Linda

My cousin Linda is a cypher. She is one of the great beauties of my family. She is also over 50 (but looks 35) and has lived with her mother her entire life. I can't remember her ever having a boyfriend. She has a very small group of friends who she's had forever. Her social circle is very small. Her days are spent working for the same boss that she's had for a quarter of a century. Her evenings are spent taking care of her mother and the other elderly members of my family.

I have always liked Linda, but I'm not really sure that she's always liked me. I'm extroverted and loud. Linda is neither. Our relationship has become more brittle in the last couple of years, and I don't feel like I see her often enough to know how to make it better.

My fabulous Uncle Ed, who just died, lived with Linda for most of her life. He helped raise her from childhood after Linda's father died. I think Linda was the one who discovered that Uncle Ed had died in his sleep when she went to wake him up and he didn't. I know that Linda blames herself for not insisting that our uncle go to the hospital sooner. She thinks that if she had done just a little bit more, he wouldn't have died so soon...at age 90. She is devasted by his death. Her social circle just got so much smaller.

Today I wrote a letter to Linda thanking her for being a good daughter and niece and cousin. She won't get this until I've come and gone from the memorial service. Even if she doesn't love being my relative, I'm really glad she's in my family.

Dear Linda,

Thank you for taking such good care of Auntie and the Uncles. I always talk about how lucky I am to have had my great aunts and uncles into adulthood. A lot of people I know don't even remember their grandparents, because they passed away when they were very young. I that this family is blessed with longevity, but I also know that happy people tend to live longer. This is where you come in--you're such a wonderful niece and daughter. I'm certain that your loving, 24 hour, care you give our relatives has helped extend their health and their lives. I know I'm not the only person who believes this to be true. I just wanted you to know. Thank you Linda.

Life Support

I've been thinking (and talking) a lot about death recently. My favorite uncle passed away last week which I'm super sad about. But even before his passing last Wednesday, I'd been pondering my own mortality a lot since Memorial Day weekend when Patty's son got a kidney transplant. I'm a full body organ donor. If I can't die of old age in my sleep like Uncle Ed, and I instead die horribly in some accident, I hope it's near a teaching hospital or some place that can part me out to the largest number of people. Being an organ donor helps me personally insure that people continue to believe in miracles. I know that Patty believes in them because some stranger gave her kid the gift of life.

Patty has inspired me to be more vocal about insisting that people sign on to be organ donors or at least donate their body to science. It's like the ultimate in recycling. I guess I'm not squeamish about this subject in part because my father is a doctor and I was raised to believe that donating yourself to save others is a good thing. But I'm also not that afraid of death. I think there's an afterlife and in that space or plane of existence I believe I will be okay. My living will expresses my wish to donate as much of my body as possible to help others, and it also expresses my wish to die without fanfare if I'm ever pronounced brain dead. I don't want to be hooked up on a machine, draining the emotional and financial reservoirs of my family and friends.

Today, Patty emailed me some thoughts about her living will that she's in the process of drafting:

"Last night my sister and I were sitting in the den and I said to her, 'I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle to keep me alive. That would be no quality of life at all, If that ever happens, just pull the plug.'

So she got up, unplugged the computer, and threw out my wine.

She's such a bitch."

Patty's awesome.

May 19th ** Sue

Today I agreed to help Sue, a secondary character in my best friend's documentary about hillbilly culture, knit a baby blanket for her three month old daughter. I told my friend that if Sue knit up the squares for the blanket, that I would assemble/finish the blanket for her.

Did I mention that finishing is my least favorite knitting activity?

I don't know what compelled me to volunteer my crafting services to a total stranger but I've narrowed it down to a few possiblities:

A. I'd like to support my friend's art, and if he thinks knitting is good for Sue or his film, I won't deny it
B: Sue is in a six month lockdown drug rehab facility in West Virginia and I respect her desire to get straight
C. Sue is making the blanket for her baby who is currently having seizures due to drug withdrawl and deserves a comfy blankie to convulse upon
D. All of the above.

But finishing the blanket isn't even the nice part. It's the fact that she's got a phone card, and my number, and will be calling me from rehab for knitting lessons...

Caller ID is the Devil

Today I slipped into an old habit--I avoided answering the phone. Back in the old time-y days before I had caller ID, I used to be forced to answer my phone or spend all day checking my messages to see who called. Oh hi! You're a debt collector. Why hello random crazy person! You're calling me to pitch me your script based on Batman, even though you don't own the rights to that character. Hey there telemarketer! Answering the phone used to be the office version of Russian Roulette. I had to handle things promptly or get busted for not completing work on schedule. It made me very accountable...to every agent, executive or writer I did business with. Now, with caller ID, I can avoid uncomfortable confrontations about my work ethic or schedule by simply not answering the phone...which only leads to procrastination on my end.

I will do anything out of fear. How sad is that?

Today, I knew who was calling--all sorts of people looking for work on the movie I'm hopefully doing this summer. With my trusty caller ID I could tell just by their out-of-town area codes that I don't want what they're selling. We don't have a production office open yet and since my company is listed in the Creative Directory, everyone from equipment rentals to out of work actors are calling me instead of the production supervisor who hasn't been hired yet. All. Day. Long. Which is a huge time suck-hole, because I have to be nice while I try and deflect their questions that I can't answer or don't want to answer. Actually, I don't have to be nice to anyone. Nobody has a gun to my head about that. Being mean to these callers would actually make my life easier as they wouldn't call me back "just to check in." Dealing with these cold calls is a huge time suck hole. But I can't help but be nice to these people who are just trying to get work, even though it's been eating up a huge portion of my day. So this afternoon, after a morning lost to random calls, I avoided being nice, didn't pick up the phone, and hid out in my office. Which is something, frankly, I'm not that proud of.

NYFA Pitch Fest--May 1, 2008

I really believe that you can't complain about the state of the industry if you don't actively work to improve it. It's sort of like voting. Don't complain about the state of the world if you can't be bothered to do your civic duty by casting a ballot, you hoser. As a result, every once in awhile I try and do "community outreach" by volunteering as a judge for screenwriting competitions and film festivals. Being a good storyteller is sort of like having a natural singing voice. You can train with a vocal coach all you want, but if you don't have the pipes, you'll never sing at the Met. There are plenty of talented writers out there, grinding away at their kitchen tables, not because they see writing as their ticket to big bucks, but because something inside them compells them to write.

I love finding these people. I never, ever get tired of discovering new writers. It actually gives me tremendous satisfaction to know that I'm reading this new, fantastic writer FIRST. I'm addicted to this novelty. That, and I'm a sucker for the Cinderella story. I'm proud of the fact that every year, I break someone into the club of Industry Professionals. Plucking people from obscurity is such fun. It actually makes me believe, however briefly, that I am really good at my job.

To this end, last night I allowed myself to be roped into being an "industry professional" at the New York Film Academy Pitch Fest for the 4th year in a row.

I know what you're thinking: NYFA is one of those schools that advertises in the back of craft magazines. I think it's the word "Academy" in the name that makes this institution sound suspiciously like those schools that promise to teach you radio broadcasting or how to play the guitar in three days. Or a beauty school. Or a clown college.

Thankfully, it's none of the above. It is, however, and extremely expensive film program, taught by actual screenwriters, out of the 5th floor of a non-descript office building right next to Warner Brothers in Burbank. And, since it's so ding-dang expensive, the tiny student body is unusually focused about their work.

I used to do more volunteer work at screenwriting conferences and film festivals, but this lead to no good writing connections and a ton of stalkers. (I actually had some creepy guy, who looks so much like Nosferatu that the F.W. Murnau estate should sue, track me down at the office and ask: "Did we have a moment together?" Since the only thing I could remember about him is how he made my skin crawl and not his screenplay idea, the answer would be NO).

But back to the NYFA Pitch Fest. Since I occasionally teach a seminar on "The Business of Screenwriting" at the school, I know that with this event, I'll only have to listen to about 10 very practiced pitches from students who are smart enough to know that I'm there to help them hone their pitching skills, not to give them a three picture deal. I help 10 students but don't have to sit through 40 different pitches about bounty hunters or reality shows about out of work screenwriters trying to break into Hollywood with their reality show idea. Still, I left the Fest after 2 hours of listening to pitches, totally exhausted from being nice. I don't know how Paula Abdul does it. Being upbeat about less than professional performances takes a lot of energy. Even when she's telling someone that his singing sucked, she's so positive about how she expresses her criticism, "It's not that you're voice is just terrible...it's just terrible right now."

Not that I'm comparing myself to Paula Abdul. I think it's clear that I'm way more like Simon.

As a memoirist I'm chopped liver

Okay, I haven't posted anything since March 19th. I've been very busy

1. Moving into my new house with Mr. Foxypants!
2. Casting TWO movies
3. Trying to pay my mortgage on time

But, I haven't been too busy to be nice!

I'm a terrible blogger. So shoot me. I'll do some catch-up. I promise. I've been taking good notes on all my good work!

Today I contacted The Prince, a writer I haven't spoken to in ages. I called him because I needed help drafting an offer letter to an actress for one of my movies and I remembered that he had written a great one years ago. He searched his hard drive for 30 minutes while we talked about good dogs and bad producers we know. (As you've probably already surmised The Prince is not named after Machiavelli or the artist formerly known as). He failed to find the letter, but at that point I was just so happy to reconnect with a nice person who took a half hour out of his busy day to do me a favor that I didn't care.

After I hung up with The Prince, I emailed his manager (who I'm working with tangentially on another project) to tell him what a terrific writer his client The Prince is.

The manager wrote back, "he is the filet mignon of our clients."

How awesome is that compliment?

I forwarded that email exchange to The Prince. He should know that he's filet mignon.

A Letter of Recommendation

Two weeks ago I recommended three friends for the new Sundance Film Institute producing program. Today, Mel C. called to ask me to write her a letter of recommendation. Damn! I knew that being nice was going to bite me in the ass. There goes an hour of my day.

I contemplate telling Mel C. to write up her own letter, which I will sign on her behalf. This would save me some time that I really need to spend doing other things, like finding financing for um, SIX of my projects. But, I'm practicing being nice so I can't refuse her. Also, I write excellent letters of recommendation. I wrote all my letters of recommendation for my college applications, which my teachers then proofread and signed on my behalf. I got into my first choice school, early admission.

I give good letter.


*****************


Here's my letter for Mel C.:


To Whom It May Concern:

My very favorite letter of recommendation was actually written on my behalf by Professor Banergee, the Dean of the School of Urban and Regional Planning at USC. I was applying for film school, but had taken loads of urban planning classes because I liked how human geography explained everything from illegal immigration to infidelity. In his letter of recommendation he simple wrote, "If you don't take her, we will." And signed his name.

I wish I could say something as pithy and elegant on behalf of Mel C., but alas I cannot. And I can't say it not because she doesn't have exquisite taste in material, because she does. And I can't say it not because she doesn't have the soul of an artist and the brains of a scholar, because she has both. And I can't not say it because I don't like her, because she is nice! Oh, she is so nice. And has so much integrity. She is SO great to work with.

I can't say it because if Sundance doesn't take Mel C., I can't take her. I can't give her a job. I can't afford her.

I am an independent producer. It's one of the best jobs ever, if you can just deal with constant budgetary issues, like not being able to hire someone who would be a tremendous creative asset to you.

My company does not have the budget to hire Mel C., who is smart and hard working and artistically courageous. The hardest thing about being an independent producer is not raising the money for a movie, but paying your mortgage in the meantime. The best case scenario is your movie makes you a zillion dollars at the box office, and you get a cut of that. Of course, making a movie that makes money and making a movie that is a masterpiece are often two different things. But overall, I don't think it's much of an exaggeration to say that producing film is very much like being a helicopter mechanic. If your work doesn't fly, you will probably never get another chance to try again. Suffering for your art isn't glamorous, just annoying. It wastes time, time that could be better spent making great motion picture.

This is why we haven't seen the fabulous producing work of Ms. C. on the big screen (yet). She, like most of us in the indie world, have been struggling to make enough money to make enough time to make art.

So, I guess this is the long and wordy way of me saying: "Please take her! She deserves the stipend, the infrastructure and the creative support of the Sundance Institute! Please take her! If she gets a shot at producing, she will do something wonderful! The industry will benefit!"

Because if I did have the extra cash hanging around, I would take her in one hot second.


Best Regards,

The Producer