The Couch - Day 1

Last Friday was supposed to be the first day of school, Christmas morning, the day vacation begins. But it was delayed. Our director had the stomach flu. And so, Monday became all those good things wrapped into one day. Our first day of filming on our web series, The Couch.

The first day of shooting, right before the first shot!

I packed my bag the night before. I printed out my script. I got my camera all loaded. (I am the onset still photographer!) I didn't sleep very well. I got up early. I dropped Angela at school just after sunrise. I drove to the Valley. And I got to the house where we'd be shooting all day. And there were people there.

The sound mixer. The script supervisor. The director. The director of photography/set designer/homeowner extraordinaire. Then the producer/lead actress arrived. And the other actress. And the production assistant.

Eight of us arrived for work that day all because Ayelette wanted to make something and I created something. HOW COOL IS THAT.

I really can't get over it. Seriously. I kinda hope I never do. The idea that as a writer, I am creating worlds. Creating lives. Creating stories. Creating emotions. The idea that as a writer, and particularly as a show runner (which I am not, yet), I am creating jobs. Creating opportunities. Creating work.

I am still a little bit in shock.

The day began with a 7am call time. I left set about 5:15pm. And yet? It felt like I'd been gone just mere moments. And? Days. At the beginning of the day I was anxious, nervous even. But within minutes of being on set I felt at ease, at home. There was work to be done, questions to be answered, things to be written, ideas to be bandied about.

Know this about Hollywood, the writer is not always invited to set. The writer is not always welcome on set. I've heard tales of writers who can't watch the movie they wrote because it's no longer their vision or because of how they were treated. And yet, I've heard the opposite too. There are filmmakers and directors who insist the writer be involved every step of the way. Particularly in television where writer is queen. And I've experienced it too. In my Hollywood adventures I've been welcomed with open arms, lauded as creator. I've also been shooed away, the door physically shut in my face, calls unreturned and uninvited to the process, deemed simply the writer. Someone unnecessary in the next step of the evolution of the process.

But this has not been the case on this project. I've been included and included and invited and deferred to. I've been celebrated and acknowledged and I cannot thank my collaborators enough. Monday would not have happened without every single one of us in that room.

I had different jobs on Monday. I took it upon myself to come up with affirmations for the set chalk board that would be in the shot. I used the chalk and channeled my best seventh grade teacher handwriting. I volunteered to be in charge of the clapboard, changing the scene numbers with the chalk I kept in my pocket, and clapping in front of the camera before each shot.

I also watched everyone else do their jobs and tried to learn from them. We had a first time director, a first time producer, a first time director of photography, a first time script supervisor. I asked questions during downtime and made notes. I want to soak it all in so I'm ready for next time. So I know how things are happening, how I can help, and how, maybe, at some point, I can tackle directing and producing.

Apart from soaking in all the new activity around me, I tried really hard to enjoy the moment too. To revel in the reality that these actresses were speaking my words, my story, inhabiting my characters. It was amazing to hear the crew laugh at lines I had written alone at my desk not knowing if they might sound funny or odd or off. It was amazing to watch these actresses telegraph the story that I thought was completely make-believe but upon watching it play out time and time again, made me realize perhaps it's a bit more personal than I might have previously thought.

Katy (director), Linda (script supervisor),
Meagan (director of photography)

I didn't want to leave the Valley Monday evening. In fact, after we wrapped (meaning the actors were finished with their part), four of us crew members sat in the backyard and took a few moments. We were all exhausted, mostly mentally, from the day, from the week, from the months of preparations. But we were all, and I'm just speaking from observation here, really excited.

We talked about the day. We talked about the trials. We talked about how we only ended up finishing one scene instead of the planned two. And we discussed the script. They asked questions about my choices, about my stories. They talked about how we'd portray different parts during upcoming filming days. And when we headed to our cars, the director told me how grateful she was to have me on set.

I know every experience will not be this perfect for me. I know I will not always be welcomed into the fold quite so readily. I know I will not always see my story portrayed quite so unfiltered on the screen. I know I will not always look around the set and see that I am surrounded, almost completely, by amazing women.

But I will always remember.

And I will always strive to recreate it. Because that's what I do. I create.

Red Converse with my hospital gown

Everyone wears their red Converse under their hospital gown, right? Right.

This was my view Tuesday afternoon. I had a lovely bed smack to the side of a busy hallway in the Glendale Adventist Emergency Room. I'm not complaining. I didn't want my own room, hell I didn't even want my own bed but they insisted. See if you get your own room, you're probably sticking around. And I didn't want to stick around.

I was there to get an ultrasound. I made an appointment with my primary care doctor because my right leg has been more achy than usual, a teeny tiny bit swollen around my sandal and occasionally painful. It had been about two weeks of this and I was done. So off to the doctor I went. She wanted an ultrasound immediately and the best way to get that was to send me to the ER. I'd spent the morning running around volunteering at Homeless Lunch and yet, they decided I couldn't walk to the ER. So I got in the wheelchair and they pushed me around the corner, up the ramp and into the connected hospital.

It was all supposed to be routine. They even slid me in the ER exit, instead of through the entrance, once I was registered. The nurse didn't even bother with blood work right away. They had me put a gown on just for the test. Which I had. But then...the doctor came back by. And I have to tell you, this ER staff was efficient and great. The doctor came by and said I'm calling a vascular surgeon and your hematologist.

And that's when I realized me and my red Converse weren't skipping out the door with just a quicky ultrasound.

A co-worker dropped Angela off at the hospital after work. We waited. We waited some more. And then? The doctor returned. He wanted to do something preventative to stop another pulmonary embolism because, in his words, some people don't have the best...and he stopped. I knew where he was going. Most people die from pulmonary embolisms. I did not the first time. He wasn't so sure I'd be as lucky the next was what I was getting even though he wasn't saying it. But the surgeon and my hematologist concurred that the new clot the ultrasound had picked up could very possibly be an old clot that was calcifying. That was good news. Right? Right...well, it was news.

The ER doctor sent me home, a bit begrudgingly. He'd wanted to admit me but he sensed he would and nothing would happen and they wouldn't put in a vascular screen (or more accurately, a vascular umbrella) as he hoped and they'd send me home in the morning. I thanked him profusely for his vigilance but gladly swapped my giant gown for my jeans and t-shirt and got on the road.

Wednesday morning Angela and I arrived at my hematologist's office, under direction from the ER doctor. I didn't have an appointment and we were armed with books and snacks and prepared to wait all day to be seen if necessary. But the sweet nurse was expecting me, having taken the ER call the day before, and ready to hear what was going on. I saw the doctor in just over an hour and we talked about the news.

My hematologist didn't want to take action just yet. She believes that the clot may be old, and if so, the blood thinner I'm on is doing it's job. She said a screen doesn't always work and sometimes causes more problems than it fixes. I don't want that. So the news? It's that I might have a new clot. And I might not. I'm to be aware of pulmonary embolism and clot symptoms and go to the ER if they appear or appear to worsen. I'm to continue my meds as I await the results of a new blood test and a study of this week's ultrasound and the 2015 ultrasounds. I can do that. I can wait. I can exercise and drink more water, the only prescriptions I left with Wednesday afternoon. But...

The news isn't what I hoped. I had hoped for nothing. For all the doctors to say you're fine. Or maybe you have a sciatica problem as the ER doctor so hopefully suggested just after ordering the ultrasound. But the news isn't terrible either. It could be so much worse.

But that doesn't stop the fear or the panic or the anxiety or the dread. That didn't stop me from bursting into tears in the waiting room after my appointment yesterday. (I'd worn mascara telling myself I couldn't cry while wearing it, and yet, I did.) That didn't stop me from sobbing in the Kohl's parking lot half an hour later as we debated lunch options. That didn't stop me from imaging I couldn't breathe last night as I did health-related paperwork. That didn't stop the PTSD. That didn't stop the terror.

It will subside. The feelings of anxiety will go away, I know this, logically. They'll lessen over time. They're better now than they were yesterday at this time. They're worse when I'm not busy or when I let my mind wander. Thankfully I have Angela. We played board games last night and watched baseball. And then I read until late, until my eyes physically beat my brain to the sleep finish line. Thankfully I have projects to keep me going. I spent hours on the phone this morning with my friend Tami talking story and script. Thankfully I have volunteering. This afternoon I spent time at Ang's school, where I got so many hugs and lunch and bakery treats bought to celebrate me. I am so lucky. So thankful.

The anxiety will subside. It will get better as my body does. Walking up inclines is harder now than it was several weeks ago. This is due to the clots, whether new or old. It's a reality but I'll still walk up them. Because the hill might be steep but it's still my path.

Reading the year away

I love my iPhone. It's rarely out of my sight. (Though I do leave it charging in the living room when I go to bed.) I am constantly checking Twitter, Facebook, reading articles, taking photos, texting. It's great. I can answer email wherever and whenever. I can play games on it. I can read books on it. I can track my calories and my steps. I use it to remember when I got my period last month and what the name of my blood disorder is (gun to my head right now, I could not remember the entire name).

And yet...

I've been trying to step away from it more. I've been trying to read more. Take more breaks.

This has a lot to do with the election. This has a lot to do with the state of our world. This has a lot to do with me.

In January I promised myself I'd read more books. I already read lots of articles. Lots of magazines. Lots of newspapers. But I'd found myself buying books and stacking them on the shelf and meaning to get to them and then not. Because two hours later I'd still be on Twitter. So I made myself a promise.

I've done well this year, so far. I started re-reading A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn. I read it chapter by chapter at my desk, slowly, with a pen and a highlighter, as if there will be a test. Because I think there will be. It's the future of our country, the test.

I've read a bunch of novels, which I love. When Angela was in San Jose for her STEAM conference I found myself reading all night, saving our favorite TV shows for when she got home. And I devoured two books. Just this past weekend I read an entire novel, Sweetbitter, and started another. There is nothing better than a book you don't want to put down, well maybe a book you don't want to ever end (I'm looking at you The Hate U Give).

I've also been other nonfiction, including The Sixth Extinction, which Angela and I read out loud together. We passed the book back and forth beginning the night we lost power, and read while we cooked, while we cleaned, while we drove, while we laid in bed. It was great. We had to look up words and we had to end chapters early sometimes to talk about what we'd just read. And now we know a lot about the current bat crisis in this country, among other things.

But you know what another result of reading is, besides learning about climate change and history and the drama of life in a fictional restaurant (read Sweetbitter, trust me)? Wanting to talk about what you've read. Or what you've learned. And that can be hard because despite that smartphone in my pocket, I sometimes feel disconnected.

So a couple of weekends ago I headed off to the Los Angeles Times Book Fest. I was excited to hear some of my favorite writers speak. To learn directly from them. And learn I did.

The first panel I attended was entitled "Activists on the Front Lines". Matt Pearce, reporter from the LA Times moderated (he's one of my trusted sources, I like to not just follow journalism but journalists in particular). Cleve Jones (writer of We All Rise, creator of the AIDS quilt project and so much more), Ron Kovic (Vietnam War vet, writer of Born on the Fourth of July), L.A. Kauffman (activist since the 60s), and Wesley Lowery (Washington Post reporter and Pulitzer Prize winner).

During the hour they talked I was so impressed with the stories I heard. With the truths they told. I clapped, I cheered (when Jones talked about how unions helped get Senator Catherine Cortez Masto elected in November -- I phone banked for her!) and I wrote something down...

Pearce, Jones, Kauffman, Lowery & Kovic

"We have to do a better job of using popular culture" to get the word out about activism, said Cleve Jones at one point in the discussion. 

I wrote this down in my phone (another smartphone use! Notetaking!) and kept looking at it over the next week. I often struggle when I write fiction or screenplays to balance between message and story. It can be a hard tightrope to walk. But one I want to do a better job of. I want to remind people that stories have truth, and importance. They influence people. And I love that Jones brought this up.

Then I was lucky enough to grab a standby ticket to attend Congressman John Lewis' discussion. He was there to promote his graphic novel trilogy, March, about the history of civil rights in this country. Except Rep. Lewis didn't talk during his hour, he preached. What he reminded all of us in that huge auditorium was,

Congressman Lewis

"If you see something not right, not fair, you have a moral obligation to get into good trouble." 

Roxane Gay & Alexander Chee

I ended my day at the Book Fest by spending an hour listening to Roxanne Gay talk with Alexander Chee. Gay is an English professor, a nonfiction writer, a fiction writer, a screenwriter and a comic book writer among other things. I read my first collection of her work last fall and immediately became enamored. She pushes me to think critically, and to read diverse voices. That was certainly a theme for my day at the Fest. Hearing from authors who have strong, proud voices. Who have stories to tell. Who have knowledge to share.

Now, don't think I've given up watching television or movies or listening to music or anything you'll find on the home screen of my iPhone. I still fit it all in, but I'm finding the more I read, old fashioned paper books, or even pick up my old Kindle (which I carried with me to San Francisco with several books) the happier I am. The more I'm out of my own brain and into someone else's. The more I learn, the more I want to learn.

Last Friday night Angela and I found ourselves in the independent bookstore in our neighborhood. We were there to hear some of my favorite screenwriters and television creators speak about the Business. And it was a great night. But you know what made it even better? That the event took place in a bookstore. The kind where employees tack up notes next to their favorite books. The kind where people encourage you to browse by displaying books you'd never have found on Amazon. We left with a copy of a middle school-geared autobiography on Elon Musk for Angela's new STEAM program. And she got a discount because she inquired about the middle school reading club. Because they like teachers at our little bookstore.

How great is that.

Tell me what you're reading. Tell me what I should read next. Tell me what I should put on hold at the library or what I must buy right now with my Target gift certificate. Share with me. Because reading is so much more fun when we get to share about it.

An artist I saw working at the Book Fest