Mr. Doane

Mister Edward Doane was 102 years old when he passed away earlier this month. I cannot hardly fathom that. One hundred and two years old. He retired from his assistant vice president job at an insurance company the year BEFORE I was born. My entire life that I've known him, he was retired. It's hard to wrap my brain around.

Ed was one of those people who was just always in my life. There was no 'oh, I remember when I met him' moment. That's because I'm pretty sure we met when I was an infant at church, at our church, at First United Methodist Church of Howell, where he was head usher and volunteer extraordinaire up until moving north to be closer to family in January of this year. That's right. He was an usher at Christmastime. This year. Again, hard to imagine.

Angela and I were fortunate enough to be able to attend his memorial service Thursday here in Michigan. And it was a wonderful chance to celebrate our friend, this servant of God who, in the words of one man at the service "was just a true gentleman".

When Angela and I moved to Arizona Ed was one of the first people to send us a Christmas card of our own. I loved that. In his perfect script he'd written a note that he looked forward to seeing us over the holidays. And we always did too. I loved seeing his bright smile when we entered the church and getting a big hug from him.

The last time I saw Ed was at our house this past December. He came for our annual Holiday Open House and because he came right when we began, I had time to sit and eat with him on the back porch. After some prompting he told us stories of growing up downtown Detroit and not having a heater in the house, or a toilet for that matter. He told us stories of being a little boy and loving Christmas. It's a conversation I'll cherish forever.

We snapped the picture right before he left our house that night. It's a little blurry but Angela says that's just because Ed couldn't hardly sit still. He was always out doing something, going somewhere, willing to lend a hand or a hug. I miss him but I know that he's up there in heaven, making sure that everyone finds their seats and that we all see his big smile when we walk through the front gates.

Be in peace, Mr. Doane, for I know you won't be resting! We all love you and remember you fondly.

My little summer hiatus

In the TV production world a hiatus is a work stoppage, usually over the spring/summer months (but now all crazy with cable schedules), when the actors, writers and crew take their break. Most of the hiatuses are finished (for instance Bones went on hiatus sometime in April/May and went back to work yesterday, well the writers did - the actors and crew will go back the end of July), some just began (Grey's Anatomy and Scandal started their hiatuses yesterday), and mine? It starts tomorrow!

If there's one thing I'm good at (and there aren't a lot of things, see my resume), it's meeting deadlines. Setting goals and reaching them. So when I decided to have a draft of my new sitcom pilot done by this week, before leaving on vacation tomorrow, I wasn't worried. Well, I was a little worried. At the time that I made that grand pronouncement (April 11) I didn't have an outline much less a solid idea of what my script would be about much less look like. And yet...less than two months later...

The first draft is done.

Yesterday I typed END OF SHOW on the bottom of the last page and it felt amazing. In less than two months I had come up with an idea, created some pretty solid characters (I guess we've surpassed humble bragging and just moved into boasting here), and devised their world. I figured out story lines and runners (jokes that move throughout the story) and gave each of the people in my script a voice. The start of a very distinctive voice.

This amazes me because two months ago my white board was blank. These 45 pages were blank (yes, 45 seems long for a sitcom script but a) it's a first draft and b) the pilot script for Two and a Half Men is 50 pages). Two months ago I didn't know these four people who now speak to me and talk through and around me. Two months ago I had no idea if I'd actually meet this arbitrary deadline I'd written down for myself (yes, I'm a big believer in writing things down - it feels so good when you get to check them off your list! So good!).

Also, the script came together much faster than I'd ever have dreamed because during those eight short weeks, my parents were here for three and there were many hours, so many, when I should have been writing and was not. Even yesterday I found myself squandering away precious hours wishing I could go back to sleep, doing laundry, checking in on the SIMS on the iPad, et cetera et cetera. And yet...

In the words of my favorite writer Anne Lamott, I have a "shitty first draft" complete. To me, that means the world. The world is exciting. The world has begun. The world is ready for what's next.

And so am I.

Something else happened as I finished the script yesterday, something new. I immediately texted my producer Sonora and let her know I'd finished. My goal included sending her the script yesterday by three p.m. though I knew that would be pushed back a little so I could proofread (she actually got the script this morning by seven a.m. PST!). She texted back a fun AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! Then my phone rang. I can't tell you how cool it was to have someone as excited as I was that I finished. She congratulated me, we talked for a moment and then that was it. Short, sweet and perfect. Exactly what I needed. What my little soul desired. And got. How cool is that?

So now? Now I'm going on my own hiatus. I'm leaving for Michigan in the morning and I'll be gone A MONTH. I'm so freaking excited for bonfires and grandneighbors and golf and family and Tiger games and swimming and fireworks and reading. So excited! I'll still be working (yay UoP!) and I'll still be thinking about my script (little tiny yay!) but mostly, I'll be having fun!

And then in July? We'll start work on draft two! But for now? HIATUS!

UPDATE: The picture on the right was sent to me this morning by Sonora - she immediately printed the script and read it! I love that!!!!! 

Surviving the writing

Yesterday was a long day at my desk. And around the house. Peeping in the fridge, checking on the laundry, looking out the window, messing with the curtains, shaving my legs and moisturizing them, thinking about how my hair would look short, wondering what it says about me that I was blasting Eminem when my neighbors were blasting piano music, not caring about what it says about me, thinking about the kettle balls gathering dust by the TV, wondering if they're kettle bells or kettle balls, then checking the Internet to find out (they're bells), then getting sucked into some baseball stories on said Internet, then reading about Detroit because well, my sitcom's set there, then finding a piece of pizza in the fridge and wondering if I should eat it, debating calling my mom about said pizza and then realizing I probably should just eat the freaking pizza, then eating it and wondering if I'd die what would happen to my stuff, like my journals and my computer files and my scripts and...

And that was just probably forty-five minutes before noon. So for anyone who ever wondered what it was like to be a writer, well, that's just a taste. A very small taste.

Yesterday I did write. A lot. I finished eight or more pages of the eleven-page final outline I'd been working on for the sitcom I'm writing. And I started the first draft of the actual script. I think a lot of people have this misconception that screenwriters just jump into dialogue and those crisp script pages we all have seen. But that's not how it works (at least, how it works best).

It starts with ideas and scribbles and lots of thinking. Thinking that for me seems to happen most often when I'm driving or showering or sleeping. Then it gets interesting. There are cards and circles and charts and pictures and yes, more scribbles. Eventually there's a page-long outline, then a beat sheet, then a full outline which became eleven pages yesterday (a half-hour comedy script usually runs thirty to fifty pages).

And yesterday as I looked back over the outline, I started to think about my other scripts and how this one fits into my portfolio, if at all. I thought about the story and the genre and the themes and the characters and I realized that this is exactly the type of story I tell. Somehow, my writing has found a voice. And that voice is mine.

Over the past few years I've worked with managers and teachers and crafted my little bio and pitch to tell when I meet people in the industry. I'd finally distilled it down last year to this:

The heart of my stories focuses on people who wake up one day and finally realize they’ve been stuck: in their jobs, in their relationships, just in their every day lives. And this forces them to make a change or face the consequences: never having the lives they wanted, never realizing their dreams.

What I write about is me, my life, my experience, my epiphany. I woke up one day and realized I was just getting through each day; I wasn’t living the life I wanted. And in order to live that life I needed to make a change. So I did. I made the choice to leave a stable, career-focused job to enroll in film school at UCLA. I took control of my life in order to realize my dreams. And that's what I'm doing.

And as I reread that yesterday I realized that my new sitcom script, which is in my mind a funny slice of life comedy, aligns exactly with my voice and my stories. And I wondered, how did this happen?

Then I thought about it. It happened from five plus years of intense work. Thousands of hours sitting behind this screen, staring at this blinking cursor, wondering how to say what was in my heart and my imagination. My blog is my brain with a little bit of a censor. So are my scripts. So is my novel. I love that I've finally gotten to the point where my voice, my point of view, is evident in my stories.

That didn't happen by accident but by specific design. By study. By hard work. By wanting to affect the world in some tiny way. To be heard. And that is why today, I sit down, open the Final Draft file on my desktop, stare at the file, and begin to wonder what I should order for dinner, how can I finish all of the episodes of the old seasons of Arrested Development and the new season before next Wednesday and keep up with my Tigers, should I take jeans to Michigan or just buy new ones, and why are those birds so obnoxiously loud?

Writing. Anyone who didn't love it wouldn't survive it.

Joshua Tree

My friend Krista and I have been talking about going to Joshua Tree National Park for over a year. You know, how people talk. When I lived in Michigan my friends and I always talked about going to the drive-in to watch movies. We went just once in all of my years and after the two hour drive to the drive-in, waiting for sunset for the movies to start, sleeping through both movies, then driving back, I vowed that was a dumb idea. Then in Arizona we always talked with friends about going camping. One winter there was even discussion of sleeping bags. We had them and were ready to go. But nothing ever came together. (And for the record - I was okay with that. Really. I like being tucked into a bed at night.)

So when Krista brought up Joshua Tree last year as we sat waiting for a play to begin downtown, I was intrigued but kinda thought, well, that'll never happen. Not that Krista's a flake (total opposite in fact, she was the one who invited me to the play and secured the tickets, the meeting spot, the coffee after, etc.). Just that, well, I find that humans often talk about doing things but aren't so good at the follow through (myself included at times).

Fast forward to a few months ago. I got an email from Krista and she said she really wanted to go to Joshua Tree and were Angela and I interested? Of course, I replied back instantly and that began a series of emails and planning and voila! This Saturday, IT HAPPENED.

We ended up adding a friend of Krista's to our little group, West, an actor in L.A. who just wanted to get out of the city. We met at Krista's parents' house where her dad made sure the trucks was fully stocked and we were prepared. He even threw an extra bag of Ruffles potato chips in at the last minute. (And guess what the first item used on the road trip was? The Ruffles!) And off we went...

We drove east for about an hour, talking, laughing, listening to the cassette tape mix in Krista's dad's truck. Krista, Angela and I have a very easy-breezy time together always, we talk and talk for hours. West fit in perfectly and became one of our gang. Then we stopped for date shakes. Well, they did. Even after three years in Yuma, aka Date Country, Ang and I are still fine with passing on anything date related. But we did eat sandwiches at this little country store.

A Joshua Tree at Joshua Tree National Park

We headed into Joshua Tree National Park around 4. We slathered on the sunscreen, double-checked our water supply, poured over the maps (not sure if any of us really understood them), and drove away from the last flush toilets for miles and miles (the Park Ranger was pretty intent on telling us about the toilets and later that night, I realized why).

We stopped first at a lookout point and headed into the desert on foot. My goal? Never lose sight of our truck. I figured if I could see it, I could get back to it. We also all agreed that if we saw a wild animal that might be a threat we only had to outrun the other three in the group. Yes, we're that good of friends.

The sunset above our campsite

We climbed rocks, got snagged by cacti, saw some lizards, watched rock climbers with harnesses and pulleys who went more than two feet off the ground (but hey! we were adventurous too!) and then headed back to the truck. We stopped a few more times to explore (one time we performed a random act of good karma - we pulled a mean note off someone's car that someone had left regarding that person's parking skills and then one time we negated said karma when West took a watch that someone had left on a sign post, though we decided the watch would somehow save our lives and make a really good plot point in the movie of our adventure) and then found a campsite.

Here's what still amazes me about that afternoon/evening we spend together. It was as if we'd been together for years. It was as if we'd been friends since the beginning of time and yet, still interested in finding out about one another. We played cards, teaching each other new games, already calling back to inside jokes from just hours earlier, laughing and telling stories. I learned about other cultures (Asian mostly, acting a little) and ate sushi on a camping trip. How cool is that?

As the sun set, we made a fire, welcome our sites resident kangaroo rat who was really bummed when we moved the graham crackers out of his way, and at burned marshmallows. We used an iPad app to find constellations and then we sat in the silence, telling quiet stories, just staring at the fire and the night. And when the fire died down, without much discussion, we packed up and headed back to the city. We talked about the coyote who'd crossed our path (while we were in the truck thankfully). The jackrabbits who skittered in front of us as we drove away. The bats that flew down at dusk. The lizards and the birds and the crazy campers all around us.

I love this picture even though it's all blurry - you can see West, Angela and Krista all laughing and that's what I'm going to remember from that night!

We got home to Abbey Place sixteen hours after we'd left. I fell asleep thinking of the stars and the little kangaroo rat who wanted to join our party. I smelled like fire and my feet were dusty and I was still slick with sunscreen. But I was quiet and happy and in love with the idea that it is possible to have new adventures and meet new people and make new friends and have an amazing time. No matter if you're in the city, the desert or somewhere in between.

I cannot wait to go to Joshua Tree again. But more than that? I cannot wait for my next adventure, whatever that might be.

40 Years Ago Today

My Grandma MacDonald liked to tell the story of how my parents barely knew each other when they got married. (In reality, they knew each other about six months.) She liked to tell the story of the snow storm that forced my Dad into sleeping on the couch on their porch and how she knew Tommy was a part of the family after that night. She liked to tell the story about how hot it was the day my parents got married. That day? Forty years ago today, June 2nd, 1973.

The bride and groom, 40 years ago today

Everyone who was at the wedding has a story, I'm sure of it. I've looked at the photos enough to know the stories almost by heart myself. The powder blue tuxedos, the 4-H hall reception, the beehive hairdos and the smiles. I've heard the tales over many nights. I've slept on sheets and used dishes that were wedding presents. I've even admired the napkins leftover from the reception. I've run my hand over the guest book and touched the lace on my Mother's dress.

I wasn't there but I share in the memories. I share in the happiness they've brought to each other and everyone they've met before and since. Forty years. Over 14,500 days together. It's an accomplishment and something to celebrate. It's rare in our society and it's special. Just like the two of them.

My parents headed home Tuesday after spending three weeks out here in L.A. with Angela and I. We added to the already huge book of memories we share with them. And I can't wait to see what they do with the next forty years!

I love you two! Happy anniversary! 

The groom and bride, just last week