The longest career aspiration I ever had was becoming a doctor. I fancied myself an ER physician, a cardiologist, an OBGYN, and even entertained anesthesiology at one point. Before being fascinated by medicine, NBC’s “ER” being the gateway drug to that dream, I too wanted to be a voice over actor and before that a trapeze artist. Thankfully I crossed the latter off my list after visiting the Santa Monica Pier and trying my hand at flying through the air with only a bar to catch me. It is both electrifying and quite nerve racking to say the least.
In college, when the dream of a white lab coat slowly morphed into donning nurses scrubs on a daily basis which in turn formed into picking up my pen and camera and eventually graduating with English and Journalism degrees, I never really felt like I had a calling. My friends were so focused and believed that their dreams were inevitable that they never seemed to think twice. Now, they’re all living out what they set out to do. Those college friends are now teachers, nurses, doctors, journalists and photographers. So when it came time to move from Kansas City to New York, I thought, why not start over?
Three years into the film industry after my brief social media marketing stint at a startup in KC, I find myself wanting to say out loud: I want to be a filmmaker.
Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to work with independent filmmaker (and actor) Edward Burns. He wrote a book too that just came out called: Independent Ed. To be honest, I didn’t plan to read it. But now that I’ve executive produced and wrote an eight-minute web series pilot and stories keep tumbling into my head, characters wanting to be heard and let out into the world, I developed an itch to tell stories through a lens rather than just with ink on a white page.
And so, after a week or two of Independent Ed squished between The Complete Fiction of Nella Larsen and my copy of Dorothy Parker’s complete poetry, I plucked Ed’s book from my narrow shelves and brought it with me on the subway to read during my morning commute.
I couldn’t put it down.
After 250 pages, these are the eight quotes that stuck with me, that have been dog eared in the now worn copy of Ed’s book.
Ed recounting his instructor’s speech during his 3-day Robert Mckee class on story structure:
“For your first screenplay, what I’m g to ask all of you is to think about your favorite films and what genre they are. Whatever that genre is, I want you to write that kind of script. If you don’t like murder mysteries, don’t write murder mysteries.”
Ed on his “aha” moment in how he recognized that Woody Allen, Martin Scorcese and Spike Lee were making films about their niche Jewish, Italian, and African American New York experiences:
All these guys had carved their ow niche. I had been asking what mine would be. Now I knew.
On deciding on how you want to shoot your script:
Turn off the volume, watch scenes, and take notes.
His advice on always being at the ready:
You need to have another screenplay ready so that when you’re in a meeting and someone asks what you wan to do next, you can put a screenplay down in front of them an say, “This is my next film.”
On learning from those who came before you:
Talk to people who have been through it. Ask questions. At the end of the day, you can make the decisions, but let those with a longer resume help you figure out the answers or at least the best possibilities.
The last three quotes are about discovering your voice and what you want the world to take from your films:
That’s what I wanted to do next. I wanted to hold a mirror up to the wold I knew and reflect it back as honestly as I could.
As a friend of mine in the music biz recently told me, “Like an old jazz artist, you own your tone. And they can’t take that away from you. If not of you, would we have seen this slice of life or gotten this point of view?”
Filmmaker Robert Breton said it best: “Make visible what, without you, might perhaps never be seen.”
But I don’t want to do films. I want to create shows. To be a showrunner. For my stories to entertain the millions of Americans at home, after a long day at work, on network television or on the web. I want to be in living rooms, on tiny sets in the kitchen, or in the massive media rooms in suburbia. I want my audience watching from the comfort of their designated “comfy pants” with a glass of wine or beer within reach. I want them to binge watch what I have show. And with that I do believe there’s a certain level of community and accessibility that we sometimes lose with films. Don’t we all miss the proverbial water cooler moments? Of experiencing and being lost in someone else’s journey for thirty minutes to an hour at a time? After all, we’re in a golden age of television and new media.
So here I am, a spinster by Jane Austen’s standards with a new dream at hand. Michael Crichton, Mindy Kaling, Amy Poehler, Tiny Fey and Miranda Hart books now occupy space on my dresser and scripts litter my bookmarks bar in my browser. I’m ready to pretened I’m Armie Hammer in order to “Lean In” in this male dominated industry (thanks Mindy!), and with a little gumption, hope, confidence, hard work, and luck, I could maybe pull this off.
As JK Rowling once said, “Anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.” And as Nike’s slogan always dictates, “Just do it.”
I haven’t blogged in a while. It seems when my pen-to-paper writing increases, my digital attempts wane and vice versa. Weird how that is. If only science could explain.
However, perhaps the writing tide will change. My dear friend JG has started a travel blog. She’s gone to South America for three months – what an adventure! – and while she updates the world on her experiences in Cartagena, I can’t help but ask myself why I can’t do the same from the comforts of home. After all, every day is an adventure. But back to the digital vs. analog world and my distaste of duplicitous efforts. Why recount the trials, tribulations, and bits of awesome both digitally and by hand? Seems rather silly in my opinion.
Who cares really in the end. If you’re reading this, awesome, thank you. But I mainly write as a cathartic exercise to keep “me” sane. My escape from reality if you may.
Oh wells. This morning in Brooklyn…
The alarm went off at 550AM. One of those pre-programmed Apple alarms. Ever since I got my new phone I have yet to take the time re-download the ER theme into my iTunes and create the desired ringtone. Once I met an older gentlemen whose phone cried out the Kim Possible theme. I laughed. He shrugged. Apparently he was the showrunner…but I digress.
Slipping into my fluorescent running shoes, I stretched then walked down 6th Ave of Park Slope as the sun still peeked and climbed between the brownstones. My running partner S met me at a corner and together we worked our way up the hill, turning onto Flatbush Ave and stopping just for a moment at the entrance to Prospect Park. The air was thin and cool, like an October morning, but I kept reminding myself it was May.
We did our run and by 7AM I was in the shower, and by 730AM making myself a cup of French Press coffee. I caught up on the news, emptied, the trash, dressed in all black, and finally made my way to the 2/3 train so I wouldn’t be late to work.
I wish there were more time in the mornings, more time to linger with your cup of coffee as you absorb last night’s news. Like the train crash. But not this morning…
Till next time!