Log lines don’t really have anything to do with stale sandwiches except in my universe. On her way to my house to work, Laura stopped by the local convenience store and got a sandwich and chips for lunch. She booted up the computer she leaves at my house and while we waited, she opened her ham and cheese on white bread. She said she’d really wanted a tuna salad sandwich, but there weren’t any.
I’d have to be starving before I’d eat tuna salad from a convenience store, but she never seems to get sick. However, today the bread and cheese were dried out and she deconstructed her sandwich as we settled in to work on a log line for our latest Christmas movie script titled #Santa. (She ought to just ask me to make her some tuna salad. It would have vegan mayo in it, but I get terrific tuna in oil at Trader Joes. However, she’d have to bring her own bread ’cause we don’t eat gluten and never have bread in the house. Maybe that’s why she goes to the convenience store.)
It seems like writing log lines should be easy. We’d finished the script so we knew the story, but the process of telling it in a few words was painful. Two and a half hours later we had something we liked: A cynical “reputation manager,” with a roster of crazy celebrities and a staff of social media savants, is arrested and sentenced to community service answering letters to Santa – or go to jail.
We’ll sleep on it and see how it looks in a couple of days.
p.s. It’s now two days later and it still seems pretty good.