Writer Being Manny (015)

Some people believe that success in any business requires starting from the bottom and working your way up. The path might be unpredictable, but eventually you get where you want to go. You learn on the job, where you develop and refine your skills. Sometimes you discover that what you really want is different than what you planned, but ultimately just as fulfilling.

For the most part, I agree with this philosophy and I believe it can be applied to my field. There are many writers who get their start as a writer’s assistant (WA). I have more than one friend that went from getting coffee to pitching story ideas to writing their own episode of a TV show. In many ways, it appears to be the perfect job to ensure I reach my goals. On the other hand, WA days are long, leaving little time to work on my own material. At the end of the day, there would be no guarantee that the job would lead to career advancement. Even if it did, I might find myself writing for a television show that I hate. When that show gets cancelled three years down the line I could be back at square one.

I still believe that my greatest asset is good material. The more good writing samples I have, the better chance I have of writing before thirty. I’ve only been pondering the pros and cons of being a WA because writing full time without getting paid has resulted in a severe lack of monetary funds. I’ve already passively started looking for WA jobs. They are coveted and not easy to come by. Despite my reservations, if I am offered a WA job, I will take it.

Until then, out of fear of not making next months rent, I am forced to take whatever job presents itself, even if it has nothing to do with writing and even if it means falling behind in my writing schedule. I call these non-writing jobs, “Rent Jobs.”

I have a love/hate relationship with “Rent Jobs.” I absolutely depend on them to survive but I despise them for delaying my larger goals. I’ve had all sorts of “Rent Jobs” in the past few years. Some of the jobs have been film related. I’ve worked as an office PA and as a set PA. I’ve worked in the art department, the props department, the lighting department, and even the wardrobe department. I’ve shot behind the scenes material for independent films, I’ve shot and edited wedding videos, and I have been the personal assistant to a film director.

Other jobs have been completely unrelated to the film business. I’ve catered weddings, I’ve stuffed goody bags for an alcohol promotion party, and I’ve worked a security detail at a cemetery with go-go dancers. I helped load buses during The Kid’s Choice Awards, I’ve worked as a “facilitator” at pharmaceutical trade shows, and I’ve driven around town hanging up posters for a skateboarding exhibition. I’ve moved things, cleaned things, built things and dismantled things. Though most of these jobs pay terribly and completely disregard my college education, I am extremely grateful to all my employers for helping me keep from getting evicted.

This past week I started a new “Rent Job.” I am a nanny for a 7-year-old boy in my neighborhood. My actor friend makes a living as a nanny (he prefers the term Manny) and he was nice enough to pass some extra work my way. As far as “Rent Jobs” go, this one isn’t so bad. I actually have more in common with a 7-year-old than I’d like to admit. I’m also learning a lot about childcare. For instance, young children don’t really understand sarcasm. They just think you are being a dick, which I suppose I was. Childcare lesson #1: Don’t be a dick.


I’ve also learned that children don’t want to do anything that Harry Potter doesn’t do. Luckily, I am aware of Harry Potter’s likes and dislikes. For instance, Harry Potter likes taking his shoes off when he gets in the house and Harry Potter likes washing his hands before eating lunch. Harry Potter dislikes kicking his Manny in the shin and Harry Potter dislikes using a Super Soaker in the living room. Childcare lesson #2: Ask yourself, WWHPD?

I am even learning to be less competitive. We play all sorts of games, but I am especially competitive when it comes to feats of dexterity. (By the way, “Feats of Dexterity” is in competition with “Stone Fruit Season” to become my band name, if I ever start a band.) Seriously though, from finger football to “Whack a Mole,” I am a sore loser. This is one of the things a 7-year-old and I have in common. We both dislike playing games we are not good at. I don’t want to play Star Wars on the Wii and he doesn’t want to have a three point shooting contest on a ten-foot hoop. Childcare lesson #3: Let them win… once in a while.

I’m sure my job as a Manny won’t be my last random “Rent Job.” Then again, if I can find a way to keep up with my writing schedule while working as a nanny, it could be a perfect solution for the time being. If I could write all morning, and take care of a kid after school for a few hours, it could be adequate to pay rent. But is the extra writing time achieved by working as a nanny really more beneficial than the connections and experience of working as a WA?

What I would really like is to sell a screenplay or be commissioned to write a script so I can stop worrying about “Rent Jobs.” I go to Doylestown, Pennsylvania for a wedding next week. When I return I have an introductory meeting with a film company looking to develop a new project. Hopefully I can convince them that my writing talent is exactly what they need for their film. If not, maybe they will have a young child that needs a babysitter.

You’ve Got To Be Kidneying Me (014)

I am pleased to inform you that a reader recently praised Write Before Thirty, calling it “totally raw and humble.” Drawing attention to this compliment surely negates it, but I find it to be an appropriate description of today’s entry. You see, this blog is about to get more raw (rawer?) than it has ever been as I transcribe one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Reader discretion advised.

According to my original schedule, I am supposed to have 90 pages of my PT script completed by this evening. That’s not going to happen. There are many factors that can get in the way of a writer reaching his deadline. Writer’s block is a big reason, but a funk was not my problem this week. The need to take on a paid, non-writing job, is another factor, but that wasn’t the issue either. During the past week my writing has taken a backseat to my backseat. Yes, there’s a reason I am writing this while lying down in bed and that reason is not laziness. Ok fine, there are two reasons why I am writing this from bed and one of those reasons is not laziness.

Confused? Let me start from the beginning. I went to bed on Monday night feeling pretty grand. I had a perfectly adequate writing day and was looking forward to waking up early for another productive morning. Well, the night had a different set of plans. I dreamt that I was fighting in a war and some guy that I formerly suspected of having a thing for my girlfriend had poisoned me. The poison was taking effect and my organs were failing. It was painful. When I woke up from the dream, the pain did not go away. I was fevering and I was aching all over, especially in my lower back. Of course, I immediately assumed that I had H1N1, but after speaking with my girlfriend’s dad (who happens to have an MD at the end of his name) I decided it was just a virus. Look, I’m not exactly the toughest cookie. You probably know that because I say things like “toughest cookie.” Well, I tried to get in front of the computer and do some work but it wasn’t happening. When I get sick, I don’t write. I whine and complain and I do a lot of moaning. So that is what I did on Tuesday.

Hoping that the virus would be a 24hr bug, I still planned to get a good deal of work accomplished when I woke up on Wednesday. There are a couple of things you never want to see when you wake up in the morning. A severed horse head tucked under the sheets is one of those things. The other is blood in your urine. Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing blood in your urine? This was my first time, but there is certainly something in the human body that instinctively sounds an alarm when it sees something very wrong. For instance, when I broke and dislocated my left index finger, I immediately knew that my finger was not meant to rest at a 90-degree angle in that direction, so my instincts took over and forced my finger back into the socket. Well, when I saw blood where blood was not supposed to be, I instinctively went back to bed and pretended it never happened. I later asked my girlfriend if it would "hypothetically" be weird if I were "hypothetically" pissing blood. Well, she instinctively called Dr. Dad and Dr. Dad instinctively told me to get my ass to the ER.

I spent 8 hours in the ER on Wednesday. 3 hours in the morning to get a kidney infection diagnosis from a lousy doctor, then 5 hours in the evening to get the same diagnosis from a better doctor, this time with a CAT scan. Last year I was diagnosed with hyperparathyroidism, a benign tumor on one of my parathyroid glands, resulting in elevated calcium levels. This calcium can accumulate in the kidneys and cause stones. I had the diseased parathyroid removed but dormant kidney stones could plausibly still be moving around and causing a blockage. A CAT scan would show if I had stones.

Along with death by drowning and clowns, kidney stones is one of my greatest fears. Multiple people I know have had kidney stones and their accounts couldn’t have been more chilling. I was told, though I’m pretty sure the guy couldn’t prove it, that passing a kidney stone is more painful than giving birth. Another friend put it, in all seriousness, “You know, I’ve never been shot, but I can’t imagine it would hurt any worse.” The CAT scan showed that I did not have kidney stones. Disaster avoided. I was given antibiotics and told to follow up with an urologist.

The ER recommended a urologist but he wasn’t covered under my insurance, so I went to the best place to get a recommendation… the young producer. For some reason the young producer is able to recommend any kind of medical specialist or specialized lawyer in the LA area at the drop of a hat. It took less than three seconds for the young producer to recommend a good urologist. At the time I was still in so much discomfort that I didn’t laugh when I heard the doctor's name, which happened to be a synonym for testicle.

I sweated through two sets of sheets the night before going to see Dr. Testes. I’m pretty sure the sweats had to do with my fever breaking, but it may have also had something to do with dreading my visit to the urologist. I had heard some stories involving scopes and other contraptions and I wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Dr. Testes works out of a very large urology practice in an affluent part of town. The staff of receptionists, crammed side by side in their wood paneled fortress, answering phones and passing out paperwork was like a modern day version of the crowded but efficient switchboard operator rooms of the early days of telephones. I don’t know why, but I found this strangely comforting. I was also put at ease by no less than nine diplomas on the wall of Dr. Testes’ office. If you have five or more diplomas on your wall, I will trust whatever the hell you tell me. Dr. Testes and I were starting off on the right foot.

Dr. Testes said we would start with a urine sample. If I were still pissing blood he’d have to take a look at my bladder. That sounded like a fine idea, until he explained that he would have to take a look at my bladder through the tip of my willy. Fortunately, I was no longer pissing blood. Unfortunately, the exam did not end there. Certain moments in life you are sure to remember forever. For me, those include my first kiss, the day I met the love of my life, and then this past Thursday, the day I lost my anal virginity. It all happened so fast. Dr. Testes warmed me up with a little “head to the left and cough” foreplay before asking me to bend over the exam table. I only caught a glimpse of the tube of lubrication before I realized Dr. Testes was massaging my prostate. He was in and out in less than ten seconds. I smiled sheepishly as Dr. Testes handed me a couple of tissues and walked to the door. The following awkward exchange ensued:

Me: Are you leaving?
Dr. Testes: The technician will be right in to do an ultrasound of your kidneys and rectum.
Me: Oh. I see
Dr. Testes: You can pull up your pants now.
Me: I have to pee.
Dr. Testes: Use the small sink
Me: Seriously?
Dr. Testes: Yes.
Me: Thank you.
Dr. Testes: It's a urology office. That's why it's there.

I urinated in a sink for the first time since college. The technician then arrived, wheeling in the ultrasound machine. I was instructed to drop my trousers, lie down on the table, and face the wall in the fetal position. We made the prerequisite small talk before the technician unveiled his apparatus. I think his apparatus is best describes as looking like a large electric toothbrush.

The procedure took significantly longer than the finger technique. I assume it is necessary to get images from a number of different angles because there was a good deal of navigation going on. My memory of the event is cloudy, but I did discover my uncontrollable, pain-induced swear word. Hopefully the technician thought I was Australian and therefore using it as a term of endearment. When it was over, the technician politely cleaned me up and asked me to sit up so he could do an ultrasound of my kidneys. This was a much more relaxing experience and I wondered why we didn’t start there. As I pulled up my pants, I asked the technician if it was customary to tip. He laughed and went along his way. Typical.

I sat down with Dr. Testes and my girlfriend to receive the proper diagnosis: Prostatitis. That means I have a prostate infection. Such a tiny organ has been causing all these problems and preventing me from writing. Dr. Testes assured me that this type of thing is rather common, almost like getting a sinus infection. The treatment is thirty days of antibiotics with no sex for at least a week. I guess my girlfriend looked disappointed when he said this, so he reassured her, “Dear, you can do whatever you want.” I can’t believe he said that. You’d think he’d have my back after he... had my back. Oh, I also need to be on Flomax for a couple of weeks and I should probably be sitting on a donut. That’s right, a butt pillow, like the ones old people use when they get hemorrhoids. I don’t even know where to buy something like that. Maybe I can just use my girlfriend’s neck pillow.

People have always been telling me that I act older than my age. I guess this week I proved them right. A friend of mine (who has been through some similar medical experiences) lamented, “We’re the gazelles at the back of the pack.” I didn’t understand at first, but he went on to explain that we are genetically inferior and therefore the lions have an easier time snatching us up and devouring us. Encouraging.

Raw and humble or just plain embarrassing? I’m not really sure, but it has played at least a small factor in my struggle to reach my writing goals, so I am compelled to blog about it. Let’s hope that the antibiotics kick in and I’m back to full days of writing in the weeks to come. In the meantime, I'll be drinking plenty of water, watching movies, and complaining about painful urination.

The Study (013)

I may have given the impression that I have a proper office. That's not the case. I have a home office, or what one might refer to as "the study." I share this small study with my girlfriend.

My Office


My View

Knock on Partical Board? (012)

The "no funk" routine seems to be working, knock on wood. Wait, is IKEA furniture acceptable for knocking on wood? Because everything in my office comes from IKEA and I'm pretty sure there is synthetic resin in everything they make. I feel like you need to knock on a solid piece of wood, not wood chips, saw dust and synthetic resin. Sometimes I knock on my head after I say "knock on wood" as a self-deprecating insinuation that my brain is made of wood. I don't think that counts either.

As I was saying, waking up at 8am and getting to work by 9am has made me much more productive. (You can tell by the lack of blog entries this past week). It has also put me in a better mood. I've spent the mornings reworking my psychological thriller (PT) outline. I also found time to watch "Don't Look Now," that 1973 Nicolas Roeg film. I find it to be one of the scariest movies of all time and I wanted to watch it for inspiration. I think I'm finally at a place where I can start writing the script again. In general, the mornings have been dedicated to my PT script, and I've spent the afternoons making notes on my girlfriend's one woman show. She put up the show almost two years ago, but she is looking to bring it back and I hope to have a bigger role in making it happen this time.

My relatively good mood remains, despite the fact that we are still waiting to hear back about our sitcom pilot (SP1). It has been two weeks and we still don't know if the enthusiastic production company we pitched would like to move forward with SP1. What is taking them so long? I'm getting impatient.

Another production company recently passed on Sitcom Pilot 2 but maintained that they would potentially still like to be involved in SP1. I'm not really sure what that even means. I'm just going to trust that my manager and young producer have it under control as I keep on writing.

State of The Script (011)

Recently I have attributed a large chunk of my writing woes to the post meeting blues, so I might as well report on how that last meeting went. Last Friday, the 24th of July, we met with an independent production company interested in “Sitcom Pilot 1,” or SP1 for short. SP1 is the script that I wrote based on the one-woman show of a standup comedienne. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to mention that this comedienne also happens to be my girlfriend. The show is written for her to star, which can be a difficult sell since she is not quite famous.

The meeting went rather well. The head of the television department praised the writing, calling it hilarious and smart. The president of the company added his praise, and offered up certain partnerships ideas that would help us sell the show. We were told that because we are new writers, a network will most likely attempt to purchase the show then replace us with their own writing team. We would make some money selling them our idea and then we would be left in the dust. This isn’t what we want. The president of this small company knows that we want to maintain our creative control. We are told that one way to go about that is to partner with an established showrunner that believes in our abilities and would be willing to stick her neck out and take us under her wing. The president of the company has some ideas about how to go about this, but no final decisions were made in the room. And now we wait….

In the meantime, a major film and television star’s production company read SP1. They have a first look deal at one of the major networks. We got the script into their hands thanks to a friend of the family connection. These connections rarely amount to much, but in this case it may have started a relationship that could be mutually beneficial in the future. The director of TV development read SP1 and praised the writing. Ultimately, she passed, citing that the network they produce content for is looking for single-talent driven shows, rather than workplace comedies. She asked that we please send her more material in the future that is appropriate for their company. When the comments are genuine, and I sense that they are in this case, I’m learning to look at positive passes as small victories.

Get the Funk out Ma Face (010)

The writing week from hell is coming to a close. No progress on the PT script finds me nearly twenty pages behind schedule. It’s not for lack of effort. I can only hope that all the trying and failing this week will lead to some sort of breakthrough in the near future. On the plus side, I think I may have isolated one of the triggers to my writing funk. Identifying my triggers might help me get out of this funk and avoid the next one.

So, I’m pretty sure the recent catalysts for my writing lulls have been pitch meetings. I seem to be going into the funk directly after a big meeting. Tom Petty once professed, “The waiting is the hardest part.” I’m fairly sure this was in reference to pitching screenplays. There’s nothing as frustrating as waiting to know how things are going to play out after a meeting. I’m putting everything on the line writing these scripts on spec and my entire future rests in the hands (and wallets) of the folks with the money.

I’m helpless as I wait to hear the verdict. For someone as reluctant to relinquish control as myself, this is particularly trying. I pretend it doesn’t faze me. I tell myself that no matter what the moneymen decide about my project, my life isn’t going to change. In a way, this is true. If I sell or option a script tomorrow, I won’t run out and buy a new car. I won’t be able to afford a house. I won’t even buy a new HDTV. For the most part, life will go on as normal.

If I say that my life won’t change at all, I’d be lying. Relieving a little of the financial pressure would be nice. Also, selling a script would most likely aid me in finding an agent, and subsequently more writing projects. However, there will be a subtle change that will affect me more profoundly. Sometimes I want so bad to succeed that I feel everything I write needs to be brilliant. As a result, my writing suffers. If I sold just one script and felt that small measure of success, I think I would finally feel like I have a little breathing room to make mistakes. I’m not sure why that weight feels so heavy, but I can visualize it being lifted off and it feels really fucking good.

Now that I can attribute at least a portion of my writing funk to “the waiting,” I’m hoping that I can step out of it. That being said, I know there are more things I can be doing to get out and stay out of a funk. Basically, I need to get into writing shape. I’m a better basketball player when I train and stick to a regimen, and I’m a big fan of sports analogies, so it would only make sense if the same were true for my writing.


I’m going to start off by fine-tuning my routine. I got so caught up creating a broad writing schedule that I overlooked the daily schedule. For starters, I need get my ass out of bed bright and early. Sleeping until 10AM cannot be an option. From now on, 8AM is the latest I should ever be waking up during a weekday. People with real jobs do this all the time. Writing is my real job, so I can’t make exceptions. Waking up at 8AM or earlier should give me plenty of time to eat breakfast, shower, and check up on any breaking news before starting my writing at 9AM. Lunch break will be one hour, same time everyday. I’ll stop writing at a decent time in order to enjoy life and ensure that I do not burn out. I’m thinking 5PM, just in time to feed and walk the dogs.

Facebook, email, and even blogging will need to take a back seat if I’m serious about funk prevention. I’m embarrassed to admit that I am compelled to check my facebook news feed constantly throughout the day. At this very moment I am fighting the urge to open a new tab and see what amusing quips my friends (and friends of friends) have added to their wall. Full disclosure: I couldn’t resist. I checked. A comment about the film “Funny People,” a picture of a heart in a watermelon, and five unfortunate hornet stings were among the highlights. I don’t really know why I check my email so often. It is mostly junk mail. Did you know that igourmet.com is having their biggest sale of the year on cheese? It ends on Monday night so place your order immediately (not kidding… their cheese is actually pretty good). I’m thinking about implementing a reward system. If I write for a half hour straight, I can check email for five minutes. Facebook, however, needs to wait for lunch.

A sharp body equals a sharp mind. I don’t actually know if that is true, but I’m going with it. This is why I must include time for exercise as part of my “no funk” plan. I’ll either need to wake up early to exercise or exercise after 5PM. I could possibly exercise during an extended lunch break and push my writing schedule back one hour.

Spending some time outside of my apartment will also be key to keeping me in good writing spirits. I'm thinking part of my writing day should be spent at the oft dreaded coffee shop or the local public library. Either a 9AM - 12:30PM shift or a 1:30PM - 5PM shift. Going somewhere during the day will make me feel like I have a purpose and it will force me to get dressed for at least a few hours.

Personal hygiene is part of my funk prevention plan. You might think this goes without saying, but often times one can forget how refreshing a shower can be. I’ve also decided that I need to stop using the “writer’s beard” excuse. I’ve been telling people that I need to grow this wretched beard because it makes me look older and therefore I’m taken more seriously in the pitch room. It might make me look older, but it makes me feel like a bum. Seriously, it’s getting out of hand. I was on the way back from the dry cleaners yesterday and the homeless man that always hounds me for change didn’t bother asking me for money. Instead, he just looked up at me and gave me this pathetic, sympathetic nod, as if to say, “hang on buddy, things will get better.” "Look good, feel good" is going to be my new mantra. I think I might even get a haircut after I cash my last unemployment check.

If I can apply all these new strategies, I should hopefully be able to move forward and get back on track with my writing. Maybe more importantly, it should help me be a more pleasant person to be around. Separating my writing from the rest of my life has been a difficult challenge thus far. It really isn’t a “leave your work at the office” type of profession. I look forward to finding the right balance.