Exactly 15 months ago, in the midst of the worst string of writer's block I have ever experienced, I decided to drive to a local park, lean against an oak tree and hope the stereotypically hipster vibe would finally give me inspiration to write a screenplay. Looking back on it now, I did not realize just how much this one drive, this one oak tree, this one script would take over my life. A little over a year later it’s all I think about and even then, the whole process is just beginning. This is the story of how Cocaine to London was born.
I am not good at writing. I know that may come off as self-deprecating, but it isn't. See, when I do write, it is very often something I am proud of, but the key phrase of that sentence is when I write. My writing process often alternates between a week of heavy inspiration and several months of not being able to even write a single action line: a bad ratio. Never, though, was this writer's block as bad as the summer of 2022. In 10 months of trying to write the pilot to a new television idea I had, I did not even open Final Draft once. It was very emotionally taxing and after a while of stressing over it, I decided to just push it aside and let the writer’s block end when it ended (hopefully soon). Then, I learned of the Studio North Film Grant, a monetary award given by Johns Hopkins University's student-led production company to two student filmmakers to produce and premiere their own short film. This opportunity was CTL's spark.
Cierra Gladden (middle) and Christian Reidy (right) after the premiere of their grant winning films.
As I arrived at the oak tree, I set an ultimatum to myself. No longer could I let this writer's block persist, let it hide in the background silently and eat away at my dwindling time. I decided, no matter what, by the end of the day, I would have something that I could work on through the summer and eventually submit to the Studio North grant. So with a charged laptop (73% is close enough) and an angry, writing-withdrawal-ridden heart, I took a seat and opened up a fresh Final Draft document.
The first hour was a lot of brainstorming. Coming into this writing session, the last things I worked on had been high concept teleplays: ensemble stories of eclectic towns, cowboy sci-fi plots, etc. After some thinking about it, and wanting this script to be more shootable, I decided to follow the age-old piece of writing advice: write what you know. Right away, the answer came to me: music.
I am no musician myself, but music has always surrounded my life from long car rides with my dad playing Metallica and The Mars Volta through his green iPod Nano to my mom throwing folk tunes and Christmas songs into our old CD player. Now, nothing makes me happier than discovering a new artist, hearing a new sound or even just talking about music with other audiophiles. All that being said, very often people who obsess over music are incredibly insufferable.
This was CTL’s launching point: a script that includes both my love and very valid critiques of the process and people involved in making music. This developed into a story: a punk band carrying all of the angst, anger issues and pretension associated with the genre and the talented, but disrespected bassist just trying to make a living in the industry.
Very quickly, I found a rhythm to the script, a framing similar to The Office that allowed me to cut to talking heads of the band members. This gave me the ability to explore each of the character’s internal thoughts as well as added a new layer of comedy I had not experimented with before. This, along with the sheer joy I had writing the different musical sequences finally broke me away from my writer's block. In fact, it propelled me into a flow state I had never experienced before. There were page long sections where I didn't even take a second to pause and think. It was all coming naturally. The dialogue already felt witty and layered. The action lines were messy, but potent. I even found myself inserting even more aspects of myself into the script from my fear of monetary stability as a writer to my stubborn, argumentative personality to my writer’s block itself. No more sci-fi cowboys or silly towns. I was writing a script that, for the first time, felt truly personal… and I couldn’t stop.
At 9:42PM (yes, I checked) I finished my first draft of Cocaine to London. A 30 page musical drama with everything from nepo-babies to fleeing the cops to implied profane acts with an orange, the script was a rollercoaster and as I closed my laptop (4%), I couldn’t not smile. The most elated I’ve maybe ever felt, I got back into my car, turned on some Carly Rae Jepsen and drove home.
My BeReal, the day after, reading the first draft for the first time.
The next day, I reread my masterpiece and realized it was perhaps the messiest thing I had ever written. Everything I loved about it the night before now felt like the worst possible decision I could have made. All that being said, I did not get discouraged. In fact, the exact opposite. I had proven to myself that I was still able to create a story, a fact I had begun to worry was no longer true. No longer did I feel trapped in my own head. Instead, I felt motivated. Tomorrow, I told myself, I will go back to the oak tree and I’ll try again and I’ll do that as many times as I need until I read it and have the same unwavering smile I had when I wrote it. No matter what it takes, CTL will be perfect.
I’ll be honest, though… I didn’t expect it to take 27 DRAFTS!
Until next time…
Devin