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.
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