Thelma & Louise

I was only thirteen when the movie "Thelma & Louise" came out in theaters. Much too young to see an R-rated movie (thank you, Mom and Dad -- I think too many kids see too much way too early) and frankly, I have no recollection of the film except for the title characters names and how our family quickly turned those names into nicknames for my grandmother and her cousin.

My Grandma MacDonald loved movies. She took us grandkids as often as she could sneak us away and I loved that about her. She and her friends went often I remember, she saw way more movies than I did growing up. And I remember her going with her cousin Elaine, from Canada, to see this particular film. And shortly after, they earned the nicknames because of all of their traveling. Those two traveled all over together. I love thinking of their stories and looking back at their photographs...

So when the opportunity came up to attend a screening of the 20th anniversary print of the movie, I jumped. Angela had never seen it so I bought two tickets ($3 and free parking - a steal in this town) and off we went. And had a great time. The screening took place at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences theater on Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills. And I have to tell you - it was quite something to watch a movie, surrounded by so many movie lovers and craftspeople - and to have two giant gold Oscar statues at either end of the screen. Very cool in deed!

There were a number of filmmakers and actors in the audience, some who'd worked on the film, others who were just there to enjoy I assume (Tate Donovan was directly in front of us!) which was pretty cool too.

All in all, a good night. The screening was followed by a Q & A with Geena Davis (actress), Mimi Polk Gitlin (the producer) and Callie Khouri (the Oscar-winning screenwriter) which was enlightening as well -- they talked a lot about how Hollywood needs more films made by and aimed at women. I agree. And I'm trying...

My day on "Dexter"

Last week I got a call from Central Casting, the company that supplies extras to most of the movies and television shows filming in California. I'd applied with them last summer, called in a few times, hadn't been a good fit for anything filming, and given up on the dream of some easy cash for standing around. The call I got was that they needed a tall woman to be an extra on the Showtime television show "Dexter". This woman needed to block Dexter, the vigilante serial killer played by Michael C. Hall, from getting through a crowd as he followed a presumably bad guy played by Colin Hanks. Having only been on a few sets before I jumped at the chance to see things work up close.

And see them up close I did. Last Friday, dressed in my brightest "Miami garb" appropriate for a flea market (the show's set in Florida so we were told to dress accordingly) I drove to Long Beach (about an hour's drive from my house) and found base camp with the help of the SLICE signs (see above). I took two other outfits, complete with jewelry and bags as I was instructed but apparently my pink tee and white capris fit the bill. I was herded through several lines to get paperwork and get looked over by assistant directors and wardrobe people and then sent with the fifty others working the scene to set.

The set was amazing. The crew had transformed a small area between two apartment buildings and several businesses into a biergarten and flea market. And they hadn't just made it look like those things - they actually put hot dogs on to roast, carted in hundreds of cases of beer, set up wares in booths, etc. The time and attention to detail was simply amazing. Once I got there I was escorted off to the side with the other tall woman they'd called in for the part, Ruby who had a few years and a few inches on me. Ruby was dressed head to toe (even her fingernails and toenails) in day-glow orange. She looked awesome. And she'll likely be in more shots that any of us because she knew how to look "Miami"!

Ruby and I were given sides to read (industry-speak for script pages) and I quickly took note of the episode number (6 - entitled "Just Let Go" - it's scheduled to air November 6) and read all that I could. It was fun to get to see the scene in print that we were working on and to realize that what we'd spend eight hours shooting that day was less than two pages of the script. Two pages with barely any dialogue. And the dialogue we would hear would be only one side of a cell phone conversation.

After that we stood around for quite some time. Then we were moved into place and were given many, many directions over the course of several hours. Basically it was one giant crowd scene that they split into three parts. They filmed so many angels and my job? To walk like I knew where I was going. To walk past Colin Hanks and past Michael C. Hall and try to get in their way, just a little bit. After that, we moved into the biergarten and were instructed to do the same thing. And then again, in the flea market. There I got to pretend to look at t-shirts and camping gear and candy in different booths. But mostly my job was to look like a "real person" but stay out of the way of the cameras while blending seemlessly into the background. Here's hoping...

It was exciting to be on a set, to see the actors and the directors and all the crew working up close. To be a part of it. It really was. But it was also a very long day. It was hot, so hot and we were all in the sun, for hours on end, me and my big purse that I thought looked good but was really just heavy. And by the end of the eight hours or so I just couldn't wait to go home.

Today I got my paycheck, which includes mileage, a big perk for extras I hear. A whopping $67.15. Was it worth it? For the experience? Yes? For the money? Well, for an underemployed writer and teacher? Yes. But is it something I want to do every day? No. I am not an actor. I know which side of the camera I belong on.

Will you be able to see me in the episode? I have no idea. I brushed past both actors more times than I can count. I physically touched the title character time and time again. At one point, in character, he had to say "sorry" to my "character" for running into me. But I have no idea what the editors will do once they get the film. You might see a pink splash or you might see all of me. Or maybe just Ruby. Either way? It was fun. Very fun! And basically, my five minutes of fame. Glad that's done with, back to sitting behind the computer screen.

UPDATE:
My episode aired as scheduled in November and I was in a surprising number of scenes in the first minute of the show. Here are some still shots I took off the television:

Cousin Camp 2011

After three weeks in Michigan, Angela and I headed straight to Texas for Cousin Camp 2011. I think this was the fifth year that we've all been together for at least a week. We stayed with our cousin Jamee, her husband John and their three little ones and we spent a lot of time with our cousin Jori, her husband Neil and her two wee ones! We even folded their cousin Justin into the mix most days!

It was such a fun week of pottery painting, Phineas and Ferb watching, long lingering meals, cooking, baking, crafting, window shopping, movies, miniseries (The Kennedys - fascinating), Wii dancing, swimming, napping, stories, and more. Basically it was just a chance for us all to be together and to make memories to last until we see each other again! And did I mention laughing? I don't think I've ever laughed so much! Between watching Jim Gaffigan's comedy specials with Jamee, John and Angela and trying to keep the tears away while sharing stories with each other it was just a fantastic week. A week I'll keep in my heart and in my soul forever.

Here's to cousin camp 2012! (There's a rumor it might be headed to Michigan! Watch out mitten state!!!!)

Traditions

On Wednesday I arrived back in L.A. after a month of traveling. Three weeks in Michigan and a week in Texas. And when I first made my travel plans, I remember thinking, hmmm....three weeks is a long time to be at home. It's a long time to be anywhere really, that's not where you normally live. But it's home. It's where my family is. And I started thinking about all of the things I just "had to do" when I was there and it seemed impossible to do it all in less time. Turns out, three weeks still wasn't enough time. But it was a pretty good time all the same.

In my family we have a lot of traditions and I find that as I grow older, I've been creating traditions of my own. The picture above is just one of our family's favorites. When Angela and I were little our family camped. That's what we did for vacation, we found a state park and we put up our tent. (Always a tent, always.) Sometimes we'd be up north or on the west side of the state or even just a few miles away from home on the state land near where my dad worked so he could go to work and come home to the campsite at night.

One of the treats we'd get when camping was fried donuts for breakfast. My mom would buy day-old cake donuts, nothing fancy please, slice them in half and throw them on the grill, "frying" them. Slather a little homemade strawberry jelly on top and there has never been anything quite so fabulous tasting. So I was mighty surprised, and happy, when I woke up one morning just before I left Michigan, to find fried donuts on the menu for breakfast!

There are so many other traditions we observed over the three weeks we were all together. Lugnuts games, Fourth of July BBQ, eating Gus's salad and breadsticks, playing the card game that doesn't have a name that we always have to find the directions for stuffed on a ripped piece of paper in the box of Joe Camel cards. Playing golf. Planting flowers at the cemetery and the house. Taking the little white car (the '62) to King Kone for ice cream.
Going to the movies just to go to the movies. Floating down the lazy river trying not to get sunburned. Pool party with the Niblocks. Swimming in the middle of Crooked Lake. Taking a ride through Oak Grove (where we came across a mama deer and her twin fawns!).

Playing more golf. Campfires in the driveway with all the neighbors. Sitting in the swing for hours on end. Reading book after book. Even more golf. It's no wonder we didn't want to leave...

But it's good to miss it. It's good to know there's even more to look forward to next time we visit. It was a wonderful trip. A wonderful way to recharge and refocus after a long few months. It was just exactly what I needed. And what I'll continue to carry on...

A day in the life...

Today's one of those days, rare lately, where I've been totally immersed in writing. Since I started working at the elementary school I've had fewer chances to devote large chunks of time to doing so. I'm not complaining at all, it's just a fact that I have to squeeze the writing into the spaces a little more creatively. Combine that with my working with a manager who wants new ideas strictly in pitch form right now and I just haven't been as focused on the words lately.

But not today. Today I finished up the outline for my latest foray into spec scripts (scripts of TV shows I write for my portfolio, to show to people who can hire me to write for their TV shows). I'm working on a Community spec, it's a sitcom and I'm loving it. I've been mulling the story around in my head for probably eight to ten months now. It's just been rolling around up there like a snowball, slowly gathering more and more snow, until it was a fully formed snowman of an idea. This week I pitched the idea to my writing group and got their laughter-infused blessings so I moved to the next stage: the outline.

For me, outlining takes several forms. I first wrote my idea out in long form, then I put it into bullet points broken down by acts. After I get some feedback from my writing group this weekend I'll create a beat sheet (basically an outline with scene headings and maybe some more description/more jokes) and then I'll likely move right into writing the script. Once I have the idea down on paper the process goes quickly for me, something I am extremely grateful for.

So I'm writing this Community idea, which is silly and full of movie references and just plain fun. The stakes are high for a comedy show but no one's in danger, no one's getting hurt, and even the mean-spirited jokes are light. But once I send it out to my writing group folks, I move on to another project, even though I'd really just like to go lay on the couch and watch more Sports Night on Netflix Instant. (Best invention ever - I no longer have to put the DVDs in to watch some of my all-time favorite shows!!!!)

So now I'm working on a pitch for a new project, a television pilot (an original idea not one based on someone else's show). It's a one-hour drama and it involves spies. It's basically the complete opposite of Community. So I spend some time googling and here's what I'm researching: how to convert semi-automatic pistols into automatic mode. Yes, the complete opposite of what I was doing earlier. But guess what? I LOVE IT.

I'm fascinated by what I'm learning about pistols. I'm intrigued by what I've researched about the Department of Defense and I'm having so much fun creating these characters that they're already talking to me - sharing with me the rhythm of their language and the way they carry themselves. And I can't wait to figure out what should happen next. Because anything can happen, ANYTHING AT ALL. Because it's my show. They're my characters, my story, my decisions. Seriously, this is way too fun.

It'll get tedious, I know. I know all too well. I'll write a pitch, then I'll have to change the pitch. Then there will be outlines and draft upon draft of the script. There will be revisions and editing and proofreading. I'll be so sick of it all by the end I'll hide it and never want to speak it's name again. But for now, this story, what I get to do all day today, is pretty darn cool.

The purse

Do you remember the first time you felt like an adult? Like a real, responsible, honest-to-goodness grownup? For me it was when I was seventeen. I'd just graduated from high school and in true Midwest tradition, we had spent hours sending out announcements and senior pictures, hosting a huge graduation open house at the state park where I worked, and in turn? I was overwhelmed with gifts. Money and packages. Lots of money and lots of packages. For me, it was an amazing outpouring of love, and an amazing haul.

Most of the money got put away in a savings account for safe keeping (i.e., college). But my parents told me I should get something for myself as well. My parents are pretty great like that. They realize the value in celebrating your accomplishments and commiserating special events with small tokens. And this time? I was encouraged to choose my own token.

And this brings me to the first time I felt like a grownup. We went to the Twelve Oaks Mall in Novi. The nice mall with the expensive stores. And we went to Hudson's where my mom took us sometimes for fancy lunches of Maurice salads (the only way I really enjoy green onions is in a Maurice salad). And I looked at the purses. I looked at the grownup, very adult in my eyes, leather purses. And I bought one. The purse in the photo above. I remember it cost a hundred dollars. I had never bought myself anything that had cost a hundred dollars before. I had never paid cash for something that cost that much before. But on that day, I did. I paid for it and I remember feeling so excited. I had a real grownup, woman's leather purse. And it had a label on it (Liz Claiborne). (NOTE: I have not to this day ever paid so much for a purse again. Mostly I buy purses that are half off at Kohl's or are in the summer section at Target).

Just this week I was cleaning out my closet and I pulled out this leather purse and I realized that I hadn't used it in probably ten or eleven years. The strap's a little out of date and much to my dismay, the leather was somehow rubbing off and sticking to other things in the closet (hmmm...maybe 100 bucks did not get me quality leather after all). So I decided to toss it. I have a bunch of other purses and it wouldn't be missed. But, in reality it would. I'd know it was gone because to me, that purse represented a very important time in my life. A time when I was starting a new adventure, when I was dressing for the part, when I felt like it was time to call the shots and make my own choices, not rely on my parents or friends to show me the way. That purse was the start of something.

That something continues and I know that although it's been *gasp* sixteen years since I stood in that department store and laid down my money, a piece of me still thinks back to the girl I was before the purse. She's not completely gone. She's still glad to have her family and her friends by her side. She's still glad she's on an adventure every single day. And she's really glad she still has good taste in purses.

"There's no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs."

Patience is a virtue, I learned this a long long time ago. I've been learning and relearning this lesson my entire life. I am not naturally gifted at anything. I can't throw a football a million yards or sing the Star Spangled Banner perfectly. I'm not model thin and I don't have the ability to memorize anything (well, except for totally useless television facts). But I have desire. I have skill. I have drive. I have stamina and yes, I even have patience. And I think that counts for something.

I've been taking meetings with a management company for a few months now. We've been working on a career strategy and preparing me for "meetings" (aka, opportunities to be in a room with people who can hire me or buy my ideas). I've learned how to tell my story and I'm working on coming up with ideas I can pitch in short and long form. I'm basically learning to sell my skills and my desire and my drive. I'm learning what it takes to succeed in Hollywood as a writer.

Tonight I had another one of those meetings. It's quite something to share a story that I completely made up and have others talk about it, give ideas, even discuss possibilities for it. It's quite something to be taken seriously as a screenwriter with potential. Tonight that happened. In a big way.

There are no jobs yet. There are no contracts or checks or even meetings yet. But once again, it's a start. It's another step, a second step. And I'm trying so hard to be patient, knowing that the more I am, the greater the reward will be. Right? Right.

So many of you have taken this journey with me. So many of you cheer me on just by reading this blog, my writing. I'm amazed at what words can do, how they can make us laugh and cry and feel. I'm amazed at what my words can do. I'm amazed by this whole experience - the good, the bad and the in between. And I'm continually amazed by the lessons I learn.

So as I approach the end of my third year here in Los Angeles, I think about where I started. A girl with one poorly written, not properly formatted, screenplay. And now look at me. I've got a portfolio of screenplays and teleplays. I've got a novel. I've got a management company who wants to work with me. They chose me. Here we go...

No, it's not writer's block

In March I finished a spec script I was writing for my portfolio, an episode of The Good Wife, a show I love. The idea for it had been marinating since November of last year. A long time if you ask me. But it worked. I’d found an article in the L.A. Times about death row appeals and clipped it and moved it from side to side of my desk for a while. I thought about it, filed it, pulled it back out and nothing. But I knew I needed to use it. And eventually I did – not the article but the idea it began in me, the idea for my episode. So I wrote it, rewrote it and poof! It was done. Before that I’d finished up rewrites of my two original pilots and before that I’d written an episode of Modern Family but that was back last summer. And now? I’ve got nothing.

I am trying not to freak out. I’m trying to be patient with myself and good to myself and not cry every few days. I’m trying to be strong and realistic and professional, as a good writer should be. But I’m not writing and it’s driving me crazy.

In working with this management company, I’ve been focused on crafting a career strategy plan rather than writing. It’s all fine and dandy. I’ve come up with pages of new ideas for shows, some bad, some worse than bad. I’ve written pages about my life story and my aspirations and learned to pitch myself, er, tell my story, in 120 seconds flat. I’ve also learned a 30-second version in case I ever run into Mr. Sorkin in an elevator ride (that pitch would also be contingent upon me being able to speak in said situation, which I highly doubt).

But again? I’m not writing. Yes, I’m journaling. Yes, I’m reading books and studying and planning. Yes, I’m being active, even proactive. But the thing is? I’M NOT WRITING. And it’s driving me (and possibly Angela) insane.

So I think I need to start. I’ve somehow convinced myself all my ideas are horrible, I should go try and get a job in insurance like was suggested, and move on with my life, leave this little fling with creativity behind. But then? I look up at my bulletin board, where I’ve tacked six pieces of paper from the past six months. Four are the WGA registrations for my spec scripts. And two are the Library of Congress copyrights for my original pilot stories. And I’m reminded again that I have done it, that I will continue to do it, and that I’d be a really really bad insurance saleswoman.

Ms. Nap

My time with my elementary kids is coming to a close. We have seven school days left but it's that point in the year where every day feels like the last. There's assemblies and awards and movies and cleaning out desks and looking for lost library books. It's also the time of the year, as any teacher will tell you, when you feel most connected with your students. You've put in the time. You've earned their trust. They've let down their guard and learned to listen. Today was a perfect example of that.

My third graders were taking their final language arts test. Reading comprehension and a little writing with some vocabulary sprinkled in. I took my group of four to the middle room where we work on a daily basis. I didn't have to remind them to be quiet. I didn't have to tell them to separate themselves from the rest of the group. They knew exactly what to do and how to do it. And they were focused. They were on task. They were good. They were so good. (No, they didn't get all the answers but today, that wasn't the point. Today the point was they've finally learned how to take a test and write a complete sentence. Okay, well, almost complete.)

Afterwards they had some downtime as they finished the test at different times. The above picture is what came from one little girl's downtime. One little girl who has such a hard time focusing I want to cry for her. One little girl who has more than once had to leave my room because she can't handle being there with four other students. One little girl who can't spell to save her soul. But on her own time, she drew this for me and delivered it to me with such pride and love in her eyes. For precisely this reason, I do this job.

It was a good day. A very good day. Not all are but days like today remind me of what it's all about. And it's not just pictures, they tend to say it with words too. Later on today they were writing letters to their fifth grade selves and telling them about their third grade experiences. One little boy wrote, "I love doing math with my very own teacher". Mind you, I only worked with him one-on-one yesterday for the first time. But it stuck with him. And I hope long division does too.

Several other students wrote about Ms. Nap in their letters and it made me smile so much to read over their shoulders and see their little misspelled words of love. And to hear their, "You have to go now?"s when I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. And as they waved and yelled goodbye (more for the excuse to yell then anything I am sure) part of me didn't want to leave. And isn't that the mark of a really good job? A really good anything? When you don't want it to end?

Cheers to Sean and Lu

On Saturday my friends Sean and Lu got married, for the third time. The first time was on 10/10/10 in Lu's hometown in China. Then they got married here in the United States so it was all legal soon after they got back from China. And finally, the last big wedding (we think!) took place this past weekend. And here's the really cool part - I was asked to officiate.

It was such an honor. Sean is one of the first people I met in Los Angeles. We met him at church and I distinctly remember a day in September, we'd only been here a month or so, when Sean had the day off work. He met us at Homeless Lunch and took us on quite the sightseeing tour, all over Los Angeles - to some of what are now our favorite places. From there our friendship morphed into game nights and birthday celebrations and just lots of fun times together. And then he met Lu. And then we met Lu, and she's fit so seamlessly into our circle. It's amazing to watch.

I read some scripture verses and several poems on Saturday as well as helped them recite their vows. It's something I did a while back, for my friends Kelly and Jason, and it really is an honor to be a part of someone's wedding day like that. One of the poems has stayed with me - Maya Angelou's Touched by an Angel. The last bit reads like this:

And suddenly we see that love costs all we are and will ever be. Yet it is only love which sets us free.

When I think about that - the idea that love costs all we are and will ever be, I stop. I stop and I realize how very true that is. How I am nothing without love. Without the love of my family and my friends and even complete strangers. How I am nothing if I do not love. And yet, it's through that love that I do what I do, I am who I am, I thrive, I survive.

Sean and Lu's love brought a roomful of people together on Saturday. It's made a family and memories and forged friendships and created stories. But most of all? It's set an example for every single person in their lives to aspire to. To love. Nothing more. Nothing less. But simply, to love.

Imagination

Last week I taught my third grade students about Picasso. Yep, the guy who made crazy cubism paintings with eyes where noses should be and noses where eyes should be. And they loved it. (See above picture as evidence - they so enjoyed making their own "Picassos"!)

So today we continued the discussion about imagination - after deciding last week that Picasso must have had a pretty big imagination. I asked them what they pretended to be or where they pretended to go when they played. Just one said they didn't pretend at all. And I told her that made me sad because I loved to pretend. I love to imagine myself in other places, doing other things. In fact, that's one of the things that lead me to writing. And to moving to Los Angeles.

And this discussion got me thinking about how my parents raised me to use my imagination and how some kids don't ever get that encouragement. I remember playing games with my parents that didn't involve any controllers or electronic devices. I remember running through the cemetary with my dad playing war when I was little with just a stick and my finger as a gun, hiding behind trees. I remember my mom encouraging Angela and I to close our eyes and imagine what land we'd go to every night when we lay in bed. We'd go to all different lands, lands she'd describe, lands we'd describe. And it was all pretend. All imagination.

I am so grateful that I grew up being encouraged to stretch my mind, to know about worlds other than my own. One of my favorite reading experiences growing up was Jurassic Park. It came out in 1990 and I remember reading it not too long after that, before the movie came out. I remember laying in my bed in the hot, humid summer nights before we had central air, dreaming of being on that island with dinosaurs. So much so that I had nightmares that baby velociraptors were chasing me.

For the past few weeks I've been doing a project - I've been attempting to come up an idea for a television show or a movie every single day. This has stretched my imagination beyond belief. But it's fun. To create stories and worlds that never existed, that may some day exist on a screen because I dared to dream of them. Dared to use my imagination...

I am ready to throw up (literally)

Most people who know me know I can be outspoken. I'm not afraid to talk in front of large groups of people, I lead small discussion groups, not much scares me. I teach public speaking to college students and I've done my fair share of getting up in front of crowds number in the hundreds. But today, right now, I'm about to throw up at the thought of talking in front of two people.

Tonight I have to pitch myself as a writer to a couple of people in the industry. These are people I've spent some time with, not strangers by any means. But they intimidate me. Frankly, they scare the crap out of me. Why? Well, simply put, this is it. This is the real thing.

Talking to a friend going through the same pitch experience as me today, I realized something. This is my shot. I've always been a writer but I've always wanted to be a paid writer. A professional writer. A screenwriter. And this is my shot. This is the do or die time. This is the putting my money where my mouth is time. And it's terrifying. I'm literally shaking as I type this.

How many people say they could have done this or been that but never got the chance? Or never put any effort into it? Well here's my chance. This could be the beginning of something big. This is what all my work, all my dreams, have been about the past few years.

And tonight it all boils down to two-minutes. Two minutes of me telling people about myself. Not about nuclear physics or microbiology or Shakespeare. I have to talk about me. The person I should know best. But here are two things I've learned over the past two weeks of working on this pitch:

1) I'm a writer, not a pitcher. There's a difference and it's big. And I have to become both in order to succeed.

2) I am not an actor. I've written a lovely pitch but I can't memorize it for anything. Just ten minutes ago I stood up in my bedroom and attempted to tell the mirror my pitch. About myself. I got two lines in and froze. Yes. This is fabulous.

How will tonight go? I have no idea. I'll keep you posted. But I do know that I'm scared out of my mind. But I think there would be a problem if I weren't. This is the thing I want most and I'm on the verge of getting there. Nothing else has ever been this important.

And if I don't pass out, maybe I'll be able to remember something to say tonight.

***UPDATE: The meeting went well. I didn't throw up. My hands shook a little but not my voice. So happy I could cry. It's a start...

Still kicking!

Last Saturday my dad, Angela and I got up with the sun and headed out to the Coliseum at USC. Last year my mom walked with Ang and I but this year her knee was bothering her so my dad took her place and we were so glad he got to experience the day with us!

It was another amazing 5K - it was a beautiful cool day, and we enjoyed the morning walking with thousands of others who walked for and with their loved ones. And most important - the event raised millions of dollars to kick cancer's butt! And thanks to all the support from the people on the sign I carried with me (see photo above) Angela, my dad and I raised $3500 for the cause!

So thank you all! We walked so others can continue to do good work to fight this horrible disease. We walked for our family: Marilyn and Grandpa Jim. We walked for all those listed above. We walked and we loved it!

It was a whirlwind and I'm still twirling

Two weeks ago today I was out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean wearing my winter coat, hood tied tight around my head, watching the water split where the large ferry I was riding in cut through it. My mom and I were the only two people gutsy enough to brave the cool weather and occasional peaks at the sun to sit on the top deck of the ferry. Angela and my Dad were below deck, in cushy seats, sleeping off their sea sickness. But not my mom and me. We were watching the blue sky, smiling at each other, silently taking in the quiet nature all around us. It was quite a morning. It was peaceful. It was still even though we were moving. It was amazing.

And then everything came crashing down. The stillness of my soul turned to shards.

By that night my parents were on a plane back to Michigan. And then eight hours later, Angela and I were following. An unexpected trip that came too soon. Or not soon enough depending on how you look at things.

My grandmother, my mother's mother, hadn't been well for quite some time. Eighteen months ago she fell in her house and spent a night on the floor. Three surgeries, countless procedures, a lifetime supply of antibiotics and meds, it just became too much. Her body had managed so many years. Years of pain starting with a terrible automobile accident before she married my grandfather through replacement hips and arthritis that crippled her. Through it all though she never complained. Never. She was amazing.

I have so many stories. Stories I want to record. Stories I will record. But not right this moment. It's too hard. Yesterday, Monday, I sat down to write out some cards as I do every Monday. I have a small list of people who get them regularly. Grandma was tops on that list. As I went to the box of cards I've collected from trips to Hallmark (I might have a problem, they send me very large reward checks) I looked at the pile earmarked for her. Cards I didn't have the chance to send...

Then today, as I was walking to my car after work I felt the need to talk to someone. My sister was at work. Several friends I knew were busy. My parents were traveling. Until eighteen months ago Grandma would have been tops on that list as well. I can't remember how many nights I called her and talked all the way home from my job an hour away from my apartment. I loved it. I miss it. So much.

It's been a whirlwind. Real life doesn't stop and so I continue to work, grade papers, proctor state-wide tests for the little ones, try to create a screenwriting career, connect with friends, buy groceries, dust the living room. But through it all, I can't help but miss her. A picture in the dining room. Her name in my cell phone. The ring she gave me. The life she helped me create.

I hope the tears don't stop. I also hope the memories don't fade. I hope the shards don't dull. I don't want to forget. I don't want to be too far removed. Here, now, feeling it is only where I want to be.

A bang of a night

Last night I went to my sixth taping of the sitcom ‘The Big Bang Theory’. My sixth in two years. For baseball fans, this is akin to attending six baseball games in two years, not so odd. And cheaper. And funnier. I’m just saying, there’s not much levity in baseball until the big-headed mascot comes out to lead a song or a spinning of the heads on bats. (Full self-disclosure, I’m not a huge baseball fan. If I do one game a year, I’m good. And there better be some fun baseball snacks or a shopping trip on the way there or something.)

But yesterday I took my parents to the Warner Brothers lot, we waited in line for three and a half hours, passed through several security checkpoints, left our cell phones at home, and then sat smooshed together in tiny seats for about four hours. All to see some actors put on a little “play” as it were. A little play that takes about 150 people weeks to craft and execute and will eventually be seen by tens of millions of people around the globe. It was rather exciting. For all of us.

It was a special night because it was the taping of the fourth season finale. The cast and crew all seemed to have a light-hearted energy. They laughed and danced and waved. They broke up during takes, they came out to talk to the audience members (which rarely happens in my experience). Everyone had fun. So much fun. At work. Doing what they love. (Well, I am just assuming the guy who holds the mike and the guy who puts paper towels over the prop food love their jobs.)

And as the curtain call commenced I watched the guys over on the left hand side of the stage: Bill Prady and Chuck Lorre, the co-creators of the show. They stood there watching these actors bow and wave and be cheered on. They had pretty big smiles on their faces. And all I could think of was how much I want to be down there on that stage. Not in front with the cheering and the bowing but off to the side, standing with the other writers, watching what I’ve created happen. What I’ve created be applauded. What I’ve created make so many people happy. Amazing.

This is why I moved to Los Angeles. This is why I have spent the last three years worry over scene descriptions and one-liners. This is why I spend most of my waking moments thinking of the next script, or the current script, or the script that I wrote two years ago. I want nothing more to be down there, in the trenches.

It was an amazing night. It was awesome to see it through fresh eyes. To laugh, to be surprised, to smile at the little jokes, to watch all these people work. An amazing night. That’s what I want.

I'm starting

Tonight I went to the taping of the sitcom The Big Bang Theory. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone, it won’t be the last. We already have tickets to take my parents next week to the taping of the season finale. But tonight, as I sat there, I realized something. I wanted to be down on the stage. I wanted more than anything to be a part of the hustle and bustle, the frenzied movement, the action. I wanted to be one of the writers bringing new pages to the actors, whispering about new jokes. I wanted to be one of the showrunners talking about sweaters and pacing and where everyone should stand. I wanted to be in the muck. 

I’ve started the process. I’ve studied television episodes and broken down screenplays. I’ve timed scene lengths and transcribed dialogue. I’ve written joke after joke and spent hours just sitting here at my desk thinking of the perfect title or the perfect line. I’ve put in some time. A lot of time. 

I’ve written spec scripts and original scripts. I’ve watched more television than most people should. And now I’m working to move beyond all that. I’m working to go out into the real world, if you can call Hollywood the real world, and put it all into practice.

Today I mailed out 56 query letters to agencies around town. It’s a start. It's scary but I needed to do it. Because I’ve realized, more than anything, I want to, I need to, be down on that stage, not up in the audience. I need this. Now. So I’m starting…

I just need one

I’m kind of freaking out. It’s Thursday of my first week of spring break from the elementary school where I work each morning. It’s also the first week of the new quarter for my online university where I work each day. It’s 8:45am. I’m doing with the online stuff. I even prepped my postings for next week knowing I’ll be a bit busier next week. But I’m done. I’ve checked all my emails. I’ve read Facebook and Twitter several times over. I’ve read my Lenten devotion. I’ve read the paper. Yes, I need to make the bed and shower but other than that? I’m done for the day. It kind of freaks me out.

I’ve sent my “Good Wife” script out to some people to read and I’m awaiting feedback. So there’s nothing left to do there. Two rewrites and I’m done, which is weird for me. I don’t have another script to work on right now. Yes. I have a pilot that needs another go but I’m not sure I’m mentally or emotionally ready to bring those characters back into my life at the moment. They’ve been with me three years. A long three years. And they’re on vacation now. It’s good for them. And me.

I need to keep writing. But I don’t have anything to write. It’s so weird. I want to write. I have time to write but instead, I have to think. Ugh. The hard part of the job for me is always plotting. Making the story make sense in my head before writing it down. That invisible labor Victor Hugo speaks so fondly of. 

I have a novel that is perched center on my desk (I have an L-shaped desk, so it’s in the center of the other side of the desk). It needs to be edited. So badly. It cries to me every day. But I really don’t know where to begin or what to do. I wish I did. It wants to be seen. It wants to be read. I want that too. 

My to-do list is dwindling. It has things on it like ‘rewrite Trophy Husbands’ – oh, okay self, I’ll just rewrite an entire movie. Sure, no biggie for today. It also has on it ‘come up with new ideas’ – oh, okay, check. Moving on, what’s next.

New ideas. New characters. It’s scary. It’s exciting, yes, but it’s even more scary. I want to write a spec script of ‘Community’. I have the vaguest inkling of an idea. Really just four words. Not enough to write about. I need more.

I have an idea for a half-hour sitcom but really, it’s someone else’s idea, from a book, and I need to make it my own. It’s hard because the book was freaking awesome.

What to do? I know, a high-class problem. I’ll probably do some laundry. Make the bed. Shower, maybe curl my hair. I might attempt to make some Easter cards. Maybe I’ll watch “The Sweet Smell of Success” which has been sitting by the TV for way too long. Good thing Netflix doesn’t charge late fees. Maybe I’ll watch some ‘Community’ and try to be inspired. 

I need a good idea. Just one. Or a hundred. I’m not picky. Here goes…

Runyon Canyon

The view from part-way up! Today a friend and I went hiking. Right here in the middle of Los Angeles. Yep. I'd always heard of the mystical 'Runyon Canyon'. Celebrities boast of exercising there. People talk of Saturday mornings running the hills. But for some reason, I envisioned it as a far-off place I probably would never get to. Until my friend informed me that it was just down the street from our church and very easy to get to. And a gorgeous hike.

She was right on all accounts. We parked on the street and walked to the entrance. Easy as pie. There were people there, yes, lots of people but it didn't feel crowded. There were lots of dog walkers, some people with strollers, older people, younger people, even a few celebrities (CCH Pounder and Jeff Perry). But mostly, there were just people there to hike. To walk (and occasionally run, those people were crazy!) and enjoy the quietness of the hills, the sun before it got too hot, the dirt and the grass and the birds and the insects that all seem to elude us down a few blocks into the city.

My friend and I stopped a lot. We took in the views of the city before us. We caught our breath. We made sure the footing was stable before moving upward. But we also talked and laughed and got our heart rates up. There is nothing like a goal to keep you moving and pretty much, you have to go up to go down again!

A beautiful day. A beautiful hike. I can't wait to go again!
The view from the top!

Finishing

There's this great feeling that comes with the end of a project. Being able to cross something off a to-do list. Having a weight, however small and insignificant to others, being shook from your shoulders.

I had a deadline. Self-imposed but those are often the toughest ones, in my opinion. No one else cares if you finish. No one will berate you for turning your work in late or missing the end of the work day or anything like that.

I told myself at the beginning of the week that I'd have a finished draft of the "Good Wife" spec script I've been working on done by Sunday. In time to share it with my writers' group. Those are important words - I told myself. This wasn't a deadline set by anyone else. More often than not 75% of the writers' group doesn't bring pages or anything to share with the group. It would be no big deal if I missed this deadline.

It's been a long week. We finally got heat in the house tonight after living without it in the rain and cold for seven days. I'm starting a new quarter with the University of Phoenix tomorrow and I had to prep two classes. Excuses excuses...

But ultimately, it's all about, it's only about, what I think. If I keep the deadlines for myself, then I prove to myself I can do it. I care enough to do it. Is it a great draft? No. Is it a shooting draft. No. It's what my favorite writing inspiration, Anne Lamott would call a "shitty first draft". But that's okay. In fact, that's exactly what it should be. It's just me getting the bones of the story out and on to paper. Now I can play with them. Now I can form them into the story they should be. This is a draft just for me. This is a draft that will only vaguely resemble the final draft.

But it's done. I finished it. And for that I am ecstatic. One more mile passed. On to the next one.

Ten on Tuesday

Ten ways I feel loved...

1. Mail. Regular old snail mail. I have three new cards hanging around my desk from last week. I have fabulous friends and family members. They send me these little notes of love periodically and there is no more joy than opening up the mailbox and finding one tucked into the junk and bills. And I love how my moms (yep, mom #1 and mom #2) put stickers on the envelopes. Sometimes I hang the envelopes up with the cards. And yes, I still have one of the stickers on my bulletin board but don't ask me where the card went.
2. Electronically. Whether it's a 'like' on my Facebook status, a text in the middle of the day or a long long email, I love these little messages. Love love love them.
   
3. When people say 'I love you'. Most phone conversations with friends and family end this way. Sometimes I have to make a conscious effort, sometimes it happens more naturally. Either way, I've never regretted saying it, only regretted not saying it. Recently I had a friend, my first friend in L.A. as a matter of fact, move away. At our last coffee date he walked me back to my car and we embraced on the street corner. I said, "I love you" -- something I couldn't remember saying aloud to him before even though our emails always end in xoxo -- and he said it back. As I brushed away the tears I thought to myself how right it felt. Because when we love people, we should tell them so.
4. A smile or a quick little wave. My kids at the elementary school are good at this. They do the little T-rex, short-armed wave thing. It's so cute, I know it's meant to be secret and I love it.
   
5. My jewelry. The ring on my finger is my birthstone -- pink surrounded by gold. I received it as a gift on my sixteenth birthday from my mom, dad, sister and Grandma MacDonald. I wear it most days and it makes me feel safe. I constantly rub the back of it to remind me of that fact.
6. Where I am. Who I am. I would never be here in Los Angeles, California if it weren't for the hundreds of people who've shown me their love over the past thirty-three years. Every time I think about how I made it here, the journey, I see the faces of so many.
7. Complete strangers. The guy who rolled down his truck window and told me to check my tire pressure. He had no earthly reason for doing that. But he did and I was floored. (I also needed A LOT more air in my tires!) The checker at the grocery store who calls me honey and always smiles with recognition whenever I get in her lane. She doesn't know my name but she knows I shop there and she genuinely asks how my day's going.
8. Angela sharing her bed with me. It's cold in our house. Right now I'm not at my desk, I'm sitting in the front room closest to the window with the sunshine because the pilot's out again and there's no heat. We lost heat two days ago. But Angela has been sharing her bed with me because her room's warmer. And she doesn't complain. (Well, not a lot!)
   
9. Somehow, and only through the grace of God, I know, I'm still in my house, working, paying the bills, buying groceries, etc. I am so blessed that God continues to provide for me. So blessed.
10. People read what I write. It's true and it's astonishing to me. Between my blog, my Facebook ramblings, my scripts that I take to my writers' group, my friends who read my work when they probably would rather be doing anything but, etc. I am loved. Completely and utterly loved.
    

Just living

Last night was the first night I’d watched the news since the earthquake and tsunami in Japan on Friday. I’m not a regular news watcher, most of it’s too depressing and I tend to skew more toward John Stewart for my political news. I do read the L.A. Times every day, I read Newsweek and Time, and I’m hyper plugged into the digital world so I feel I get enough. But last night Ang and I watched the evening news after we ate our dinner and the pictures were heartbreaking. Then they started talking about the potential here in California for radiation poisoning (there isn’t a potential, just so we’re all on the same page) and for an earthquake of our own (that, they’re not so sure about – you can predict them but they do come in clusters). After that I read the Newsweek that had come in the mail, the one, of course, about Japan. And I started to think.

That thinking drove me to the hardware store on my way home from work today. Apparently I was not alone in my thinking since I got the last 2 small emergency kits left. We already have one here at the house, the one my mom and I bought Ang last year, but I figured we couldn’t be over prepared. Plus, Angela had heard a presentation on earthquake preparedness at a meeting a few weeks ago and they suggested you keep kits in your car. So, these are for the cars.

The odd thing about all of this, at least as I sit here and think about it? I’m not scared. I’m not panicked or worried really. There’s not much I can do. I bought the emergency kits. We have 2 battery powered lanterns and we have batteries for them. We have food in the cupboards that’s canned. Here’s the real rub of it though – we can’t ever really be prepared for something like the devastation that has been rained down upon Japan. We just can’t. So instead, I prepare, I pray, and I go on with my life.

How can I live in California? I’m often asked by people who don’t live here. What about the wildfires and the earthquakes? Well, in Michigan we had tornadoes. We had ice storms that caused deaths. We had heat waves that caused deaths. You’re not immune wherever you might be. And so we go on. Preparing, yes, praying, yes, but most off all? Just living. Because really, that’s all we can do.

Keeping the faith

Today 5,000 teachers were pink slipped in in the Los Angeles public school district. FIVE THOUSAND. Add that to the 3,500 laid off last year and the 2,500 laid off the year before that. ELEVEN THOUSAND TEACHERS LAID OFF.

How does a school system already on it's last legs, already showing huge signs of failing, recover from that. How does this generation of children recover from that. Right now Angela has more kids in her classroom than I'm guessing the Fire Marshall would sanction. She has 39 kids in each of her classes. Just close your eyes and picture that. Thirty-nine sixth graders. One adult. Chinese history. How much learning do you think is happening? How much of the time is spent on discipline? How much individual help do those special education students get (and she has many, many special education students).

I don't care what your political leanings are. I don't care what you think about taxes or politicians or a woman's right to abortion or the death penalty. What I care about tonight is the fact that all of these teachers are being laid off. These wonderful, newly minted, excited teachers. And it's not just teachers. It's counselors and secretaries and assistant principals. There have been several suicide attempts at the local middle school lately. What happens when the counselors only work one day a week because they have to cover more than one campus?

This isn't the solution. Neither is cutting back on police officers or fire fighters. Shuttering libraries isn't good either. I have no idea what the solution is. I just know that we need to find it. We need to get good teachers, young teachers, back in the classroom. NOW. We need to stop firing teachers. We need to stop demonizing teachers. If you had to do their job for one day, how might you fare?

I pray things change though I don't know how much faith I have in the system anymore. But, all it takes is a mustard seed right? And you know what keeps me believing more than anything? Those teachers, like Angela and all the others I know, who go to work every day, despite being pink slipped, and keep trying to teach Chinese history to a room overflowing with children. They're doing their jobs. They're fighting. And at some point, somehow, we'll figure out how to help them. We have to...

Lenten devotional

Matthew 6:1-6

"Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven."

¹ “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.

² “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ³ But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, ⁴ so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

⁵ “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. ⁶ But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

I grew up in the church. My parents served on every board, my grandfather was the church custodian for years, and there was never any question on Sunday morning as to what we’d be doing. We would be at church. It wasn’t something we talked about, it was something we did. It was who we were.

And then in high school a national movement began called ‘See You At The Pole’ – where students would meet around the flagpole and pray in an effort to – well, I’m not sure, maybe raise awareness about their faith? I don’t know because I wasn’t there. I didn’t ever feel the need to head out early, one day a year, to gather in front of my school and proclaim to the town, well, to the students, parents and teachers mostly, that I was a Christian. That’s not how I was raised.

I was raised to help clean up after Sunday brunches and funeral luncheons at the church. I was raised to jump in and give a hand when the nursery was understaffed or the church sidewalks needed salting. I was raised to do what needed to be done, not talk about what needed to be done. And that’s still how I view my church service, and my faith, today.

Don’t get me wrong. I wear a cross necklace occasionally, I let others know I’m praying for them, I share my faith when I find an appropriate time. But I also make sure that I remember to act out my faith when no one’s looking, when it’s just God and me.

I chose this verse for my devotional mostly as a reminder to myself. At the end of the verse Matthew reminds us that our Father sees what we do in secret and He will reward us. Yes, it’s good to go out and spread the Word and to be a part of society and share our faith. But it’s also important to remember our relationship when no one else is around. Something I’ll try to refocus on this Lenten season as we prepare to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection again.

PRAYER: Dear God, I beg of you to help me remember that the most important parts of our relationship are those that are secret, just between us. You want nothing more than for me to go into my room and close the door and pray, alone, to you. And I want the same. Thank you for reminding me of that. Amen.

Barenaked Ladies!

Last night I headed out to another taping of "The Big Bang Theory". It's become something we do every few months with a few friends and it's such fun. Yeah we wait in line for a few hours and then we sit cramped in with 200 other audience members for a few more hours but it's all a lot of fun. We get to watch the cast and crew work, see two brand-new episodes (the one taped the week before and the one performed live that night). And last night we got a surprise:

If you're a regular BBT watcher, you'll know that The Barenaked Ladies perform their theme song. And last night the Barenaked Ladies were there in the studio and they performed the entire theme song (yep, it has more than one verse!) after the curtain call. So cool! I've never been a big concert goer but this was much more intimate than I've ever experienced, especially with a band I've loved for a long time. Too fun! (The photo above was taken from a cast members' Twitter feed as no cameras or cell phones were allowed in last night.)

Not stuck in the middle

I'm having a hard week writing-wise. The problem is I'm not in the middle of a project. I have to start a new project. Yes, there are some rewrites I should do. Do I want to? No. Not right now. The scabs are just healing and I need them gone before I just sit and pick. I need fresh eyes on those projects. And a real reason to rewrite.

I began a new spec last week - I decided to write an episode of a very popular one-hour drama. I have had this newspaper clip in my files since the fall and it's been marinating, inspiring me to create a story from the idea. And I started to. Then I did some research and today found out that the governor of the state my show is set in might change a law that would make my story obsolete. So I wait and ponder. Again, not writing.

It's a bit frustrating but I'll get through it. I just have to remember that soon enough I'll wish I was done with the new project or just starting again. It was like that before, it'll be like that soon enough again. Until then, I'll read. I'll ponder. I'll finish the Eiffel Tower cross-stitch I'm working on. I'll go for another walk. And I'll try to find solace in one of my favorite quotes:

A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor. -- Victor Hugo

Things I love right now...in no particular order

1. Proudly wearing my UCLA sweatshirt on rainy L.A. days.
2. Long talks with my parents on the phone. It makes it seem like they're not so far away.
3. Texting. Again, it makes people seem not so far away.
4. Friends who respond immediately to emails.
5. Screenwriting podcasts that make working out seem like work so I don't feel guilty that it's 3pm and I'm outside walking around Hancock Park.
6. White vinegar. The coffee maker was dying a slow death. Or so I thought. Then my dad said pour some vinegar through it and Voila! It's alive again!
7. Steve Martin's autobiography "Born Standing Up" -- fascinating!
   
8. My Kindle.
9. Lavender tea.
10. That my third graders have pet mealworms on their desks. They're studying them!
11. Teaching fractions and making the kids laugh.
12. That my DVR is full of some of my favorite TV shows and I have all night to watch them.
13. That I have lived different places and done different things and have lots of stories to tell.
14. Playing Scrabble online with friends.
15. That I got a buy one get one free coupon for Chipolte that I get to use tomorrow.
16. Gnomes.
    

What do you love right now?

The beginning

"I'm a writer." I said those words on Sunday morning when I met some new people at church and they asked what I do. I didn't start with, "I'm a teacher but working to become a screenwriter" or "I teach part-time...". I said the words, "I am a writer" and I meant them.

Over the past week I've been immersed in writing. I attended the Oscar-nominated screenwriters panels at both the WGA and Creative Screenwriting. I saw two Oscar-nominated movies (The King's Speech and The Fighter - both AMAZING). I listened to a ton of writing podcasts. I attended a three hour television writing seminar. I typed a full-length screenplay in exchange for getting notes on a television pilot. I'm going hardcore.

So on Tuesday when I walked out of the theater after watching The King's Speech I was thrilled to have a voicemail from the literary agent I met with a few weeks ago. I'd sent him another script on Monday and he was calling to invite me to be a part of their orientation process at the agency. Thrilled. Excited. Ready. That's me.

What does this mean? It means I'll spend the next few months meeting with the agency once a week learning about how they work, how we'll work together, and the best path to take my career down. Does it mean I'm their client? Not yet. It means we're having a trial period, on both sides. Kind of like dating. Yep, I'm dating a literary agency.

Some people have asked if this is traditional. No. But nothing about showbusiness is very traditional. If you ask a hundred people how they got their start, they'll each have a different story. If you ask a hundred people for advice on how to begin your career, you'll get a thousand different replies. So for now, this is my path. Wish me luck (though their offices are on the second floor, so no wishing for a broken leg, thanks)!

Still fighting

This is a shot of the crowd last year at the EIF/Revlon Run/Walk for Women. I'm in there somewhere. I'm in there with Angela, with my mom, with a team of men and women from the middle school Angela works at. And it was an amazing day. A day I've recorded here. My mom, Angela and I raised $1185 last year for our walk. Our family and friends were amazing. They reached out when money is tight, when there are hundreds and thousands of other causes begging for support. They reached out. And I am humbled and grateful and filled with love because of it.

But guess what? Cancer has not been cured. Cancer hasn't gone away. We still have to fight just as my grandfather and my second mother have to (see last year's post on why I fight here). We still have to fight hard to kick cancer's butt. And we will.

This year Angela and I are once again doing the 5K. We've set a fundraising goal of $2000, $1000 each. I think we can reach that goal. I think we can help fight the fight. I think we can do it because two of the people I love most in the world fight the fight every single day.

Every single dollar counts. Every single prayer counts. Last year I walked with a piece of paper in my hands:
On that piece of paper was a list of all the people I walked for. I walked for my family and yours. I walked for loved ones still with us and loved ones gone to heaven. I walked for you.

So THANK YOU IN ADVANCE. Thank you for helping, for fighting, for loving, for sharing that love. Thank you. There's not much else I can say. But thank you. And I'll see you at the finish line.

You can donate by clicking here.

Beyond Words

Beyond Words was the name of the event I attended last night at the Writers Guild Theater. It was billed as "a conversation with WGA and Academy-Award nominated screenwriters". It lasted about an hour and a half and was fascinating. Beyond fascinating. Beyond words...

There were screenwriters there who's work I enjoyed this year (Stuart Blumberg & Lisa Cholodenko - The Kids Are Alright; Aaron Stockard - The Town; Aaron Sorkin - The Social Network) and writers there who's work I've yet to see (Paul Tamasy, Scott Silver & Eric Johnson - The Fighter; John Requa & Glenn Ficarra - I Love You Phillip Morris, Mark Heyman - Black Swan; Nicole Holofcener - Please Give) but it didn't matter, they all had fascinating insights into the screenwriting and television writing process, and more than a few fun anecdotes from the trenches.

I've attended my share of panel discussions and seminars since moving to Los Angeles to pursue my writing career. Sometimes they're a lot of fun, sometimes they're educational, sometimes they're downright boring and repetitive. (No, I don't want to know about an agency contract. When I get one, I'm sure someone will explain mine to me, thankyouverymuch.) But this panel was different. I walked out of the theater on cloud nine. Ready to write a movie. Ready to write another TV pilot. Ready to take the world by storm. Well, at least Hollywood by storm.

At the end of the conversation, the moderator (an entertaining John August - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, etc.) asked about when the writers share their ideas with people, when they start to talk about their stories. A few people chimed in but it was Aaron Sorkin who summed it up perfectly for me (of course). He said he doesn't share his ideas with a lot of people until they're nearly done. Not because he's afraid someone will steal them but because he's afraid people will steal his energy and passion for the project. And I totally caught myself nodding. How many times have I told someone I'm a writer who's working to get her screenwriting career going and people are like, uh oh, yeah, good luck with that. You just know they're thinking, whatever, never gonna happen. They steal my energy and my passion. Same goes for story ideas.

So I've decided to take control, own my energy and my passion, and continue on, focused on my career. I want to write movies. I want to write television shows. I want to keep moving forward. And so I will with all the inspiration I gleaned from last night. It truly was moving beyond words for me...

Encouraged beyond belief

This afternoon the handyman was here to fix the locks. We had some issues with the wood on the door swelling after the December rains. Well, turns out that the handyman did more than fix the door. He let a little green bird (about the size of my fist) inside. An hour or so later when I went into the kitchen I saw the bird fluttering about, pecking at the window in the laundry room. I got him outside quickly, thank goodness, as he'd already pooped on the dryer and kitchen counter! But for those few seconds that I was watching him ram the window, deciding what to do, I couldn't help but think how scared he must be. And frankly, how scared I was that he was going to get into another part of the house. And oddly enough, even though there was that split second of terror, ultimately, I was calm. I wasn't screaming on the inside or the outside.

I got the bird outside and I got dressed to go to my meeting with the literary manager. And guess what? I wasn't scared. I wasn't screaming. I was calm and well spoken and by the time I told my story the second time, to the senior partner, I had it down pat. And I was pretty happy about the whole thing. I'm not quite sure where all of this will lead. I really liked what they had to say about their brand-new company. I really liked how they seem to embrace emerging talent (basically us baby writers) and how they emphasize writing as a collaborative process. When he walked me out the lit manager asked about a second pilot script I'd mentioned. I pitched him my story and he seemed intrigued. He asked to read it. I think that's a good sign.

Will this be the company I work with throughout my whole career? I have absolutely no idea. If you'd asked me five years ago if I'd ever live in Los Angeles I'd have said I have absolutely no idea. But one thing is certain. I had a good meeting today. I felt confident and encouraged as I left the office building. And for what it's worth, that's really all I wanted out of today. And so it begins...

Screaming on the inside

In December a friend introduced me (via email) to a literary manager she'd met. He said he focused primarily on television comedies so I sent him three scripts last Monday. Today he emailed to say he was impressed. I called him and we set up a meeting for next Tuesday.

Yes, it took me an hour to calm down before I called him. It was exciting. It's my first introduction to the real business side of television writing. I've been operating in a vacuum up until now. I've been surrounded by friends and writing peers, teachers and people who love me too much to give me any criticism at all. But now, now I'm jumping into the lake (or the shark-infested ocean) without a life preserver (wearing raw meat). I'm putting myself out there. And I'm screaming inside.

Yes I know it's my first meeting. Yes I know I'll have more meetings and this may amount to nothing. Yes I have a long way to go. But this is a start. This is the beginning. And it's freaking exciting. I'm going to revel in that for a day or two. Before I start obsessing about what to wear:-)

Selling myself

This week I have done two things that I am very happy about (well, maybe a few more but only two that are blog-worthy at the moment). The first? I finished polishing all three of my comedy television scripts and I sent them out into the world, to someone who is not a member of my writing group, to someone who hasn't loved me since I was born, to someone who isn't a friend who'll tell me it's going to be just fine. I sent them to a literary agent. I sent them to someone who only wants "them" or in reality, "me", if I'm any good. So yeah. That was exciting, and not nearly as scary as I envisioned.

The second thing I did was apply to the Nickelodeon Writing Fellowship. I submitted a spec script I've written and I'm pretty happy with. It made me laugh, it made my friends laugh, so what more can I ask of it. (Well, besides to get me a job...)

So yeah, a pretty good week so far. And it's only Thursday. Now I start the process of tracking down other managers and agents who'll read my work. It's daunting. Incredibly daunting (which may be why I'm blogging instead of doing it). But I'll push forward. Because strangely enough, no one else in the world really needs me to be a working screenwriter. In fact, there are plenty of writers who'd probably prefer it if I just went back to the couch and took a nap. But nope, not today. Today I begin the process of selling myself...