Posts Tagged ‘Imagination’

Birthday party went quite well. It was at The Yard House. I had an amazing burger. And some fresh farmers market peaches with burrata, a little olive oil, basil and sea salt on them as a starter. That was actually heavenly. The raspberry semi-freddo with arrugula cookies for desert was not so great. (This desert was not by choice, but brought out by the house for the birthday gal.) It was much more freddo than semi and, well, arugula cookies? Really? Are you sure? Are Megan and James reading this? As cafe owners and operators (Of a fabulous spot in Alameda called THE BLUE DOT CAFE. Go there, now, if you are even remotely near the Bay Area. Seriously. Would I steer you wrong? ) ; as well as restaurant vets, am I wrong in saying arugula cookies are a bit too far? I am food adventurous. Really. I have come a long way since my youth (My entire family is laughing right now, because I was the very definition of a finicky eater until my twenties.) I am willing to try just about anything save sushi. I mean I’ve eaten it. Sushi’s just not my thing. I’ll eat it again and if past really is prologue, I may some day very well come to thoroughly love it; but arugula cookies? And semi-freddo that is rather brick like? Like throw through the window brick like? (It took two spoons holding it down for a third person to chip a hunk off to consume.)

Let’s be clear here. I’m not, nor have I ever been, even remotely finicky when it comes to all things sugar. I don’t have a sweet tooth. I have sweet teeth. All of them. If my life is, as I am known to joke to close friends, a series of developing addictions and realizing/endeavoring to quit them (Recent ones include iced coffee, cookies, and writing) then sugar will be the last one standing, because it was the first and it is the deepest. Writing comes very, very close. But Sugar predates my writing habit by a decade at least. Sorry, writing. So, what I’m saying, ostensibly, is that you could throw sugar on just about anything – bake it at 350 degrees and I’m going to probably love it. Even if I don’t. I’m not going to dis it. I’ll eat it and wish it were, say, a molasses cookie or chocolate chip even. So, you can maybe extrapolate from there the arugula cookie. I know we want to be forward thinking in our culinary imagination (Mr. David Murphy, are you reading this? Mr. David Murphy – former roommate, good friend, one half of the legendary Americana outfit COLD MOUNTAIN, dangerous poet, tuba player, and one of the world’s most dazzling, inventive, and talented chefs – could back me up on “forward thinking in our culinary imagination.” As a chef, David Murphy is straight up from the future, that’s how forward thinking he is when it comes to taste architecture) but sometimes don’t we go too far?

And so, what started as a review on walks, has quickly turned into our first negative review, here at Guided By Wire’s new Saturday Review, on Arugula Cookies.

Call it the Corona Del Mar effect. I say I’m gonna do something on the blog, but there’s an unplanned  twenty-four hour delay. It’s the relaxing atmosphere Stags and I cultivate when we’re together. That and the sweet ocean breezes. That helps, too.

Here we go. Tomorrow we have our first pitch. Jason and I are a bit jittery – but that’s more over getting in there so we can do what we do and get a feel for the rhythm of the real game. Tomorrow’s is at Warner Bros. Studios with the producer of Grand Torino, among others. The meeting was bumped up to Ten A.M. so that the man with his name on the door could join the pitch. That’s a good thing. Any time the steps between you and the actual decision makers are cut down, so much the better. This would be our agents or manager probably at work. I’m would bet my bottom dollar there’s some kind of connection. I know we share the same law firm, so that’s something. Anyways, instead of pitching to a CE (Creative Exec,) who then in turn pitches your idea to her Boss, who’s either the head of her department or company (in this case its company,) we get to leap frog to him directly now. The reason why this is better is that he might have a discretionary fund for development from the studio as part of his deal to park his company exclusively on their turf and provide for their pipeline. Which means, if he did (it’s not a given, but it’s a possibility), that the head of the company could lock up the idea with a paid option or outright purchase, before taking it to the studio. That sort of thing. Regardless, it’s one piece in the telephone game of pitching, which means less relying on someone else to regurgitate your idea in just the right way. Got it? Good. Here we go:

-THE WIRE, people. Watch it. All of it. Man, I should’ve listened to my brother years ago. THIS. IS. THE. GREATEST. SHOW. EVER! It’s almost too much to handle. Deadwood’s a close second, tied with Six Feet Under. But, NONE, of them touch The Wire. NONE! I’m on season three. It’s blowing my mind how rich, detailed, and authentic this whole story and characters are – not to mention how they slowly and perfectly grow the world of the story from season to season. Of course, when it’s Denis Lehane, Richard Price, and George Pelicanos on your writing staff, you’re doing good as far as crime writing goes.

- My second niece is off to college. Which, honestly, makes me feel kind of old. Sounds like she’s doing quite well from what I can tell on facebook. Her sister is a Junior and their younger sister, my goddaughter, just turned 16. They are all getting too old too fast. It’s not fair.

-We booked another pitch for next week today, which was great. It’s with a non-writing Co-Exec Producer on Breaking Bad. That’s pretty good.

-We’ve got five pitches total right now. Which, I think, is just the first set. Or, I would guess it is. What do we know? We’ve never actually done this before.

-The thing I’ve been dwelling on, savoring even, all day is this: In the past, if I scratched something together, it was usually to get one person possibly interested. One person who, as a long shot, MIGHT be able to make something happen. In other words, the very few times I got into this situation, it was a do or die situation. That one person or nothing. Tomorrow, walking into the first pitch their will be four more right behind it. None of it is do or die in the moment. We will get better as we go through the first run of pitches. We may be great tomorrow, but we’ll then become unbelievable. It’s strange, but this feels, despite all the rest of advancements this summer, and even before, like the biggest career advancement yet. This is exactly what we wanted when we were struggling with the deal that ultimately didn’t go through. This is really all you can ask for as a writer in this town – the chance to take your ideas to the market and  to write. We’re doing that. Pretty cool, isn’t it?

-Ten years ago was the most pivotal time of my life as I struggled through the biggest change in my life ever. A change that is still having an incredibly profound effect on my life every single day. I’m beyond fortunate to be here, in this city, just enjoying the sunshine and my friends, let alone to be in the midst of my greatest dream – living that, too. I don’t quite know what to say actually. There were many nights – long, hard ones – where I thought this was just not a possibility EVER. Not in my life. To be here. Well, I feel like I died and went to heaven. Thanks to all the angels that have carried, and continue to carry me here.

- Cardinals looks like they found their bats. A little help from the SF Giants and we might just climb back into the division race. One way or the other, it’s shaping up to be one helluva stretch run!

Okay. I’m gonna catch another episode of The Wire. Then I gotta catch some zzzzz’s. Big day tomorrow!

I guess I didn’t get this entry in today, did I? No small surprise there. May take me a bit longer to “realize” that transition. Onward and upward to the matter at hand: tonight’s entry.

Colin, a loyal reader/brother-in-law to my writing partner Jason/proud father of an adorable brand new baby girl/and all around great guy, asked a question the other day in the comments section that actually echoed a question I had been asked just days earlier at a birthday get-together by a new acquaintance. It’s a question that I’ve noticed is actually coming up intermittently lately to my chagrin and growing curiosity. I had never really thought to much into the matter until recently. Despite the recent thought on the topic, I was caught rather flat-footed in my response; so I thought – let’s give Colin’s question a spin. So here it is:

“My question for you: I know that you have quite the knack for gritty crime writing (which I love. It’s a favorite genre if mine). Assuming you do not currently live a life on the lam, where do you find inspiration for details that make your writing believable, vibrant, and compelling? Personal experience… Nonfiction reading… Research… Documentary… Friends in the business, so to speak… Other films… Vivid imagination?”

Excellent question, Colin. (Thanks!) First and foremost let me provide some context. I was initially a poet. This was in high school, through college, and shortly after college for several years (three or four to be exact.) I wasn’t a mess around, scribble some bad verse in a journal writer, either. I had that phase in junior high – mostly eighth grade. Nope, I was really into William Carlos Williams, Jim Carroll, Allen Ginsberg (huge influence early on,) Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and e.e. Cummings (another really big influence, though unlike Ginsberg I didn’t write in e.e.’s style, I just really connected with his opaqueness and coded emotional specificity) by sophmore year and had adopted an almost daily writing routine.

I always loved movies. Grew up in a family that loved movies. But, I had no concept of screenwriting until my junior year in college. But, in all fairness and to bring it back to the topic at hand, I was always particularly taken with thrillers. It was my predominant genre, with an even deeper love of the heist movie. My mother is a big Alfred Hitchcock fan. An early formative cinematic experience was watching Hitch’s seminal Dial M For Murder in third grade one night with her and being totally mesmerized and freaked out by the suspense all at once.

But how did that all mix together, along with some other elements, into the kind of crime writing I tend to more and more consistently skew towards these days? Part of it probably lies in those formative years when I seemed to watch almost ever conceivable 80′s B Movie thriller (Mean Season, Manhunter, Black Widow, Thief, Tequila Sunrise, No Way Out, To Live And Die In L.A., 52 Pick-Up, and on and on.) Part of it lives with Professor Jim Balestrieri, who first taught me screenwriting as an Undergrad. We bonded over classic Film Noir and I ended up educating myself by watching all those classics (Double Indemnity, The Big Sleep, Ace In The Hole, Sunset Boulevard, The Killing, Asphalt Jungle, and on and on. )

But those are mostly starting points. Initial sparks to where I am now. The main fire that all this is forged in, with out a doubt now that I have some distance from it, was my time bartending in Chicago and my lost years as an alcoholic and drug addict. In those lost years, even back late in College, definitely during my year in San Francisco right after Undergrad, and then about two years into the Chicago tenure, I lived, worked, and socialized in a world of mobsters (Ukrainian, Sicilian, and Polish,) gang bangers, suspected murderers, hustlers, Hells Angeles, “dancers,” thiefs, fallen cops, cowboy narcs, an FBI Agent, ex-cons, soon-to-be-cons, and other fringe opportunists on the make. Even some of my bosses in Chicago were definitely hoodlums of  some kind or employed hoodlums. This I chalk up to the different things I chased through the nights, the company one keeps when chasing those things, the clientele a bartender’s bound to get in a dive bar in a pre-gentrified inner-city neighborhood (which is what I was for most of my bouncer and bartending career in Chicago.)

All that became material. And when I finally wised up and stopped chasing those things, those people still frequented the bars where I worked, especially when I worked at that juncture – which was the off nights like Sunday’s and Mondays, or Saturday open – basically the quieter more Barfly shifts. This is when I would endure or listen (depending on my mood and the drunk on the stool) to countless stories told by these folks for hours on end. Also at this point, when I was clear-headed, I definitely became closer to the Beat Cops and Detectives who would come in on an extremely regular basis, listen to their stories because they always wanted a sympathetic ear and someone to buy ‘em a few beers. One of the last joints I worked in was so slow on the one night – Monday – that I closed that usually it’d be me and this one really nice, veteran Beat Cop who came in without fail after getting off of his shift, before going home to his wife. Sometimes his buddies from the force and join him. This went on for the better part of a year.

(As a side note in Chicago you just can’t live there and not encounter or have to deal with political corruption. I’ve always wondered if Philly is the same way. In Chicago. especially in the restaurant and bar business, it’s a game of graft to keep your business afloat. I’ve witnessed some wild turn of events on the Alderman/Ward level of city politics. Corruption is a way of live there.)

There’s some other factors, too. In Undergrad, I experienced the serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer first hand as he was living in our part of Milwaukee, had walked the streets we had walked for several years, lived in an apartment building that students had lived in previously (and I had gone to a party at.) One of my first internships was for the ABC News Affiliate and their morning talk show. After his arrest, he was interviewed via phone by the morning show’s host and I was allowed to write several questions for the interview. In that same internship, I’d be in charge of culling the different story leads for the Saturday ten o’clock newscast and would have to call all the police watch captains to check in, see what was happening – as well as listen to all these scanners.

The one word I come back to in Colin’s question though is compelling. For that the roots run much deeper, or at least the roots of the interest in the actual act. I’ve always been fascinated by the actual psychology behind both the criminal and the lawman, with all its variants. I’ve found that, despite their potentially different external personalities, all cops have a similar baseline in their core mindset that bonds them even if they don’t realize it; whereas criminals seem to have a wildly divergent mindset amongst their own, a total grab bag to why they make the bad or desperate choices they make. I can’t lie, of course, and say that I haven’t committed various criminal acts on the more minor end. My nickname “Doc” comes from an epic act of forgery in High School that went on for some time and involved an actual forgery kit that I cobbled together to achieve my goal – cutting class to hang out with girls. This is just one small example and not an isolated incident.

I guess what I’m trying to say in summation is that beyond the actual events, the stories told over a bar top, the racing through the streets in places that I shouldn’t have been – despite all that raw material and a love for stories (in books, films, on stage, TV, comic books) that deal in that raw material; there’s also a core emotional impulse behind these gritty characters and their stories that I’ve been after for a long, long time in my work. Whether its those carrying the badges or those breaking the law, I’ve seen in real life (as they’ve literally sat side by side at a bar) how they’re two sides of the same coin. I’ve been fascinated with trying to crack emotionally what connects them. I hope that’s been compelling.

Whew!  Thanks for reading. So much still left to say, but I think this captures it enough.

Good Night!

So, one of the great television shows ended last Sunday night. Yes, it’s time we tackled the  LOST finale here at Guided By Wire. I do promise this – if you’re not a fan and don’t plan on watching it, that’s fine. I understand. I may think you’re really cheating yourself out of some prime entertainment, but I promise not to make fun of you. Well, not too much at least.

The finale last Sunday was some serious event television. With a recap, two hour special before the two and a half hour final episode, it was an epic evening of television. The likes of which we don’t really see much of anymore. The last time I recall such a big deal being made out of the end of a television show was SEINFELD. I know several iconic shows have ended since then, but they didn’t seem to rise about the usual chatter and galvanize fans and non-fans alike to watch. That’s what makes it an event. For LOST, they were not on their normal night and commanded the whole primetime block for the evening and late night as well (Jimmy Kimmel special after.). That screams event to me.

Why all the hullabaloo? Well, LOST was the last of a dying breed of shows. Sure, it had its hard core fans (LOSTIES) and it had been at for six years, featured a talented cast and had plenty of mystery going on week to week (some would say too much, but I would say to them never!) What’s this business about last of a dying breed? Well, LOST was epic. Unrepentantly epic, actually, with its sprawling cast and story lines, it’s Feature like attention to set design and cinematography, the pathological willingness of the writers to constantly push and play with the world they built from the pilot form, until it didn’t resemble itself (An island that travels through time?!?!) The production shot in Hawaii and didn’t shy away from featuring the undeveloped vistas play a role. Also, the score. The amazing, Feature like score that was crafted for different episodes and for the show as a whole. In fact, you could say when LOST was firing on all cylinders, we were getting a movie a week on Television and it was a gripping movie that get us on the edge of our seat. We probably won’t ever see that type of show – the epic, almost movie-like, sprawling, multi-threaded (different ongoing storylines instead of self-contained) one-hour drama – on television again. A show of that nature is a trying undertaking and in today’s humbled economy, as well as broadcasting’s splintered, specialized market, a show of LOST’S scope and cost doesn’t make much sense. You never know, but I would be surprised.

Many, many different threads were begun by the writers through the six seasons. A lot of the build-up through this season was, of course, all about the “answers.” How many would we get? We couldn’t possibly get them all, could we? What was important? What wasn’t? And on and on. This season, admittedly, buckled under all that build-up. It was unwieldy at first as a whole new thread, important to the Finale (which we didn’t understand at the time), was developed and the answers were given sporadically and not in the most dramatic fashion, more as an afterthought at times. That’s okay. It happens. They had a heck of a job to do, overall, and I think they did the best they could, in the end.  There’s been plenty of debate among LOSTIES and even NON-LOSTIES this week over the Finale, the choices made, the narrative path taken, and all that was left unanswered. Part of the struggle in this debate has stemmed, in my opinion, from making sense of the Finale in the context of all that came before it, essentially fitting it in as the last piece of a puzzle, and making sense of the new world threaded in this season and played out in the Finale. There’s been many theories trying to explain what happened and why. The best, or at least most concise and fun one that I’ve seen so far, is embedded below:

BE FOREWARNED: MAJOR SPOILERS!

Yes, LOST explained with post-it notes in about three minutes. And, he’s right, basically. He nails the core story and lays it out with great clarity. What I love though, is what he says at the very end.

“For me LOST isn’t a show that’s about the story, but a show about how the story is told.”

That is it. Right to the heart of it. With LOST and its Finale, as well as many other shows, what we love is how the story is told; or what we should love and become fans of is how the story is told. If your a LAW & ORDER fan, which ended its run this past week after twenty-one seasons on the air, you know what I mean. That’s another great example. They say in all storytelling there’s only six stories and what captivates us as audiences, what has captivated us from the fire light on the cave wall to the plasma glowing in the dark, is how those six stories are told. The LOST writers made a definite choice in the Finale to focus on how they would tell that last episode’s story, and subsequently through that choice, how they would tell the story of the series. Upon reflection, through this prism, it was a master class on storytelling. The Finale was completely satisfying in an emotional context, which is the choice that the writers made – emotion was the frame chosen to display their work over the past six seasons and it was an excellent choice because it made everything feel complete, it made us feel connected one last time to this strange world and these characters on their mind-bending journey. That’s no small feat – to make us care all the way to the final shots in over a hundred hours of storytelling. And that’s exactly what they did – by focusing on how to tell the story and not worrying about the story so much. Bravo and thank you, to the writers of LOST and this gentleman with his post-its and YouTube video, opening my eyes to the power of this principle.

I’ve actually been working this up for a bit. For some reason, I’ve become a bit persnickety about the photos I sometimes glean off the internet and couldn’t quite come to a resolution on ones I might want to post. But, tonight is a perfect night for it. I’m exhausted. The play is almost wrestled to ground. It’s tennish. I don’t feel like staying up late and I have a ton of work to do tomorrow and thereafter, as always. So, without further ado, a gallery of images that spark moods, characters, stories, or memories inside of me. Hopefully, they may do the same for you. (Helps if you listen to some Miles Davis or Coleman Hawkins while you look at them, just saying.)

These last two are a bit more about me and thus deserve some captions to explain:

Near Positano in Italy. This is where I will retire to write novels for my own amusement. Literally to a balcony just like this. Mark my words.

Where I will be joined by my faithful companion, Fellini, whom I will play fetch with on our long afternoon walks together along the coast and through the hills. He may have a companion, that looks just like him, named Ford. It all depends on the size of the Villa we decide upon.

Ciao!

Well, I was going to write about how much I enjoy cover songs, or get into the Cardinals a bit because they’ve been playing some pretty strong baseball lately. It really appears the bats are waking up and stabilizing a bit, so they’re not relying solely on the long ball, which can be dangerous because in baseball slumps happen and in St. Louis, in particular, small ball (or as the faithful still refer to the speedier version of it as “Whiteyball” after the great St. Louis Manager Whitey Herzog a.k.a. The White Rat) is the only true way to play baseball. More on that and all things Whitey some other day. As far as the cover songs that’ll have to wait, too. I’ve recently plundered the internet and amassed a war chest of great versions of hits by a fascinating constellation of unique interpreters which have crafted some truly wonderful variations on these standards. I’ll simply say, it’s always captivating for me when you take a song, strip it of its expectations and recast it in a very different light. Often times what occurs for me is that the lyrics (what can I say I’m writer, even if I pine to be a musician deep in my heart of hearts?) often take on a whole new shine and power – revealing the subtlety of their story much more clearly. Someday, as an addendum I will get into just how much song lyrics, and in particular my sister Caroline, influenced me heavily at a very young age – or rather her musical tastes did – and really played an incredibly key role in making me a writer and the kind of writer I am today.

But alas, what I had intended to get into a paragraph ago (Hey, I’m sorry. I’m tired. Still a bit scattered and well, would like to go watch The Pacific and Breaking Bad before bed, which comes really early now) is the new play idea I danced around last night a bit. I of course had playwriting today, which is always grand. Turns out the playwright Sheila Callaghan, of the play Tiffany and I loved on Thursday night – Lascivious Something – was my professor, Hanay’s T.A. when she was at UCLA (His best T.A., according to Hanay.) So we got some brief stories and Hanay remembrances about the playwright. In the context of this afternoon discussing playwriting and reading pages by some of the other playwrights, I believe I cracked how I would handle this new idea – the second one – which is all dependent on how I frame it and approach the physicality of the story. It again would largely happen in one space, or at least there would be one set on the stage, another physcial space, and even time, would be indicated by two chairs down front left or right in a separate pool of light. Now the next decision is whether I’m going to go all August: Osage County on the set and make two or three levels. That’s asking a lot. This one would be set in Chicago as well, would be faintly autobiographical, not involving any of the time I lived there though – which I’m sure sounds odd. You’ll see when I write it. Anways, I think I may very well be in the midst of a Chicago trilogy of plays. Very interesting. I didn’t think of it quite like that, but it all makes sense. Even number three….might just have another new idea for another play.

Have an excellent day out there!

Thought, why not? Though I’m a few days behind, I do like to write this particular post, most of all in the week. Not completely sure why, though it probably has to do with the lighter, rapid-fire nature of  the writing of it. Without further ado:

-Did a lot of reading today. A lot. Sometimes you just have to do that. It’s all part of the package, just like the meetings and attending a fair number of events to network. I tend to forget really quickly that it is part of the work load, so I’ve been trying to work on that a bit. Give myself a slight break. Realize, maybe, that I can’t do it all at once in the course of a day.

-I was mostly reading scripts for the UCLA Professional Program Screenwriting Contest, which my score sheets are due tomorrow. I was also reading and giving notes on a script for an alumna Bruin Scribe. The Professional Program is, of course, what I attended online that was a key factor in my eventual acceptance into UCLA. This is my third year reading for the contest. Always an interesting experience, I will say that. The Professional Program is a mixed bag, basically. I love it to death, and am grateful for what I experienced and learned while in it. But, and I saw this in my PP classes, some people are serious and others aren’t, or lack the wherewithal to actually write a script. That being said, this year the six scripts I read were, unfortunately, average. Decidedly average. Which struck me as strange. I mean average in a contest way, not a professional way. These are all usually first or second drafts, at best. So they’re rough to begin with. But usually you have that dazzling script that leaps out at you, amid a few that you can’t believe you have to read. In the end it is a great reminder that I was just there three years ago and in three years, I may look back on my UCLA work and think, “How was that ever any good?” In other words, keep learning. Keep growing. Keep reaching.

- Okay, that one wasn’t so random, or light or quick.

- Upon recommendation of a few trusted fellow screenwriters, I finally checked out the Zac Effron/Matthew Perry comedy 17Again, last night. I have to say they were spot on. It was good, fun entertainment. Better than expected, even. Definitely a solid film. Also, I’ve come to realize I’m a Leslie Mann fan. She probably made the movie for me. That is one funny lady.

- I finally have The Lovely Bones to watch from Netflix. This is one of my most favorite, if not tied for most favorite novels of all time. Truly a stunning, heart breaking, and ultimately, uplifting story. the movie didn’t fare to well. I wanted to catch it in the theater, but it slipped away from me in the holiday season onslaught last year. I’m a little hesitant to watch it. I want to love it, like I loved the book, but I know that’s going to be one tall order because of the way the story unfolds.

- I am in the final stages of the first, rough, get it down draft of my play. I have to say, I’m very happy that I’ve taken this journey. Luckily, it’s just begun – with this play and with other plays. I’m already circling two different ideas for my next play. I won’t be able to leap into it right away, but sometime over the summer. One idea would involve a fair amount of research. One would require me to really ponder how I would use the stage to tell the story, what the tone would be, and what the frame of the story would be (a weekend, a lifetime, one day, a night, etc…) And right now has only two people in it, but would need more. Hmmmm. My instincts are twitching towards the second already…..

-Then there’s the idea of fiction and two novels I’ve dwelt on forever. Well, actually three. But, that’s getting a bit ahead of myself, probably. I keep thinking I should return to trying my hand at short stories, first. To just test the medium a bit, find my rhythm in it. That’s a tall order, though. Not sure it’s quite feasible, yet.

-Our friend and fellow UCLA Screenwriter, David is doing better. So if you’ve been saying a few prayers, thank you, and if you could say some more, I’m sure he would appreciate it.

I think that’ll do it for this late edition. Thanks for playing. Have a Happy Monday. Go Redbirds!

Some of you may have read Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers. In it he lays out The Ten Thousand Hour Rule, which basically states that success at something requires consistent practice. Notably, at least, twenty hours a week for ten years. Essentially that the constant doing of a craft or a skill will in fact make you better at it over time. He uses a fun quote from The Beatles, to succinctly present the idea:

“In Hamburg, we had to play for eight hours.”

What’s not said in that quote is another part of it, which is The Beatles had to play (I believe) six days a week. They practically lived with their instruments in their hands, playing as a unit, actually similar to the military in a lot of ways, drilling over and over until they act and react extremely well as one in most any situation. This also made them all extremely proficient musicians (aside from talent, which was evident in the group, as in all groups, in varying degrees. Let’s not beat around the bush. Ringo was adept, but their were much better drummers than him out there at the time.) This popped into my mind for two reasons today.

The first is that I’ve been reading one of the biographies of The Band, Levon Helm’s bio This Wheel’s On Fire. The Band, in my humble opinion, has been criminally under appreciated throughout the years. They were a truly unique group whose collective story spans the earliest days of Rock N’ Roll and Electric Blues, as well as the Counter-Culture of the late 60′s, while serving as the bridge for Bob Dylan to leave the folk scene and go electric. That’s a lot of key American Pop Music history right there to live through. This group of five men could command over twenty-seven different instruments expertly (they were all multi-instrumentalists.) They featured three part harmonies in their vocal work that they cribbed from baptist gospel styles of the late 50s.

What’s brought me to the Ten Thousand Hour Rule with The Band is because of the section I just finished, their early years as The Hawks or Levon and the Hawks. The Band came together over a period of a few years between Arkansas and the souther roadhouse circuit as well as the Toronto/Western Canada Dance Hall circuit in the employ of Ronnie Hawkins, an early Rock N’ Roll/Rockabilly pioneer. They were all in their teens when they started – some as young as fifteen. Most of them were small town or farm boys, who’d grown up playing music with extended family for entertainment. As the Hawks, backing Ronnie Hawkins and then on their own, up to backing Bob Dylan and becoming The Band, these five men rode in Cadillacs for six years all through the south and Canada, playing six to seven nights a week, several sets a night, rehearsing after shows until the break of dawn to work in new material. That is some serious dedication and work. They had fun, but they had to play to eat. This created, again, extremely proficient craftsman who could play in almost any musical style, on a dime, behind anyone. From Sonny Boy Williamson and his harmonica, to Bob Dylan and his novelistic folk-rock. All those hours playing together built and refined their individual and group skill.

Secondly, because of my writing (naturally), which I’ve been at for nearly twenty-five years (yikes!) in one way or another, in one genre or another. And what all that time at a keyboard, with my seat in a chair, or scribbling in notebooks has done for my sense of the craft – it’s given me a sense of confidence, a toolbox of solutions when it’s not going so well, it’s given me  true muscle memory (figuratively in my imagination) so I know where to reach for words or inspiration, how to dig for them when I need to dig for them and so on. Secondly, I’ve been thinking of the Ten Thousand Hour Rule, and more importantly, in regards to music and playing the guitar, which I’ve done since sixth grade or so.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I love music, love it, and have always pined to be a musician of some sort. I even dabbled in it in college. But, I’ll also be the first to admit that I don’t really have what it takes. That I don’t just don’t have that spark, that “it” that separates pros from super fans. Mainly, I blame my ears, which seem to not have that pitch/tone radar that really good players have. Now, this is not for a lack of playing and playing and playing. Constantly, almost in high school and college and afterwards even. I’ve slowed a bit, but that’s okay. It comes and it goes. Regardless, in reference to the “rule” I have seen my skill level with the instrument trudge from largely incompetent, to reasonably skilled/won’t embarrass himself and can play with others if need be. Heck, I’ve entertained a few folks by accident. I guess that’s what I’ve been more keyed in on – this second experience with the “rule” where a true spark or passion with that extra kick doesn’t exist to carry you through the hard climb of ten thousand hours of getting it wrong, of hitting walls and then breaking through, of repetition of the basics until they’re coded in your DNA. It’s made me understand the importance of “doing” when I want to become better at any skill.

Do you have anything – a hobby, a passion –  which has taught you this lesson in life, or given you this unexpected gift?

Kind of feels like I’ve reached a bit of breather here. Might very well be the end of the rushing around part of the week. I am going to take it easy for part of tomorrow and Saturday, for sure.

Eight weeks left in the MFA journey. I’m holding steady at 3.98 G.P.A. Not that it really matters in Grad School, but I’m proud. I…ahem…wasn’t at my academic best at Marquette University. So, beyond actually getting into UCLA, holding my ground in that first Crit Studies class (where I got my one and only A-,) along with the few tough Producing classes I had here and there, I feel pretty good heading into this eight-week victory lap .

By my tally, Jason and I really did a pretty good job handling the sudden twists and turns during what was a fairly turbulent professional week. We moved with resolution and arrive at the end of the week in pretty good shape, going forward, if I do say so myself. We made the call on Monday. Met with a strong Film Production company, who’s Director of Development loves us. He really wants to option Clipped, throwing around big names across the board. The head of the company, who’s the final say, is reading the script. We’ll know within the weekend where we stand. We conferenced called with the lawyer today to discuss strategy on seeking representation and, briefly, the status of BOSS (actually, barely the status of BOSS.) Jason was calling in from the beach, in a wet suit (how very L.A.!) and I actually stepped out of a class, pacing in a quiet courtyard by Northern Lights, one of North Campus’ coffee shop. The big time former agent/current manager who’s sheperding BOSS for P.H.’s company wants to meet with Jason and I immediately, for possible representation. We also set a meeting with another management company, through the referral of a good friend who’s a staffed writer on a network show. We got word another network show is actively seeking staff writers, so we reached out to the director of development who loves us, to see if he could help. Turns out he knows people on the show and will inquire on our behalf tomorrow. The lawyer is setting us up at a few of the big Agencies, possibly as early as next week. So, we’ll start the tour and see about true representation.

I think that’s a good week, swimming with the sharks, don’t you? I’ll take it.

Honestly, I can’t begin to relate to those reading the long nights, in the middle of the winter, locking up the bar and counting down the drawer – all alone.  The place would be so completely still and quiet. My body? Sore and tired from the long night standing and serving drinks; maybe seventy-five bucks to put in my pocket before the long, cold walk home. Sometimes down the middle of the street, the neighborhood where I lived with Nikki (miss you, Button. ) When I got home, Nikki would be asleep on the couch, the television still on. I’d check my email in the cramped office and inevitably, some nights when it really seemed like I was just spinning my wheels in life, I’d draw up the UCLA web page and read the course list for the MFA, or I might look at Columbia University, NYU, or Northwestern and I would try and imagine life there, living the life I yearned, for as long as I could remember, to live. I could barely paint a picture in my mind’s eye of what it would be like, what it would feel like. It all seemed so very impossible, so very far away, so unattainable. My stubborn, titanic desire to be there – to experience that life – seemingly some cruel joke visited upon me, possibly for all my youthful transgressions.

Yet, here I am. In fact, I’m not only here – I’m making my way. I’m in the deep end of the ocean and navigating the tides. From here it’s all icing on the cake. And for that, I can never express my true gratitude enough.

Good Night.

It’s Easter. It’s Spring. Some great things might be happening. I’m in the yearly reflective mood. So, instead of just pictures this week, I thought I’d try something a little different. Something I’ve been meaning to do for some time now….

This is one of the first poems that I wrote, which I truly felt good about – as did my english/creative writing teacher Mrs. Aslanian, which is probably why it stuck with me. I had been writing for almost a year at this point. Mad scribbling on paper, all the time – at least that’s how I remember it. I was writing poetry, or beginning, too. I think I tried, for a week, to write a novel. And there was, at some point, a really terrible musical, complete with book, about a rock band. What sparked the poetry? Good question. Not real sure. Might’ve been e.e. cummings and Allen Ginsburg, both of whom I was exposed to in Military School, oddly enough, by a teacher (Mr. Weber in eighth grade english my first year there in the middle school. He was exactly – both in looks, dress, and manner, like Robin Williams in Dead Poet’s Society. I mean exactly.) I still recall the first time I read Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL. It was a life changing moment. (“I saw the best minds of my generation…”)

I digress. I’ve carried this poem with me for twenty-five years, now. That amazes me, yet also gives me some pause. That’s a big number, isn’t it? It’s always inspired me. It’s always done what I wanted it to do – to evoke a mood, to capture the snapshot of the flavor  in a place and time that existed in my mind. This poem has remained in my “set list” when I’ve done a reading, or when I consider self-publishing a book of poems. I haven’t written any verse in awhile, a long, long while. I’m still rehabbing that part of my heart and imagination from the reckless years, when most of the good stuff was written, while I tried to out run my own life.

Maybe, I’ll do more of these occasionally. What do you think? Hope I’m not being too self-indulgent….Well, enjoy, hopefully.