This morning at the cafe he made this good point. I was explaining to him, how it's time to write a new feature but I feel slow to start. I guess because the purpose of whatever I do next is purely to make money. I'll write a Christmas movie for all I care, this one is for the cold hard cash. But, and this is a wildly good problem to have, I don't know how to work on something I don't like.
I told Dern about the writer I met at that birthday breakfast who groaned and grimaced telling me she picked up a terrible book adaptation to make ends meet with her healthcare points. I referenced the writer I chatted with on Halloween. She and I met in 2021 at the very same party. She's on a network show. Has been for three years after the driest spell. She says it's not really her thing, a medical drama, but she is so grateful every day to have a job. I ask how she is besides the job, and she laughs, says life is only job. And she's so grateful!
She's not wrong. If I'd had the opportunity to make network drama money for three years I would have screamed YES HOW HIGH. But I didn't get that opportunity. Here's where Puhg comes in. I'm like, "Isn't it weird I've never had to write anything I don't like?" And he was like, to summarize, seems like that's a flex?
I countered that I'd love to have basic project income. But that's just not my path, has never been my path. Whether I make that abundantly clear or it's my energy who can say, but I've never toiled on something I wasn't passionate about. It's a gift. Even though I wish for a better livelihood. Even though I've chased one.
Tira told me, long ago, when I was heartbroken about some rejection: all of your values are against the places you work. They're not gonna be nice to you! It was such a reasonable observation. It's like I keep willingly jumping into a whale's mouth with a plan to cut out his stomach. If the whale is smart, he will keep spitting me out.
Was thinking about the audition that nearly destroyed me back in Chicago. It was the culmination of showing off as much as a human could possibly show off in a year, and I got a cold no thank you. I was devastated. I wrote my sketch director, asked how I wasn't supposed to take it insanely personally that a room of my collaborators didn't want me. I think of his reply to me often. He was supportive, but a little mysterious. He told me, I was talented and had done everything right and was also well-liked, but... but... It's like he didn't even know. I just wasn't a fit.
I was so so sad for months, but of course, almost ten years later it's clear, he was right. They were all right.
Thinking too about my town's Mayor For a Day competition. When local 8th graders wrote essays on what they would do if they were mayor for a day. Finalists all got to sit in the big chairs at a city council meeting. My sister had won years before. I was sort of embarrassed when the results were announced. Wasn't on the list, some demon boys were. I'd read their essays. They were bad. I tried not to think about it, focused on the next pops tournament or whatever.
Cut to a year later, I told my sister about how I was maybe not as good of a writer as I'd hoped. She read my paper and announced, "Yeah...I don't know if you didn't get picked because you're not a good writer. You may not have gotten picked because you call our town racist..." I nodded obliviously, Correct! I'd argued as mayor I would add sidewalks to residential streets, turn the old car shop into a public park, and start building a mosque to encourage more diversity in the mostly-white community. My sister had to explain, calling the town racist was probably not the move, for the middle school contest.
Puhg marvels, hypes me up. It's true--I've managed to operate a working business, for (near) eight years, without compromising almost anything I believe or driving for Uber or putting dreams on credit cards.
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