My own brand of magic

On Tuesday night I graduated from UCLA's professional screenwriting program. I have a nifty certificate to add to the other nifty certificates already in frames and leaning up against the wall (thanks mom and dad for bringing these westward, they'll be hung soon!). But more than that I have a much stronger belief in myself. I have a year of professional training behind me. I have a year of study (I watched 67 movies). I have a year of listening. I have a year of reading (I read 59 scripts). I have a year of work. I have a year of writing.

On the very first night I sat in the lecture hall at UCLA I listened to several of the same men who spoke at graduation. One of them instructed us to let ourselves be a part of our own adventures and to have a plan but be open to where it would take us, to let ourselves be surprised. And surprised I am. A year ago I never dreamed I'd have two screenplays written by now. I never thought I'd write an R-rated comedy in the Apatow vein that people would laugh out loud during. I never thought I'd write a dramedy about a woman who falls in love with an undertaker after she opens a funeral home in her house. These things just never crossed my mind. But how often does that happen to us? How often do we let it happen to us?

I have naysayers in my life. People who think I should pack it in and move back to Michigan (and they are probably not reading this blog so don't worry -- it's none of you). I have people in my life who've told me how hard this career path will be. That it's like trying to get into the NBA. I have people who tell me it's a horrible time to be a writer, no one's making movies right now, blah blah blah. Here's where I say stop (sometimes verbally, sometimes in my mind, I am a polite girl after all). Stop. Don't tell me I can't. Don't tell me I won't. Tell me to try. Tell me to do it. Tell me to not only go to the NBA tryouts but to show them my stuff and wow the socks right off them. Tell me that I can do this. I will do this. Because there's no Plan B. This is it. This is my life. I believe in myself. And I chose to share my life with those who believe in me too. I'm lucky that that circle is so, so big.

At the beginning of this program Hal Ackerman told us we should have one goal: Become a better writer. I have met that goal. I have succeeded. And I'm moving on to the next one, to become an even better writer than I was last week. And there's only one way I can do that, to continue doing exactly what I'm doing. Writing. Living. Being here. Being me. My question to the naysayers (real and imagined, yes, there are a few of them taking up residence in my brain) is why would you not? Why would you not want to experience something you've always wondered about? Always dreamed about? Or never dreamed about? This weekend I touched a sting ray and it was so cool. I never dreamed I'd touched a sting ray (in fact, before this weekend I was pretty scared of them) but it was awesome. I felt like a little kid. And I think that's what life is all about. Doing those things that are interesting, different, cool, exciting, normal, whatever. It's about doing. It's not about talking or simply existing. It's about going out there and jumping in. Feet first, head first, elbow first. However it happens, it's about the happening.

At the graduation ceremony Hal read this poem by John Updike which I loved:

Perfection Wasted

And another regrettable thing about death

is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,

which took a whole life to develop and market -

the quips, the witticisms, the slant

adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest

the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched

in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,

their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,

their response and your performance twinned.

The jokes over the phone. The memories packed

in the rapid-access file. The whole act.

Who will do it again? That's it; no one;

imitators and descendants aren't the same.

This poem blew me away. And I instantly thought, how true. We each have our own brand of magic. And this, screenwriting, is a part of mine. It's not all of me, not even most of me, but it's certainly a piece of me.

So I will continue to write. I will rewrite. I will join my classmates in forming a writer's group so we can keep encouraging one another and helping one another. That's one of the coolest things about UCLA's program -- how they encourage you to work together. Writing is such a solitary experience that I find I need, I crave, that interpersonal interaction, especially when it comes to talking about my writing. And it's something other writer's get. Not everyone does, and I understand that. I probably don't get your job or passion the same way that you do.

So I graduated. Once again. And finally, after seven years of school, I feel adequately prepared to enter a profession. I feel ready to do this, because, in fact, I already am. I'm writing. Every day. It's my own brand of magic. And I intend to sprinkle it all over the world.