Being my first pitch fest I was giddy with excitement and anticipation as I stood in line after line with my fellow co-writing dreamer zombies. Many like myself were there for the first time and the hunger on their salivating smiles shone through like primer on a bright yellow wall. The others, the been there done that word merchants, had a laisse faire approach to the ordeal and told me that the company rep’s inside were only there for the swag and to network with one another, and if their projects fit what the powers that be were looking for they’d be lucky, “What will be will be”.

I didn’t think to ask why they would waste their time and money if they thought that was the case because I was too caught up in my own stress mess. I innocently thought that this could be the start of my screenwriting career and approached each meeting with the urgency of a crack hoe on the lower east side. Sweaty with butterflies swirling around my stomach lining, I pitched my heart out to anyone and everyone who was involved in children’s programming.

The response was good as many people seemed to love my “cute little story” and I had many suggestions, great and not so much so about where to take my project next. Some producers suggested adapting my idea for an animated series into a feature film, others thought a graphic novel would be the way to go. However more then one producer suggested I have the story published into a children’s book and then bring it back to them once I had an established audience. With that being the most popular opinion and the nugget of a second look once I was published, I decided to take their advice and do just that.

So I adapted my award winning script into a children’s book and began pursuing a publisher. Easy right? Ahhh NOT! Selling a book idea to a publisher is as difficult if not more so then pitching to a production company, and it takes a heck of a lot more work! In addition not only were most publishing houses not accepting book proposals but the handful that were wanted it submitted by an agent, which I didn’t have. So I shuffled onto the next step, which was to search for that all elusive literary agent.

I continued the task of soliciting my wares to every agent and publisher who would look at my “cute little story”, but this being a grueling and lengthily process I decided to also pursue the world of animated television at the same time. Maybe I could find a producer or animation studio that would be interested in my series then I could forgo the book thing. Great idea right!?

Foiled again! I soon found out that this was even more difficult than trying to secure a publishing contract or a literary agent. Most development executives wanted a shit load of things before they would even look at my project such as a budget, an Internet presence with a pre-established audience, a book deal, (and prob my first born!) and marketing data so they could figure out how much they could make off of the figurines and other toys etc.

WTF! I was simply a writer searching for a producing partner to steer my sweet story to its anxiously awaiting audience. I didn’t know about marketing and internet presence, tax credits or budgeting, I had a great heart warming story that touched everyone who read it and I wanted to share it with children 5-9 years of age, but it seemed that the big kids who control the media and product that gets out to the masses were determined to stop Pickle in her tracks.

Overwhelmed by this chicken and egg world and finding myself back at the start pecking around for a book deal I did what many other budding novelists might do, I threw my beloved pages in the air and I gave the FK up!

Frustrated by the industry and desperately needing motivation, I attended a networking and motivational weekend put on by Women in Film called Flash Forward. There I met a fellow writer who knew a local publisher who had just published her first children’s book and was looking for new stories, so she set up the introduction and I met with the editor. Several meetings later, I happily signed a contract for my first children’s book tentatively called Pickle and the Gift.

Four years on I am still waiting for my book to appear in print, and as each year passes I like the “been there done that word merchants” begin to let go just a little bit more and accept that what will be will be.

As Posted on Scriptlab:

Having won my first competition for my short animated script Pickle and the Gift from the International Family Film Festival (we’ll discuss competitions and the importance of them in another post…PSB) I proudly registered for yet another first, my first pitch festival!

Being my first pitch fest I was giddy with excitement and anticipation as I stood in line after line with my fellow co-writing dreamer zombies. Many like myself were there for the first time and the hunger on their salivating smiles shone through like primer on a bright yellow wall. The others, the been there done that word merchants, had a laisse faire approach to the ordeal and told me that the company rep’s inside were only there for the swag and to network with one another, and if their projects fit what the powers that be were looking for they’d be lucky, “What will be will be”.

I didn’t think to ask why they would waste their time and money if they thought that was the case because I was too caught up in my own stress mess, and I innocently thought that this could be the start of my screenwriting career. Thus I like the other newbies approached each meeting with the urgency of a crack hoe on the lower east side looking for her next hit. Sweaty with butterflies swirling around my stomach lining, I pitched my heart out to anyone and everyone who was involved in children’s programming.

The response was good as many people seemed to love my “cute little story” and I had many suggestions, great and not so much so about where to take my project next. Some producers suggested adapting my idea for an animated series into a feature film, others thought a graphic novel would be the way to go. However more then one producer suggested I have the story published into a children’s book and then bring it back to them once I had an established audience. With that being the most popular opinion and the nugget of a second look once I was published, I decided to take their advice and do just that.

So I adapted my award winning script into a children’s book and began pursuing a publisher. Easy right? Ahhh NOT! Selling a book idea to a publisher is as difficult if not more so then pitching to a production company, and it takes a heck of a lot more work! In addition not only were most publishing houses not accepting book proposals but the handful that were wanted it submitted by an agent, which I didn’t have. So I shuffled onto the next step, which was to search for that extremely elusive literary agent.

I continued the task of soliciting my wares to every agent and publisher who would look at my “cute little story”, but this being a grueling and lengthily process I decided to also pursue the world of animated television at the same time. Maybe I could find a producer or animation studio that would be interested in my series then I could forgo the book thing. Great idea right!?

Foiled again! I soon found out that this was even more difficult than trying to secure a publishing contract or a literary agent. Most development executives wanted a shit load of things before they would even look at my project such as a budget, an Internet presence with a pre-established audience, a book deal, (more then likely my first born!) and marketing data so they could figure out how much they could make off of the figurines and other toys etc.

WTF! I was simply a writer searching for a producing partner to steer my sweet story to its anxiously awaiting audience. I didn’t know about marketing and internet presence, tax credits or budgeting, I had a great heart warming story that touched everyone who read it and I wanted to share it with children 5-9 years of age, but it seemed that the big kids who control the media and product that gets out to the masses were determined to stop Pickle in her tracks.

Overwhelmed by this chicken and egg world and finding myself back at the start pecking around for a book deal I did what many other budding novelists might do, I threw my beloved pages in the air and I gave the FK up!

Frustrated by the industry and desperately needing motivation, I attended a networking and motivational weekend put on by Women in Film called Flash Forward. There I met a fellow writer who knew a local publisher who had just published her first children’s book and was looking for new stories, so she set up the introduction and I met with the editor. Several meetings later, I happily signed a contract for my first children’s book tentatively called Pickle and the Gift. How excited was I, right!

Four years on I am still waiting for my book to appear in print, and as each year passes I like the “been there done that word merchants” begin to let go just a little bit more and accept that what will be will be.

Naturally you need to have something to offer to break in and be heard such as an amazing talent, scads of money, or a relative, but to get that proverbial foot in the door without having it lobbed off at the ankle you need an introduction.

The opportunity I lost with RW got me thinking and asking myself why I hadn’t used him or my network of awesomeness to forge my way ahead in the industry? I mean forget about 6 degrees of separation I’ve actually worked with or met people like Reese Witherspoon, David Duchovny, Peter Deluise, Kevin Sorbo, Gwyneth Paltrow, Ian McKellen, Robert Redford, Rick Springfield and others (though I may never have had a word with many of them, and they wouldn’t remember me from a hole in the wall) but I’ve not once used those contacts to push my way through the iron curtain.

So why not?! It came down to this; in many respects when I am on set as a set buyer or assistant I am not seen as a writer and feel uncomfortable asking anyone I barely know or have just met to take a look at my work. I admired those peeps who could meet someone new and push their newest fantastic script on the poor unsuspecting director of the week etc, but that just wasn’t me.

So I had to ask myself was I lacking in self-esteem? Or did I just not have the balls to forge my way ahead as a writer? The truth is that for years I didn’t feel as if my work was good enough to pass on (and I was right!) and I didn’t want to lose face or look bad in the eyes of my peers, so I kept it to myself. Now having taken my certificate in feature film writing, having been in a handful of fantastic and not so fantastic writing groups, and having won a few competitions I have more confidence to ask people to read my work. But it took a lot of blood, sweat and years to get to this point.

Over this time I’ve discovered the importance of learning my craft so that I can read my own work or others and really tell what is utter crap and what needs tweaking, and when something is ready to send out. If you get nothing else out of this blog I want you to get this, that it is very very very important not to send your work out before it is ready. You truly only get one opportunity to make a first impression! Believe me I’ve made the mistake of sending things out too early and probably torched a few bridges in doing so, and haven’t learned the route back yet, if I do I’ll be sure to pass it on.

The other thing I learned is the importance of developing relationships. Build a strong group of people whom you trust to give you honest, valuable criticism of your work. And I don’t mean your mother, your best friend (unless he’s a show runner and knows his shit!) or your priest, but someone who like you is in the trenches pouring their heart and soul into their craft day after day, and who is good at what they do. That’s where having an amazing writers group/filmmakers group or whatever your poison is, is literally invaluable.

I have been blessed to find people like this in my life who aren’t afraid to tell me when something isn’t working, or when they couldn’t put it down and laughed page to page, and I am very thankful for them. Without them I am just another wanebe writer living in the vacuum of my mind where all my projects are absolutely fabulous and I deserve to be the next Diablo Cody wonderkund! Which to her credit she, probably like me, did the hard work but then got super lucky with her first script, and I say kudos to her. Breaking in is just the beginning; it’s what you do once you get through the Iron Gates that matters.

So if you have a great, no outstanding script or film idea and you’ve had valuable feedback and know for certain that it’s at it’s best, send it to that friend of a friend who knows Drew Barrymore, Jud Apatow, or that agent guy, and ask if they wouldn’t mind passing it on! If it’s fabulous and you’re secure in your talent and what you have to offer then the worst that can happen is that they say no, but if you don’t ask you’ll get exactly what you’ve asked for, BUMPKIS!

Believe me I know

I knew that RW had recently relocated to lalaland from the UK, and being a huge fan I decided that while in LA I would track the international pop star down and pitch my idea to him. I also knew that fame in America had eluded Robbie and felt that if I could make a film about how great he was maybe I could raise his profile, and my own of course, in the States. Yes I know it sounds deluded but having recently seen the film “My Date with Drew” about a guy that stalks Drew Barrymore and gets a date with her in the end, I seriously thought I could pull it off!

As luck would have it I found out through a woman I met at a pitch event not only where Robbie lived because as she claimed her friend was dating him (which turned out to be a bum steer), but also that he was playing in a local footie club called the LA Vale. So I googled the schedule for the Vale which was easy enough to find, found the football field on mapquest (soccer to us north American sports fans), and got my butt to the next game.

Outside the fence paparazzi parked themselves behind the green mesh walls snapping photos as they were not allowed on the field, so I was surprised how easy it was to glide through the gates. No one stopped me to ask for credentials, or a pass, or even seemed to care, so I joined the hundred or so fans on the bleachers where I surveyed the teams for a glimpse of the pop star.

Two very excited fans sitting next to me asked if I was there to see Robbie, feeling like a bit of a prat and not wanting to come off as a groupie like the hundred or so other women in the stands, I lied. I told them that I was writing a soccer script called Red Card (which was true) and that I was there doing research but that I didn’t know who RW was. They then launched into a verbal discography and mini bio to get me up to speed, and when the teams to took the field for the big match my new friends made sure to point the star out to me.

At the end of the game while many fans surrounded the team uttering congratulations I gathered my courage and approached the team captain. I told him that I was writing a soccer script and that I would love to talk to him or some of the other players, so he set up a meeting with a few of the lads and established one in particular to be my team contact.

I kept a keen eye on RW who although he was flanked all around by security and fellow teammates didn’t seem assed about the paparazzi outside the gate. On the pitch he was just another player enjoying his victory and the adoration of his footie fans. Too timid to approach Robbie that first match I began to attend all of the Vale’s games and soon became accepted as one of the regulars, then after noticing that some fans were taping the games and still too shy to speak to Robbie about my project I did the next best thing, I brought my video camera too!

This was it! This could be the beginning of my film! My heart was beating crazy fast as I entered the field, camera in hand. I said my usual hellos to the lads and asked my contact permission to tape the game for “research purposes”, he said he didn’t’ see a problem with it but that I should ask Robbie. So he walked me over to RW, who was lacing up his boots and introduced me. Now I was shaking because I was so excited to finally be face to face with one of my idols, who I had even won tickets to see in Sydney Australia by making a silly video tribute, so keeping my calm was a major challenge.

I was sure I was stumbling over my words as I eeked out my request but Mr. calm cool and collected just uttered, “yeah sure whatever you like love” and I was in heaven! I videotaped the game and got some fantastically candid shots of RW but after the match I continued to shoot and soon noticed that RW and the lads were watching me taping, and they did not look very happy. I had been found out!

Did they know that I was really there to start shooting my Ego video and that I really was a humongous fan? Or was my over active imagination over active once again? I didn’t know which it was but after that my contact within the team became unavailable and wouldn’t return my emails, then he disappeared all together. RW began to attend less and less of the games as well and the team began to break down, something was amiss.

Foolishly I felt that somehow I had been the reason for Robbie’s sudden withdrawal from his beloved footie and I felt incredibly bad. I found out after the fact that my contact within the Vale had conned Robbie out of a shit load of mullah and that was the beginning of the team split, and that I had nothing to do with it (naturally!).

I also felt like a fool for not approaching Mr. Williams from the start with my idea for the film, or even for not simply showing up with a camera day one and shooting! But the Ego had begun to fall apart even before it began to grow as my other team members pulled out of the project leaving me to do it all on my own, so it wasn’t just my lack of courage that killed the budding bloom.

Still every time I watch the match clip I feel a pang of regret and swear that next time, given the opportunity, I will ask for what I want even if it means rejection because if you don’t ask you’ll never get, right?

(LA Vale match starring Robbie Williams! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSwA-lq6iTY)

I had high hopes for this class because the instructor had actually been produced and was a published author too, so the night of our first meeting I was stoked. The dozen or so writers enrolled in the course all gathered outside the classroom where we were to meet and a half hour later, as we began to wonder if we were going to have a class at all our instructor hurried up fumbling with a set of keys.

Door finally opened he ushered us into the tiny, windowless room all the while uttering apologies: his ex wife didn’t pick up his daughter, he needed to fill his car with fuel, parking was hell, he went to the wrong room etc. etc. After his diatribe he calmed down enough to tell us a bit about himself and all the reasons it was impossible to break in as a writer in L.A!

He equivocated it to the iron curtain between East and West Berlin and how people were shot trying to scale the wall, and that Hollywood was virtually the same. According to him working hard, baring your soul and even sacrificing your first born would not guarantee success in L.A. And even if you did miraculously get into the inner sanctum after answering the onslaught of questions such as what is your favorite color (wrong!) it did not mean that you would stay there. This, he pounded the table for effect, he knew from experience, and so the course began (ugh I paid for this?).

To be fair to him, as quirky and Woody Allenesque as he was, he did know his shit and I got a lot out of his course though I happen to know that he wasn’t invited back to teach the following summer or even during the regular session, so maybe it was him and not the industry? Maybe once he got help and found the proper medication that would work for him he would bounce back and once again be on top of his game? Poor sod.

Anyhow, I decided that I wasn’t going to let this bitter angry man get me down and was going to make the most out of my time here darn it, after all I was in L.A. baby! So I set out to explore my new neighborhood.

In Weho I soon noticed that people dressed uber well for just walking the dog or taking out trash, like it or not they all just seem to look good! So carefree and hopeful I donned my pretty floral sundress and strappy sandals, grabbed my canvas shopping bag and hit the nearest grocery store. I wanted to fit in. Perusing Gelsons deli area which seemed to be the biggest draw in the little market, I found myself running smack dab into someone’s cart, or rather it smack dabbed into me.

I whisked by the cart barely glancing at the handsome man pushing it, then made my way around the shop. Once my basket was full I headed to the check out where once again I was nearly run down by the same man I had encountered early, this time he actually seemed to shove the cart towards me. I shot him my most perturbed don’t mess with me glare and he smiled back…it was only then that I realized I knew this man! I mean I didn’t actually know him as I didn’t know anyone in L.A, but me and millions of other women watched him as Carrie’s aloof love of her life and the man who had captured women’s hearts around the country…yes you got it, I had almost been flattened by Mr. BIG!

Now I’m usually not the type to get starry eyed as I’ve worked with celebrities for years, but my heart fluttered as I struggled to maintain my cool, so I mumbled I’m sorry and got the heck out of his way. A bit star struck, which was not my usual M.O. I was taken off guard; you just don’t shop with the stars back home! I mean I saw them on set on a day-to-day basis but pushing a shopping trolley in Gelsons, never!

I was dying to tell someone about my encounter but knew that my 9-5 friends would be working so instead I grabbed a tall cool frapp at my local coffee shop with all the other unemployed wanna be’s and trust fund babies. Standing in line in front of me was a distinguished man in a pink polo shirt with a sweater tied around his neck (so 80’s!), when he turned around I realized that he was one of my Grandma’s favorite soap opera hero’s John Abbott who had recently been killed off the show, but here he was alive and well in Weho! I chuckled to myself at how happy that would make granny, man I wish she had text.

Totally chuffed I took a spot on the patio with my handy notebook and did what I love to do best, people watch…and without a doubt this was definitely the place to do it!

Enrolled in my first feature screenwriting workshop for the summer session at UCLA in sunny Los Angeles I packed up some necessities, my laptop, bikini, sunscreen and a suitcase full of books on writing and I was off!

L.A. a two-day drive from home and being that I am really more of a passenger then a driver, I placed an ad on craigslist for a ride share and found a nice respectable twenty something on his way to a kibbutz in Israel via LA then NYC to accompany me. So I picked up this intellectual new age hipster at the Tsawwassen ferry terminal on this side of the border, that’s Canada eh, and while waiting I had a brief bought of butterflies that quickly morphed into panic. What if he didn’t show up? Or was dull and stinky? Or what if he was a serial killer? I hadn’t actually verified…yikes!

To my relief he did arrive and was very tall, dark and handsome (that’s TDH to you) with a cute smile and quick wit, and seemed normal enough so I was pleased that I did so well. We made our brief introductions, packed his things into my fuel-efficient automobile, then we were on our way. This was going to be a fun few days! Well at least that’s what I thought.

When we hit the border we encountered our first snag. I had my passport, my acceptance letter into the program at UCLA and I even had a sublet in Weho, one of the trendy hip areas also known as “boys town”, but what I didn’t realize was that I would also need a visa. A visa! I had heard that Canadians could visit the USA for six months at a time without one and indeed was told by UCLA admissions that I wouldn’t need one, so what was the problem?

The slick cool immigration officer informed me that not everyone could come into the States and go to school, at which I wanted to reply DUH! I needed a degree and had to submit a sample script to get into this course, but instead I grinned and endured the two and a half hour lecture and run around while he suspiciously processed my B1. As sweet and accommodating as I tried to be I knew he didn’t trust me.

Finally released, I had to apologize to my poor unsuspecting passenger. TDH accepted the situation gracefully and said he was simply glad to get going once again. And we did, at least until the engine warning and emergency systems lights began to blink on, and on, and on. The basic instruction manual that came with my little first generation Prius (bloody electrical cars) told us in no uncertain terms to stop driving!

So just outside of Portland at fifteen minutes to closing, we found a Toyota dealer and slid into the service lane. The chipper service manager told us that we would have to stay over night and wait for a diagnosis the following day. Oh no my head screamed! After all we’ve been through poor TDH guy would NOT go for that. I asked them if they could take a quick look anyways and thankfully shiny happy guy ushered us in.

Danger averted, the guys who did my oil change forgot to fill the radiator (and they get the big bucks geesh!) we were once again on our way until, yes you guessed it another snag. Just outside of Eugene Oregon a flat tire stranded us at sunset on an abandoned stretch of highway. We unloaded the completely jam packed trunk and plucked out the spare tire, which thankfully my handy but now not so tranquil passenger was able to change fairly quickly. We drove back to the Wally Mart service station that we had passed a half hour back and it was closed, so we pulled into the local motel 6 where we could camp for the night.

At this point TDH tells me that he can’t afford a room and wanted to sleep in my car. No way my sleepy and stress laden brain began to whirl! But what could I do? I wasn’t going to leave a total stranger alone all night with my car keys; I might wake up automobileless (is that a word?). So a bit anxious but without any other options I offered to get a double room and share it with him, for all the difficulty that he had to endure so far. He accepted and we piled our valuables into the small welcoming room.

I jumped into the shower to wash off the bad karma from the day thankful that I at least had a clean, safe place to sleep for the night. When I emerged from bathing I couldn’t believe my weary eyes…TDH was sitting naked on the bed covered by nothing but a big brown wooden guitar! O.M.G! I was so shocked I didn’t know how to respond, so I quickly jumped into MY bed and mumbled good night. I pulled the covers closely around me and prayed that I’d get even a wink of sleep with this strange, naked man next to me. What the feck had I got myself into?

Needless to say eventually, but not without even more mishaps which included a stop over at his discourteous stoner best mates place in Chico, and an argument over the energy barometer and fuel consumption of my vehicle, we got to LA and I abruptly deposited him safely at the Amtrak station on union street.

That’s the last I saw or heard of naked guitar playing guy and I sometimes wonder if he ever responded to a ride share again, or maybe, just maybe he was as traumatized as I was!

I won’t go into details now but suffice it to say that the first one which was a short documentary on the influence of media on self esteem was actually pretty good, thanks mostly in part to my editor. The second however was in dire need of a really good script consultant and suffered because of my lack of knowledge in how to structure a screenplay, short or otherwise. So embarrassed by my short film debacle I enrolled in a screenwriting class for beginners.

Going into the class I had a few what I thought were fabulous story ideas that I was excited to work on, but the instructor quickly dropped the bomb that we were to write short screenplays ONLY. Naturally my first instinct was WTF I only have feature ideas, no more shorts for me! So I hurried up front to ask if there was a feature film writing course that I could transfer into. I was promptly informed that the only one offered was full, and that this course was the pre requisite to that so I’d have to take it anyways. He assured me that the structure of a short film was basically the same as a feature and I’d learn what I needed to know from his class, he urged me to stick it out.

Now had I really known the truth of the vast differences between writing a short and writing a feature, plus the fact that he was a creative writing poetry/short story major and hadn’t even had a feature script produced or optioned I would have raced from the seminar room screaming for a refund, but I didn’t know any better so I stayed and faced the challenge.

So I had to come up with an idea for a short film PDFQ (pretty darn frickin quick) and then present it to the class. The next week the pitches began, and I’m being kind when I say they were BRUTAL!

Most of the “story” ideas (and I use the word lightly) reminded me of the avant-garde what the heck is that supposed to mean type of stuff that I suffered through during my two years of film production. Few had plot or structure and definitely were lacking a protagonist with a clear goal, which even I knew was the basis of any story, but the instructor being the laisse faire poetic encouraging kind of guy that he was did just that, he encouraged them.

I won’t go into the gory details of the lame ass scripts that I had to read and critique over the next very long and painful ten weeks, but a few fabulous things did come out of this course. One was that I developed my short script Pickle and the Gift which is soon to be published into a children’s book (yeah me!), and second was that I learned to check the credentials of any and ALL future instructors.

Not impressed by this particular school I began to search for an acclaimed screenwriting program where the instructors ACTUALLY worked in the industry and had a body of work under their ultra educated belts. That and the resounding exclamation in my head “you need to get your ass to LA” made me think, why not go to California for a summer? I had nothing to lose and possibly everything to gain (right?).

Which is how I found myself on the I-5 to sunny California and to UCLA.

((see my first film Eating Me here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqP02mtrijg))

Who am I and why should you care to follow yet another blog about writing in an already saturated world of blogs, vlogs, tweets, status updates, interviews, how to’s, how not to’s, and the A to Z’s of writing? I am a writer just like most of you who are half way between where I started and where I want to be.

I have some success in the writing world including my first “writer for hire” gig on a family feature, several produced short films and web videos, dozens of screenplays in my arsenal, and a series of children’s books coming out but I am still considered a “baby writer”.

Although I am far from being an infant and have years of experiences to share, I suppose you could say that I am suckling on the breast of the Hollywood whore in hopes of growing into a respectable, self realized, actually paid (wouldn’t that be nice!) screenwriter, so I bear the title until I reach mecca where I will be accepted as a fully sanctioned WGA writer.

Back to the beginning, how or when did I realize that I was a writer? Like most writers I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t either carrying a novel, a notebook or a journal, which I could continually scribble thoughts and anecdotes into. This was second nature to me as is, I was later to figure out, writing.

The first time it hit home that I could be a “writer” was in my high school English literature class. I wrote an essay on a really dry book that I recall not particularly liking or even finishing, so instead of writing the usual dull book report I wrote a conversation between two English women discussing the state of modern day American literature with the book as their subject matter.

My instructor was sufficiently impressed by its creativity and uniqueness to read it aloud to the class which was not his usual modus operands (M.O. for simplicity) and I was horrified, embarrassed and I had to admit a little proud. Okay, A LOT proud! That is until I got my grade which was a paltry C+ (dickwad), but I digress.

So was that the momentous occasion that ushered me into the tempestuous world of screenwriting? Not exactly. For years I ignored my natural talent for writing because I had been told, and indeed had proof from many of my friends who majored in creative writing and were struggling to make ends meet that there was no money in it. People who I knew to be creative and talented were working in laymen’s jobs so that they could feed themselves and get by in day to day. With a gigantuous student loan after university I did the same.

For years I did a job, which many people think is glamorous and exciting, but which I grew to despise- set decoration on mainly really bad television, mow’s and a few paltry low paid films. Having read hundred’s of mediocre yet produced scripts I began to question just how these people got these “writing gigs” and what I needed to do to get one. So I began to ask around.

The answers were to take classes, write a spec script and win at festivals, then get an agent and get your ass to L.A. And so my journey began.

Let the saga continue!

http://thescriptlab.com/blogs/thewritestuff/2011/08/09/screenwriting-101-or-where-the-un-produced-mfas-go/

Enjoy!

I hope to have this baby up and running smoothly with a great new look, links and info.

cheers and thanks for dropping in!

P.