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.