Baptism by Procrastination

I'm sitting with my feet up in my mother's air conditioned room, typing away on my blog.  Not on my screenplay.  I am listening to music on iTunes.  Nothing related to my screenplay.  I spent the night here, so I could work on organizing her kitchen after she had pest control come spray.  I went to my boyfriend's gig last night.  I didn't work on my screenplay.  I have been emailing with my friend Elyzabeth on her script, not working on my own.

Ah, more writer's procrastination, you might say.  Get back to work!

This is the thing.  I feel cleansed.

I washed every dish and utensil in her house because of the spraying that had been done.  Also, she had bugs, so I wasn't sure what had been crawled on and pooped on.  So I had to wash everything clean.  A lot of silent, repetitive action.  It felt meditative.  It felt like something someone would have monks do to clear their mind.  It felt like the household chore assigned to me by Mr. Miyagi before he made me practice my karate.

I had spent the week writing. I finished the screenplay on Monday. I worked on another project and read six scripts on Tuesday and Wednesday.  On Thursday, I got back to writing notes on the screenplay.  On Friday, I index carded some new scenes.  So even though I think I've been taking it slow this week, I have been working my ass off.  Today was a nice change of pace.

So now the second load of dishes is being washed.   Mostly everything has been put back.  Liners have been put in the drawers.  Her house looks pretty wonderful.  It's cleared out.  It's orderly.  And the anxiety has subsided.

I took a shower.  I'm clean.

I truly feel baptized.  Clean.  All of the dirt and the stress and the bad thoughts have gone down the drain.

And I'm ready to get back to work.

I am grateful for a clean house.
I am grateful for relaxation.
I am grateful for the Dixie Chicks.
I am grateful for the work I have been doing.
I am grateful for everything I have.
I am grateful for peace of mind.

Sympathy, Acceptance, Mediation, The Ugly Cry and Oprah

I had a good cry this morning.

Damn you, Oprah!  It's all your fault.

I got into the office this morning to prepare for my friend Tory who's coming to write with my today.  I arrived before nine, there was only one other car in the lot.  I unlocked our gate.  And I did my ritual: water for the tea kettle, washed my mug and sat down to look at my meditation for the day.

I am doing Oprah and Deepak's 21 Day Meditation Challenge that's all about finding joy.  Yes, I am a Super Souler.  I watch Super Soul Sunday reruns.  I'm an OWN viewer.  I am Eric and I'm an Oprahholic.  It's true.

So today's meditation is Day 18: Radiating Compassion.  I like compassion.  I feel compassionate.  I hope I radiate.  I read the email they sent and read the centering thought, which I will use as my mantra in today's meditation:

I radiate sympathy and acceptance.

I look at the mug I brought in from my mom's house over the weekend.  My tarot reading said that I need to bring items from home into my personal space.  My most personal space is my office.  Dad had this mug that someone gave him when I was a little kid and I've always loved it.  I would always drink out of it when I could, even when he was alive.  It's a short little white mug, nothing oversized, with his name on it: Danny (in Old English letters).  Then two red dice.  And the words Las Vegas (also in Old English red letters).  

I turn on my timer and I close my eyes.  I repeat the phrase over and over and over again.  I can hear the water boiling in my hot water kettle.  This usually gets me through the first part of my meditation.  I love hearing that sound of the water getting hot.  At some point during my meditation, I really fixate on those words: I radiate sympathy and acceptance.  I decide to think about those words, what they mean to me, and how they show up in my life.  For some reason, I get the voice of Iyanla Vanzant in my head.  She says, "Let's think about that."  Okay.  I don't know what Iyanla's doing my my head right now during my meditation.  I thought I only had room for Oprah and Deepak.  Get your own meditation challenge, Iyanla!  

But I did take a moment to pause and think about that.  Then I thought again about the word: Compassion.  What does that mean to me?  When I talk about my Dad now, the big thing I mention is that the healing that happened when I was sick was because I offered compassion to someone who I never felt had it for me.  Now in my meditation, that hit deep.  I thought about sympathy.  That wasn't there for me either.  Then I thought about acceptance.  I never felt acceptance from him.  But I did offer him compassion and wasn't that a good thing for me to do.

Then something else creeped up.  I have been doing a lot of work on my self lately in the area of accepting my self as I am.  I have been working on getting whole.  I give gratitude every day and especially every time I write a blog post.  I end my posts with statements of what I am grateful for.  Once I accepted my father, had sympathy for him, and offered compassion to him, I finally had acceptance, sympathy and compassion for myself.  

Once I offered compassion to someone who didn't have it for me, I was finally able to have compassion for myself.

Oh God.  I started to tear up.  I went back to Iyanla's voice: "Let's think about that."  My throat got tight.  The tears started to roll down my cheeks.  My face was contorting into the ugly cry.  I think this is what is referred to as having an "a-ha moment."  I just let the tears come.  I let the realization hit me.  I had never really had compassion for myself until after my Dad died.  And it wasn't because he died. But it is because I finally offered him compassion.  He was hard on me, so I was hard on myself.  Nothing was never good enough for him, so nothing was ever good enough for me.  And this simple thing of doing the opposite worked.  It was a two way street.  If he could give me negative messages, they could affect me negatively.  But if I had something positive, it could trickle up.  And it did.  And he finally had compassion before he died.  And sympathy.  And understanding.  And acceptance.  And peace.  I had done that.  But just as importantly, because I had done that for him, I had done it for myself.  I don't live under a dark cloud of self loathing any more.  Yes, I have my days where I am ridiculously hard on myself.  But the love, the compassion, the sympathy and the acceptance comes through first.  My drive is based in that now and not based on knocking myself down in order to pick myself up.

The feeling passed through me.  My breathing got more steady.  My a-ha moment was pretty disruptive, but felt wonderful when it passed through.  That was something I had known for a long time, but it hadn't coalesced until now.  

Then I thought about how that is tied to today.  To what I'm doing today.  

I am writing a screenplay.  The first screenplay I have written since graduate school, which is a while.  I had an idea for this play about my life growing up and my obsession with Woody Allen.  And I got the opportunity to write it as a screenplay in order to apply for a spot in the Sundance Screenwriting Lab.  It's really about the transformative power of art.  It's about how I became the person I am.  It's my origin story, in a way.  It's also about how I met my best friend Alanna, who I've been friends for since we were wee little kids.  That all sounds wonderful, right?  The story of how I came to be this wonderful person I am today: creative, smart, curious, artistic.  All of that sounds so lovely.  But the story of how I became who I am is the story of a fearful, tough, mean, abusive guy.  My father.  He was hard on me and said pretty rough things to me because, in his mind, he was making me tough to handle the world.  He was tearing me down to be built back up.  That's the origin of what came before all of the compassion.  I am writing this story honestly.  Not everything that happens in the screenplay happened to me.  But the emotional truth is there.  I don't think I was prepared to write about my parents fighting or getting hit with a belt or the pain of being eleven and disappointing the only person you want to please.  I don't wrap everything up neatly, either.  I don't have the perfect relationship with my Dad at the end of the screenplay.  I had to find something that worked for me.  I had to find what made me feel better and that's where my best friend's family came into my life.  It's a love letter really to all four of the parents in my life, mine and Alanna's.  And it makes me emotional.

So as I get ready to start my rewrite this morning, the Universe (and Oprah and Deepak) gave me a gift.  To focus on that compassion.  Because while I have to tell the truth of what happened and who my Dad was to me, I also know why now.  I am able to have sympathy for him without rewriting history.  This is what I have been working on personally and now I get to put it into my work.  That's a gift.

I am grateful for a good cry.

I am grateful to be in a state of mind where I am open.

I am grateful for the lessons of my childhood.

I am grateful for my struggles.

I am grateful for my pain.

I am grateful for the ability to write about it.

I am grateful for the access I have to my personal truth.

I am grateful for my sense of humor about it all.

I am grateful for the survival quality of that humor.

I am grateful to be able to laugh about it and have sympathy and compassion about it now.

The Wilderness

This is a chapter from my second favorite book on inspiration by Steven Pressfield, Turning Pro.  My favorite is his first book on this subject, The War of Art.

"My Years in the Wilderness"

"In a way I was lucky that I experienced failure for so many years.  Because there were no conventional rewards, I was forced to ask myself, Why am I doing this? Am I crazy? All my friends are making money and settling down and living normal lives. What the hell am I doing? Am I nuts? What's wrong with me?

"In the end I answered the question by realizing I had no choice. I couldn't do anything else. When I tried, I got so depressed I couldn't stand it. So when I wrote yet another novel or screenplay that I couldn't sell, I had no choice but to write another after that. The truth was, I was enjoying myself. Maybe nobody liked the stuff I was doing, but I did. I was learning stuff. I was getting better.

"The work became, in its own demented way, a practice. It sustained me and sustains me still."

I am building my own practice.
This practice has a space, my office.
It has a time, usually from 9 or 10 AM until 5 or 6 PM.
It has its own ritual:
I wake up.
I don't talk to anyone for an hour - I brush my teeth, I shower, I get dressed.
I go to the office, quietly driving on the 134 to the 5.
I enter my office, turn on the light.
I get the water for my tea and turn it on.
Then I turn on my timer for 20 minutes.
I sit down and I meditate.
I say my mantra.  I sit still in one place.
The buzzer goes off.
I make my tea.
I take out my laptop and I sit down.
I take care of business.
Then when I have had enough of that:
emails, blogs, writing out my to do list for the day…
I write.

I spend my days satisfied.
I take walks if I need to.
I talk to my office mate when I need to.
I know that when I leave, I have put in a full day at the office.
This makes me feel purposeful, useful and cheerful.
I know that I have dedicated my time and my space to my practice.

I do this every day without the promise of recognition
from anyone other than myself.
I recognize the work that it takes.
I recognize the time I have given to my practice
and I work everything around that time I take.

I am able to do many things at once because of this practice.
And I don't see any start or end to the work at hand.
It's beautiful.

I am grateful to have entered the wilderness and to have come out of the wilderness.
I am grateful for every difficult event in my life that is my teacher.
I am grateful for sleep.
I am grateful for meditation.
I am grateful for days off.
I am grateful to be fully engage in a work practice.

Confessions of a Former Anti-Outliner

I'm a playwright.

That  means some people will make assumptions about my work:

• I am "wordy."
• My work is heady.
• I don't care about structure in the way that TV or Film writers do.
• Outlining will impede my creative process.

Virtually, none of those things are true.  Maybe if they were, I'd be a more successful playwright.  Maybe…

I actually like what can be said without words.  I fell in love with scenes without words as a youngster. I think that's because I was a dancer.  I loved this idea of communicating without language.

My work tends not to be all of that heady, although I do write about subjects I'm deeply passionate about.  I tend towards the anti-intellectual in my writing.  I don't feel the need to show off how much I know or how much research I've done (although it usually is a lot).  I do like my plays to be informed.  And I think they're smart.  But never cold.  That's an immediate turn off in terms of plays I go see.  If a play leaves me cold, then I tend to not pay much attention.  

I actually love structure.  But I don't think that plays have to follow a certain structure.  Like the well-made play, for example.  I think plays should find the form that best suits the story the writer is telling.  I actually like structure a great deal because I think that it can help me articulate the themes of my story. Form follows function, that's an early lesson I learned as a young writer.  And to find different structures to build a play on is exciting. My TV and Film work is a bit more limited in terms of structure, but those can be fun structure exercises as well.

I don't really outline my plays.  Unless, I have a complicated structure where I am weaving stories and I need to balance them out.  I do like a laundry list.  I usually compile a list of things I think should happen or elements that I would like to include in the play.  Then I build from there.  I think TV and film work has to be outlined.  I don't know how people do it without outlining.  An an outline can just be a list of events as they happen.  It can be clearer in your head than it is on the page.  But I like to track story, so outlines are important.

I think outlines get stagnant when you don't allow your story time to breathe.  I like to write and then if I'm stuck, I go back to my outline.  I can change stories and events.  As long as it progresses things along.  I am not bound to an outline.  I like to jump off various points.   But the outline provides me with an objective for every scene.  So sometimes I will use story earlier than expected, then I need to figure out how to raise the stakes where I originally had planned to use that piece of story.  That's another reason I love an outline, because I it allows me to move the story quicker.  I might find a place earlier in the script for a piece of information, then I can look at what I have and figure out what to replace it with.  I think I did that about three or four times with the script I just wrote a draft of.

But I'm also the guy that loves to rearrange the index cards on his desk just so, with the right amount of space in between.  I love a certain amount of order, even when that order is fully by my own design.  But little bullshit things excite me.  Like Tabasco sauce being on sale for 69 cents each when you buy five.  There's a certain order in that.  

But these are the games I need to play with myself.  It's not an outline, it's a guideline.  So I can veer off of it, as long as I'm aware of where the path is.  It's security.  But I don't just hang onto it without discovering what's off the beaten path.  That's not a good philosophy for life, either.  You have to go off the beaten path.  But life without a direction is a meandering existence and you never feel like you go anywhere.  Same thing with a script.

And with life, I like to know some things.  I like to have a sense of where I'm going.  But I also want to be surprised and I want to discover things I didn't expect would be there.

I am grateful for Tabasco sauce (especially when it's on sale).

I am grateful for quiet mornings.

I am grateful for 5 1/2 hours of sleep when it's enough.

I am grateful for 10 hours of sleep when I need it.

I am grateful for boundless energy and enthusiasm.

I am grateful that I got the screenplay written last night.

I am grateful for a day to do other work.

I am grateful for elevens.

I am grateful for peace of mind.

I am grateful for supportive friends and colleagues.

I am grateful for my certainty that I am in the right direction.

I'm an Asshole

People who know me will immediately refute that title.

(I hope)

You're not an asshole.  You're one of the sweetest people I know.
You're so generous.  And kind.  And lovely…

Well, if you think that, you're not one of the following:

• Any family member of mine (especially my Mother)
• My boyfriend (current or former)
• Someone I've worked with

I reserve that limited-edition part of my personality to people I happen to be very close (or in close proximity) to.  To be fair to myself, I am not an asshole 100% of the time.  But right now, I'm kind of an asshole.

I'm working on a screenplay that's due in September.  And I'm writing it swiftly.  In about five weeks.  

Okay, if you're Nic Pizzolatto, that might not seem like a short amount of time.  I just read in The Hollywood Reporter that he wrote six scripts in a month.  That guy must be a real asshole.  So in this instance, I'm more than happy to say that I'm no Nic Pizzolatto.

I just want to be left alone.  I don't want to talk to a lot of people.  (Tim, this does not apply to you.  I adore you and technically we don't work together, even though we share an office space.)  Other writers, I'm okay with.  Because they understand the asshole zone.  I know writers don't own the patent on the asshole zone while they're working.  But, at least with other writers, we know where the land mines are and how to avoid them.

My boyfriend is so nice and he always wants me to be nice.  He told me the other day that I don't have to be such a dick when I'm working.  And I wanted to tell him (I kind of did, softly, in a text earlier):

Yes.  Yes, I do.

I claim my dickhood.  That's different from my dick hood.  I can't claim that.  I'm circumcised.

My tarot card reading from a week ago even supported my dickhood.

You're a writer.

Your cutting ruthlessness is about getting rid of what is useless.

You're the head of your own company.

You rarely vacilate.

And somewhere else it said:

Your temperamental behavior is simply a part of who you are.

Don't lose that.

Your work is very important now.

I feel like directing my boyfriend to my tarot reading.  But then I feel like that would be like using a bible verse to justify behavior.  And that would seem hypocritical of me.

I have had the "good son" syndrome my whole life.  I wanted to be the good boy for everyone to make them feel better.  I never wanted to burden anyone with my problems or my difficulties.  I always put that on the back burner.  

But one of my life's experiences right now is that I have established a space for myself.  I have a physical office in which to work.  A place to go to and be myself.  But along with that physical space, comes a mental and emotional space I need to carve out for myself as well.  And in that space, I can behave any way I want to.  

I remember years ago, when I was a student playwright, I studied with the great Erik Ehn who said to me:

No one cares how the work gets done.

As long as it gets done.

And this is from one of the nicest people I've ever met.  And arguably the most talented.  Apparently, I was grappling with my assholeness for years.

Just to clarify, I am not talking about being an ego maniac.  Or blowing up at people for the sake of setting up a hierarchical relationship.  

I am talking about the frustration that is created from knowing that you are giving birth to something that didn't exist before.  I am talking about that grimaced look when you are wrestling with an idea that's not turning out the way you want it to.  I'm talking about that desperate state you enter when no amount of food, drugs, cigarettes, or masturbation can help bring this nothing that was barely a thought a minute ago into being.  I'm talking about labor pains.  

It makes you mad.  I'm sorry, but there's no way around it.  And hiding it, for the sake of not upsetting someone, takes too much energy.  But more importantly, it's a denial of yourself.  

And then you have to ask, why would someone want me to deny myself?  Because it makes them feel better?  Because it makes them nervous.  Because they don't want to hear it.  Because it's too painful.  Because they're denying themselves.

Well…

I realized that I should have just left yesterday when I said I was going to leave.  I should have gone to my friend's house in the Hills.  I should have gone on a run.  Or meditated.  Or worked out.  I should have just left.  But instead I stayed and was a total jerk all night.  And even when I wasn't trying to be a jerk, I just laid quiet, making things uncomfortable.  But I didn't leave because I didn't want to create a bigger deal.

Now I realize I was denying myself in so many ways.  To make someone else feel comfortable.  And I wasn't making it good for anyone.

So now I'm going to take off for a few days.  Just my office and this place in the hills.

It's what I did in May when I knew I had a major deadline of three scripts I had to write in a month.  And I was wonderfully fantastic to my friend Molly.  We had a great time and we both helped each other out in getting our work done.  But if I had stayed, I would have been the biggest asshole to my boyfriend.  Kind of like yesterday.

So I'm better if I run off to the woods to turn green…or to howl at the moon.  Then I can return when my body and mind have reverted back to normal.

In the meantime, I'm going to watch this on a loop.  It makes me very happy:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcFrZ0Bpjo8

I am grateful to know myself.

I am grateful for other writer friends who get me.

I am grateful for the pleasant moments in life.

I am grateful for moments of solitude.

I am grateful for moments of peace.

I am grateful for You Tube dance videos.

The Week Ends

Back when I used to go to someone else's office and put in my time, I used to hate weekends.  It felt like Friday evening came and then it was just a countdown until Monday came rolling around again.  Then each day was another step towards Friday.

My weekends were jammed with things I needed to get done that I didn't have the time or energy for before.

Now that I go into my own office, my feelings about the weekends have changed.  I work my ass off during the week writing.  This month, I have a screenplay I'm working on for a deadline.  So every day is focused in some way. By the time I leave the office at 5 or 6 every night, I'm ready to be done with work.  I can put it away.  Although tonight, I have been been putting notes together on another project I'm getting ready to write in October.  But the prep work is massive before the month long writing session.  I also have been watching documentaries tonight for that other project.  I also did work on loading up scripts for our October writing challenge.  So I probably came home and did another 3 hours worth of work.

But sometimes work has to happen in the evening and on the weekends.  I don't mind it if it doesn't happen all of the time.

For me, I'm happy to put it behind me this weekend.  I finally have a full weekend to just not work on the screenplay.  Although, I have scripts that I'm getting paid to read that I need to read on the weekend so that I don't interfere with my writing.

I know myself.  When I have more full time work for pay, it's hard to write on a full schedule.  So since I'm not doing that right now, I have to take advantage of my rested mind and spirit.  And work!

It's funny how work structures my life.  I don't drink much during the week.  I don't do anything that will impair my judgment or my energy.  It's like when I was training for the marathon years ago.  I would have massive training runs on Saturday mornings, so Friday nights were mellow.  And if they weren't, I would be suffering.

One of the things I love about having an office, besides having my own space, is that my time is managed differently.  I can compartmentalize my writing and other types of work I need to be doing.  It's pretty fantastic.  I actually feel on schedule for the first time in my life.

I know what projects I'll be working on for the rest of the year.  So all I have to do is show up.

I've earned my exhaustion.  I even ran and meditated twice today.  I didn't think I'd be able to attend to both my work and my body when I was this busy.  It hasn't happened before.  But it all energizes me.  It's a good thing.

And now I know what I'll be working on come Monday, Act Three of the screenplay.  But hopefully that won't be more than 15ish pages.  Then I can get to the work of cutting the script down.  Oy!

I am grateful that I had so much energy today.
I am grateful that I got two meditations in.
I am grateful that I got work done on my pilot, even though that's not the priority this month.
I am grateful that the spiritual work is happening too.
I am grateful that people are seeing me as productive, prolific and pro-writer.
I am grateful that I am now in bed and barely keeping my eyes open.

Where Does A Good Idea Come From?

Yes, the Universal question.

I'm sitting in my office and I'm looking at everything on and near my desk:

• My index cards
• the ones filled out with notes on my desk
• the ones filled out with notes on my cork board
• the blank cards
• the blank cards in unopened packages of 100 each
• Books
• Books for research
• the projects I'm working on now
• the projects I hope to work on
• the projects I know I have to research a shit ton before I'm ready to write anything
• Books for inspiration
• books about the creative process
• bios/memoirs of people I admire
• Plays
• Ones I've read
• Ones I hope to read
• Ones that just make me look smart
• Food
• Post It Reminders of things I need to Do
• My Dry Erase Board
• It's Blank.  A virgin.  Unused.
• My Computer
• Endless possibilities
• Distraction
• Information

Do those things lead to good ideas?

I go on at least one walk a day.  To get food.  To clear my head.  To have a smoke (when I'm feeling naughty/at my wits end).

So outside is important too.  I had David here yesterday working with me and we were talking through an idea he had for a pilot.  He's writing up a pitch document for a script he already wrote.  And as he was explaining the idea and as I had questions, I remember asking him about the idea.  For the record, I do think it's a good idea.

Why do you like it?

What made you want to write about this?

What's the personal story here?

We talked about this idea on our way to get coffee and on our way back.  But we both needed to clear our heads from what we were working on.  He also listened to me talk through my idea.

I am coordinating a TV/Film writing challenge for the playwrights group I belong to  called The Playwrights Union.  We're writing scripts in October, but right now we're trying to decide on an idea.

Then we have to figure out if that idea makes a good series.

Then we need to figure out a few seasons worth of story arcs/possibilities.

Then we have to have compelling characters.

We need a "hook."  Just like a good song.

And it needs to be something we would be compelled to watch week to week.  Right?  It has to have that watchability factor.  

Are those components of a good idea?

I recently pitched nine ideas to my best friend for a pilot we want to work on together as a potential vehicle for her.  She had just gotten off a three season run of a cable show.  And this conversation happened in the short window before she just got a series regular on another cable show.  So now I think I'm going to write the script anyway.

But the point is that I had come up with nine fresh IDEAS.

What was my criteria?

• female centric
• 
  
• half hour comedy (mainly)

Then I kind of went all over the map.  I was able to do this largely because I know what she is capable of and what I would like to see her do (selfishly).  So that criteria expanded:

• what haven't I seen on TV
• funny worlds
• a great character
• books I've read recently or read about
• personal interests

For me, an idea originates because it's something I am interested in.  And it works best if it's something I'm obsessed with or can't stop thinking about. 

• research

If I'm researching the fuck out of something, then I know it's a good idea.  Well, I know at least that I'm interested.  And I like fun places to be.  I like to inhabit a world that seems interesting.

Then the next questions tend to be:

• Is this going to be interesting to anyone else?
• What's interesting to me?
• How can I translate this to be interesting period?

Because this is the problem I run into with a "great" idea.  I could research for years. I could read and watch documentaries about this subject forever.  But where do I want to focus?  I'm someone who can get lost in all of the work.  But at a certain point, I need to make a decision.  David and I talked about this yesterday about his idea.  It all sounds like a great subject.  But where do we jump in?

I only had questions for him because these are the same questions I ask of myself.  So once I have the stacks of note cards with questions or research or ideas for scenes or whatever I've brainstormed…I start to narrow my focus:

• Who are these PEOPLE?
• Do I have a great lead character?
• Are we following him/her?
• Is this world the interesting part?
• What's the most interesting?
• Who inhabits the world?
• What's interesting about them?

It's best if I'm not inventing drama.  If the needs, wants, conflicts come from the world organically, and they're INTERESTING, then I feel I'm in good shape.  That was the problem with a certain TV show about a niche section of show business that ran for two seasons…it started inventing drama (or more accurately melodrama in the bastardized sense of the word).  It didn't have enough stuff.  Or it didn't trust the stuff it had.

I like ideas to marinate.

I started keeping an accordion file of ideas.  Woody Allen has a drawer full of scraps of paper.  Some people have shoe boxes.  I like something that looks like a file.  Tabs.  I like tabs.  And I like a clasp that makes sure those ideas don't fall out.  And I like rectangle index cards of the same size.  Uniformity.  I like things to look organized.  Then that means that they look professional.  Then that seems serious or impressive in some way and it adds authority or prestige or purpose to what that germ of a fragile idea is.

I'm bullshitting myself.  Every day.

I need that bullshit.  I need to feel smart.  I need as much resolve and as much chutzpah and guts (mainly self created) going in because I am responsible for putting together a whole world from soup to nuts of something that's interesting and compelling and worthy of large sums of money that forge a commitment between two business entities.  I have to act like a corporation in my writing factory in order to stand toe to toe with a more obvious, public corporation that employs thousands (sometimes even tens of thousands).  

Some people would say it's not bullshit.  It's whatever gets you to the desk.  It's whatever gets the ideas out.  It's whatever gets you out the door.  It's whatever you need to call it.

So I don't exactly know where a good idea comes from.  Or I don't know how to answer that question. But like James Lipton asked Robin Williams once on Inside the Actors Studio…where does comedy come from?  Or where does the inspiration come from?

He did a five minute routine using a pashmina.  And when he finished using that pashmina in every which way he could, he sat down.  "I can't explain it, but I can show you."  I'm paraphrasing.  

But that's what I can do.  I can show a little bit.  I can't begin to break it down in a formula.  I just know what works for me and what feels good.  Our brains adapt to what we respond to.  And usually what we respond to is what feels good.  So the index cards feel good to me.  Organization feels good to me.  Talking a lot feels good to me.  Eating feels good to me.  Grandiosity feels good to me.  Sometimes.  Big ideas.  Funneling into human interaction.  All of that feels good to me.  So that's how I work.

Where does Good Idea Come From?

It comes from what feels good.  Then figuring out how to fit that on to living, breathing human beings that only live and breathe in your head.  And those facsimiles need to hold your interest (first) for a long time.

Then you know you've got a good idea….?

I am grateful that I was able to type for that long and consistently.

I am grateful for so many thoughts.

I am grateful for friends who I watch work bravely.

I am grateful for ideas.  All kinds.

To The Point of Exhaustion

I have been going, going, going for the past two weeks.
I guess for the past THREE weeks if you count writing the outline for this screenplay.
Or really, the past eight months (of this year) where I've written a lot of stuff.

I'm tired.

And I'm exhilarated.

Which means…I'm surprised.

Work finished for me around 4:30 yesterday.  Officially.  I stayed in the office until 6:00 doing other work, while my friend David (my guest co-host yesterday) worked on a pitch.  I got in at 9:15 that morning.  So I guess I put in about a 7 hour work day.

I came home, not really knowing what to do.  I watched Project Runway.  I wanted to watch The Way Way Back, but it wasn't on HBO Go (I think it was at some point).  So I read a play and did some coverage for a theatre I'm doing some reading for.  I feel asleep after Act One.  Then work up to read Act Two and to write the coverage.

I was tired, but I couldn't stop.  I couldn't quiet the mind.  And right now, my mind does need to be somewhat quiet.

I'm at page 71 of this script.

What is the point of exhaustion?

Because after I finish this screenplay and get it into decent shape by September 5th for a submission, I've got more work to do.  September is going to be about prepping a pilot I'm writing in October and about rewriting the play I wrote in February and rewrote and had a reading of in May.  I've got Fall Submissions coming up.   Then October is about the TV/Film Writing Challenge that I'm coordinating for the Playwrights Union.  In November I need to pick up the play I was researching in June and July. And in December, I plan on rewriting the pilot I wrote for the challenge.  I might not even start writing this new play until the new year, which means I've got my next play for the Playwrights Union 2015 Play Writing Challenge.

I am not complaining about productivity.  I am excited about it and grateful for it.  I came up with 9 pitches for pilots last month, so I know that I have more projects to work on even after that.  And I've got a few other play ideas that are swimming in my head, as well as rewrites that will be happening.  So even though it's not all mapped out, I've got my 2015 booked as well.

To what end?

I'm just worrying about the work right now.  I know that I'm enjoying being busy and having ideas.  I love having legitimate excuses to watch lots of TV and movies and read a lot of books.  Like I've said previously, I am operating as a Production Company.  So when the money comes a calling', the factory is fully open and operational and Investors can pump money into something that's already up and running.  Readymade.

I'm not worried about the money.  And that's a scary thing to admit semi-publicly.  But it's the work that's the reward.  And the work is good and exciting.  I'm not scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas.  That's something substantial to be grateful for.

I am grateful for the work that has happened this year.
I am grateful for the attention I am getting as a working writer.
I am grateful for the joy I feel working.
I am grateful for the laughs I've had this week just at the moments I've needed them.
I am grateful for the level of commitment I have.
I am grateful the Ariana Grande song that seems to be my summer jam.

At the Factory

I got here at 9:15.  My shoes are off.  My socks are off.  The air conditioning is on.

I got the water for my tea.
Turned on the hot water kettle.
And meditated for 20 minutes
on Inspiration.
Then lots of ideas flew through my head.
The buzzer went off.

I went to my cork board and rearranged some things.
I had done some work last night on cards and I wanted to see
what fit and what didn't fit any more.
As I look at the cards on that board, I can see that there are problems still to fix.
But I forge ahead

I'm at 62 pages as of last night.
This week I told myself I would not give myself a page limit or
even a "goal" of what I wanted to get done this week.
I just wanted to write.
And even though I have written a substantial amount, I still am not setting
a goal.  Because I like the feeling of not setting up an expectation.
I don't want to set my self up for failure.
I want to succeed.
So I just come in and work.
I don't have something I am trying to accomplish for that day.
I just have to be there.

But when I look at the cards on the cork board,
when I look at the books on my shelf,
when I look at my tea,
and my breakfast trail mix from Trader Joes,
and my office space
I know I have set myself up to succeed.
I have given myself a place to be.
I have proclaimed writing as important enough
to spend a legitimate work week
doing it.
Most people work Monday through Friday at a job.
Now I do too.
But the job I have is the job I want.
I always said I wanted to be a writer full time.
And now I am.

So if nothing else,
I have that.
And through that,
I will have everything else.

But none of that matters because I have my
index cards
in front of me
letting me know that there is still work to do.
Ten days ago,
that stack was piled high with 113 index cards
of scenes I had to write.
Now the number of scenes I've written
is greater than the ones left.
I know that feeling of taking a card
and moving it from the To Do to the
Have Done pile.

I can now honestly
and confidently
tell people, when asked,
that I am a Writer.
That most of my waking hours
are spent writing.
That I go somewhere to write every day
that I pay for.
I have claimed space for my writing.
And that knowledge
and that confidence
will ensure that I continue to do it
and with that will come
opportunities.
But I don't have the burden of worrying about that.
All I have to worry about is being prepared
for the day ahead of me
and if there are tasks that are presented to me
to submit a play or a screenplay or a TV pilot
somewhere
to someone
for something good,
then fortunately for me,
the factory is already open
and functioning to its highest capacity.
I don't need to drive over there,
turn on the lights,
dust off the machines,
and let them warm up.
The machines hum
with activity,
they are warm from frequent use
and fully functional.
They are maintained regularly to ensure
that they will continue working for
decades to come.
This is a high volume,
high functioning factory.
And it's constantly churning out product.
As it should.

I am grateful to be a worker at this factory.
I am grateful to be in charge of this factory.
I am grateful that this factory looks the way I want it to.
I am grateful for index cards.
I am grateful for time to think something through.
I am grateful for inner peace.
I am grateful for a hoodie when it's cold in the office.
I am grateful for a friend who is about to come over and share the space with me.
I am grateful for warm tea.
I am grateful for 62 pages and counting.

55 Pages and Counting…: The Pit Stop

I meditated, went to the gym, showered and now I'm sitting at a desk at the Weho Library.

I'm doing a remote.  Decided not to go into the office today.  Sometimes the comfort of having an office means that you can escape it every once in a while.  And today I'm escaping.  I'm at page 55 of my screenplay and I need to change things up.  I needed to change the routine around.

So it's later in the day.  I woke up earlier, however.  Took some time to just relax a bit.  I have been going at hyper speed.

The screenplay is at 55 pages right now.  I have a few things to figure out before I proceed. But I feel like I'm in a good place.  I told myself (and repeated it back to Tim for accountability) that I was not doing page counts this week.  And I'm making good progress so far, let's just say.  I'm further along than I thought I would be.

At every little step, I've had something to hang on to.

In Act One, I knew it was about setting up the world and introducing the love story.

So far in Act Two, it has been about using certain seminal movie moments to create scenes and to reflect how the protagonists' perception has changed.

Now everything he loves is about to go.  And I think I need to find more complications before I make him a hero again.  That's why I'm slowing down.  I'm basically making a pit stop to gas up.  Refuel, as it were.

Here are some questions I'm asking myself.

• Is this a 90 page screenplay?  Or is it 120?
• Related: How long is Act Two?
• Are there more external complications between the break that happens in the middle of Act Two?
• Do I have too much story?
• This is probably true.
• And it probably doesn't matter because I think I just want to overstuff with scenes where I think they should go and then trim back.
• This is all related to Act Two.  I think there's a lot of stuffing in this act.  
• That's okay.

Right now, those are the things I'm dealing with.  Although, I do believe I need to get to the end of this screenplay.  I don't have time to stop and start considering all of those things.

I will say that one thing I'm doing differently is helping in a big way and it's making it fun:

Notecards

It's true.  I'm nerding out.  I love playing around with my note cards.  Revising them when I get new ideas for story.  Stapling two notecards together when they represent an alternative scene.  Ripping notecards in half when I'm discarding them.  It's all really great and giving me some thing tactile to work with.  

The other thing that's helping is reading this guy's wise words again:

http://www.fastcocreate.com/1683167/how-to-be-prolific-guidelines-for-getting-it-done-from-joss-whedon

I have to go back and re-read this article every now and again.  And it's a good touchstone to remind myself of what on this list I'm doing and what I have given up on.  If anyone knows how to multi-task and keep things moving, it's Joss Whedon.

At our creative roundtable over the weekend, I talked about how I like to juggle a lot of projects at once.  Not everyone works that way.  I like to put down one project and pick up another one.  It helps me process the one I'm putting down without obsessing over it.  And I can let my mind wander and my subconscious take over.  Some people need to work on one thing at a time.  That's hard for me when I have a bunch of ideas.  When I only have one, then it's easy.  But if I have a lot of things in my queue to write, I hop around.  But I also have to be really careful about prioritizing.  I don't work on two things simultaneously.  I do need to have my brain clear for that.  I can only focus on one thing at a time.  But if I need a break, it's nice to have something else to pick up.

And that can be a book for research on another project.

But I'm starting to operate as a production company.  So there are many projects at various stages of development and new ideas that pop into the brain at a time.  I was reading that Woody Allen has tons of ideas and they're on scraps of paper.  So he might pick something up he thought of years ago and that might become a new screenplay.  I'm doing that but with my notecards.  I have an accordion file that is index card sized.  And the ideas go in there.  Right now I have an active file.  I think I'm going to have to have a file that's just ideas that moves into the active file once I'm working on something.  And of course there's going to be some type of archive at some point.  My tarot did say that organization was going to be important for me and productivity and creativity.  

All right.  I'm typing.  I'm warm.  I'm fueled up.

Now it's time to hit the road again.

I am grateful for 55 pages in 9 days.

I am grateful for an outline that came together in a week.

I am grateful for a spec script that I wrote in 30 days.

I am grateful for a play I wrote in 35 days, rewrote in a week and had a  reading for.

I am grateful for a spec pilot that I outlined and bibled in a week, wrote in a week, and rewrote over two weeks.

I am grateful that I write something every day.

I am grateful that I am learning to take care of my mind, body and soul with equal care.

I am grateful that I am paying attention.

I am grateful that self-employment is working.

I am grateful that I am curating a life for myself that is productive and spiritually fulfilling.

I am grateful that my procrastination is also productive.

The Best Kind of Exhausted

It's the end of a long week.

I went into my office on Monday and got a false start on a screenplay I'm working on.  I kept going.

I went to write with a friend on Tuesday and wrote nine pages.

I watched Woody Allen films as research for a new screenplay on Wednesday.

On Thursday, I wrote 22 pages and got to page 31 on my screenplay.

Friday, I wrote out ideas for some new scenes on this screenplay.

I am tired.  I am wiped out.  I got home tonight after a friend's birthday party, feeling I had earned the right to relax and socialize.

This is the best kind of exhausted.  As my feet ache, as I lay in bed, ready for the next several hours of sleep.  I try and quiet my mind.  It is difficult because I have ideas swirling in my brain.  But now it's time to shut that down.

I have at least four plays to read this weekend.

I will put off the writing on the screenplay until Monday, when I will pick up with Act Two.

This weekend, in addition to reading, I will replenish my soul.  I will meditate and see friends and celebrate my friends' accomplishments.

I know I worked hard this week.
I know I did everything I set out to do.
I am in a good place with my work.
And now it's time to rest.

I am grateful for my exhaustion.
I am grateful for my bed.
I am grateful for the sleep to come this weekend.
I am grateful to be able to slow down because I got everything done.

Why It Doesn't Matter What Other People Think of Me

Because I like myself and I am satisfied on a daily basis.

That's the quick easy answer.  But how did I get on the path to figuring that out?

A long time ago, I came back to LA armed with an MFA from NYU.  I had achieved the ultimate academic goal.  I got the degree I wanted from arguably the best school in the country for what I wanted to do.  And if not the best school, definitely in the top five.  I had done that on a full scholarship.  I had accomplished the things I set out to do.  So I felt like that entitled me to everything.

I didn't get everything.

I didn't get the instant agent.
I didn't get the instant staff job.
I didn't get the instant money.
I didn't get the instant clear and obvious path to financial success.

But I got to work.
I worked for a prominent manager, hoping to learn the business to be better equipped.
I got that knowledge.
I wrote script and after script despite having to work 50-60 hours a week.
I probably would have been more productive had I not had to work.
I was developing a practice of self motivation.
And motivation among chaos.
Nothing happened in my career.
Yes, meetings.
Yes, I was "up" for jobs.  But I'm not even sure what that meant.
Then anxiety set in.  Fear set in.
Time was passing and the instant wasn't even a probable idea any more.
Because I was looking for it.
And I got disappointed because every opportunity didn't lead to success.
Then I was writing stuff I didn't care about.
I let other people dictate to me what I should be writing
and it led me further and further astray from what I loved.

Then I left that job.
I got a better job where I was appreciated.
That job finished.
It didn't lead to where I thought it was going to lead,
despite having the most amazing supportive bosses in the world
who let me shine.

Then life changes.
Bye boyfriend.
Bye old boss.
Bye dad.

Through all of this I was writing.

Then the spiritual changes.
The change of expectation.
An awakening.

I had to confront what I wanted writing to be.

I decided that I wanted it to be fulfilling.
I decided that I wanted to do it all of the time.
I decided that the act of creating was enough.

And now I have that.
I go to my office and I write all day.
I write things I love.
This year everything I wrote I love.
I loved writing all of those scripts.
I loved researching.
I loved talking about the ideas.
I loved coming up with the ideas.
I loved feeling like I was using my creative muscles and that they were growing and making me stronger.

And that's why it doesn't matter what other people think of me.
Because I am writing a lot.
I am becoming the fullest version of myself through writing.
And that is the reward.
Will I run out of room in my current place and want a bigger house
(literally and metaphorically)?
Yes.
Will I need a bigger platform.
Eventually.
Will that lead to byproducts of financial gain.
Possibly.
But I am living the reward now.
And when more is required, more will come.

I'm where I need to be now.
And when I need to be more,
then in that moment that will happen.

How do I know this?

I am arriving at where I need to be and then it makes sense.
That's how I know.
I didn't work for that knowledge.
Life happened.
The answers presented themselves.
I accepted the answers.

I am grateful for self knowledge.
I am grateful for awareness.
I am grateful to be working happily.

Forging Ahead

Rejection.

How much can one person handle?

When does it start to seep into the fabric of your being?

How does it become a catalyst for growth and ambition?

No one likes to be told no.  But it's a necessary experience to build a thick skin.  It just is.  Yet sometimes making lemons out of lemonade gets old.

I got another rejection email tonight from something that I really felt I did a great job at.  I'm not any sort of finalist or semi-finalist.  So I didn't technically "get close."  But I've had a few experiences where I didn't make it to that semi-finalist stage and had an artistic director or a decision maker reach out to me and say that many discussions were had regarding my material and I "almost got there."

Yet I'm not sad.  I'm disappointed because I would have liked to have gone further.  I feel like one of those Project Runway contestants who was sent home for a design that they believed in.  And they always say, that they would rather go home for a design that represented them than one that felt like a compromise.  I'm in that category with this rejection.  I wrote a pilot I am proud of.  I wrote a treatment for that pilot that I am extremely proud of as well.  I know how to make something sound great.  Maybe they didn't see it in the pilot I submitted.  Maybe I wasn't what they were looking for.

A friend came by the office today to write with me.  We were talking about teaching jobs.  He said to me that he came close to a job recently and didn't get it, but knew that he was a finalist for the job because he was what they were looking for.  So I don't know if I was what these folks were looking for.  But I know that this script has made me a better writer.  It has expanded my skill set.  And the script proves that I can think visually.  The story is one of a person going through an existential crisis.  For some people, that might not be the most exciting subject.  But I know that the script was crafted beautifully and that it takes place in a world that is interesting.  It asks interesting questions.  Those are the types of scripts I'm interested in writing.

That's why the "rejection" doesn't cut deep.  It doesn't make me feel like I have failed as a person or as a writer.  It just feels like I didn't get something that would have been great to get and that everybody wants.  And it would have felt great to get something that everybody wants.

But the daily work continues.  I wrote 31 pages of a new screenplay.  I finished Act One in four days technically.  But I wrote 9 pages on Tuesday and 22 pages today.  So I actually wrote that Act One in two days.  But day one was a false start.  And yesterday, I watched a bunch of movies that I reference in the script stylistically.  The work is there.  And I am in love with this world and the process of it.  It's also a screenplay, which is something I have not attempted in years and years.  That rejection email does not rob me of the success and accomplishment I have felt all day.

I am realizing more and more that if the daily work is not happening, if I do not have something to look forward to tomorrow, then the rejection will cut deeper.  If I don't feel productive, then I will feel like I have to pick up my dead weight and keep going.  But I have momentum and that won't stop for a rejection.  

In moments like these, I have to remind myself of the following:

• I wrote and rewrote a pilot this year.
• I wrote and rewrote a play that I will go back to rewriting next month.
• I wrote and rewrote a spec.
• I know what I'm writing next.
• I have a play I'm researching and putting together.
• I have nine ideas for the next pilot.  
• I have narrowed down those nine ideas to three that I feel work.
• One of those ideas I will work on in October to write the next pilot (and treatment and outline and story bible).
• I'm writing a fucking screenplay.  That's big for me.

I keep going.  I don't let things stop me.  I "play hurt."  In The War of Art and Turning Pro, Steven Pressfield talks about playing hurt.  We all have this idea that we will fix ourselves and be complete people first, then we will let that awareness inform our work.  But sometimes, most often, it is in the broken pieces that the lesson is found.  I am not a whole person, but I keep doing my work.  Partially to find that path to becoming whole.  Sometimes to explore the playground of the broken.  But always to learn things about myself.

I am writing this screenplay and in the past I would have made all of these characters' stories complete.  I would have found the wholeness in the characters before I started rather than letting their journeys be a lesson.  All of these characters are flawed in some ways, even my hero is flawed.  It's such a deeper, purer landscape.  I forge ahead even though I am playing hurt.  It's what I have to do.

I am grateful for my writing practice.

I am grateful that I have something to work on tomorrow.

I am grateful for my productivity.

I am grateful that ideas are flowing through me.

I am grateful for my mediation practice.

Last Night I Had a Dream About Ryan Murphy...

And he was trying to kill me!

Let me back up.

I had come back from a great event with a bunch of writers on Saturday night.  I was feeling the warmth and glow of friendship and support.  Then I went to bed.

What I had was this sort of horror movie dream.  My boyfriend will attest to the fact that I hate horror movies.  I won't let him watch them around me.  They're scary.  And I don't want to participate in any sort of re-enactment of mutilation, fear, and murder.  It's just not a good vibe for me.

So imagine my horror (ha ha) at this dream:

Ryan Murphy was going around killing the entire cast of Glee.  He was stabbing Kurt and strangling Rachel and bludgeoning Finn (who is already dead, so maybe it was Zombie Finn).  He turns to me and I'm next!  He was on a murder spree and I could feel the fear rising in me.

I kept waking up from the dream, in a cold sweat.  Then I could go back to sleep and there was Ryan Murphy, ready to kill me again.  I couldn't get away from him!

I woke up just thinking it was some horrible, dumb dream that was making me uncomfortable.  Then I went camping with my boyfriend and I picked up his copy of The War of Art.  I got to this chapter where Pressfield talks about a woman named Carol and her dream.  She was a passenger on a bus where Bruce Springsteen was the bus driver.  Springsteen stops the bus and gets off, leaving her to drive the bus.  She didn't know how to drive the bus and she wasn't sure she could do it.

After she woke up and thought about it for a while, she realized that Springsteen represented "The Boss" and that the dream was telling her that she needed to be The Boss of her own life and drive the bus.  No one should control where she was going or what direction she was headed in.

That got me thinking about this dream, featuring another pop culture figure whose work ethic and imagination I admire.  I don't always agree or like what Ryan Murphy does, but I can't argue with his ability to be fearless in the way that he tells stories.  I could use some more of that fearlessness, as a matter of fact.  So as I'm looking at the campfire, I had some thoughts of what the dream could mean:

Maybe the dream was about killing your darlings.  There's that adage that writers need to stop being precious about their work and sometimes they need to cut certain scenes, characters and plot points that they love because it would better serve the story.  As writers, we feel that everything we do is wonderful and there's maybe a favorite joke or idea or scene in our script that we LOVE.  But it does nothing for the story.  We have to learn to let go.  Ryan Murphy's darlings are these characters of Rachel, Kurt and Finn.  And he just got rid of them.  Maybe as I embark on this screenplay I'm writing that is very personal and nostalgic, I need to be reminded not to be too precious about it.  Do what serves the story, even if it means changing what really happened.

Maybe the dream was about not being afraid to cut through the fiction and get to the heart of the matter.  Ryan Murphy killing all of his fictional creations is a metaphor for not just writing what is in my imagination, but being fearless in writing what's true.  This screenplay is a work of fiction, but it's also based on some real life stuff.  It's easy to dance around the hard stuff that happened and make things up.  Ryan Murphy the Murderer says no!  Kill the lies!  Kill all the lies!  Murder them in the most extreme way possible and make sure they're dead!  And maybe once I kill those lies, something will transcend and be on the other side waiting.  Reveal the soul of what I'm writing about.

Ryan Murphy wants me dead.  Maybe in the dream, he knows I'm after him.  I'm Harry Potter!  Okay, no time to mix metaphors or confuse fictional worlds, even though Darren Criss was in A Very Potter Musical or something like that.  I tend to revere people.  I think they're smarter than me or better or more imaginative, especially people who have had successful careers.  But I can't do that.  I can't assume that because someone is a show runner or an exec or an agent or manager that they know more than I do.  I can't defer to Ryan Murphy just because he's Ryan Murphy.  But Ryan Murphy also knows that I am a threat.  I'm after his job.  So in the dream, he wants to kill me because I am a real threat.  I have what it takes.  I can be a fearless, prolific, imaginative show runner (or any type of writer I chose to be).  I have the power within me to do that.

In this dream, Ryan Murphy represents Resistance.  All of the things I tell myself about why certain things elude me.  Or that this vocation is so hard and competitive that such a small percentage of people actually do it and why should I try and maybe I should just give in to the reality that it's not going to happen.  Or that if I don't become Ryan Murphy I have failed because, as it turns out, I'm not really that good anyway.

But I can't be afraid.  And I can't look to that as the only mode of success.  The important thing is that Ryan Murphy is successful because he does the work.  He's a killer.  He has made his way to the top because he has laid out everything in his wake: including his own fear and self-doubt.  Including his own Resistance.

So now it's just me and the Murderous Murph, staring each other down.  It's either him or me.  And the resounding message here (whether this dream is about one or all of the things I mentioned) is...

Kill or be killed.

I am grateful for dreams.
I am grateful for messages that tell me things I need to know.
I am grateful for being in my body, in my productivity.
I am grateful for knowing what I need to do.
I am grateful to be a warrior, a killer.
I am grateful that this message came to me as I am about to embark on something that does scare me.
I am grateful to quiet the noise.

Great Directors

Last Summer I was writing a script for a commission application that asked me to look at the work of Robert Altman.  In doing so, I watched 11 of his films.  I didn't get the commission and in retrospect, I don't know if I'm ready to write the play that I wanted to write for the commission.  Interestingly, enough a lot of that research and influence is coming into play in the new play I am writing.  So at some point I will look at Altman's films again.  I especially loved rediscovering The Company and discovering The Long Goodbye.  I have an oral history bio of Bob Altman that I've read three or four times.  Looking at the man's work has given me an appreciation of a certain type of uncompromising creative force.  He's a bit of a spiritual godfather in that way.

Another director I love (along with a lot of the world) is Woody Allen.  I'm exploring his work again, in a much more direct way, for a screenplay I'm currently writing.  Where I looked at certain stylistic choices, motifs and the way that Altman worked, with Woody I'm looking at the films themselves and taking elements from them.

It's also a way for me to look back at my childhood.  As a child, I was obsessed with Woody Allen.  I don't remember how old I was when I saw Annie Hall for the first time, but when I did, I was hooked.  Over the years I have watched:

Love and Death
Annie Hall
Manhattan
Stardust Memories
Broadway Danny Rose 
Hannah and Her Sisters
Radio Days
Manhattan Murder Mystery
Bullets Over Broadway
Mighty Aphrodite
Everyone Says I Love You
Deconstructing Harry
Celebrity
Small Time Crooks
The Curse of the Jade Scorpion
Match Point
Midnight in Paris
Blue Jasmine

And there might even be a longer list of the films I haven't seen.  I was having a conversation with a friend last night who said that Woody Allen films were a portal into a world outside of Oklahoma into a New York he aspired to.  I have to say the same thing.  As a kid, I knew I'd live in New York at some point in my life.  I've known this since I was about 8.  And I ended up in New York for six years.  Something about New York seemed magical.  When I arrived, it felt like home like no other place I had ever been.  But growing up in Downey, I had the same experience my friend did.  I looked at his films as an escape from a world that seemed mundane and foreign.  It was also a world that didn't seem to want me.  I belonged somewhere else.  And Woody's films transported me to a place of intellectual discourse and romanticism.

Woody Allen has just been a fixture in my life.  I never knew a world without Woody.  And even though I don't consider myself a filmmaker, the films speak to my soul in a way no one else's films do.  Of course, Annie Hall is my favorite.  But I really loved Blue Jasmine.  And I adore Midnight in Paris, Everyone Says I Love You, Radio Days, Stardust Memories, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters, Broadway Danny Rose, and Love and Death.

For this project I'm working on, I'm just focusing on a certain period of work.  But it's great to see how the work influences each other.  It's nice to see how it has all kind of changed over time.

I love humor and I love depth.  For me, no one does feeling and comedy better than Woody Allen consistently.  It's all pretty magical.  So to be in that world for a bit of time is a blessed feeling.  I remember having that feeling when I spent a good chunk of the Summer watching Bob Altman's work.  This is kind of how my blog started.  I started talking about the films I was watching.  Bob Altman has an uncompromising vision and a wholly original take as an American filmmaker.  I love that he has this rebellious streak that continues throughout the work.  Some of the material is truly terrible or boring.  But most of it reaches towards something and a good amount of it transcends.  I'm happy to be revisiting the work over time.  I'm glad things are circled back around and now with this new play, I have an excuse again to watch more Altman films.

For now, I'll just have to get cozy with Woody.  And that's okay.

I am grateful for great American films.
I am grateful for true creativity.
I am grateful for my own curiosity.
I am grateful for the library for carrying a lot of these films.
I am grateful for the journey and exploration of some truly great art.
I am grateful for the continued inspiration that keeps coming.

Sacred Space

We had a big party at our offices last night.  A bunch of writer friends showed up and I got to share my office with people.

Whenever anyone walked into the office I share with Tim, the look was one of awe.  To look around our office is to look at a home, a place where we get work done that is full of our personality and full of our warmth.  It's inviting.  It was nice that so many people wanted to convene in our private space that night to check it out and compliment us on it.

That was just a huge confirmation that Tim and I have created our sacred space.  We are two people who have come together and created a space to get work done.  And while creating space for ourselves, we are creating space for each other.  We're kind of taking care of each other, which is beautiful.  So it was nice to have some people who we respect and love come bless the space with their spirit and their presence.

My friend Susan sent me a lovely text after she saw the space saying that this office is a part of my next chapter.  And I really believe that.  The way I conduct myself in my office is sending an intention out into the Universe of how I want my life to be.

First of all, I want to be in charge.  Not surprising, if you really know me.  But this is my space and I am the boss.  The look of the space is a combination of what Tim and I want.  But the books and the layout of my desk and the snacks I have…all of those things are what I want to be surrounded by.  I am the captain of the ship and I sit at that substantial desk in control and ready to navigate.

I show up five days a week (so far not working weekends) for 6-8 hours a day.  I put in the time.  I am proclaiming that my work life is spent writing.  I am a writer.  I can prove it.

The first thing I do when I show up at the office is meditate.  That sets the tone for the day.  I try to end the day meditating as well, so that I bookend the day in a spiritual way.  It's a ritual.  I am blessing the work space by meditating.

I keep my seat.  I'm not going to pretend that all I do for 6-8 hours a day is participate in the physical act of writing.  My fingers aren't tapping away all day.  But everything I do is related to writing, including staying put.  If I'm at my desk most of the time, except for bathroom and stretch breaks, then when a thought hits me, I can reach for an index card.  Or I can look something up on Google.  Or I can watch a video that sparks a thought.  Or I can let my brain breathe by listening to music.  I can read.  I can stare into space.  But I'm at work, at my work space.  So chances are I'll get work done if I'm in the place where I'm supposed to work.

I fill the tank.  I don't wait for my creative tank to be completely depleted in order to fill it back up.  If I'm not writing per se, I'm reading The War of Art or Turning Pro for the umpteenth time.  Or I'm reading as research.  Filling the tank includes all of the You Tube shenanigans I watch.  But it also means a lot of reading.  I am reading parts of a few different books right now.  Currently, I am in research mode and right now the research is Woody Allen.  It's pretty fantastic to get to watch the films, read some of the books, and just get back into a certain frame of mind with Woody.  It's what I was doing with Robert Altman last summer.

I'm going camping overnight to just recharge the batteries and get in touch with the other part of my life, my boyfriend.  I can get neglectful when I'm writing.  I forget that.  And I don't always explain where my brain is.  A friend and I were talking about writers and musicians and how their brain's work differently.  He has a brother who's a musician who drives him crazy for the same reasons that my musician boyfriend drives me crazy.  It was a reminder to communicate and to be patient.  So I'm heading out to another sacred space to do the work of connecting to my spiritual partner.  The work needs a space, no matter what the work is.

I am grateful for my office.
I am grateful that my friends have seen my office.
I am grateful that I am aware of myself.
I am grateful for the opportunity to watch films by one of my favorite directors.
I am grateful for the time to go camping.
I am grateful for nature.

Off to the Races

I just spent a week working on the outline for a screenplay I'm getting ready to write.  I feel spent in a way I haven't felt before.  It's like going on a 10 mile run.  When you're done you feel exhausted, sore, spent but totally invigorated.  Almost giddy.

And that's not even the marathon.

That's how I feel about this screenplay.  I went on a training run, a long exhaustive training run but I still have the marathon ahead of me.  I have had this idea for about a year, maybe.  Maybe less.  But I figured I would just write it as a play after I finish this other play I'm working on.  But the opportunity to write a screenplay came along so I figured I needed to do it.  And now I'm going to start that screenplay on Monday.

That means that this weekend, in addition to some social events and camping, I need to work on a pitch I'm putting together with my best friend.  At the very least, I will have a new spec to write in October.  I have three ideas I'm working on.  So one of them will make a good new spec.

Yeah, this was a great productive week.

Tim and I just got the office set up for an event we're having here tomorrow.  This office is lived in.  It's ours.  We have a base of operations for all of the things that we're doing.  It feels nice.  It feels right.

I have 113 scenes of this screenplay!

I had some fear this week about writing a screenplay!  Like I've mentioned, it has been a while.  Then I realized that everything I have been doing has prepared me for this.

I have been writing a lot.
One hour pilot after one hour pilot.
Play after play.
I have been working every day.
Character studies.
Plotting.

Everything I have been doing has led me here.
So now the idea of writing a screenplay isn't as scary or as intimidating as it used to be.
Writing something in a relatively short amount of time isn't scary to me.
It's hard work.
It's a lot of dedication and time spent away from other things.
But I don't have fear of it.
I just need to make sure my life can happen around it.

So yes, here I am again…
off to the races.

I checked my 2014 Plan, the document I wrote up to note what I wanted to get done this year.
I have already surpassed the amount of work I told myself I would get done.  That's why, for me, it's not important just to set "goals," but to talk about the work I will be doing.  My goals have to be about work and not about wishing.  I can't set a goal that's a hope or desire because I have no control of that.  I can control how much work I get done every day, whether or not that work happens every day, and the degree to which I am focused.  Those things I can control.  The rest of it is not up to me.  But if I am always working, then I am an easy target.  I'll be noticed easily for being someone who gets shit done.

Here I am at the end of a work week, at about 5:30 PM.  I have worked hard.  I am exhausted.  And rightfully so.

I am grateful for the amount of work I have accomplished this week.
I am grateful for my office being set up.
I am grateful for my commitment to this space.
I am grateful that I got everything done that I planned to.

A Day's Work

I lean back in my chair.
Exhausted.
Ready to pass out.
Work kicked my ASS today.

Then I smile.
Yeah…
My work kicked my ass.
I am exhausted because I worked.
For myself.
Outlined a screenplay.
Excited.

Ready to hit it again tomorrow to refine what I have
and work more on the characters.

I didn't think I could get it done when I started this morning.
But I sat down
and I stayed sitting.

Now today's rewards are going to feel so sweet.
A little light dinner at the office
before I have to head to meet a friend
to see Napoleon Dynamite outdoors.
Wine, cheese, dark chocolate, popcorn.
I am ready for this.

And I deserve it.

I am on course.  And it feels good.

I am grateful for being on course.
I am grateful for how accomplished I feel.
I am grateful to be tired.
I am grateful to have no more energy left.
I am grateful for some fun music to listen to.

This Is My Day

I wake up between 8:45 and 9:00 AM every day.
Sometimes to the sound of my alarm, sometimes not.
Then I try not to look at my phone or check my email.
I get into the shower.
Brush my teeth.
Get dressed.
Grab my lunch
(or not.  Sometimes I like to treat myself).
If the boyfriend is up, I kiss him goodbye
and tell him I love him.

The drive is silent
or it's KCRW podcasts.

I pull in to the office between 9:45 and 10 AM.
Easy parking at that time.

I open the office.
I grab the hot water kettle.
Fill it.
Turn it on.
Then I sit at the desk and meditate.
The sound of water boiling helps.
By the time I am done with my meditation,
the water is ready.
Not too hot.
Hot enough to bring out the flavor of my tea
while it's steeping.

Then I turn on the computer.
Check emails.
Answer emails.
Look at Facebook briefly.
Maybe play fun songs that I'm excited to listen to.
This is my fool around time.

This morning I got to the office, 
looked at the index cards spread all over my desk.
Neatly organized.
I walked in, thinking
"I've got work to do!"
That exclamation point is pure excitement
not sarcasm.

I blog.
I drink my tea.
I get out my packet of morning
trail mix.

Tim usually comes in at some point
during this morning quiet time.
We chat a bit.
Talk about what we're doing that day.

Then we get to work.

I eat some time between 12:30 and 1 PM.
I work and eat.
I try to eat something healthy.
Kale.
Lentils.
Brown Rice.

Today it's fried rice that I cooked this morning
after the shower,
but before I got dressed.
I cooked in a towel.
Had to readjust it a few times to make sure
that I wasn't completely naked and cooking.

I am trying to keep my meat consumption to the
weekends.
I might not always feel that way.

Then around 2:30 or 3 PM I usually feel like
getting up.
That's because I'm about to fall asleep.
So I go for a walk
or I stand out in the courtyard.
I might also go outside and read something
during this time.
This is the time I used to
grab coffee.
I have been coffee free for three and a half years.
I just have my herbal tea next to me.
The warmth is comfort enough.
I get up to wake myself up.

Then I work until 4 or 5 or 6 PM.
It depends.
Sometimes the last hour is just me on the computer.
It's like I'm preparing for re-entry.

Then I go home.
I have to be better about working out.
But after work doesn't seem like the right time.
I'd rather work out later,
but by the time it gets to that time,
around 8:30 or 9 PM,
I am comfortable at home,
having eaten some dinner
or hanging out with the boyfriend
or watching something on Netflix which may
or may not pertain to what I'm working on.

These days it's Woody Allen films
or "The Mind of a Chef" to take my mind
off my work and to watch someone do something
that's very routine,
very much about their craft,
and very much about the daily ritual of working.
It's a reminder.
I also like re-watching documentaries.

What I'm finding is that having a structured work day
allows me to fully relax at night,
so that I don't feel like doing work.
Before I had this office,
I would work at all times.
And it would get all serious and quiet at home.
Not the most romantic environment.
I save the serious and quiet
for the office
where the boyfriend does not have to bear witness to it.
It's for his protection.

And that's my day.
Boring, really.
But people ask me what I do all of the time.
And that's it.

At least five days a week.
Between 30-40 hours a week.
I like a 30 hour work week
better than a 40 hour work week.

I figured that out this morning,
having put in a full eight yesterday
and probably putting in a full eight today.
I have plans later and might as well stay 
at the office until I have to leave.

I make my lunch.
I have my supplies here in case I need a snack.
And I have a companion to talk to in case I'm driving myself crazy.
I try not to drive him crazy.

So far, it's going well.

I am grateful for my daily routine.
I am grateful for this dedicated space.
I am grateful for Bobby Matos and his Afro-Cuban Ensemble.
I am grateful for cork board and dry erase board.
I am grateful for the creative visual.
I am grateful to see evidence of my inspiration all around me.
I am grateful for quiet time in the morning.

Sit On It

Isn't it funny what you can do when you just sit down?

I had an unfocused morning.
I think I was afraid more than anything else of getting down to the business of plotting out this script, which I knew I had to do.
I had all of my vices come up for me.
I had the cigarette.
I skipped the sex.
I had some chocolate.  And I just went to TJ's to get two more bars.  Here's my excuse: I needed cash for the cash only dive bar I'm going to later and I didn't want to pay the $4 surcharge to use the ATM there.
That's a good excuse, right?

But at 12:30, Tim and I decided that we were turning our phones off and getting to work.  So I got to work.  I started out with Act One.  I looked at my notes, got my index cards out and started working on each scene.

I did allow myself to listen to a WGA filmed panel with Mike White.  So that was going on in the background as I was figuring out this script.

I got to the end of Act One.  And I froze.  I wasn't sure where I was going next because my notes had taken a big leap.  I have scenes between the last scene I wrote and the next scene I have on my note card.  I needed a bridge.  Not sure what that bridge is yet.

I wanted to get up and move around, but I decided to stay with it.  I stayed seated.  It's similar to something Steven Pressfield says in Turning Pro.  Sit Chilly.  Maintain your seat.  Don't let fear and anxiety move you.  Hold your ground.  This is a literal interpretation of that, but it's a great thing to keep in mind.  And coincidentally, it's one of the chapters in that book that I didn't understand right away.  I do now.

So I sat chilly, I kept going, and figured something out in the script about the use of language and how that changes in each act.  Then I figured out how voice works as a theme in each act.  I wrote that out on one card after I wrote three separate cards that talked about what each act was about.  So now I have a bit more information.  And I think I'm ready to tackle building that bridge.

I went on a walk for more chocolate and now I'm back.  Sitting in my chair.

I'm staring down the ravine.

Sit Chilly.  Just sit chilly.

I am grateful for chocolate.
I am grateful for two and a half hours of sitting chilly.
I am grateful for the time I have left today.
I am grateful for the length of day I have had so far.
I am grateful for my meditation this morning.
I am grateful that I know what to do.
I am grateful that I am sitting chilly in other aspects of my life.
I am grateful that I feel inspired.
I am grateful that Tim and I just pow wowed on his script.
I am grateful to be awake.

Let's Talk About Sex

I have an outline to really flesh out today.

And what instantly comes up for me?

My penis.

Cravings.  Both sexual and food.

I'm a horn dog when I'm trying to get work done.  It's something I don't really talk about, but it's ever present.  Sex is a big distraction--it's Resistance, actually--when I'm trying to get work done.  I have noticed that the more productive I am in general, the less my sex drive is because I'm putting that energy somewhere.  Or when I rev up the engine too much and I  know I have work to do, but I'm procrastinating, I just want to have sex all of the time.

I have had two really productive days.  I wrote the majority of the story out on Monday.  I did characters and read the screenplay for Annie Hall on Tuesday.  I watched Annie Hall as well.  I watched This is 40 last night.  I've been talking notes.  This week is off to a great start.

And now…
I want a cigarette.
I want sex.
And I want to eat.

Yes, I like to live by the motto "Treat Yo Self" when I'm working.  But even I have to keep my Self in check.

I remember reading Steven Pressfield's The War of Art years ago--and since--and coming across the chapter on Resistance and Sex.  I try to convince myself that it doesn't apply to me.  I don't let sex distract me.  I'm fine!  It doesn't control me.

It so control's me.  My damn libido!

It has kept me from doing a lot of work over the years.  I guess it comes from the same place that my food cravings come from.  I need to be comforted.  I need to feel good.  I need to know that I'm not a bad person.

One of my favorite Fran Lebowitz quotes is that writers do bad things to themselves "to make up for playing God."  We smoke.  We drink.  We eat.  We fuck.

So it makes sense to me that after feeling good for the past two days in what I've been able to accomplish both inside and outside of the office, that I want to have an orgy.  Okay, well not literally an orgy.  (Is that on the menu?)  But I've got a scratch.  That much I know.

So I'm going to just keep working. Maybe have that cigarette.

But definitely sit down and flesh out this outline.  I've got a stack of cards on my desk.  I'm not starting from zero.  I'm fine.

I'm afraid.

That's all right.  I've identified the problem.

I am grateful for enough life experience to know when Resistance is coming.
I am grateful for self awareness.
I am grateful for the stack of index cards on my desk.
I am grateful for the past two days.
I am grateful for Tim being in the office.
I am grateful for my filing system.
I am grateful for Academy Originals short films about the Creative Spark.
I am grateful to know that I am not in this alone.