The Art of War: Beyond Resistance - The Higher Realm

This is the third section of The War of Art. It's the section that I've always had the hardest time with in terms of focus. I never understood what this section is supposed to be about. It talks about more spiritual aspects of creativity and it doesn't feel as concrete. So I'm probably going to talk about this section in more abstract terms. When I read the book version of Turning Pro, I felt like the advice felt more practical, which is what I felt in the first two sections of The War of Art. This is the section where it started to get all gaga googoo. Let's see if we can get through it.

The Forces We Call Our Allies
Pressfield calls these spiritual forces muses and angels. These are the forces that we wait for. These are the forces that seem to call up magic when we need it. But as Pressfield explains, the magic only happens when we sit down every day and are available to the magic. But magic doesn't occur without hard work. I find in my own work that since I've created a practice of working, the magic happens when I let go.

A month ago, I had already started to wind down. I knew that I had this pilot rewrite to finish. That's all I felt I needed to work on for the rest of the year. I wasn't feeling inspired. I wasn't feeling like I had a bunch of ideas swimming around in the queue of my brain. I kept saying to friends, "I'm out of ideas. I have nothing." Two days later, I had an idea for a new play. As I'm looking at the middle/end of November, knowing that I have a group session with my friends where we're going to each share 3-5 two minute pitches, I realize I have nothing. And by saying "I have nothing", I know that the muse is going to descend upon me at some point and supply me with some ideas. As long as I'm continuing to type every day, committing to the mechanics of the process, I know that something is brewing. I don't know what that is. I'm listening to Pat Benetar, I just finished listening to a bunch of podcasts, I had lunch with a new theatre friend - I'm taking in a lot of information. Something will come at some point. But I don't worry about it. I keep typing. I keep talking. I keep reading. And eventually -

Approaching the Mystery
I love the mystery. Correction: I've grown to love the mystery. I would freak out every year when I thought I'd have to come up with new ideas. I'd make a list of things. It was forcing out a poop when you're constipated. I was bound to bust something open at some point. I haven't done that for years. I guess some how I figured out that I have to trust that something will be there. Pressfield talks about trusting what's in the box - it goes back to some old improv exercise. When I have an idea swimming in my head, I keep a journal. I write in that journal constantly. Even if I don't know exactly what the story is yet. Or if I don't have the format. Or if I don't have characters. I keep a journal where I type - mechanically, full of unformed ideas. I let my fingers move. It somehow gets my brain working as well.

Pressfield says that doing the work - not that art, but the work - everyday allows things to unlock. First of all, we are focusing energy in one direction. It allows me to stay focused on the thing. I don't know what that thing is yet. But the mechanics are imperative in creating a routine. It creates a destination for the ideas to come. It's like creating a signaling fire or sending out flares. I know that I am in one place everyday - and that's the place where the traffic needs to be directed when there's an idea floating around in my head.

In the book, Pressfield suggests that all of these wonderful works of art already exist, but they just need a conduit. That brings to mind the idea of destiny. I believe it's my destiny to be an artist. ARTIST. That's a lofty title. Sometimes we don't think we're worthy of it. It feels selfish and self-serving. That's Resistance telling us things like "who gets to do this" or "it's a selfish pursuit" or "there must be better ways to serve others." Sure, if the only purpose you have is to service your ego or to get validation, then absolutely there are better ways to spend one's time. The whole point about making the pursuit an actual practice is that it becomes bigger than recognition. If you believe that all of it already exists and that it needs corporeal being - a flesh and blood material host - to bring it into existence, then it's a vocation and a mission, not just a career or a way to be acknowledged.

I have a friend who's really unhappy with his life and his career right now. He feels like everyone around him is getting opportunities that are somehow missing him. But he doesn't sit down every day. He does not focus on the thing that moves around in his belly, forcing him to get up. He doesn't have a purpose beyond getting a job and being recognized. An artist needs a purpose. An artist needs a reason. Or at least I do.

When my Dad died, I questioned whether or not I even wanted to write any more. It seemed to frivolous and unimportant compared to what I had just spent a year doing. I took care of my dying father. What's more important than that? I also realized that my life could not be defined by that one event. It had to be part of the journey, not the entire destination. It had to be the event that changed me, not the event that kept me stuck. The story was not over. When he was dying, I wrote every day. People seem shocked by that. How could I write with everything going on? How could I write if I was that tired? If I was really there for my father and had given everything to him, how could I possibly have any time for anything else? Why was I taking time to do something that was good for me when my Dad needed me all of the time?

I needed to survive. When I was a kid, being picked on, I wrote to survive. I wrote to make sense of the world around me. I wrote to have a place where I could still feel good and worthy. My imagination was my safe space away from all of the scariness around me. When my Dad was dying, I came back to that. I don't remember how good any of that work was. I wasn't thinking about how writing a play or a pilot was going to advance my standing. I wrote because I needed to be reminded that I existed. Writing kept  me sane. That's all it needed to do.

When he died, I had some serious soul searching to do. Would anything ever feel that important to me? Should I become a missionary? Should I go become a nurse? Should I volunteer with refugees? Should I seek out a higher purpose? I got back to writing. Writing is about survival. Even when I'm trying to make a life for myself. Even as I sit in my writers groups. I am writing to survive. I am trying to make a living. I am signaling to groups of other writers that I am alive. I am bringing community to me by continuing to write. It's survival. I have to do it every day in order to feel alive. I don't do it to get on this show or to get that production. I have not lost the desire for those things. But they are not the main focus. In the process of writing for survival, I have let go of attachment to outcome.

My friend said that he doesn't buy it. How can I not be concerned with how people perceive my work? How can I not be attached to results? How can I possibly know if I am good enough if I don't seek out markers - or other people who tell me how good I am? That seems impossible to him. And it is impossible to him at where he is at this point in my life. For me, it's true freedom. I am someone who is a working college professor, a working TV writer, a member of the WGA, a member of a theatre company, and a future showrunner. I am a Professional - who detaches himself from results. That does not mean that I have no results. I have a shitton of results. But I don't try to anticipate what my plays or pilots or screenplays are going to mean in the world. I could spend all day driving myself crazy if I tried to do that. Besides, that's none of my business. I'm just trying to will ideas into existence. That's tired and frustrating enough. I can't spend my time worrying about all of the things I have no control of. I would never get any work done. And those people who spend all of their time concerned about stuff they don't have any control over never get any work done. I don't judge it because I've been there. My friend has every chance of making it out and every chance of not making it out of that head space. It's up to him. And it was up to me, so I know it's possible. And I've seen people who never make it out, so I know how dangerously close I was for it not being possible as well.

Why It's So Hard to Begin
I have this thing that I'm starting to identify. When I know something I'm about to write has great stakes, it takes me a long time to get started. Here's an example: Two years ago, I had three scripts I knew I had to write in May. I had a play rewrite for a reading. I had a pilot to turn in for a submission. And I had a spec to write for a contest. I wrote the pilot in two weeks. I rewrote the play quickly. And then it came time for me to get the spec done for a deadline in twelve days. I struggled. I slept a lot. I slept on the floor of my office when I was supposed to be working. It felt so damn important and I was scared. Beginnings are tough because we are awakening something that's going to conspire to help us get what we want. It's Resistance knowing that the moment we open up that pathway, it will be like Pandora's Box and we'll get everything we want. It's releasing something important and vital. And if it's not this script, it will be the next or the next. If we start, we may never stop. I struggled and I wrote that spec - but it took me an extra two weeks. I missed one deadline, but I made the others. Now maybe I was tired. Maybe expecting to write three competent scripts in four weeks was too much. Now, do I feel like a failure because I missed one deadline? No. I would have failed if I convinced myself that two scripts was enough for a month or that it was too hard or that I was really too tired to finish. The failure was not giving into my fatigue or my doubts. The failure would have been never getting up again. I did finish. And nothing happened with that spec.

Was that a failure? No. Because the following year I wrote twice as much as I wrote that year. I have developed a practice for myself. I had an office for five months that I had to say good bye to because I couldn't afford it any more. Was that a failure? No. A failure would have been to be so discouraged that  I didn't write as much the following year. A failure would have been feeling like I could only write in an office by myself where I had to go into an office to write anything of real value. A failure would have been quitting. A failure would have been writing script after script and quitting because people didn't like it. I would have never written another play the following year. The muses and the angels wouldn't have blessed me with an opportunity to work with a theatre company that gave me the opportunity to write a huge play that was an idea I had that seemed impossible. It was a political play. A failure would have been to stop then and not even attempt the new idea because I'm not a political writer. A failure would have been to feel like my writing wasn't good enough for me to spend a year working on something that I wasn't sure would result in anything. A failure would have been to think that I'm not good enough, so I should move on and do something else. A failure would have been to believe that all of the rejections said that I was worth nothing. That resentment would have turned into Resistance. When I finished that play eight months later after countless rewrites, readings and workshops, nothing happened. After so many people in my life saying that this was going to be the play that was going to launch me, nothing happened. A failure would have been to believe that this wasn't a good play. This play ended up getting me a manager and a TV job. A failure would have been to think that I had done enough in those eight months. Instead, I wrote two more scripts in the last three months of the year. And I started the play I wrote this year. The second play in a row where people were saying, "Now this is what's going to launch you." I don't know about any of that. I know that I wrote a play that I LOVE. It deserves love. But I can't say whether or not it will get it.

Like I said to my friend, I'm not attached to the outcome. I have to do the work. A failure would have been to think that I've done enough with last year's play and that I should wait for all of the accolades to come because people say this is my "silver bullet" play. Because I wrote a play that was even better. I didn't plan it that way. And if nothing happens with this one, well, there's a new play idea I'm starting…

But that will probably be hard to start as well. I had that experience again this year. I had three things I was working on in August. I had my workshop coming up, so I had to write and rewrite the play for my workshops. I had a ten minute play that was due for the festival in October. Because I wanted to be on set and learn, I had taken some extra time in getting a rewrite to my manager. My friends say that three months is not an unreasonable amount of time. It is to me and I can only live by my own standards. But in that time I had written this play. I didn't count on my manager seeing it that way. So I decided that I had to get the pilot done because Mercury was about to go into retrograde and I needed to prove something to myself. I'm not sure how much investment I put into retrograde. I respect it. But regardless of my personal feelings, I took it as a deadline I needed to meet. So I turned in the pilot rewrite and the play to him. I made the deadline - the third thing I had to finish I ended up finishing on time. I conquered Resistance.

I had the same experience last week. I hadn't heard from my manager about those two scripts - the ones I had spent so much time on, that I had pushed myself to finish. Was he not getting back to me because I had taken three months? But I have him TWO scripts instead of ONE! Hadn't I proved myself? Was he punishing me? A failure would have been to give into the voices in my head. A failure would have been to give in fully to my anger and make me inactive. I knew that I had this other pilot I had been working on. I was struggling and dealing with Resistance on working on it. I had lost motivation. I had given into my fear. I decided to take my frustration about not hearing from him in two months - even after I had checked in with him - and use that as motivation to finish the rewrite. I knew that if I finished the script, I could say to him that I had a new script I wanted to show him, but I needed to hear about the other two pieces first. I finished the pilot in four days. I was going to take a week to rewrite and then give it to him on Nov 1st. The next day, I got an email saying that an agent wanted to see another play from me. I had reason to contact my manager and give him that news - in that email, I mentioned this script I just finished. We got on the phone. We talked about the material being ready to send out. And in a couple of days, we decided to send the plays to two more agents. I now have this pilot that I have time to work on. I have the month - or at least a few weeks - to perfect. Because I have been writing so much and because I have gotten a professional job that taught me how to be fast, efficient and precise in my writing - more than just writing on my own could teach me in a short amount of time - I know how to polish the fuck out of that pilot. I've gotten so much better. A failure would have been to stop all of those weeks, months, and years ago. A failure would have been to see "no results" and stop. A failure would be to stop now and not experience the growth ahead of me.  I pushed through that Resistance and got things done. Now I'm in a position to make this pilot better and not be rushing to finish something that he's now begging me for because he needs another new piece of material. On our phone call, he said, "I'm going to need another pilot." I was able to say, "I just finished a rewrite. I'll get it to you when it's ready." A failure would have been to let Resistance beat me down when he wasn't getting back to me. The funny thing is that I'm not as tired as I thought I would be after writing over 1500 pages already this year. I want to keep pushing.

Territory versus Hierarchy
When you compare yourself to other people, to other things, to others' successes - you live in a hierarchical mindset. How can you not, though? In most of life, you feel you only know how good you are in comparison to other people. It's clear when you're in a classroom who is better than you - the people who speak up and who get better grades. It's hard to not look at someone else's paper and see what they're up to. Hollywood is the worst for that. It's very easy to say, "I'm not going to compare myself to other people." But it's very hard to do.

That's why my friend doesn't believe me when I say that I don't get moved one way or another when something good or bad happens. How can that be? I understand how and why he rejects that idea. But my friend believes wholeheartedly in hierarchy. He determines his self worth based on his place in the food chain. I did this for years. I would go onto Facebook and when people I knew were doing well, I would get a grimace on my face involuntarily. It got to the point where I had to decide to hit "like" when I got that grimace. That was me calling myself on it, but that jealousy didn't go away right away. I just found out a friend of mine got a script optioned by a very high powered producer. And I instantly smiled. I sent her a message. I can truly say I'm happy. I've been able to change my reaction over the years. Her journey is not my journey. Her success is hers and my success belongs to me. We worked together early this year when I was a writer and she was an assistant. It was clear then that that was only temporary. She deserves that success because she has worked hard. And she's a nice person to boot. My other friend would have been angry and jealous. It's not a fun place to live.

So if you're not comparing yourself to other people to see how well you're doing, what are you doing? Before I get to that, let me make this clear: not believing in Hierarchy does not make me less competitive. I have a different friend who said something to me a few months ago, after we were having this conversation about divorcing from outcome. She said, "I'm just competitive. I can't help it." At first, I thought she was trying to say I wasn't competitive because I don't attach to outcome. If I apply for something, I forget it right after I hit "send." It's easier for me. That doesn't make me non-competitive. I'm totally competitive. With myself. I love to compete. I love to play the game. But I don't get caught up in result. That doesn't mean I'm lazy or uninvested in doing well. But working hard lets me know I've worked hard. And that I know for myself. I don't have to compare that to anyone else to know how hard I've worked. But I play to play - to not sit on the bench. I want to be in the game. Absolutely. But I don't get mad if someone does well or if I don't get selected for something. My turn's coming - I absolutely agree with that.

But I've got to stay on the field and keep focused. I'm not looking at the scoreboard. The opposite of hierarchy is Territory. My territory is the rehearsal room, the theatre, the classroom, the writer's room, the set. It's my office. It's where I do my work. If I'm not in any of those places, then I can't compete.

According to Robert McKee, the definition of a hack is someone who second-guesses his audience. It's someone who writes to the market place - who tries to predict what people want. He doesn't look within and do the work that he feels authentically. I often say, "I don't care if this gets produced." Is that true? Is that being honest? I don't write something with an intention of what a theatre or a network or studio will want. The great thing about living in this era of many channels, streaming services and ways to get our work out there is that not everyone has to want what you have. It can be something that's right for a select group of people and that means that I don't have to please everybody. I write what's exciting to me. I have the skill to execute well. And yes, writing on a TV show this year made me a better writer. I want to work and be employed. But I can't predict what someone's going to like. Therefore, I can't write thinking I know what's going to sell. I write what I feel strongly about and I put it out there. Then I do it again.

When I work and work and work I put in deeper roots into my territory. I create an impression that's difficult to ignore. The way to know if you have a territorial mindset is if it's the thing you have to do, that you would do if you were the last person on earth, that you don't need approval or permission to do and that you'd do for free. I have had this commitment tested over the past few years because I have done it for free. I've done it despite the fact that it takes up most of my concentration and energy. I have done it for no monetary reward. I have done it and lost relationships over it. But what I've gained for myself is beyond measure. It has given me so much more than it has taken away. And it will continue to give to me. I have a better life now because I do the work for its own sake. This is the root of my philosophy that I have a claim only to my labor, not the fruits of my labor. In this world, it's hard to explain that to people in a way where they don't think you're crazy or have a trust fund. That freedom only seems like the territory of people who have the freedom or insanity to not work for money. In that case, I'm crazy, not rich. And now I make money doing the work. But not because the money validates me. I had to validate myself first before I could get the side benefit of money for my work.

I realize how crazy that sounds. I realize what faith that takes to trust. I remember a friend telling me years ago that she just hopes the money comes. At that time, I thought she was crazy and I wished I could trust that much. And now I do. It has been a real journey to get there.

Once I realized that my work is a spiritual practice and a work of giving - a prayer or an offering - I was in for almost a decade of work to get there. I didn't have that realization and then everything instantly happened upon me. I had that realization years ago. And it took what it took for me to live that. But I knew that I had a higher calling as long as I have been a creative person. Then good things happened and I got outside validation and then I abandoned all higher thinking for that. Then the Universe made sure that I got the lesson so that I never forget it. And I've got decades ahead of me to enjoy the lesson - but I had to do the work regardless of whether or not the lesson would ever come.

Reading The War of Art over the past thirteen years has changed my perception of myself. I now live in a way I never thought I would. Like my friend, I thought this attitude was impossible. But without it, I couldn't survive. I don't force my beliefs on my friends. I don't say that this is "the way" for everyone. It's the way for me. It's how I have to live. I can't think about the rejections and collect them as a way to motivate myself. I can't compare myself to other people and think that's going to help me rise up. I can't beat myself up constantly or be jealous of other people and think that's going to motivate me. It just makes me scared and insignificant and angry. It keeps me put. The lessons I've learned is reward enough. The life I live is reward enough. The joy I get from doing the work is reward enough. I truly believe the rest is gravy. I am a happier person than I have ever been. And I don't have every material thing I want. I may never have every material thing I want.

I will have things.
I will live a good life.
I will have a good retirement.
I will go places and learn things and spend money.
But I won't be defined by that. I won't define my place in the world from what I have and others don't.
If I have something, it will be good enough that I have it.
If someone doesn't have what I have, that will mean that it's not theirs or not theirs yet.
I don't know where this enlightenment comes from, but I'm sure glad I've arrived at it.
I have a smile on my face most of the time.
The work is hard, but it gives me joy - as do my colleagues and friends.
I'm a damn lucky person to be in this body, in this moment, at this time.
I am really grateful.

My intention is to grow.
My intention is expansion.
My intention is inner peace.
My intention is exponential learning.
My intention is happiness.

I am grateful for lunch meetings.
I am grateful for the variety at the Grand Central Market.
I am grateful for walks.
I am grateful for a place to work.
I am grateful for my hearing.
I am grateful for my love for the people in my life.
I am grateful for my limitations.

Q4: November

I have done a lot this year and this is usually the time of year where I get ready to reflect. Thanksgiving is around the corner and even though I spend most of my year in gratitude and reflection, that's the big day of the year to be grateful. So as I approach November, that's what I think about.

Also, my horoscope tells me that this is a great week for career. And it's essentially the first week of November. Last week was pretty good in terms of a lot of smoke. This week, I'm hoping for a raging fire.

I finished my pilot rewrite sooner than I thought. And I got a note from an agent saying he wanted to read more stuff. So it seemed like the perfect time to reach out to my manager and give him an update on what was going on and to check in on him reading my latest material. I had given myself the deadline of Halloween to tell him that I had a script ready, but that I needed feedback on the two scripts he had first. Well, that conversation happened a week early. That allowed him to tell me that he had read the material and that it looked like we were ready to move forward on our plan of getting me an agent. And that has allowed me to spend the week on getting the pilot in good shape. I've done notes so far and I'm going to start the rewrite soon. The feedback I've gotten from my writer friends is that we're in good shape, so hopefully this script will turn into a strong sample. I can take my time with it a little bit more because right now my manager has a lot to go on.

I also have this new play I'm starting. I'd like to get the first 15 pages written this week to bring into my writer's group. That's the big push of the next two days. I want to start to see what I have in this new play.

Other than that, November is turning out to be a month of reconnection. I'm having coffee with a friend of mine this morning who also runs a theatre company in Chicago. On Wednesday, I'm having lunch with a friend who just finished graduate school at USC. And on Friday, I have lunch with a friend who is a working writer. Next week, I have lunches with some industry folks. This is a part of the gig that I haven't done in such a focused way in a long time. Networking November! I have no problems talking to people, but I also like sitting down and doing the work.

I'm trying to be more social so that I don't end up being a total hermit. It's easy to do that because I'm happy at home writing. I've had the excuse of having a lot of work to do. I don't easily have that excuse right now. I've been getting work done. And now I am planning for what's happening next year with the writing. I've got pilot ideas to come up with. I've got to have four solid ideas that I want to work on next year. Wow. That's intimidating. I have no idea what that's going to look like.

My intention is expansion.
My intention is to focus.
My intention is to be still and allow.

I am grateful for interesting conversations about theatre.
I am grateful to have plenty of things to focus on.
I am grateful for my creative partnerships.

Starting Something New

I had drinks and went to a show with Cory last night. He looked at me -

"What are you working on?" 

His question seemed quite suspicious. He looked at me.

"I know you've got something going on."

When I recounted this story to my friend Lisa, she said -

"Yeah, I'm not so annoyed by it any more. You write a lot."

I get restless. I can't not work on something. If I have an idea, I need to be working on it. I started working on a new play today. I'm hardly anywhere. I have one page of it. I figured out the character page and the notes. I picked a font to write it in. And I have one official page of the play. This is how I begin, just by starting with the bullshit part of opening a file and creating a title page and character page. That's when it starts to feel real to me. Am I weird? I wonder if anyone else does this?

Speaking of things that other people may or may not do - I was at my friend Ruth's house a month or so ago for a meeting. We asked where her husband was and she said that he's in Vegas writing. What? I go to Vegas to write. Another writer mentioned that it's where he likes to go because there's no temptation to go out and be among the masses. It's cheap and there are plenty ways to order in food. I remember asking myself that question - "Does anyone else do this?" But apparently I'm trending and I had no idea.

Anyway, I started working on a new play. It won't be necessarily what I work on when I go to the Korean Spa. Tomorrow, I want to work on finishing up the pilot. Then I can dedicate myself to grading my students' work during the rest of the year. And then I can focus on this new play - before I start the Year of TV Pilots I'll be starting in January.

Like I said, I can't stop. I just get the desire and inspiration to go on to the next thing. Am I afraid of stopping? Probably. Yes, there is a fear that motivates me. Is it a healthy fear? Is there such a thing? Maybe a healthy fear is a fear that keeps us safe. But being motivated by fear has to be bad for me. It just has to be. When I'm working on something, I like to clear everything else away. I finished grading the student papers.  Now this is all my time - Sunday through Thursday.

I'm excited to head to the spa. I'm looking forward to it. I'll pack a lunch. This is the beginning of new things. I've had an exciting week already with some new teaching opportunities coming my way, as well as some bites from reps. According to my horoscope, I'm set up for a good week of career stuff happening. So I should jump on that productivity train by getting work done today. Get the shit done! Finish projects so you can start collecting that coin! Get it together!

My intention is expansion.
My intention is growth.
My intention is more.
My intention is vast opportunity.

I am grateful for the week I've had.
I am grateful for the ability to be productive.
I am grateful for the theatre company, the diversity office at the WGA, the writer community I have.

A New Play?

My friend Cory and I saw a production of Edward Albee's The Play About the Baby last night. It was a good production. Well-acted. Strange. Fun. We left the theatre scratching our heads a bit. And as I was driving home, thinking about what I had just seen, I couldn't remember the last time a play left me scratching my head in a good way. We have such a move towards clarity and unambiguousness in writing that I don't find myself challenged that often in the theatre. And the theatre used to be the place where that happened.

Even my plays, which are provocative and loud sometimes, aren't intentionally or even skillfully ambiguous. That said, I don't watch a lot of stuff that's really that exciting or stays with me for very long. Plays have become Chinese food. As a professor of TV and Film writing, I have to encourage my students to write scripts that announce who they are right away. I wrote a play this year that announces what it is right away. I don't think it's a TV script. But I wanted the audience to have a sense of what it was getting itself into.

I'm getting ready to start a new play - maybe within the hour, even. I thought I didn't have any ideas left and then an idea popped into my head a month ago. Or I was reminded of an idea that I have and that popped into my head. And here's the thing, since next year's supposed to the The Year of TV (which I pronounced in the last blog post), then maybe I should get to serious work on this play in the next two months.

I'm a member of a theatre company now - that happened this year. So if I want something heard out loud, I can go to our monthly writers group meetings and have something read out loud. And if I want to hear the play once it's finished, I can plan a reading and then later on a workshop of that play. This is the first time I'm writing a play (outside of grad school) and not thinking about how to get it read. I'm able to take more risks. And the risk I'm taking this time is a play in real time with four characters in a single space. HA! I guess that's new for me, therefore it feels real risky.

I don't remember the last time a play really inspired me to write something. Well, I did have that experience last year. But I don't remember the last time a play inspired me to write something not at all related to the play I just saw. Or in the same style. It was more of a call to arms last night that good plays need to be written. That seemed exciting to me. And I'm kind of digging the thought of spending the next two months working on a new play. And then spending February next year working on the rewrite. That actually could be pretty damn cool. I'm a fan of that idea.

My intention is growth.
My intention is knowledge.
My intention is productivity.
My intention is paid work.
My intention is excitement.
My intention is inspiration.

I am grateful for every job I've had this year.

2017 Preview: The Year of TV

I have a history with writing challenges. 

It started off with the Playwrights Union's annual Playwriting Challenge in February.

It actually probably started off with homework and projects and grades in school. But in the modern era of me trying to get my shit together on my own -

It started off with the Playwrights Union. Every February they do a challenge where you right a play in a month. 

I wrote my first play with them about four years ago. I had 55 pages at the end of the month and a new play in May of that year. I skipped a year and two years ago wrote a play in a month that was 119 pages long. That play is now more like 85 pages long and it has had several readings and workshops over the years. 

Last year, I wrote a play that was 122 pages. It was a play that I developed with another theatre company in town and by September 2015 I had a really solid play I started sending around. It got me my first job in TV and my current manager. I'm hoping it does a few more things for me before the year is up.

Then I wrote a play this year for the Playwrights Union Rewrite Challenge and that play got me into a theatre company and I'm hoping it will do a few more things for me before the year is up as well.

For two years, I also ran the PU's Pilot Writing Challenge. I wrote a Pilot last year - I spent this year revising it. And I wrote another pilot the year before that, which all of my friends loved. My manager did not.

Inspired by all of that productivity, I decided that this year would be The Year of Challenges - I would give myself various writing challenges every month this year. I made it through February. Then I got staffed. Then I had to write my episodes. Then I had other things to write. I mostly wrote something every month, but the Year did not work out the way I had planned. It worked out BETTER than I had planned.

Now as I start to wind down this year - moving into November and the holidays, I'm thinking about what my challenge will be next year. Is there a way I want to frame the year?

I know I want to work in television again. I don't have a ton of control over that. Although, I'm trying to be more social and to network more. I am attending WGA screenings and trying to join a few committee meetings for groups I identify with - gays, Latinos and Asians. It's a good way to spend the end of the year, right? Hopefully I'll get invited to a few Hollywood Holiday parties. Why not?

I'm hoping that I have the same - if not more - luck I had this year with The Year of Challenges. Meaning, I hope that I start something and then get work so that the plan gets derailed. I'm ending this year feeling like I've run out of ideas. Although, an idea did pop into my head for a new play a month ago. So the minute I think I'm done, they pull me right back in. Yes, Hollywood is the Mafia. Does that means I'm going to be a part of the Gay Mafia this year? Is that where I'm going here? 

I've made a decision that next year will be The Year of TV. NO, not just watching TV, although a year of watching TV sounds glorious. It's going to be the year of writing TV. Now that can mean a lot of things. I'm hoping it means a hefty weekly fee to write for a series. But it also will mean that I'm going to write TV pilots this year. Samples, specs, scripts for sale. And since I'm a fan of the fiscal quarter - and I want to put some of that money and affluent shine on things - I'm going to write one pilot each quarter. A pilot between January 1 - March 31, April 1 - June 30, July 1 - September 30 and October 1 - December 31, 2017.

Is that ambitious? Yes. Is it crazy? Yes. Have I been ambitious and crazy before and succeeded? Yes.

So that's the plan. And we all know that we make plans and God laughs. I made a big plan for a Year of Writing Challenges and God laughed at me all the way into a TV show, a new manager, a new theatre company, SDSU and the Writers Guild of America. I'm ready for him to pee his pants next year.

My intention is to work.

My intention is expansion.

My intention is growth.

My intention is more.

I am grateful for The War of Art.

I am grateful for the restful times.

I am grateful for love and friendship.

I am grateful for life long support.

I am grateful for ideas - wherever they come from.

Just Do It. Again.

I'm nearing the end of my production cycle for the year - for the most part. I have been hugely productive this year, writing over 1500 pages so far. That number will probably increase before December 31st. But everything I wanted to get done, I have. I have gotten five full length scripts written this year. I could just kick back and relax. Except I'm horrible with free time.

My college professor, Mark Dickerman, said to me after I wrote my very first screenplay - "Very good. Now write the next one." I'm sure many of us who went to graduate school or college were told the same thing by our professors. It's always as simple and as complicated as Just Do It. And now I need to Just Do It. Again.

I finished the rewrite of a pilot two days ago - much sooner than I expected to finish it. I had a deadline for myself and I reached that deadline early. Now I have the chance to do another pass. My closest writer friends gave me notes in 24 hours - by special request - and now I'm armed with a bunch of notes and I'm ready to tackle the next rewrite. I still want to turn that into my manager in six days.

During my "day off", I had a conversation with my manager about an agent who was interested in reading another play of mine for possible representation. We touched base about the material I had handed over to him and we discussed next steps. He said, "I need to have another pilot from you." Another one! For Christ's sake! Another hoop to jump through. "Great. I just finished one last night. I'm taking another pass and I'll have it to you next week."

Just Do It. Again.

After I stopped my internal whining, I remembered that I have another script ready to give him. And that was my goal. I was pissed a few weeks ago that it had been two months since I sent him two new scripts. I knew that whining wasn't going to do shit for me. So I decided to combine intentions: I needed to finish this pilot rewrite and I needed to push my manager to read. My goal became to finish the script by Oct 31st, so I could say to him - "I have a new script, but I don't want to hand it over until we discuss the two other scripts I sent." And I got the first pass at the rewrite done in four days. I had a solid outline I had been sitting on and hadn't had the chance to script out because of other obligations - like my play workshop, teaching and being on set. It did the trick. I got the script done and we had a conversation that was forced because he wanted to talk yesterday after I told him about the agent interest.

I had lunch with my best friend Cory today and we talked about stuff we need to do. We both need to maybe write one more pilot before staffing season in the Spring. That means having something ready by Jan/Feb. Oy! Here we go again.

Just Do It. Again.

Stop whining already! So we talked about getting together with two other writers we have an informal men's creative group with and doing an evening of drinking and tossing around our ideas. I think we'd each be into that. Cory's thought was having each writer do five two-minute pitches. And then we'd discuss. That's a full day. That's 20 two-minute pitches if all of us do five each. But I admire the ambition and I'd like to push myself. I'm not working on a show right now and I want to. I want to staff again and I need new material to do it.

I was thinking about next year's "challenge" for myself. This year I decided to make the Year of Challenges - having a different month-long goal each month. The Year of Challenges got sidetracked by employment, which I'd rather have. But I still got five scripts written and rewritten. Almost every month I worked on a different script.

• January - pilot rewrite
• February - new play
• March - outline and script #1, outline pilot rewrite
• April - outline and script #2
• May - more script #2, outline second pilot rewrite
• June - nothing
• July - outline second pilot rewrite again, production
• August - ten minute play, full length play rewrite and workshop, second pilot rewrite, production
• September - outline first pilot rewrite again
• October - produce play festival, pilot rewrite
• November -
• December -

Some months I managed more than others. But every day this year I have been thinking about a script I need to be writing. I don't have anything scheduled in November and December. That's because I really wanted a break. But it's probably best for me not to take one. Also to note: in January-April, and September-December, I also taught. I'm teaching now - the year's not over yet. I've juggled a lot this year.

Just Do It. Again?

Yeah. Again. And again and again and again. Keep doing it. Don't stop. I have a play I'm thinking about writing in November and December. At least starting. And I need to start the process of putting together this new play.

After that, I have no new play ideas. I can rewrite the play throughout the year and even have a reading and a workshop through the theatre company. There's a play I sent them for a space we have in 2018. If they're interested in that play, then maybe I'll be rewriting that play next year.

But what I want to focus on is writing TV pilots all next year. Unless I get staffed or develop, then I'll be happy to write less. Or none.

Here's the thought on next year's over all challenge: Write four pilots. From scratch. No new plays all year. Just rewrites. But all new pilots. That's one every quarter. So I'd do a quarterly challenge. Outline for a month. Write for a month. Rewrite for a month. Let's see how that settles into the old brain.

Just Do It! Again!

I'm leaving the year open for possibilities. But I am getting restless and I want to have another clear goal for next year. The goal for now is to get staffed. And that will continue if I don't get staffed in the last two months of the year. :) I have to keep moving forward. It keeps my mind on the work and off of other people.

Just Do It. Because you know you can. Again!

I give myself these challenges to motivate myself. I have NO IDEAS for pilots at all for next year. I hope to get something done! That would be nice. This year I got into the Writer's Guild and staffed for the first time. What will next year bring?

My intention is to be clear.

My intention is to focus on my goals.

My intention is to breathe, relax and enjoy.

I am grateful for long lunches in Boyle Heights.

I am grateful for street traffic on Whittier Blvd, trying to get home.

I am grateful there's so much good TV to watch.

I am grateful to be inspired by my friends and my community.

I am grateful that I get to type at my lap top every day and call it work.

Battle Won - Today

I've been re-reading my favorite book on motivation, The War of Art. I bought another copy of it when I was in Portland recently because I had given my copy to my ex-boyfriend - or he kept it. Whatever. I hope he's getting good use out of it.

This year has been full of great triumphs - and also frustrating moments where I want to get work done and I can't. For me, Resistance works well on me in trying to convince me that I'm not productive in order to get me to be discouraged and not work hard. I wrote three scripts in August - two full-length scripts and a ten-minute. September was busy getting adjusted to teaching again and it was me knowing that I had this last pilot rewrite to do for the year. I really didn't get much writing done in September. 

And that brings me to October, where I haven't been especially productive. I knew I had this script to get done and that I wanted to work on it. But I could have given myself the rest of the year because I didn't really have anything else that I needed to do. I've been applying to a lot of different summer play programs, I've been producing my theatre company's biannual theatre festival and I've been counseling my students on their upcoming projects. It has been so much easier to focus on other people's projects and to Procrastinate by being generous with my time. Up until Friday,  I felt completely defeated.

But I settled into the chaos and I let myself know that I needed to get my work done. And that I had all the time I needed to do that. I went to a Korean Spa on Friday to get work done. I accomplished the number of pages I set out to write. Then I came back on Saturday before I had to host a party for our festival and wrote a few more pages so I got to 15. On Sunday, I came back at it and went to another Korean Spa and wrote until I got to about 31 pages. Then today I went to yet another Korean Spa and finished the script until it came in at 54 pages. 

How did I do that? How did I not panic and get completely low on myself? I remembered that I have been here before and I have conquered Resistance. It was just time to do that again. I also knew that my students weren't turning in homework over the past two weeks and this week I would have assignments from them. I had to get this stuff done. I had an outline to work from - one that I've had since March. Remarkably, a lot of it held up.

Resistance wants me to lose my mind. It wants me to panic and freak out and feel defeated before the game is even over. It wants me to throw in the towel. When I felt I couldn't work, I spent the week going through The War of Art, brick by brick, and confronting the places where I feel Resistance. I didn't know if writing about my Resistance was Resistance. But I could have chosen to just feel sorry for myself and not get anything done. I find that sometimes I just need to get my fingers moving. I made every single excuse in the book why I couldn't get work done. I would tell myself that I had to start the work day at a certain time or that certain things put me in certain moods or that I needed a nap. When I start making major excuses, I know that Resistance is grabbing hold. I didn't want to be defeated by Resistance, so I reminded myself of Resistance's game in order to conquer it. I studied the play book.

Finally I decided that I needed some anger to motivate me. My manager has had two scripts of mine for two months. He hasn't read them. I'm not sure what that is a sign of. But instead of getting angry and moping, I decided to get angry and write this third script in those two months. SO I could slap it down on his desk (only a symbol - there is no desk and no physical copy, only email) and say, here you go, man. I wanted to reframe it and say that in two months, he was now getting three scripts of mine. It had taken me five months to write three scripts. That's a better reframing than saying it took me three months to get that pilot back to him. I was doing a lot in that period that enriched me and changed my writing.

I could tell when I was making decisions on what scenes to not write because I didn't need them. I have a better, faster editing eye than I used to have. I can pinpoint the problem of a script and do some restructuring without having to write the script first. I've been able to do that from the outline. I noticed a big difference in the last two pilots I rewrote. I'm a lot more decisive and clear on what needs to be fixed. I can do it in a shorter amount of time. The actual writing is short, but the thinking and the procrastinating was what took all of the time.

Today, I won. I could tell that I was zeroing in on the end at around page 45. I wanted to get it done in 53 pages. I gave myself up to 55. And I did it in 54 pages. That's a decent sized pilot script without being over long.

So I won. I battled and I made it through. Now what? Well, the goal is to say to the manager on Monday - "I have a third script, but I don't want to send it to you until I get feedback on the other two scripts." Then at least that gives me time to do more work on this if I need to. But I want to have a solid script that if before Monday, he actually reads the other two scripts, I can say to him, "Here." 

What am I going to work on in November and December? I'm going to have a lot of student projects to look at. And I'm happy to take some time to just be a professor. Then I'm going to think about this new play. I want to be in research mode and really think about the new play. I've got lots of ideas. I've started a journal for it. I'm ready to get moving. But I don't want to put any pressure on myself to do any of that. I want to leave my slate as clean as possible. I am not really starting anything new in the next two months. I'm done. And if this was the year with about 1500 pages written, then I'd be more than cool with it. Wow, that's a major accomplishment. 

And tomorrow, like Pressfield says, Resistance will be waiting for me. But that's okay too because I've slayed the dragon before and I'll do it again. I've gotten better at it the more I've had to do it.

My intention is an open schedule.

My intention is a clear launching pad.

My intention is appreciation.

I am grateful that I wrote a 54 page pilot in four days.

I am grateful that I pushed through.

I am grateful for all of the support I've gotten from friends.

The War of Art: Turning Pro

I'm taking a look at one of my favorite books on creativity - chapter by chapter. In the first section, Pressfield talks about Resistance as a powerful, opposing, relentless, unapologetic, impersonal force that will kill you. He's dead serious about it because Resistance is dead serious. Resistance will kill you. For years, I felt like I was learning the craft of writing, but not really feeling it. The craft is there so that the work can become a practice. The craft is there so that the work becomes less precious and special. The craft is there to create routine and repetition. The craft is to get you out of the ditch you might dig yourself into. And I was driven to work and work and work. But what I didn't realize was that if the care and passion leads, then you'll work those long hours - after the day job and on the weekends.  ne that's how you get better. I always worked hard - but now I work with the full essence and capacity of my being. I work with the entirety of my self, my life and my history. 

That might be a new thing. Like I've mentioned, the last thing I wrote broke me open as an artist. I work deeper than before. Exploring this book again after a year or so and breaking it down beat by beat, is such a gift. I feel like I'm mainlining this book and absorbing it in a way I never have before.

Turning Pro.

I've wanted to be a professional writer since college. I knew I loved to write when I was in 7th grade and Miss Russell asked us to make up short stories. Everything I did was about super heroes. I loved comic books. I got lost in them. I remember that after school every Wednesday, I would walk to the liquor store on the corner and get the new comic books. I remember buying comics and being so excited to read them on the way home. I got such a thrill out of reading about the adventures of The X-Men, the Fantastic Four, The New Teen Titans or Wonder Woman. That sense of discovery was thrilling to me. I grew up reading those stories, which were so fantastic and so precious to me. They were a true fantasy and I remember the Marvel comics especially because those stories seemed so human, but with people who had super powers.

I didn't think writing was a valuable profession, even though I wrote novellas in high school. And poetry in college. I wanted so badly to be good. I gave a casual talk to a group of college students in a dorm the other night and one of the students asked when I knew I was good. I knew I was bad, but driven for a long time. I knew that I had something and I knew enough to know that I wasn't there yet. I feel differently now. I certainly am not resting on my laurels. But it's not about being good or bad. At this point, it's obvious to me that I'm a strong writer, a passionate writer, an able writer. I've got the skills. Now it's about depth of commitment. It's about staying at a certain level of commitment. I suppose that's what happens when it becomes a practice. It just deepens. I don't ask myself the question of whether I'm good or not any more. I know what it takes to make something good - a lot of time. I want to find something in whatever I'm writing that I connect to.

I'm a professional writer. I make money writing. I also make no money writing. I write a lot of things for free. I am writing pilots on spec. I write plays on spec. I got paid to write on a TV show. To me, those are my technical jobs. TV and Film writing is technical writing. You have to make things clear. You have to convey what you're writing right away. The script needs to show you exactly what it is within the first ten pages. I love the honesty of that. I love the directness of that. I try not to see it as formulaic because then I lose interest. It's a different way of telling the story. It's not lesser. Technical writing requires skill by definition. It's about technique. To me, that's exciting. I'm also learning a business. I'm learning the micro skills it takes to be a successful television writer and none of that feels shallow or lesser than or like selling out. I feel more like I'm buying in. I'm investing. And that's what Turning Pro is all about.

It's one thing to study war and another to live the warrior's life.
                                                     - Telamon of Arcadia, the mercenary of Fifth Century B.C.

The Game as a Vocation
When I Turned Pro, something in me changed. I made writing my life full-time. I gave up a lot to make that choice. Two years ago, I decided that I was going to take advantage of the things I had and to not focus on what I didn't have. I was applying for jobs - real paying jobs - and not having any luck. So as I was applying for things, I decided that I had to dedicate myself to writing and nothing else. I made some money that year and I used that money to live and to travel to write and to take an office. I truly treated writing like it was my job. I took off for a writing retreat that year for a week and I went to SF so I could get away. I got a lot of writing done that year. Because of that, I had an office gifted to me for a month. And then I took that office when it became available. I had money to pay for an office for six months.

And then a ton of relationships changed. I believe that my relationship to my boyfriend changed because I was putting money into this office and not into our life. He had every right to be frustrated with me. But I knew that I had to put everything into my work. Maybe I should have been honest and broken up with him then. But we were so connected and I was in love. But I wasn't focused on the relationship as much as I could have been. I was always committed to him, but my career took center stage. I would say that was true for both of us. That year, where I meditated every morning in my office, and had somewhere to be five days a week, was amazing. That was the year I Turned Pro, even though I had been pursuing this and working hard for a long time. So many things finally clicked that year. And yet, I didn't make any money writing that year. And the following year, I didn't really make any money period.

This year might be the year that people saw me as a paid professional. I got into the WGA. I wrote on my first show. I'm a member of an incredible theatre company. But this was not the year I turned Pro. I was already a Pro by the time everyone else could see it. I'm on the job 24/7. I dedicate every waking moment to work. I'm never not on the job. I don't just write when I'm inspired. I have a dedicated time and space. I have a routine.

My Routine
I go to bed by 11 or 12…1 AM at the latest. My body naturally lets me sleep for no more than 7 hours. That's supposed to be the perfect amount of time. I wake up by 7 AM…7:30 or 8 AM on lazy days. I should meditate right away. But I'm always afraid I'll fall asleep if I meditate too early. That's probably an excuse. I wake up for about an hour and then I have my tea or bone broth. I make breakfast and then I get to work. I try to go somewhere to get work done. During the summer, when it was really hot, it was easier to take off. Now that the weather has cooled off a bit, I might work from home. If I go to the library or the Korean Spa, I'll make believe that I've got all the time in the world and I'll stay on it all day. I find that I'm better if I think I have all day. Because I'll read and I'll research and I'll ease into writing. I'll kind of fall into it rather than push myself. Again, it's tricking myself. I'll work on a journal about the project. Or I'll blog on here. I'll get my fingers moving like they're supposed to be typing and then eventually I'll start typing the project I'm working on. I don't like to work on more than one thing at a time. I know people who hop around from project to project. That's so not me. I'll stay on it most of the day. And sometimes there's a clear point where I need to clock out.

I'm heading into a two week period where I have to get a script done. When I'm in script writing mode - and not in research or production mode - I'll try to make time for several whole days of writing. This week's difficult because I'm going to be in production on the last week of our theatre festival this week. And I'm teaching. Tomorrow, I have most of the day. I'm helping out some friends by watching their kid and putting her to bed. So I'll have time to work while she's sleeping as well. Then on Wednesday, I'll be in town getting work done before I have to head to rehearsal for the festival that evening. Thursday is a teaching day. Friday and Saturday I've got the show in the evening. So I've got most of those days free as well. I try to give myself treats like going to the spa and writing when I know I have a deadline.

Before I turned Pro, I didn't have a routine. My days varied. I didn't make writing a priority. I also didn't feel guilty or off when I wasn't getting work done. Now when I'm not working, I get depressed. I don't think it's good that I feel bad, but I know that something's off. It's easier to dedicate myself to the work all of the time. I stay on the job and now everything I do feels like it's contributing to my writing or my focus - even doing the dishes and cleaning up feels necessary to clear my head.

What Pros Do
Pressfield reminds us that Pros act like pros at their day jobs. I remember reading The War of Art for the first time when I was at a day job - I might have actually read it at my day job. Here are the things that Pros do (and that we do when at work):

• Pros show up every day - I get up every morning ready to work. I might not always be focused at work, but I have to be there. SO I'm there.
• Pros show up no matter what  - Even when I'm sick or I don't want to be there, I'm there. I might not get a shit ton done every day. But I show up, ready to work. Ready to give whatever I have. No matter what, I show up. I learned this from years of only showing up when I wanted to. If I did that at a paying day job, I'd get fired. You can't only do your job when you feel like it.
• Pros stay on the job all day - I put in a lot of overtime. I make my schedule work for me. But that means I'm on the clock a lot longer than just 9 to 5. I'm watching things for research. I'm reading. I'm having coffee meetings with colleagues and other professionals about what they do. And often I'm just in my office writing. I also do a lot of thinking in the car. I don't stop. 
• We are committed over the long haul. I know that I can't just put in some work and expect a massive result. Projects last for years. Then we move on to the next project. I put in work every day and eventually something fully formed comes out of it. This is where being invested in the labor and not in the fruits of the labor comes into play. I love my job. I'm going to do it when things are popping around me and when I'm quietly in the lab working on something while no one else is noticing.
• The stakes are real. Yeah. I gotta eat. This is my job. I'm not accepting work for anything else. I have to make this work. Putting myself up against the wall helps.
• We accept renumeration for our labor. Yeah, I want to get paid. I do it for the love. But money lends legitimacy. And it leads to the next job. If I have a record of work, examples that I know what I'm doing, then that will create more work. I'm building a resume here. And I can't build a resume without paid jobs. I'm proving my track record.
• We do not overidentify with our jobs. I do love saying I'm a playwright. I do enjoy telling people that I'm a paid writer. But if my value is purely in whether or not I'm working or a show of mine is premiering somewhere, then I feel defeated pretty quickly. I'm a hard worker. That never changes. I don't just see myself as a writer. I was more identified with my role as a writer when I felt like I had to legitimize it because no one else was. That's hard. I do my job. I try to make sure that whatever I'm doing allows me to just do my job. If I create this mystique around being a playwright, then I feel like I have this standard to uphold all of the time. That creates pressure. I probably down play it a bit just so that I don't develop false expectations. I'm going to do this regardless of people noticing, although I know how attention leads to buzz leads to opportunities leads to money leads to security leads to freedom. I understand that. But I have to be happy with myself first.
• We master the technique of our jobs. I always tell my students "know your business." You have to master technique. That's why the TV and Film writing is helpful. It's all about technique. The magic and creativity I bring came with me. It's unique to me and it will be there no matter what. But without technique, that magic has less power. And the power grows the more your practice your technique. I'm a technically proficient writer. One day, someone was speaking about a script that I had written that I thought was pretty good - a TV pilot. They said, "Yeah. It's a script. It looks like a TV script." What that person meant was that it's only the first step. If you have technique with no magic or all magic with no technique, you either have a bore or a mess.
• We have a sense of humor about our jobs. I guess that's what people mean when they say it's not rocket science. I know that so much of my success isn't up to me and a lot of it is luck. When you realize that it's not all earned, but you've done everything, then you've got to let go of results. I finish something and I move on to the next thing because I know it's not all that important in the grand scheme of things. I love to write. I think I'm good at it. I enjoy it, too. But I can't take it too seriously - that's where the overidentification comes in. If I only see myself as a writer and a failure if I'm not paid to write, then I'm leading a miserable life.
• We receive praise or blame in the real world. I'm out there doing it and causing a ripple in the water. So people are either going to like me or not like me. I can't be concerned with either. I am gracious and humbled when people say nice things. But I can't get all of my value from that either. I'm a good writer therefore a good person? I think that's dangerous. When we put too much value in whether or not we're "successful" or making a living doing this, we feel pressure.  I write because I love it. I am happy to get paid for it. I want to get paid for it. But I've got to take the results as they come and not learn to expect them. That's cause for unhappiness.

As I've been putting this post together where I revisit The War of Art and access how important this book has been for me, I had a conversation with a friend at breakfast this morning. My friend is having a hard time. He's turning 40 next year and he's having what my friend Molly and I call "The Reckoning." He's looking at his life and feeling like he is not where he wants to be. So many of us have been there. He's in a place in his life where he feels stuck, where he feels like everyone around him is succeeding and why isn't he. This is a place that is very familiar to me. It's a place I've climbed out of because of The War of Art. It felt so apropos to what I'm doing with this reassessment and check in. But like anything, until you're ready to hear the message, you're not ready. I was trying to offer some encouragement, but he wasn't receiving what I was saying.

He couldn't believe that I don't have the highs and the lows of when people praise or discourage me. He said, "I reject that." Truer words could not have been spoken. He does reject that. He couldn't believe that none of those words that other people say affect me. I hear those words. But they don't change the way that I live my life. Of course, he rejected what I was saying because it made no sense to him. He was the reflection back to me of the person I was five years ago. I've made some serious changes and a lot of those changes can be traced back to The War of Art. Not all of it is conscious. I didn't realize I was doing it. But I read this book for the first time 11 years ago. And then I kept reading it over and over again over the past 11 years. I probably picked it up for the first time in several years several years ago. Ever since then, I make it a point to re-read it at least once or twice a year. I read it through a few days ago and then have been going through it to write this blog post. Last night, I re-read Turning Pro, his follow up to The War of Art in which Pressfield gets really in depth regarding the notion of Turning Pro. More of the book resonates with me now because I'm ready to hear things I couldn't hear before. There are whole passages of the book I don't remember reading the first time because I couldn't hear it. I didn't have the capacity. Listening to my friend over breakfast reminded me of how far I've come, much more than even writing this blog post. I'm hoping that our conversation resonates with him on some deep level that he will access later. But maybe not. I'm detaching from outcome.

My friend is a good husband and a father. But he is so deep a hole. We ran into two other friends who I know from NYU at breakfast. One of them is a successful animation showrunner and his wife, who's a very successful freelance writer. The husband and I were talking about what was going on with our respective shows and with my theatre stuff. And then I got to talk to his wife, who I'm a bit closer to, about what has been happening. I have the sense that running into two friends who are very successful hammered home what my friend was feeling. My friend is not undeserving of good career things happening to him. But he's not working to his full capacity. He's not working as hard as the three of us work and as hard as his wife works. It's not personal. But there's a baseline that he isn't even reaching.

I offered some advice years ago that was taken the wrong way. It caused a rift in the friendship. But I decided to get really honest with him and I point blank told him that he's not working hard enough. I was as kind as I could be, but he expressed that he wanted me to be brutally honest regarding a project he shared with me. Honestly, I don't think he is at a level of readiness to handle the critique I gave him. It was too much. Then I realized that I'm a Professional and my friend is still an Amateur. And that's not a judgment to say I'm better than my friend. But it perfectly illustrates the difference between the two philosophies. My friend allows the world to dictate how he feels about himself and his work. He feels controlled by outside forces and makes excuses for it. He's pursuing shadow careers instead of the thing he really wants and it's making him miserable. He'll either get out of it or he won't. Not everyone gets out of it. Most people don't. I hope that he doesn't let himself suffer forever. It's not a fun way to live.

I had coffee with another friend yesterday and this friend is a total Pro. She's going through a divorce and starting to put herself first. She's conquering life. I was re-reading The War of Art as I was waiting for her and she commented on how she has read it as well. Of course she has. It shows. Pros aren't afraid to help each other out and give advice. It takes nothing away from her trajectory to offer me her honest thoughts. She can see the Pro in me and I can see the Pro in her. It was a Pro to Pro conversation where we both said we can see the other person succeeding. It's not blowing smoke. It's the Law of Attraction and being able to identify the defeat of Resistance in someone else. That conversation was completely different and supportive. This is a friend who I have seen be harsh and maybe jealous of other people. But then I've seen a transformation in the past year as she has gone through her own struggles.

It's great to see The War of Art in action in other people. It fortifies what I am experiencing.

The Love of the Game

Pressfield says something that's striking a chord with me right now.

To clarify a point about professionalism: The professional, though he accepts money, does his work out of love. He has to love it. Otherwise he wouldn't devote his life to it of his own free will.

The professional has learned, however, that too much love can be a bad thing. Too much love can make him choke. The seeming detachment of the professional, the cold-blooded character to his demeanor, is a compensating device to keep him from loving the game so much that he freezes in action. Playing for money, or adopting the attitude of one who plays for money, lowers the fever.

Remember what we said about fear, love, and Resistance. the more you love your art/ calling/ enterprise, the more important its accomplishment is to the evolution of your soul, the more you will fear it and the more Resistance you will experience facing it. The payoff of playing-the-game-for-money is not the money (which you may never see anyway, even after you turn pro). The payoff is that paying the game for money produces the proper professional attitude. It inculcates the lunch-pail mentality, the hard-core, hard-head, hard-hat state of mind that shows up for work despite rain or snow or dark of night and slugs it out day after day.

I think that's the message I've been trying to hear. Playing the game for money is about producing the attitude of slugging it out. It allows me to detach from treating what I do with such preciousness that I freeze at the idea that what I'm doing doesn't reach a certain standard. As Pressfield says in a later book, "Do the Work." It's not that I freeze with incapacity. The momentum freezes because the attitude is that if I don't love what I'm doing - meaning working in TV versus the satisfaction I get in theatre, then it's not worth it. Oh, the fertile field I was just dancing in just froze over. I'm stuck.

The paradox is that I have to love what I do to continue to do it. But I also have to keep moving. Playing the game for money allows me to do that. Playing the game for money this year allowed me to write two scripts and produce those two scripts. It allowed me to become a writer-producer in action, if not in title. It allowed me to see what I am capable of - to both affirm and surprise myself in what I can do. Yes, I do that with theatre and I continue to do that despite not getting paid. But playing the game for money made me a better writer this year - as much as playing the game for love and fulfillment. By the way, I didn't "sell out" or hate what I did this year. I want to do more of it. But I am playing the game for money - not for affirmation or for status or for showing off - but for the work that I get paid to do. I have to affirm that attitude that allows me to clock in every day, whether or not I'm getting paid. I'm producing the attitude that signals that I am a Professional - to myself and as a result of that work, to other people. Later, Pressfield says that a Professional is recognized by other Professionals. This is what he means.

Patience

I have to work on this one. I'm not a patient person. I want it now, like the little girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. This journey has taught me patience. It doesn't happen right when I'm ready or when I think it should happen. That's why focusing on the work and not the reward is so important. I thought all of these good things should have happened at least ten years ago. I can say that maybe I wasn't ready and that everything happens for the right reason. I don't really know that. All I know is that it didn't happen ten years ago. I know that I work hard. I know that I dedicate myself to my work every day. But I don't make a list of the things I think should happen. I don't feel like I'm entitled for a list of things because I work hard. I work hard because I enjoy it. I enjoy teaching and reinforcing what I know and working with other artists and producing new work. The work is the reward for me.

I'm having a hard time being patient right now because I wrote a play I know is really good and has hit a chord with people on a deep level. I can imagine all of the things that this piece of work can do for me and my career. I've thought as much and my friends have said as much. My manager has that play sitting on his desk presumably unread, along with the script I rewrote that a psychic I met in June said would unlock everything for me. Talk about pressure! I have to try to erase that from my mind, but when someone says all of these magical things will happen because of one script, you want to listen even though you realize it's dangerous to do so.

But I am armed with patience - a hard-learned patience - and I will sit down and do the work day after day, not worried about a result. Or I'll try. That's my goal every day I sit down. I know that this pilot script is ahead of me. I know that I have to reach it. I know why Resistance is on my ass. I know it knows how much I love what I'm doing. I know why it's trying to stop me. So I'm patient and compassionate with myself, knowing that I need to coax the work out of myself. I know that I need to continue to show up and not get distracted. The patience is not only the waiting for the stars to align - and giving them time to do so - but it's also the kindness I need to show myself. I'm showing up today, by writing this blog, even though I want to be writing the first sequence of the pilot rewrite. I've mapped it out. I know it's waiting for me. I know I have to conquer my fear. I'm acting in the face of my fear, even though things aren't moving as fast as I would like to. I'm staring down the dragon of Resistance, ready for a fight. I'm waiting patiently.

Technique

Pressfield says that a Professional dedicates himself to mastering technique. That's what I was doing when I was on set and learning how to produce TV. That's what I'm doing by teaching and reinforcing all of the elements of story structure that I learned years ago. I'm reinforcing what I already know. I'm meditating. I'm visualizing. I'm writing in various forms every day to master my technique and to get in the habit of working so that what I do no longer romanticized by a pie in the sky vision. But it's about craft and work. Technique demystifies the process. It really is about hard work more than talent.

The key to writing this pilot is not to focus on how it needs to be so creative or represent me and my aspirations as a writer. It can't be about what it's going to do for me. My problem is that first moment. I have so many emotional things I need to convey in that moment. For me to solve the problem and to write word one I need to look at it from a technical view point. How do I approach the scene non-emotionally?

What's the first thing we see? What's that image? What's the next thing we see? Step-by-step. I don't have to conquer all of Everest in one fell swoop. When I started the play last year - a little over a year ago - I didn't think how I was going to represent my family's story from the first word. I thought about how I wanted to convey the type of play I was presenting. I crafted a monologue. And that monologue said everything. I just worried about the monologue. This opening teaser is that monologue. It's just about the craft and the technique. I don't need all of the muses to descend upon me. It's not that precious. But for some reason, over the past seven months as I've gone back to it periodically, I have raised so many expectations. But that makes me realize that it means something to me. And that's a positive thing. But I have to start writing. I have this tight outline. But I have to start writing the script. Just an outline is not good enough.

Professional Distance

As a playwright, it's hard not to identify with your work. It's hard not to feel like being a playwright defines who you are and if you're not a playwright - then what are you? Or a teacher or an actor or a scientist. Pressfield says that Pros don't over identify with their profession. They employ themselves for the services rendered. They see themselves as something more than the entity that does the work or the material that's created. A lot of us feel that if we write bad plays or if no one likes them then we are bad people. And no one likes to feel like a bad person, so they stop doing the thing that makes them feel bad. I feel like my friend today is on that road. Like I've mentioned, we've had this conversation before and it did not go well. I have to wish my friend the best and hope that he does what's right for him. He's in a place where it's hard for him to truly be happy for people's success. I know a couple of people who are well-intentioned, but just can't help themselves because they wish they were where someone else is.

I trace that back to over identifying with your profession. Being a professional writer doesn't make me a good person or even a happy one. I've got to find happiness and balance that I bring to the table. Writing is my job because it's working out that way. It might not always work out that way. Does that mean I'm no longer a writer? Am I only a good writer because I'm getting paid or because I have been paid? Does being a WGA member now mean that I'm better than I was before?

I have a different professional name than my given name - not by much. If you were looking for me, you could still find me under both names. I use my grandmother's maiden name as my middle name professionally. It's on my WGA membership card and that's how I'm credited. I find it interesting that I started working for money once I changed my name - my full working professional name represents both sides of my culture - it represents both of my parents' ethnicities. Because I am credited that way, I can also separate me from "the career."

Melissa Rivers tells a story that her mother Joan referred to comedy as "the career." It was like a second child. It was not her. She did not over identify with being a great comedian. The career was something wholly onto itself. I don't think being a writer validates me.  I don't think making money as a writer validates me. I write because I love to write and because it's how I make sense of the world. I had to reconnect to that part of myself before anything good careerwise could happen. Not everyone needs to do that. I needed to be firm in how I present myself before I started presenting myself. I have no doubt I could have had financial success in TV earlier. But that internal compass wasn't having it. Again, I can't say that was the right or the wrong way for it to go down.

My friend could not believe that I don't take success or failure personally. He said that he "rejects" that notion. How could someone feel that way? Well, he doesn't feel that way and I respect that. But it's true. I didn't pop out of the womb that way. I've taken it all so personally for most of my life. I couldn't live that way. I couldn't live and continue to be a writer if I felt that way. It comes down to self-validating, which is something I've really been working on for the past few years. I know what's good and I know what I'm happy with. The success of this year was not the money or getting paid - although that has relieved a lot of stress. The success was the experience and how much I grew as a writer because I was reinforcing my professional mindset. I was visualizing what it was like to be a professional writer/producer and a boss by doing it. I am grateful for everything. My gratitude practice is what keeps me from taking outside success or failure too seriously. But it was funny - my friend actually thought I was lying to him - or lying to myself - when I said I don't take it too seriously.

My friend was such a good mirror back to me. And such a gift. I remember six or seven years ago feeling the same way my friend does. I felt like the world was mocking me - like I had screwed everything up.  The first thing I decided to do was start writing plays again. I wrote three plays in one year. None of them were any good. They came out easy and they were a way for me to clear out the pipes. I wrote a Medea adaptation I had been thinking about since grad school. I wrote a play about an Asian family. And I wrote a play about endangered tigers. Each play had its merits, but they were a way for me to write my way back to the stage. I had to start thinking like a playwright again - theatrically and boldly. But I was still stuck in a job that was stifling me. I was in a relationship that was making me doubt myself - and I had to have a reckoning with myself that I was responsible for the choices I had made.

Then the Universe stepped in and that relationship ended. So did the work relationship. And I had changed my life completely. Then a lot of personal stuff happened and I was no longer the person I had been before. Change is by its nature disruptive. So I didn't instantly feel like my life had magically gotten better. It's not like I got the dream TV writing job then. It's not like a flood of money came my way. I was making changes in who I am incrementally. I started teaching. I took care of my sick Dad. I started writing plays about death after his death. I was evolving as a person. And now, six years later - that went by in the blink of an eye - I am within striking distance of where I want to be professionally. I have a community of people who only see me as a professional writer and not someone who just aspires. I have accomplished and I will continue to do so. My friend has yet to make that transition.

Everything changed when I turned Pro. My lifestyle, my routine, my friendships all changed. I don't have the same people in my life I did back then. What changed?

I got used to be uncomfortable. I stopped writing because I wanted money, fame and recognition. Many people say that's not what they're after. They just want the opportunity or the access. But you want the validation - I can say that as a person who has said all of those things. But I wanted people to love me because I didn't love myself. Those things - money, fame and recognition - felt like they would solve all of my problems. Once I decided after my Dad's death that I still wanted to be a writer, I reconciled myself with the fact that I might not ever get paid for it. I knew my mind was right when I realized I wanted to do it anyway. I suffered and was flat broke - and I still wrote. I had the poorest year on record - in a long time, if not ever - last year. I wrote a play that is no where close to a production. That play got me my manager and the TV job. I spent most of last year writing it - not working, not contributing to my household with my (now ex) boyfriend. I gave everything up that brought me security to write a play that I knew I needed to be writing.

This is the other thing a Pro does: Self-validates. I know I'm doing the right thing, so I do it. I don't wait for praise. Truth be told, I have gotten praise and support. But I don't do the work for that. I do the work at the library, an office, the cluttered office of my mind or anywhere I can get work done. I am alone. I don't expect that this next play or pilot will be anything. I use my skill. I do my best work. And I let it go. I apply for everything I can because I want the opportunity to practice selling myself and through the exercise of applying, I get more skilled. It's not about the prize. It's about the process of fortifying what I know about myself. It's practicing the pitch about myself. Eventually, I get better and as a result things happen. But I'm playing the long game here. I need to support myself financially so that I can play the long game. And I'm doing that as well.

My friend looks everywhere else for happiness. He's jealous of people who do well. He feels slighted. I am not angry or judgmental about that. I have been there. He can't hear my advice right now. How could he? I have been there too. So I'm around and available. I'm a presence if he needs me. But I'm not going to go all Tony Robbins on his ass. He's got to figure it out. He has to be angry and bitter and victimized by all of the things happening to him. Maybe he'll crawl out of it. Plenty do. Like me. Plenty do not. His changes of pulling out of it are just as good as his changes of never getting anywhere. That's up to him. He'll live the life he chooses to live. And I respect that. I honestly respect his right to never figure it out. I had an insurmountable amount of fear about what I would do with my life. At times, it felt like I would never climb out. And then I did. Did it take great effort? I suppose. Did it just happen? Could have. I don't remember now. I only remember that I am determined to work. And work makes me happy. Not working makes me depressed. So I go in the direction of working - a lot - because I want to be really happy.

Reinvention

Pressfield says that a Professional Reinvents Himself. I have been a writer for a long time. I have always wanted to be a writer. I started writing when I was twelve. I have written ever since. It's all I ever wanted to be - even when I went to college as a Psychology major. I figured it out within the first six months of my freshman year.

I hear about people who used to be lawyers and are now writers. Or used to teach. My friend Josh used to write music. He was a songwriter. That's all he ever wanted to do. He cut hair to make money. Then he started a hair and skin care line. And now he's more successful than ever. I don't know if he's still writing music. But he made a decision to give that up years ago.

I wondered if writing was the first career. I've been at it so long, I've often wondered - in those self-doubt moments - if I should give it up to make room for the second career that makes me a millionaire. I have really thought about this. I knew that I had approached writing from one way for so long and it started to feel like I was losing ground. I might have said at one point in this blog that I read The War of Art at least once a year, if not more, and I find something new in it every time. When I think eleven years back to when I read it for the first time, I know that I was such a different person back then. I might have read the chapter of reinvention and wondered if I was stuck because I was in the wrong gig. I spent many hours contemplating that thought.

I re-read the chapter just now. And I realize that I have reinvented myself. I just talked in the last section about how my life is completely different now than it was six or seven years ago. I have gone on a series of reinventions since then. I was someone important's assistant. Then I was my father's caregiver. Then I was in a relationship with a musician for four and a half years and started to come into my own. Then people started viewing me as a productive writer when I took an office and started writing five scripts and 1000 pages in one year. Other professionals started recognizing me as one of them. And then this year, I've reinvented myself again. I'm a Reinventer. And I didn't even realize it. Because my life now doesn't reflect my life a year ago - at all.

Last year, I kept saying to my now ex boyfriend that I needed to shake things up. Even though I knew that I might be shaking my relationship loose - I didn't admit that to him at the time. I didn't want to break up with him. I wanted things to stay as they were. But I couldn't expect to shake things up and not have that relationship change. So now I'm a single person navigating my life and I have a career to attend to. I've been reinventing myself for a long time. I haven't been stagnant. I've wanted to write and have been writing for a long time. But that doesn't mean I haven't reinvented myself. I am a Pro! I am the Queen of Reinvention - other than Madonna, of course. I don't hesitate to leave behind what worked and reach for a new adventure. I don't hesitate to change myself completely.

I have said to friends lately that writing the last play about the year my father was dying broke me open. When my Dad died, I told people his death broke me open. That's a reinvention. It took four years for me to write this story to become a different writer. Now I'm excited to see who this writer is. I understand now why Madonna doesn't want to perform her whole catalog and just go on a greatest hits tour. For a while there, she refused to perform the old stuff. She wanted people to see what she was doing now. Even that was a transition to being an artist in the moment who also acknowledges that those songs written by a less evolved person made her the person she is now. So she performs those songs now - and yes, reinvents them. I am excited to see who this new writer is. I wrote on a TV show this year and that changed me. I'm working on a pilot rewrite and I'm excited to see how the TV gig changed my TV spec pilot writing. I'm taking time to let the reinvention take hold. I'm not in a rush. I need to give the performance enhancing drug time to work its way into my blood stream.

The Professional Mindset

I employ myself. I work to make money. I work to get better. I don't work to prove my existence. Not anymore.

I'm a big fan of reality TV. I watch a ton of competition shows from Top Chef, RuPaul's Drag Race, Project Runway, and The Voice. The best part of these shows is when we have a Final Three or a Final Four. When we are in the finals. The question the host likes to ask those finalists is: "Why do you deserve to win Project Runway/RuPaul's Drag Race/Top Chef?" Sometimes the finalist will say,

• "I want it more than anyone else."
• "I've suffered to get here."
• "I have the most passion."
• "No one wants it more than me. I can taste it."

Those people usually never win. That's not a great reason. Are you the best? Have you performed the best? Have you given everything? Did you win the most challenges? Did you keep at it when other people lost hope? That's the Professional Mindset to me. And also, I might deserve to win, but that doesn't mean I will win. And does winning the $100,000 prize (this is what the prize is for all of these shows, coincidentally) mean that I am the best? Does it mean that finally everyone will see what I've always known about myself?

Jennifer Hudson came in 7th in American Idol. And later she won an Oscar. At the time, I'm sure she wanted to win Idol. But she kept working and the reward was greater - but she didn't do the work for the reward. She hasn't had a level of success as great as Dreamgirls. But she's still working and she's still making music - good music, too. But where are the Tonys, the Grammys and all the awards? Where's the second Oscar? Who knows if she'll ever win another award again? But her performances are great and no one can take away the power of her voice. 

I had an old boss say to me years ago when I asked if I was the kind of writer who should be working in TV. He said to me, "Do I think that you should be writing TV? Yes. Do I think that you will write for TV? I can't say. Just because you deserve to - and that you would be an asset to any show you write on because you're smart, friendly and talented - doesn't mean that you will. This business isn't fair." I thought that was such an honest thing to say. And it did feel good that he felt like if everything was fair then I would be working. But nothing is fair. (By the way, I told this story to my friend the other day - the one I've been talking about - and he found it profoundly depressing.) I found the story hopeful. And reflecting on it now, that's the professional mindset. You have to do the work because you're in love with the work and not the reward. If you'll do it anyway - and I have - despite no financial rewards - true that - then you have to keep doing it.

I've tried to stop. But I can't. And I've reinvented the way I view myself. I haven't reinvented myself to become something else entirely. But I've refined and redefined my approach. I see myself differently. That's the reinvention.

I also had a thought recently.

I have been thinking about directing. Four and a half years ago I directed a staged reading of a section of a play by one of my mentors. Out of the blue, my alma mater asked me to come up and work on this project - for free. I drove up to Northern CA several times that year to participate. Because it was my mentor's words, I jumped at the chance. I had nothing going on at the time. I wanted to learn and I said yes. I enlisted two former students and two former classmates to help me. I had never thought about directing before. But I never thought about choreographing dances before I was in college either. 

Years later, I am now involved in a local theatre company. I am a company member of a theatre I respect. We have a writer's group and we're expanding that writer's group into a pipeline for new play development. We've discussed the plays that we want to do readings of in 2017. I have expressed to a few people that I would like to direct one of the play readings/workshops. No one seemed to object to that idea. 

Then I had a play presented last week as a part of the festival. When we got to our final rehearsal - after I missed a rehearsal because I was out of town - I realized that the play was not in good shape. The director had not come as far along in the staging of the play as I had expected him to. We had three hours of rehearsal to get the play ready for performances starting the next day. I accessed the situation and decided that I needed to get involved. My director - to his credit - told me that if I had any thoughts that I should express them to the actors directly. That's not how I like to work. I like to sit back and let the director take charge because that's his job. I've already done mine. But in this case, since I had been invited to do so, I suggested some staging options to the director. I didn't think he was making choices. We worked very well together and by the end of the process, we had a piece that was staged well. I would have made different casting choices if directing myself - although the actors were amazing. But I felt they were miscast. That being said, the play looked great and it moved well. I had basically blocked 75% of this play in three hours. 

After rehearsal, I had a drink with another playwright and we talked about the process and how I wanted to direct a workshop. Immediately, he said, "You should direct my play. You'd be perfect for it." He has a one act that we're considering for another project. And that wouldn't be a workshop, it would be a full staging. I couldn't believe that someone - even one of my best friends - would put his play in my hands. He's one of my favorite writers - and not because he's my friend. He's fucking amazing. I'd admire him from afar if I didn't get to admire him from up close. 

Then my director emails me last Sunday after we finished the short run of our festival. He said he was impressed, not only with my writing, but with my ability to create stage pictures. Could I be a director? I'm not giving up my day job. I'm a writer. First and foremost. But when I watched my two episodes directed on set by our incredible director, I wanted in on that. I know that when I'm a showrunner, I want to use that position to direct episodes. And I want to learn that skill now. Again, I'm playing the long game here. I'm doing things that make me excited and a byproduct of that excitement will be the material success. I'm not chasing it. I'm writing and focusing on that. The fruits of my labor will show up without me having to make them my goal.

That's the professional mindset. To work and work and work through rain, sleet, snow, depression, illness, anger and hurt feelings. In conditions that are shitty. For people who are shitty. When you don't win that prize that you really wanted despite working really hard on self-validating. Show up tomorrow anyway.

As Pressfield says at the end of this section - there is no mystery to turning Pro. "It's a decision brought about by an act of Will." The story of my life.

My intention is "Next!"

My intention is to finish the pilot.

My intention is to be available for everything.

I am grateful for my fellow writer friends who are excellent and working.

I am grateful that people see me on par with that standard.

I am grateful that we threw a beautiful festival and a great party last night.

I am grateful for my theatre company.

I am grateful for my life.

I am grateful to meet new theatre artists whose work I admire.

I am grateful for all of the goodness.