find that very hard. I don’t really trust anyone outside of myself, but worse than that I don’t trust the person who lives inside my skin. He’s made too many mistakes, not listened to his gut and trusted people because they threw crumbs. Having trusted before I find it difficult to believe I can trust my decisions now.

Apparently I should have with my short movie. The dance is alluded to subtly in the movie, and it would be a magical scene when it’s filmed. I knew it belonged, I wanted it to belong and I second guessed myself.

So I have probably 2 scenes to write. One involving the Young Edith and her husband Harold, and the dance, a symbol of love found, and one with Bell and her ex husband, a non-fond farewell so to speak.

I’m really pleased I did this course. I’m grateful for the comments I’ve received, the suggestions and the help. It’s been a blast and I’ll be sad to see it finish next Monday night.

I guess the point to this very short update is that sometimes, no matter what you do, eventually it all comes down to trusting yourself. I wrote on Saturday that Young at Heart was probably crap. I’ve got to stop second guessing myself and doubting what I know, like I know, like I know is what I will do with the rest of my life. I’ve run long enough. It’s time now to stop running, and start writing.