3.23.2007
TRAMBLINGS. . .
Busy. Busy. Busy. I knew that my posts would slow down once my program kicked into full gear and last week it did just that. Like I said before - I finished the spec episode and I am very proud of the final result. What happens after this is truly out of my hands. My job was to write a sample decent enough to "go out into the world" and I believe I did that. I incorporated the changes suggested by both of my reps, the Crown Prince, and my mentor early last week. Thursday night (late) I emailed the final draft to everyone. I woke up Saturday morning to find a glowing email from my mentor. It serioulsy made my day and freed me up to enjoy the weekend with my mother and niece who were visiting from the Bay Area. They came into town Saturday afternoon and we hit the ground running.
My niece is 11-years-old and she can shop with the best of them. She had a list in her messenger bag and she was determined to purchase all of her items in order of importance. A new purse was number one, clear lip gloss was number six. See what I'm saying? We got home about 11 p.m. and I checked my email to find very happy messages from both my agent and manager. I made one final change (ear-splitting needed two t's) then I sent it back out. I also sent along the prologue for THE LAST KING as that extra, emotional something. So, there you have it. I have a spec epsiode of a procedural drama, a character driven drama, an original pilot, a short story, novel prologue, and a script for a 30-minute short film. So, again, I've done my part. Now I step away and let what happens happen. No stressing, no second-guessing people I don't know, no allowing decisions made by random people determine to how I live or feel about my life. Tomorrow I start a new project and keep on trucking.
Saturday I'm off to a writing retreat where I hope to complete the last of the novel. I'd love to come back with a clean slate so I am going to buckle down and hit my page count goal every single day. Or, every single day -- I will try.
Anyway, funniest moment during the family visit. My mom got hit on relentlessly while she was here to the endless amusement of both me and my niece. Don't know what kind of perfume she was wearing but - DAMN. L.A. is notoriously bad to women of a certain hue and age but my mom busted all those stereotypes wide open. At the Grove, a man walked by, doubled back then asked her where she was going and HOW she was doing. Her response, "I'm fine, sir, just enjoying my daughter and my grandbaby." His response: "You know you're too young to have a daughter her age." On the "her age" he pointed right in my face. I was like, "Damn, why you gotta bust me out like that? What did I do to you?"
In the garment district, a thirtysomething man said, "Hey beautiful. You looking good for you age. Out here." The random punctuation of "out here" sent me over the top. I couldn't stop laughing. What the hell does that mean? My mother rolled her eyes and said, "I don't know if I like how you phrased that." Nobody did. The final sniper hit came from a gravel-voiced salt-and-pepper man who scanned her from head to toe, threw some seductive Alexander O"Neil slut-eye her way (remember O'Neil in his videos?) and said, "Don't act like you don't know me. Come on back here with your sassy little self." I thought my mom was going whip out a switchblade and cut his throat. He was just entirely too fresh for her tastes.
She kept walking and when he persisted she turned around and said, "Sir, I think you've mistaken me for somebody else. I'm not from here and I don't know you." His response: "Wanna know me now? Where you going?" Again, I f*cK*ng lost it. I wanted to shout, "Run, man, run," but I was laughing too hard. My niece kept squeezing my hand and trying not to laugh. Her response: "Why would I waste my time on a greasy man eating a greasy corndog?" Wait, I didn't tell you that part? Brothaman was working over a mustard-covered corndog the whole time. So, really, what is left to be said?
Until next time. . .
Busy. Busy. Busy. I knew that my posts would slow down once my program kicked into full gear and last week it did just that. Like I said before - I finished the spec episode and I am very proud of the final result. What happens after this is truly out of my hands. My job was to write a sample decent enough to "go out into the world" and I believe I did that. I incorporated the changes suggested by both of my reps, the Crown Prince, and my mentor early last week. Thursday night (late) I emailed the final draft to everyone. I woke up Saturday morning to find a glowing email from my mentor. It serioulsy made my day and freed me up to enjoy the weekend with my mother and niece who were visiting from the Bay Area. They came into town Saturday afternoon and we hit the ground running.
My niece is 11-years-old and she can shop with the best of them. She had a list in her messenger bag and she was determined to purchase all of her items in order of importance. A new purse was number one, clear lip gloss was number six. See what I'm saying? We got home about 11 p.m. and I checked my email to find very happy messages from both my agent and manager. I made one final change (ear-splitting needed two t's) then I sent it back out. I also sent along the prologue for THE LAST KING as that extra, emotional something. So, there you have it. I have a spec epsiode of a procedural drama, a character driven drama, an original pilot, a short story, novel prologue, and a script for a 30-minute short film. So, again, I've done my part. Now I step away and let what happens happen. No stressing, no second-guessing people I don't know, no allowing decisions made by random people determine to how I live or feel about my life. Tomorrow I start a new project and keep on trucking.
Saturday I'm off to a writing retreat where I hope to complete the last of the novel. I'd love to come back with a clean slate so I am going to buckle down and hit my page count goal every single day. Or, every single day -- I will try.
Anyway, funniest moment during the family visit. My mom got hit on relentlessly while she was here to the endless amusement of both me and my niece. Don't know what kind of perfume she was wearing but - DAMN. L.A. is notoriously bad to women of a certain hue and age but my mom busted all those stereotypes wide open. At the Grove, a man walked by, doubled back then asked her where she was going and HOW she was doing. Her response, "I'm fine, sir, just enjoying my daughter and my grandbaby." His response: "You know you're too young to have a daughter her age." On the "her age" he pointed right in my face. I was like, "Damn, why you gotta bust me out like that? What did I do to you?"
In the garment district, a thirtysomething man said, "Hey beautiful. You looking good for you age. Out here." The random punctuation of "out here" sent me over the top. I couldn't stop laughing. What the hell does that mean? My mother rolled her eyes and said, "I don't know if I like how you phrased that." Nobody did. The final sniper hit came from a gravel-voiced salt-and-pepper man who scanned her from head to toe, threw some seductive Alexander O"Neil slut-eye her way (remember O'Neil in his videos?) and said, "Don't act like you don't know me. Come on back here with your sassy little self." I thought my mom was going whip out a switchblade and cut his throat. He was just entirely too fresh for her tastes.
She kept walking and when he persisted she turned around and said, "Sir, I think you've mistaken me for somebody else. I'm not from here and I don't know you." His response: "Wanna know me now? Where you going?" Again, I f*cK*ng lost it. I wanted to shout, "Run, man, run," but I was laughing too hard. My niece kept squeezing my hand and trying not to laugh. Her response: "Why would I waste my time on a greasy man eating a greasy corndog?" Wait, I didn't tell you that part? Brothaman was working over a mustard-covered corndog the whole time. So, really, what is left to be said?
Until next time. . .
Labels: Family, Retreat, Writing Program
