Getting the first one sent me into spasms of euphoria, I really felt like I’d achieved something. The funny thing is, each subsequent credit has had the same, although slightly reduced, effect.
It’s a form of validation, as if that single listing means I really am a writer. The meetings, the notes, the phone calls, the brightly coloured index cards and the actual people pointing actual cameras at other actual people who read my lines, hell, even the finished DVDs on my shelf somehow are all less real than an IMDb credit.
As if IMDb makes it all official.
Since each successive credit has moved me slightly less, I guess there will be a time when it’s so commonplace I don’t even bother to check … and that saddens me. I enjoy being excited about the trivial things, it confirms to me I’m putting my energies into a career which is worthwhile in the only meaningful way – it makes me happy.
Hopefully, one day, something I write will make other people happy instead of annoyed or slightly nauseous; but since that will make me even happier … hell, it’s all about me.
Jonathan Sothcott once asked me if I thought we would ever stop giggling like excited schoolgirls over the poster art for new projects and I really hope the answer is no.
For me, for now, I’m revelling in a slightly increased sense of self-worth.
I’m a writer, IMDb says so.