Small town run

6 months of running will culminate in the Mankato Marathon tomorrow. I'm ready to do it, but I have the usual trepidation. I've spent the day keeping busy in town at the Expo, signing in, eating dinner, and hanging at a coffee shop. Tomorrow I wake up and go for the long haul. Part of me is excited, and the other part is avoiding bedtime at the hotel because of it. I was upset before at the prospect of going alone here- the idea of being constantly the stranger is disheartening. But now I am accepting of the trip away. This started as my own endeavor, and will end my own. I will also try to keep up the blog more up to date, at least before the next one. Been a tough year. The marathon helps put that in perspective.

If you ain't First, you're Last...

The Nerd Herd came in third place in the People's Pilot contest.  Not too bad! http://tvwriter.net/?page_id=320

A small reward for a kick in the proverbial pants, and a nice affirmation for what I am up to lately.  There's still more I can do- I spy other contests where I didn't place, and it makes me want to do better.  I guess that's a good sign.

a long time a-comin'

After a nearly 9 month break from keeping a blog, I was reminded recently that if Googled, people will find your lifeless blog.  And will let you know they read your lifeless blog.  So, with that in mind, I thought that I'd do a little CPR and write a little on a so-far lazy Sunday afternoon.

Writing has been going well enough.  I took three 4-week sessions of Larry Brody's TV Writer class this year.  I came away with something each time.  In fact, my pilot titled "The Nerd Herd" was something I developed in his class.  It's now a finalist in the annual "People's Pilot" contest that the TVWriter.com website runs!  It's really a first confirmation of my writing merit, and I couldn't be happier.  Whether I place or not, I plan to solicit the script through various channels as I did with MechaWest (a project I'm not quite ready to call it quits on), so we'll see how it pans out.   

Just yesterday I finished a first draft of my "The Big Bang Theory" spec.  I think the structure is good, but it still needs shaping (as any first draft would).  This is my first attempt at a multi-camera script, and while I initially avoided it, I'm glad that I'm attempting it.  I'm not a fan of most contemporary laugh-track type episodes, but for an exercise/serious spec that I can submit for a variety I think I'm doing all right.  Three months from start to first draft finish seems like a long time, but since this was done over lunch hours and a few hours each weekend, I think I did all right for a new format.  Not a passion project by any means, but I'm having fun with these characters.

In May, I went to Los Angeles for the first time.  I visited with some new people and old friends.  Venice Beach, the J. Paul Getty Museum and Nickelodeon Studios were my main stops.  I got to visit with Karen Kirkland, the head of the Writing Fellowship there and had a great conversation about L.A., writing and what to do next.  The place had a fantastic energy that I won't soon forget (including celebrity spotting J.K. Simmons preparing to do a voiceover).  I can't wait until the next time. 

Other than that, I'm just plugging away at the day job.  New school year means plenty of room scheduling to do.     

Yanking my Yankee chain?

I sent a query to a UK distributor about a month ago.  The contact replied almost immediately and requested my pilot and "show bible".  Not wanting to scare her with an avalance of material, I sent the pilot and a synopsis.

She wanted even more.  She thanked me for the pilot, but again requested a show "bible" with any sketches I had.  So, I consulted with the artist I used previously for character designs and paid for a handful more.  A locomotive, a town sketch and a few more main characters.  I dotted my series concept with them, making it a bit more palatable and sent it off.

And just in time.  My contact emailed that she was leaving for vacation as of last Friday, but would be back in January.  She asked if we could "pick this up" when she got back. 

Amy and my internet friends at TVWriter.com seem optimistic at the progress, but I remain convinced that this is business as usual.  She's given me no words to the effect that she is overly impressed by my work.  Maybe the concept bible I sent her will help turn the tables in my favor, but I still fall back to the thought that my sci-fi western geared towards a 'tween audience may not be what a UK company would want to deal in.  Then again, sifting through 30 pages of concept is not something a busy professional in children's acquisitions would willingly participate in.

The advice now?  Send her a holiday card and get to work on something else.  Pronto. 

prolific prolific prolific prolific prolific

Has a great lunch with college friend Jason Hall yesterday.  I managed to sound competent in talking about life and writing well enough.  Jason just finished his MFA studies in Playwriting at Ohio University, and was teaching adjunct classes around the area.  It was refreshing to actually have a face-to-face conversation with someone about projects, structure, etc.  I was reminded, though, to keep writing; to pursue germinal ideas and not get lazy.  To join some sort of writing group to keep the conversation going.  When I feel lazy, or when I feel like playing a video game, I need to ask myself if I have fulfilled my obligation to my writing first.  Write a germinal idea, write on this blog, whatever.  There's no excuse not to be moving on this.

Oh, and to keep reading about writing.  Jason recommended great books about general writing and the craft.  I have a few books of my own to tackle as well.

There are no excuses.  And I don't just have one idea.  There's plenty to do.

Ruminations on the merits of domestic terrorism

I started back as a faculty secretary at the community college I work at yesterday. I came across a "strange" manilla envelope addressed to a faculty member that no longer taught there. Return address- the college. Contents- hard and crunchy. I called security to have them take a look.

The chain of events- threatening letter, targeting the faculty member's granddaughter. Evacuation of the building where I worked, police intervention and full investigation by a National Guard unit in cooperation with the FBI. Apparently, this was the third in several years of such letters. Washing of hands, laundering of clothes and shower when I got home. The contents?

Cat litter and cat shit. Someone has been angry for a long time. I have a feeling that this might be the last time- this letter went through the U.S. mail. Hell, even the anthrax guy got nailed (post-mortem, but still).

Similar scenario to the angry ex-military guy who lives across the street from me. He's vandalized our front garden twice now, thinking that we called the police on his family for possible late-night domestic violence (true the first time 2 years ago, not true the second 2 months ago). We can prove nothing, and the $2000 of damage done is only partially covered by insurance.

I mention these instances only because it's caused me to think about the lack of consequences propelling the unstable. It's nothing new, to be sure, but the very notion of causing damage to another person (physically, emotionally or otherwise) strikes me as something that would require a great will. Or unstable mind. Or both. They make it seem so easy. Better than taking responsibility for your own miserable life, I suppose.

I can't imagine the thought process of going through with sending repeated "karma's a bitch" letters with catshit in it, or being the neighborhood loud mouth, maybe knowing full well you're the shittiest parent in the metro. It might be entertaining to figure out said "thought-process" (if there's even thinking involved), but, yeah. That happened.

a new hope?

Huh. One teleplay contest didn't pass me on to their Quarterfinals. I'm not really pissed off about it or anything, but it was disappointing to wonder for a few weeks what it might be like to be a Quarter- or Semi-Finalist. Just need to remind myself that my writing does not hinge on a contest to make or break me.

It was nice on Friday, though, to get an email responding to my query from Alloy Entertainment (the company behind "Gossip Girl" and "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants"). Not my cup of tea, but the company focus on young women and teens, along with acquiring properties of such books and media, makes me a little hopeful. One of their divisions, The Collective, requested the pilot of "MechaWest"- though it seems that this division has a focus more on taking stories and books, then converting these into television or film (and other related media). So, I guess that's nice. My premise must have been interesting enough to whet their whistle, or they just need to do their due diligence and look at anything that might sell. Either way, mission accomplished. The last 6 months of intermittent solicitation and education have culminated into something tangible. I added a BLUE color code category on my MechaWest Submission Spreadsheet. WHITE= no response yet, YELLOW= not sure about this one, RED= no unsolicited/ not interested, GREEN= Synopsis/Query sent. BLUE= pilot sent for consideration! Ding, ding, ding!

I'm proud of my pilot, and have worked really hard on it. I'm glad someone that has some power (and hopefully desire) to manifest a possible production this piece can really do so. The likelihood is slim, but we creative types always cling to that which seems impossible. If we gave up on the "impossible", nothing would ever get done.

Put that in your pipe-dream and smoke it!

It's amazing what an unsolicited submission through a Canadian animation production company can do for your demeanor.

I'm surprised that I ran across several of these in my research- companies willing to look at one's unsolicited untried synopsis just through an email submission.  Having it be through email must cut down on tears and rants over the phonelines, to be sure.

Otherwise my recent inquiries have gone unanswered.  I'm sure a few will be a matter of time, but I will have to brace myself and actually get on the phone to them.  Yes, Canada too.

But, the hunt has become a fun thing to do.  And the small glimmer of hope that a call or a quick view of my synopsis will trigger a "ting!" in someone's head to inspire them to request my pilot fills me with a creative energy making me want to keep going.

The second wind at Mile 11.  Except I don't know how long this marathon is.

Bored to tears

Maybe it's the Charlie Parker jazz coming through my speakers, but I am finding it hard to get moving today. Trouble is there's not much to move towards, work-wise in any case. The clock slowly ticks until I can go home, and Facebook, email and tepid research just isn't cutting it today.


I was politely rejected by a production company yesterday, which is all right. But I am daunted by what it's going to take to get my work out there and sell it.

I'm entering a few contest soon and submitting a spec script to Nickelodeon for their Writing Program, but I have to get real and produce more work instead of hinging my pipe-dreams onto these few and far between "clothespins of hopeful happiness". Just saying. I know I need to continue to work and work and work at it.

Mantra: "It's never too late".

-or-

"What do they know?"

Why I am not a Salesman...

I had dinner with an old friend the other night. He asked me what I was working on lately and I told him about "MechaWest".


If there was a more incompetent show pitch, then I don't know about it. He listened well enough, but, man, I felt like I was all over the place talking about my story. It was silly, and it reminded me that if and when I ever get the opportunity to pitch my pilot, I better be a world more lucid than I was at dinner.

At least I was enthusiastic.

My dad was, and still is, a salesman of electrical supplies for about 40 years. And a homebody; not a big storyteller. He believes in his products though, and he wouldn't sell anything otherwise.

I need to take a lesson here, and practice, practice, practice. And actually script it out (I used to be an actor afterall). Better yet, my brewery tour guide experience might serve me better; you know, follow the outline and speak to your tour group, taking them on the journey of a lifetime.

And play them with beer samples afterwards. That couldn't hurt, either.

Three Week Break!

Today marks the start of my three weeks away from work! I'll rest up, finish Christmas shopping (very little to do, as my family and I always go for the small gift exchange), and generally lounge around the house.


I was thinking that creativity would be a hallmark of my time off, but the threat of MAME ROMs discovered last night looked me square in the eye and kept me occupied until 2:00 am -for you young folks, that's pretty late for me MAME is a game system that can take .zip files of the codes for classic video games and put them on your personal computer. I've had PacMan, Donkey Kong, etc. for a long while now, but only did a search for ones that didn't work before last night. Cyberball, Tron, Disks of Tron and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom will keep me occupied while the cats nap nearby on these cold winter days.

I'll endeavor to be creative, and finances will dictate if I can have my MechaWest pilot professionally read this month or next, but I feel good about where it's at. I may jump into another episode and outline the one that introduces Maggie.

If you happen to read this, and I'm not sure if anyone will in any case, but have a very happy holiday season, enjoy your time off from school, work, etc. and relish in family friends and other loved ones. I plan to do just that!

The Insomnia Caper

Woke up at two-thirty in the A.M. with "monkey mind" (you know, all the horrible thoughts that prevent you from going back to sleep. If you make it past 3:48 am, then you're golden, apparently). I went to bed early enough last night due to a headache and now I am fairly functional for my day job.


The blessing is that I finished a new scene for my "MechaWest" pilot in the wee hours this morning. I'm several drafts into this, and wasn't happy with the overall layout or getting to the gist of the adventure at hand. These several scenes help cut to the chase; my only fear is that they may be a bit too long. I'll let it marinate today and move on like I should.

Speaking of which, I am a writer. My only works displayed thus far on DA have been character commissions for the most part. I'm more than a little reluctant to post my drafts of MechaWest, being unfinished and all. I'd really like to find something worthy of display that I can truly call my own. Something in writing. Something.

Already getting ideas, but I have to make my lunch for today. Later!

Business casual doesn't cover it

Dreamed last night that I was going to speak to writers at the Robert McKee seminar. I made my way down into the auditorium and up on to the stage. I asked two audience members if there was anyone in charge; they didn’t know. I went to center stage and discovered two large wooden podiums and a table with food and water. I turned one of the podiums to suit my needs, and the doors in the wings burst open, revealing Robert McKee and his entourage marching right towards me.


“You,” began one of the minions. “Get off of the stage. And take that tie off!” I was indeed wearing a shirt and tie.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” McKee began, “But you’ll have to leave now.”

Then I woke up.

At least I had clothes on, I suppose. That would have been embarrassing.

The truth will set you free

Nine years ago I attended Shakespeare & Company for a month-long intensive training program.  I had enjoyed performing Shakespeare in the past, and the magazine ad that I came across had promised a "connection" of sorts.  As it turns out, the six-day-a-week 14 hour days were exactly what I needed.  I was surrounded by artists that were looking for something, searching for meaning in what they doing.  Most of us had performed Shakespeare to one extent or another, but never this way before.  Absorbing the text and using breath and movement to really embody one of the greatest playwrights in the English language was not a pretentious self-serving exercise, but rather a way to touch the depths as he intended.  For four weeks we were eliminating the bullshit and affectation.  We got to what was true, as everything I felt that I performed before was a lie.  That was how powerful the training was.

I haven't been on stage in a long time.  I haven't auditioned or had the ambition to pursue much of anything in regards to live performance.  I wasn't reading plays.  I wasn't going to see plays.  I slowly but surely was past caring.  I wasn't being cast, and I wasn't doing what it took to be cast.  I was lost.

I wrote a screenplay as an artistic outlet.  I was convinced that it had merit, if not, just a little work.  A friend of mine savaged it, and it was the best artistic gift I had received in a long time.  I was shocked, but not insulted; I knew that his words had merit.  It was a real wake-up call.  I wrote dialogue with the intention that it would form my story and make cinema magic.  What I wrote was mediocre, at best.  I was reaching for something with the hopes that it would substitute for my acting career that ground to a halt.  It didn't, and wouldn't with the way I was going.   

My friend recommended that I read Story by Robert McKee.  I purchased it soon after, and devoured McKee's demands.  Like most other writers, I was writing from the "outside in", not the most effective way of "inside out".  A story told with no desire and artificial conflict was not a story; it was crap.  I was inspired to do better.  I knew that I could.

When Robert McKee himself was wrangled by an old pupil of his to come to my town for his four-day seminar, I had to go, despite the expense.  And that's what I did for the last four days.  Why not?  I worked it out previously with my new job and had the vacation time.  My new new creative endeavor deserved it.

It was inspiring, to say the least- punctual curmudgeon laying out what he thought was important to not just writing, but the art of telling a great story.  It enhanced my understanding of the book and energized my project again.  I felt like I could really do this, with insight and energy.

I brought my book, without realizing McKee would be willing to autograph them.  By Day 2 I had the courage to approach him at a break for his signature.  He was gracious, as he was with all of us.  I told him that his book was "a real slap in the face" for me.  He smiled obligingly while signing his name and catch phrase:

"Write the Truth".

The Freshest Kid in Town

The job is going well enough.  I've been at it a week and just learned how to add pre-approved exam questions for the Nursing Department.  A big weight off of my shoulders. 

It's nice to be relatively interactive with people again.  Despite not having the freedom to put on the headphones and zone out performing menial computer tasks, I like the faculty vibe.  Everyone so far has been very helpful with the variety of tasks that I've had to absorb this last week.  I'm sure that there's more to come, but I feel like I can tackle most everything handed out.

Next week, I have the Robert McKee Seminar.  It hasn't hit me yet, what with all the job and schedule changes, but I am excited to have four days devoted solely to writing.  I plan on looking again at Story to refamiliarize myself with content this weekend (apparently he loosely follows this book as a syllibus). 

I really want to have the energy to devote a bit more time to MechaWest.  I have the website, but no content.  I have the pilot, but no series.  I have the research, but no application.  It never seems like enough, even after a great day of writing and plotting.  When it happens, that is.  Seems like writers that I aspire to be like all have insomnia.  Never had it; probably never will.

In the immediate future, I'd like to:

1.  Get some renderings of Sadie and Maggie.
2.  (Continue to) plot out the series of 8 episodes
3.  Flesh out and outline episode 3 as a possible "pilot" (as it introduces my favorite character- Maggie).
4.  Get a good book on writing for television.

Of Painting and Perverts

We spent the day painting inside. And we're exhausted. I had to get over my fear of heights, as I purchased a 4 foot step-ladder from Home Depot in order to get at the high entryway. Upon reflection, I think the real fear was losing balance and tumbling down the stairs, having no real gripping point. I got over being a baby about it, and covered the wall with "Basketry". Our townhome will kick some ass; one step at a time.


Writing "MechaWest" coming along, slowly but surely. The pilot has gone through it's second draft, but I'm not 100% happy with it. Trouble is that I'm not sure what's lacking right now. But I plan on sending it to someone who can tell me how bad it is in a few weeks That ought to show me that it's bad to have lofty dreams! Why can't I just get a job, hippie? I've been spending more time formulating the first season anyway, and making the first steps in consulting with a historian and a script reader. It makes it all the more real for me.

Fascinated by "To Catch a Predator". Those poor underage solicitors being exploited by Chris Hansen like that! It's a downright shame! Does he have to mention that they all send pictures of their junk over the net? There ought to be a law... 8-O

Not sure what's up for Labor Day. Hopefully, anything but... (labor)

grief in waves

This week has been tough. I've has a heck of a time in trying to write, especially since Wednesday. I've decided to cut myself some slack, given all that has transpired.

It's nothing unmanageable, in fact, time will take care of it all, which is a point of relief. I plot a course and follow it.

On Wednesday I was informed that with the budget cuts pending at the state level, my job is at risk of being eliminated, should someone higher up on the union seniority list "bump" me out. It's not a foregone conclusion, and I took the news rather well, truthfully. A work mistake later upset me; not enough to make me storm out, but realizing about a third of my work for the day was lost drove me into a simmering laconic state.

I arrived home to find my wife lying on the couch with our sick cat on her stomach. She had been with my wife for most of her nearly 18 years. She was chatty, loved to play "blanket monster" when we changed the bedsheets, and lay out on our deck with the cool breeze blowing through the oak tree nearby. In the last few months she had been reduced to wearing small diapers, as renal failure had began to take over. We administered regular doses of saline solution into her neck as a means of keeping her hydrated. A special diet of medicinal food gave her nutrients to compensate for her ever-failing kidneys. For the last few months, and by all accounts, she was a happy, healthy cat that was a little wobbly at times, but still leapt up onto the couch to be with her momma. The diapers and saline inhections were just everyday occurences.

Wednesday morning we noticed a change right away. Our kitty was very imbalanced, and took to lying in the corner of the living room. Her head wobbled drunkenly, and moving was very difficult. I called our animal hospital and spoke to a vet there. She told us that if she was still eating that she was in pretty good shape. She prescribed an appetite stimulant and said that we could increase our administration of saline to once a day. That news made Amy feel better, as it did for me. Her symptoms were not going to get miraculously better, but we felt that this was a temporary setback. We both went to work, and I would pick the stimulant up tonight after my state job.

I arrived home from my temporary job at 12:30. Our cat was in the living room corner, sleeping peacefully. She awoke when I arrived home- she was still weak. I phoned my wife who asked that I call to update- our cat apparently had not moved from her spot all morning. I opened the deck door. Our other cat bounded out to greet the sunny day. Sick kitty eventually got up, wobbled to the door entrance and settled for lying down. I helped her up and out onto the deck. During the course of the aftenoon she moved around from place to place, taking naps and trying to get comfortable. This time was normally reserved as "no diaper time". Outside, a mess can be cleaned up much more easily with boiled water or t.p. We gave her a break from the uncomfortable struggles of having to fit her tail though the pet diaper hole and making sure that the fit was snug enough. I can't remember a time when I might have had the task of diapering a child- I'd have to wait for my little kitty who detested it at first, but was becomming increasingly used to idea. I hated to bring her in for the afternoon. She was so calm and relaxed.

I arrived home from my awful day, knowing full well that my cat was probably near death. I didn't and I still haven't told my wife about my job situation as of yet. Kitty was calm on her momma's stomach; she hadn't expressed much of an interest in eating or drinking when we were with her. We kept her on our couch, speculated on her health and were coming to the terms of having to end her life. What made it difficult was the lack of pain she was having. Her terrible weakness was her enemy as of late. We still had to face the decision sooner or later. I was exhausted and emotionally drained; we curled up in our day clothes on the living room floor beneath the couch where our kitty lay down and fell into an unsettled sleep.

My night was fitful, pierced with half-dreams and thoughts of the pictures of the Victorian dead posed in lifelike manners (my sister had sent me a link earlier that day and I couldn't help but look). These were often the only pictures that anyone would have of the children and workers featured in them, preserving what memories they had.

I awoke to the sound of scratching. I saw my kitty's hind leg above me kicking, her little claws scraping at the cushion fabric. It was the most vigorous that she'd moved at all in the last 24 hours. I turned on the lamp light and went to her. My wife still slept below. Kitty was stretched out, her head pointing up towards the back cushions. I thought that she might not be able to breathe there, so I gently guided her head to the side. I rested my head next to hers, petting her side and looking her in the eyes.

"It's OK to go, baby. It's OK."

She was gasping for air, her pupils dialated. She growled, in a manner that reminded me of the marathons I've finished. A last push right before the end. I idly stood to check the time, wondering if the vet's office would be open soon. I grabbed my glasses and went into the kitched. 4:17 AM. When I returned, my wife had taken my place, looking into her eyes and petting her side.

"I think she's gone."

For many long minutes we sat there, speculating if she was just breathing weakly or if she was really gone. It took about 10 minutes for the notion to sink in. The movement of her fur had not betrayed any life that she might have left in her little body. In the previous weeks she looked as though she had gained a little weight; ounces, not pounds. But now there was this thin little grey-striped body lying peacefully on our couch. She was truly gone from us.

We cried. We sat in silence. We shared memories as the sun slowly rose up, lighting up our deck. Her body was stiff from rigor now, and her eyes were ever dryer, gently lolling back into her head. We called the vet's office to share the news; we were to bring her in to have her cremated. Her little paw prints would be preserved forever in bronze.

We brought her in through the side door, wrapped in one of our old bath towels. The receptionist came around and hugged my wife. "I always seem to be here when this happens to you". My wife smiled, still holding our cat and standing in the tech area hallway. We filled out the necessary forms in a nearby check-up room, kitty lying on the exam table. Once finished, I got the attention of a vet nearby. She looked familiar to us, and apparently had diagnosed our other cat who had passed with his affliction. She entered our exam room, greeted by my teary wife. We were ready to let her go. I kissed kitty on the cheek as did my wife. The vet gently touched kitty's head and regarded her. This had a profound effect on me. Whether it was the fact that this would soon be the last time we'd see our baby, or perhaps the fact that this pall-bearer had the decency to respect our pet in such a manner before gathering her up in her blanket and taking her to her holding area I don't know. Perhaps both. We left hurriedly the way we came in.

Since yesterday, we've kept our minds occupied by television, good and bad programs. I called in sick to both work places and took a nice nap in the afternoon.

My wife, at work, is having a hard time of it. But she doesn't want to be home right yet. I don't blame her. It's lonely here. My other cat is a savior, in his own little way; his goofy demeanor takes me away from my sulking. But I still have the sense that she is out there on the deck with him, laying out underneath the deck table, or hiding in the corner far enough out of reach to make it difficult for "diaper time", or laying on the bed waiting for momma to get home. But she's not there; the phantom pain reminds me of that, fresh as it is.

Maybe the Victorians had something right. Despite the gastly nature of taking pictures of the recently departed and displaying them for family, they so badly wanted the memory of it. This frailty and finality can only be counterbalanced by anything the living can get a hold of: pictures, memories, religion and spirituality. And to think that such a little soul as my little gray tabby cat can conjure up these evocative questions of existence.

These little precious memories I have. This secret little world of "blanket monster", feeding time and her final moments as I look into her eyes belong to me and me alone. This little soul touched me so much in the last 9 years that it puts all the problems and pettiness in my life to shame. The fact that I got to be there with her when she went is one of the most sublime happenings that will replay in my mind for years to come. We will truly miss her. I will truly miss her.

The Path to Glory...?

I live in a blissful ignorance sometimes. My two spec script drafts are as finished as I can get them, at least for right now. I'm pretty happy with both, despite the Venture Bros. script being 40 pages long. This might actually do, as industry "standard" for comedy scripts is 35 (according to Nick, anyway). Besides, it's not about the length so much as it is about character, voice and emulation of the series. I think that I should rest on the fact that I've finished two drafts in two months, and that I will have these read by someone in the future who can comment on them with a critical eye. I can always fiddle around with them and sharpen them as long as the series is still active.

So, with that said, I must move on with MechaWest development. Reading "Wishcraft" has opened some things up for me. Barbara Sher shares much with Jack Canfield on the idea of charting your path. An early exercise gave me the very obvious idea of contacting local animation companies to get some insight on how the industry works from their vantage point. Most of the work lies in commercials and industrials, but one company in particular (with offices in Minneapolis and L.A.) stated that they've had three shows optioned. Whether these were through partnerships or in-house staff I'm not sure, thus the clarity I lack on this matter.

I called and spoke to a laid-back guy at the company, saying that I sent an email earlier in the week and that I was following up. I was actually nervous about calling, and I'm still unclear as to why. I explained myself with as coherrant a manner as I could muster, and the guy said he would look for my email, take my info and give it to someone so that I could have a conversation about the industry. It probably helped that earlier in the day I made about 50 calls to elementary schools for NTC, booking free shows for the fall- I needed to be clear and "sell" myself through this inexplicable nervousness I felt. "No worries, man" the guy explained as we were ending our conversation. There might be possibilities with these artist hipsters after all.

A practice run at a show-pitch is what I may aim for. You know, for when I do the real thing.

Charting the course

Reading "Wishcraft" is a real trip. As a book determined to help you realize your goals, it sure could stand for an update. No references to email or the internet, as it was written in 1979. It reminds me of Sagan's "Dragons of Eden" (there's a fascinating new game that is able to mimic physics- it's called 'Pong'...). The message still rings true regardless.

I am in the process of making a flow chart to realize my dream of producing "MechaWest" (or more likely having "MechaWest" produced). I've come up with some great ideas and clarifications in how that could be realized, and the negativity is being swept away. The part about creating the series and having it produced still demands a connection. There's actually more to it than getting an agent who will get me a producer who then will get me my show produced; that's one branch still floating around on its own. I don't know why this is all so challenging to lay out, but perhaps my right and left brains are squabbling over how to do it. I'm close, but it's no cigar just yet. When it becomes coherrant, I'll make it pretty and place it on the official MechaWest Mosaic Board.

Going to have a glass of wine with my wife now.

Dreary Day 2: Cruise Control

Once again it's raining. I'll be able to break the day by going out and buying a few things. Errands, as it were.

I'm also finishing the first draft of my spec script today- right on schedule. It's not looking bad, but comedy is, well, subjective. What's funny to me may not be funny to James Urbanik and Doc Hammer. However, if I can clean it up, I just may have something. Clean, clean, clean...

My paycheck from the State was a litle larger than expected, due to the three paychecks in July instead of the usual two- meaning that health and dental deductions were skipped this time. Not a lot of money, but enough of a cushion to have a little fun. Or Taco Bell. Or, sometimes both.

Looking forward to seeing my friends tomorrow. Isolation isn't working for me, so any excuse to get out of the suburbs and connect with old friends is valuable.