It has been four days now since Greg O. and I spent all of a Friday night finishing our rewrite of "Ten Keys," based on the Lee Child story of the same name. We were feeling pretty darn proud by the time we wrapped it up, around 2 a.m. Then we grabbed a couple of bottles of root beer - I forget the brand, but it's really good - and sat on his front porch with our feet on the railing that the landlord told us to take our feet off of before because he painted it by hand but this night the old coot was out of town...we sat on the porch on a cool-not-cold summer night drinking root beer and talking about dreams. Greg saw a couple of shooting stars. I missed them.

His dream, or what he shared - to do work that is appreciated by a lot of people - was more general than what I shared, to make a living as a screenwriter. To see my work on the screen. To see my name on the screen in great big letters. Incredibly, it was only a few days before that, that I had imagined that specific thing, my name in big letters on a movie screen. And I really liked the way it felt.

(cue the montage for William Holden's ego-ridden pitch to himself in "Paris When It Sizzles.")

Unless I miss my guess, Mr. Child has enough clout so that if he likes the script, it WILL be shot. That is exciting.

I'm listening to "Blade Runner" music again. I haven't ordered the ultimate DVD collection. Shame on me.