The internet is littered with entertainment-related blogs and entertainment-related sites, where non-Hollywood people love to post (frequently, and with many exclamation points) about how very, very much they do not care about Hollywood, not at all, not one little bit.
Why anyone would go out of his way to seek out sites to which he is so actively indifferent, I don't quite understand.
"Why should I care about Hollywood!? They’re all just a bunch of immoral, filthy rich, far-left idiots who hate America!!!” the comments read (though spelling and grammar tend toward the creative -- not too surprising considering a current cultural climate which derides intellectual achievement as "elitist" and un-American). Generally the commenter will go on to describe himself as a "real" American from the places where the real people with real values live.
For a moment I’ll pretend the question "Why should I care about Hollywood?" is not rhetorical.
First of all, Hollywood is not Tom Cruise. Hollywood is not Paris Hilton. Hollywood is not the .0001 percent of super-rich super-famous people pursued by the paparazzi, any more than "computer programmers" are Bill Gates. "Hollywood" does include a tiny handful of top actors, directors, producers, and writers; sure. But the average Hollywood professional hangs out with the A-listers about as often as the average American hangs out with Congressmen.
Hollywood, actual Hollywood, consists of thousands and thousands of middle-class (if they’re lucky!) people who work very long hours building sets, rigging lights, and doing all manner of unglamorous, grueling technical jobs for which they will never become famous. Most of these people quite frankly have neither the time nor the opportunity (nor, for that matter, the desire) to attend extravagant parties and hang out with celebrities. They don’t endorse political candidates and give interviews in glossy magazines. They don’t live in mansions in Malibu and fly private planes around the world. They get up way, way before dawn and drive to work and get bossed around by supervisors who don’t appreciate them nearly enough. They struggle with stress and fatigue and overwork because they have too much to do and not enough time to do it. They make an hourly wage. They worry about job insecurity and health care and debt. They are Democrats and Republicans; they are the highly-educated and the high school dropouts. They are Christians and Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and non-believers and every religion under the sun. They come from big cities; they come from the Heartland; they come from the Bible Belt; they come from countries all over the world.
Should you care about them because their jobs are hard? No, at least not any more than you care about your neighbor or your husband or your friend or anyone else whose job is hard. Most Americans, after all -- no matter where they live -- have jobs that are hard.
But here's why you should care about Hollywood, if you care about America:
American entertainment is beloved all over the world. Entertainment is a product that America makes better than any other country. But more importantly, it's America's biggest export. Saying you don't care about Hollywood is like saying you couldn't care less if Detroit never makes another car. If you care at all about the American economy, you really SHOULD care about Hollywood. And while many Americans may not like the “values” depicted in hit Hollywood films, consider this:
In almost all (hit) Hollywood films, the good guy wins. The regular citizen fights City Hall and succeeds. The little guy achieves his impossible dream. The villain’s greed is punished; courage and determination are rewarded. The hero risks his own life for others, and saves the day.
Foreign films often have downbeat endings, but American films reflect the unwavering American belief that even the humblest among us, with guts, hope, grit, and ingenuity, can triumph over anything.
That is an American value which transcends all religions and creeds. I believe it makes us a good people, and even a great people.
But then, what do I know...? I, too, am "Hollywood."
Showing posts with label los angeles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label los angeles. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Starving screenwriter tip: How to find an extra $1000 -- and more importantly, some peace
How often have you come up with your best ideas while in the shower, or taking a drive by yourself, or practicing a relaxing hobby? Your subconscious is working on story ideas and plot twists all the time, but it needs a chance to communicate with you. That requires long blocks of protected peace and quiet. You never know quite when you're going to slip into this meditative, daydream state.
Now, isn't it really frustrating when you're having an elaborate dream, and you can't wait to see how it all turns out -- and then you're jarred awake by, say, the yammering of morning DJs, causing the dream to slip irretrievably out of reach?
In the same way, phones invade your mental space, shattering the dream-like state of "flow." A few times when I've forgotten to shut the ringer off on my phone, I've lost entire paragraphs, scenes, and dialogue exchanges, because some telemarketer called -- literally, a day's worth of work that could never be recovered. Non-writers don't understand why these interruptions are so devastating, because they think writing is pretty much just "typing" -- when in actuality, it's hours of contemplation punctuated by bursts of transcription. They think if you're interrupted, you can just recover your train of thought some other time. But you can't, any more than you can recover an elaborate dream once the alarm clock has intruded. So why on earth would a writer want to risk this intrusion 24/7, everywhere he goes?
The solution: ditch your cell phone.
Getting rid of your cell phone is enormously freeing. First of all, starving writers should avoid buying anything that requires an expensive long-term contract, such as a cell phone. You may be able to afford it this month, but three months from now you might dearly wish you were free of that financial obligation. Even a minimal cell phone plan costs you many hundreds of dollars per year, and some people even spend well over a thousand dollars a year on a fancy cell phone, unlimited minutes, texting, etc. I suppose this might make sense for a few occupations, such as ER doctor, or perhaps "celebutante." But why would a writer willingly sign up for indentured servitude to a device that has a devastating effect on his work? That's just plain crazy.
You'll be amazed how much more creative you'll be, how much clearer your thinking will be, if you ditch the infernal device. Whenever you're alone on the bus, or you're sitting in the park with your dog, or you're early for a meeting, you can read a book or jot down some free-associative ideas. I know it's a totally "retro" idea that anyone should actually be alone with his own thoughts for a few minutes, instead of having a vapid conversation and/or text dialogue about every inane thing that happens throughout the day -- but try it. (By the way, if you hate being alone, and are easily "bored" by contemplation, then a writing career is probably not right for you.)
Okay, so...how do people get in touch with you?
Ah. Well. There's email, of course, which is both convenient and free. And there's this old-fashioned thingy called a "land line," which can be surprisingly adequate as a telecommunication device. Chances are if you live in an apartment building you're going to need to get one anyway, because the front door intercom (err...if you're lucky enough to find a building in which this device isn't broken) usually connects to your phone line. You can get a bare-bones land line for about $10-$12 a month -- but, note that this doesn't include long distance, which can be expensive with a bare-bones plan. To make long distance calls you might want to get a pre-paid phone card (it's still cheaper than a monthly cell phone service), or, arrange for family and friends who have fancy cell phone plans to call you back during their "free nights and weekends."
I definitely recommend spending the extra few dollars a month (+ annoying set-up fee) for voice mail; it's a bargain. I have a land line, but the ringer is frequently turned off; with voice mail I can check messages when it's convenient for me and won't interrupt my writing. When I won the Nicholl and was suddenly deluged with calls from reps and producers, I made the small investment to get voice mail service, and have been satisfied with it ever since. It allows people to leave messages if I have the phone turned off, or if I'm on the internet (by the way, I have free dial-up, and you can get it too -- but I'll talk about that in an upcoming post). When people leave a voice mail they have no way of knowing they aren't reaching a cell phone, so if for some reason you want to maintain the illusion that you're one of the cell-phone-owning masses, voice mail will help you keep up the facade.
Now...maybe you're worried that you'd feel vulnerable without a cell phone, afraid that you might get stranded somewhere and be unable to call for help. This is a totally understandable concern, and perhaps a good reason to get one of those temporary, pay-as-you-go cell phones that are for sale in grocery stores. But -- don't give anyone the number; it's only for an emergency!
Money saved by ditching your cell phone: Varies; many hundreds of dollars per year.
Daydreams saved from oblivion: priceless.
Now, isn't it really frustrating when you're having an elaborate dream, and you can't wait to see how it all turns out -- and then you're jarred awake by, say, the yammering of morning DJs, causing the dream to slip irretrievably out of reach?
In the same way, phones invade your mental space, shattering the dream-like state of "flow." A few times when I've forgotten to shut the ringer off on my phone, I've lost entire paragraphs, scenes, and dialogue exchanges, because some telemarketer called -- literally, a day's worth of work that could never be recovered. Non-writers don't understand why these interruptions are so devastating, because they think writing is pretty much just "typing" -- when in actuality, it's hours of contemplation punctuated by bursts of transcription. They think if you're interrupted, you can just recover your train of thought some other time. But you can't, any more than you can recover an elaborate dream once the alarm clock has intruded. So why on earth would a writer want to risk this intrusion 24/7, everywhere he goes?
The solution: ditch your cell phone.
Getting rid of your cell phone is enormously freeing. First of all, starving writers should avoid buying anything that requires an expensive long-term contract, such as a cell phone. You may be able to afford it this month, but three months from now you might dearly wish you were free of that financial obligation. Even a minimal cell phone plan costs you many hundreds of dollars per year, and some people even spend well over a thousand dollars a year on a fancy cell phone, unlimited minutes, texting, etc. I suppose this might make sense for a few occupations, such as ER doctor, or perhaps "celebutante." But why would a writer willingly sign up for indentured servitude to a device that has a devastating effect on his work? That's just plain crazy.
You'll be amazed how much more creative you'll be, how much clearer your thinking will be, if you ditch the infernal device. Whenever you're alone on the bus, or you're sitting in the park with your dog, or you're early for a meeting, you can read a book or jot down some free-associative ideas. I know it's a totally "retro" idea that anyone should actually be alone with his own thoughts for a few minutes, instead of having a vapid conversation and/or text dialogue about every inane thing that happens throughout the day -- but try it. (By the way, if you hate being alone, and are easily "bored" by contemplation, then a writing career is probably not right for you.)
Okay, so...how do people get in touch with you?
Ah. Well. There's email, of course, which is both convenient and free. And there's this old-fashioned thingy called a "land line," which can be surprisingly adequate as a telecommunication device. Chances are if you live in an apartment building you're going to need to get one anyway, because the front door intercom (err...if you're lucky enough to find a building in which this device isn't broken) usually connects to your phone line. You can get a bare-bones land line for about $10-$12 a month -- but, note that this doesn't include long distance, which can be expensive with a bare-bones plan. To make long distance calls you might want to get a pre-paid phone card (it's still cheaper than a monthly cell phone service), or, arrange for family and friends who have fancy cell phone plans to call you back during their "free nights and weekends."
I definitely recommend spending the extra few dollars a month (+ annoying set-up fee) for voice mail; it's a bargain. I have a land line, but the ringer is frequently turned off; with voice mail I can check messages when it's convenient for me and won't interrupt my writing. When I won the Nicholl and was suddenly deluged with calls from reps and producers, I made the small investment to get voice mail service, and have been satisfied with it ever since. It allows people to leave messages if I have the phone turned off, or if I'm on the internet (by the way, I have free dial-up, and you can get it too -- but I'll talk about that in an upcoming post). When people leave a voice mail they have no way of knowing they aren't reaching a cell phone, so if for some reason you want to maintain the illusion that you're one of the cell-phone-owning masses, voice mail will help you keep up the facade.
Now...maybe you're worried that you'd feel vulnerable without a cell phone, afraid that you might get stranded somewhere and be unable to call for help. This is a totally understandable concern, and perhaps a good reason to get one of those temporary, pay-as-you-go cell phones that are for sale in grocery stores. But -- don't give anyone the number; it's only for an emergency!
Money saved by ditching your cell phone: Varies; many hundreds of dollars per year.
Daydreams saved from oblivion: priceless.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Lifestyles of the broke and anonymous; or, Why a screenwriting career might not be for you
When I won a Nicholl Fellowship a few years back, I was astonished how many would-be screenwriters asked me questions like: "Are Fellows forced to quit their day job?" "Are Fellows forced to move to Los Angeles?" And my favorite: "How could anyone be expected to live in L.A. on $30,000!?"
(To answer these questions: No -- Fellows aren't forced to quit their day job or move to Los Angeles -- but who the hell wouldn't, if he's serious about exploiting this hard-earned big break? And as for living in L.A. on $30,000...well, actually I managed to make that money stretch for TWO years, as I'd already been surviving in Los Angeles on LESS than $15,000/year [without receiving food stamps or welfare, I hasten to point out to the ever-enraged right-wingers out there]. How did I manage? Well, it wasn't easy, but writing is so essential to me that I'm willing to sacrifice just about anything to do it.)
I frequently run into people who claim that they really, really want to be screenwriters, but they just can't quit their secure 9-to-6 corporate job, and/or they can't move to L.A., until they "make it" as a screenwriter to the extent that writing will support a "comfortable lifestyle." They fantasize that a script they work on for a couple of weekends a month will suddenly sell for a million dollars and presto! -- they'll be a "successful screenwriter" and all their cares will be over.
But these people are not serious writers -- they're wannabes and hobbyists.
The harsh truth is, the vast majority of "professional screenwriters" -- and by this I mean, screenwriters who have sold at least one script or have been hired for at least one paid writing assignment -- will never make another cent from screenwriting. Of course, they can't know they'll never make another cent, so for a few years they'll continue to write full-time, spec after spec, and they'll continue to go to countless pitch meetings, and their reps will continue to send them out for assignment after assignment, with none of these efforts resulting in a sale or paid gig. This is the part that non-screenwriters don't understand when they say things like "When a screenwriter is unemployed, why can't he just go get a day job until he lands another writing job?" The thing is, when a screenwriter is "unemployed," he's not sitting around watching soap operas and waiting for his agent to call. He IS working full-time -- he's just not getting paid for it. He's spending 50 or 60 hours a week writing, and countless other hours on the non-creative "business" side of his writing job. And this unpaid, full-time job will continue until:
a) one of his specs finally finds a buyer,
b) one of his specs happens to be just the right "sample script" that lands him a paid assignment, or,
c) he ends up so deeply in debt that he must "quit screenwriting for a while." (Which usually means quitting for good -- because if a screenwriter isn't continuing to produce new spec scripts, he'll be dropped by his reps, he won't have any new samples to circulate, and he generally won't be considered for open assignments.)
Therefore, even if a screenwriter has just sold a script for "six figures" (which typically translates to about mid-five-figures the screenwriter actually receives), that $40,000 - $60,000 paycheck must not only make up for all the debt the screenwriter has accumulated during his years of toiling away unpaid, but it must also last indefinitely, because the screenwriter has no idea when -- or if -- he will ever be paid again. So he'll need to make every penny count, and will need to live just as frugally after breaking in as he did before breaking in.
That's why, if you can't bear to live frugally, screenwriting is not the career for you!
For true writers and artists, the object isn't to get "rich" or even well-off -- the object is simply to survive to create another day. (Thus the title of this blog.) If your goal is to get rich, you'd be better off doing almost anything else! Most working writers average less per year than retail employees.
In the upcoming months, this blog will offer tips on how to get lots of great things free (such as internet service, college courses, entertainment, and much more), how to eat healthy, tasty food for less than $5/day, and how to re-assess your life to put writing in the forefront. It will even offer tips on your screenwriting career.
Next up: Houdini's last meal.
'Til then,
Stay hungry. But don't starve.
(To answer these questions: No -- Fellows aren't forced to quit their day job or move to Los Angeles -- but who the hell wouldn't, if he's serious about exploiting this hard-earned big break? And as for living in L.A. on $30,000...well, actually I managed to make that money stretch for TWO years, as I'd already been surviving in Los Angeles on LESS than $15,000/year [without receiving food stamps or welfare, I hasten to point out to the ever-enraged right-wingers out there]. How did I manage? Well, it wasn't easy, but writing is so essential to me that I'm willing to sacrifice just about anything to do it.)
I frequently run into people who claim that they really, really want to be screenwriters, but they just can't quit their secure 9-to-6 corporate job, and/or they can't move to L.A., until they "make it" as a screenwriter to the extent that writing will support a "comfortable lifestyle." They fantasize that a script they work on for a couple of weekends a month will suddenly sell for a million dollars and presto! -- they'll be a "successful screenwriter" and all their cares will be over.
But these people are not serious writers -- they're wannabes and hobbyists.
The harsh truth is, the vast majority of "professional screenwriters" -- and by this I mean, screenwriters who have sold at least one script or have been hired for at least one paid writing assignment -- will never make another cent from screenwriting. Of course, they can't know they'll never make another cent, so for a few years they'll continue to write full-time, spec after spec, and they'll continue to go to countless pitch meetings, and their reps will continue to send them out for assignment after assignment, with none of these efforts resulting in a sale or paid gig. This is the part that non-screenwriters don't understand when they say things like "When a screenwriter is unemployed, why can't he just go get a day job until he lands another writing job?" The thing is, when a screenwriter is "unemployed," he's not sitting around watching soap operas and waiting for his agent to call. He IS working full-time -- he's just not getting paid for it. He's spending 50 or 60 hours a week writing, and countless other hours on the non-creative "business" side of his writing job. And this unpaid, full-time job will continue until:
a) one of his specs finally finds a buyer,
b) one of his specs happens to be just the right "sample script" that lands him a paid assignment, or,
c) he ends up so deeply in debt that he must "quit screenwriting for a while." (Which usually means quitting for good -- because if a screenwriter isn't continuing to produce new spec scripts, he'll be dropped by his reps, he won't have any new samples to circulate, and he generally won't be considered for open assignments.)
Therefore, even if a screenwriter has just sold a script for "six figures" (which typically translates to about mid-five-figures the screenwriter actually receives), that $40,000 - $60,000 paycheck must not only make up for all the debt the screenwriter has accumulated during his years of toiling away unpaid, but it must also last indefinitely, because the screenwriter has no idea when -- or if -- he will ever be paid again. So he'll need to make every penny count, and will need to live just as frugally after breaking in as he did before breaking in.
That's why, if you can't bear to live frugally, screenwriting is not the career for you!
For true writers and artists, the object isn't to get "rich" or even well-off -- the object is simply to survive to create another day. (Thus the title of this blog.) If your goal is to get rich, you'd be better off doing almost anything else! Most working writers average less per year than retail employees.
In the upcoming months, this blog will offer tips on how to get lots of great things free (such as internet service, college courses, entertainment, and much more), how to eat healthy, tasty food for less than $5/day, and how to re-assess your life to put writing in the forefront. It will even offer tips on your screenwriting career.
Next up: Houdini's last meal.
'Til then,
Stay hungry. But don't starve.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
All those "L.A. haters...."
Gone is the city, gone the day,
Yet still the story and the meaning stay:
Once where a prophet in the palm shade basked
A traveler chanced at noon to rest his mules.
"What sort of people may they be," he asked,
"In this proud city on the plains o'erspread?"
"Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?"
"What sort?" the packman scowled; "why, knaves and fools."
"You'll find the people here the same," the wise man said.
Another stranger in the dusk drew near,
And pausing, cried, "What sort of people here
In your bright city where yon towers arise?"
"Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?"
"What sort?" the pilgrim smiled,
"Good, true, and wise."
"You'll find the people here the same,"
The wise man said.
-Edwin Markham, "The Right Kind of People"
"L.A. sucks." Right? It’s so very "real" to hate L.A., or at least to declare one's hatred of L.A. It's practically obligatory. Particularly if you don't live here and you deeply resent everyone telling you that if you want to work in Hollywood, moving to L.A. is a MUST.
Granted, we have a lot that's bad here: congestion, crime, pollution, high prices, crazy people, frenzy, chaos, stupidity.
And we have a whole lot that's good: gorgeous weather, jaw-dropping parks, hiking, horseback riding, boating, biking, beaches, open spaces (no, really); world-class museums, concert halls, and universities; tolerance, whimsy, artists, thinkers, doers, genuises. You can meet people from every corner of the world. You can sample the cuisine of every country you can name (and plenty you've never heard of). You can go surfing at sun-up, and ski snow-capped mountains by afternoon.
In other words, we have everything here. And, true to the sentiment in the poem above, I think when a person hates Los Angeles it actually says more about the person than the city.
If you’re intolerant, judgmental, set in your ways, and prone to being unhappy, you will HATE Los Angeles. If you’re nervous and uneasy around People Who Are Different Than You, the immigrants will drive you crazy. The crazy people will drive you crazy. The lack of homogenity and predictability will drive you crazy.
The thing is, I’ve lived in a whole lot of places and found that on the surface anywhere can appear unpleasant. On the surface, the South is vapid and phony. On the surface, the Midwest is conformist and ignorant. On the surface, the Northeast is superior and aloof. On the surface, the West is flighty and self-absorbed. And if you can only see the world in terms of "us" and "them," you’ll never see beyond the surface, no matter where you go, and you'll never realize that all those places are full of folks who are essentially decent, hopeful, hardworking, and honorable.
So, it's normal to be fearful of moving to L.A. But, if you want to be a screenwriter -- if you're really, really, serious about it -- you have to. I'm sorry. But you do.
Is it technically possible to break in from the middle of nowhere? Before you scour Variety for anecdotes about supposed far-flung outsiders who broke in -- (these stories are largely P.R. distortions, by the way) -- yes, it's not unheard of. But understand that these rare stories are the exceptions that prove the rule. And considering the long, long, long odds against breaking in even if you have everything in your favor, why make your chances even worse?
By refusing to move to L.A., you’re hedging your bets. You’re not willing to go to the very limit in the pursuit of your calling. Why? Is it because deep down you know you won’t make it? Because you're not willing to sacrifice your "creature comforts" and financial stability? Because you have a spouse who isn’t entirely supportive? Because you’re not sure this is what you really want?
Okay. Now we're getting somewhere.
See, I don't think this "fear of Los Angeles" thing is really about L.A. at all. I think it's about what L.A. represents. As long as you remain in your small pond, Hollywood is just a fantasy, and your would-be career (much like your purely conceptual World's Greatest Screenplay) exists in the perfect realm of ideals. But if you move here, it means you're really serious about this screenwriting thing. It's not just a daydream any longer -- it's a commitment. And when you commit yourself to something so big, so ambitious, so staggeringly unlikely, you expose yourself to ridicule and rejection. You don't get to be a big fish in the small pond of East Cupcake anymore, boasting of your undiscovered genius, about how you could surely write rings around all those Hollywood hacks and turn the town upside down. Hollywood will put you through the toughest test of your life, and your talent (or lack thereof) won't just be a hypothetical any more.
But at least you'll know.
Los Angeles infamously makes a bad first impression; when you arrive you'll endure one of the world's least convenient airports, from which you'll promptly merge into a stupefying traffic jam. Strip mall after strip mall will scroll past your car like a Hanna-Barbara background. In fact if you stay less than a week or two, you might see nothing but freeways and strip malls. But don't worry; the ugly stuff is just for show. See, if everyone knew how interesting L.A. can be, why, everyone would move here, and there just isn't room. The longer you're here, the more you'll discover that L.A. is really thousands of different little neighborhoods side by side. You'll find the one that fits you. And you don't have to change at all. In a city that has every walk of life, you're accepted as you are.
Yet still the story and the meaning stay:
Once where a prophet in the palm shade basked
A traveler chanced at noon to rest his mules.
"What sort of people may they be," he asked,
"In this proud city on the plains o'erspread?"
"Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?"
"What sort?" the packman scowled; "why, knaves and fools."
"You'll find the people here the same," the wise man said.
Another stranger in the dusk drew near,
And pausing, cried, "What sort of people here
In your bright city where yon towers arise?"
"Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?"
"What sort?" the pilgrim smiled,
"Good, true, and wise."
"You'll find the people here the same,"
The wise man said.
-Edwin Markham, "The Right Kind of People"
"L.A. sucks." Right? It’s so very "real" to hate L.A., or at least to declare one's hatred of L.A. It's practically obligatory. Particularly if you don't live here and you deeply resent everyone telling you that if you want to work in Hollywood, moving to L.A. is a MUST.
Granted, we have a lot that's bad here: congestion, crime, pollution, high prices, crazy people, frenzy, chaos, stupidity.
And we have a whole lot that's good: gorgeous weather, jaw-dropping parks, hiking, horseback riding, boating, biking, beaches, open spaces (no, really); world-class museums, concert halls, and universities; tolerance, whimsy, artists, thinkers, doers, genuises. You can meet people from every corner of the world. You can sample the cuisine of every country you can name (and plenty you've never heard of). You can go surfing at sun-up, and ski snow-capped mountains by afternoon.
In other words, we have everything here. And, true to the sentiment in the poem above, I think when a person hates Los Angeles it actually says more about the person than the city.
If you’re intolerant, judgmental, set in your ways, and prone to being unhappy, you will HATE Los Angeles. If you’re nervous and uneasy around People Who Are Different Than You, the immigrants will drive you crazy. The crazy people will drive you crazy. The lack of homogenity and predictability will drive you crazy.
The thing is, I’ve lived in a whole lot of places and found that on the surface anywhere can appear unpleasant. On the surface, the South is vapid and phony. On the surface, the Midwest is conformist and ignorant. On the surface, the Northeast is superior and aloof. On the surface, the West is flighty and self-absorbed. And if you can only see the world in terms of "us" and "them," you’ll never see beyond the surface, no matter where you go, and you'll never realize that all those places are full of folks who are essentially decent, hopeful, hardworking, and honorable.
So, it's normal to be fearful of moving to L.A. But, if you want to be a screenwriter -- if you're really, really, serious about it -- you have to. I'm sorry. But you do.
Is it technically possible to break in from the middle of nowhere? Before you scour Variety for anecdotes about supposed far-flung outsiders who broke in -- (these stories are largely P.R. distortions, by the way) -- yes, it's not unheard of. But understand that these rare stories are the exceptions that prove the rule. And considering the long, long, long odds against breaking in even if you have everything in your favor, why make your chances even worse?
By refusing to move to L.A., you’re hedging your bets. You’re not willing to go to the very limit in the pursuit of your calling. Why? Is it because deep down you know you won’t make it? Because you're not willing to sacrifice your "creature comforts" and financial stability? Because you have a spouse who isn’t entirely supportive? Because you’re not sure this is what you really want?
Okay. Now we're getting somewhere.
See, I don't think this "fear of Los Angeles" thing is really about L.A. at all. I think it's about what L.A. represents. As long as you remain in your small pond, Hollywood is just a fantasy, and your would-be career (much like your purely conceptual World's Greatest Screenplay) exists in the perfect realm of ideals. But if you move here, it means you're really serious about this screenwriting thing. It's not just a daydream any longer -- it's a commitment. And when you commit yourself to something so big, so ambitious, so staggeringly unlikely, you expose yourself to ridicule and rejection. You don't get to be a big fish in the small pond of East Cupcake anymore, boasting of your undiscovered genius, about how you could surely write rings around all those Hollywood hacks and turn the town upside down. Hollywood will put you through the toughest test of your life, and your talent (or lack thereof) won't just be a hypothetical any more.
But at least you'll know.
Los Angeles infamously makes a bad first impression; when you arrive you'll endure one of the world's least convenient airports, from which you'll promptly merge into a stupefying traffic jam. Strip mall after strip mall will scroll past your car like a Hanna-Barbara background. In fact if you stay less than a week or two, you might see nothing but freeways and strip malls. But don't worry; the ugly stuff is just for show. See, if everyone knew how interesting L.A. can be, why, everyone would move here, and there just isn't room. The longer you're here, the more you'll discover that L.A. is really thousands of different little neighborhoods side by side. You'll find the one that fits you. And you don't have to change at all. In a city that has every walk of life, you're accepted as you are.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
