I take a trip to the only nearby coffee shop that I ever manage to get any work done in, and I come to the terrible realization that school is back in session: It’s homework season.
Not only is Starbucks famous for housing a handful of unsuccessful screenwriters like myself at every location, but from approximately early September until December, it also houses students (mostly female) who clutter their tables with books, an occasional laptop, and some form of snack or protein bar. They’re in it for the long haul. Once they nest, they’re there until closing. And of course, today, they’re hogging the power outlets. >_<
My best bet to capture one of those tables before my laptop dies (I’m at one of the half-comfy chairs in the waiting area near the register). Today, there is a young man and woman meeting together in my usual corner. Their interaction seems very business oriented, and those types of dealings don’t tend last more than an hour (unless it’s for wedding planning — see previous post), and seems to be my only hope.
An interesting observation, besides myself, this particular Starbucks is inhabited by eight females, one with a female baby, the business man in the corner, three female baristas, one tranny barista, and one flaming homosexual barista (this is a typical Starbucks, after all).
Scratch that — the other man just left, taking his companion with him, and allowing me to reclaim my corner as planned. Success! And it’s about time I had one of those …
Over the spring and summer, many promising opportunities arose, but none have proven fruitful thus far:
A feature length screenplay I’d written was evaluated by a screenwriting group. Some members seemed to like it. One seemed to despise it and every letter on the page. The only compliment she could muster (under duress from the group’s president, of course) was that the script was consistently offensive on every page. Okay, granted it was probably not meant as a compliment in any fashion, I took it as one because I knew that my writing had made an impact on somebody’s life. I should probably work on my calibration a bit, but hey — it was an effect nonetheless …
I applied for two screenwriting fellowships in Los Angeles, one of which I felt very confident about. Any writer who’s ever submitted anything will tell you, the waiting game can be insufferable. And if you’re a writer, than you already know.
My internship in Connecticut seems to still be on hold, though I was to return this fall. I’d hoped that the project would have been sold by this point so that we’d all be getting paid and celebrating a successful hit by the end of the year but, again, the waiting game.
I had a job interview for a position in Santa Monica. If hired, I’d be a paid writer in marketing for the film industry, but would it offset the cost of living in California? Concerns and stuff.
The script I’ve been hammering out with a co-writer for almost a year will be completed by the end of the week. It has been quite an experience, and over all, I’d say it was a great one. I can’t speak for both of us, of course, but I’m proud of how much we put into it and how it turned out. I think we really gave it our best and challenged one another to raise our best to the next level. I’m kind of sad to see it coming to an end, but we have the film’s production to look forward to, I suppose …
Meanwhile, a short film I have been putting together for two months is suddenly falling apart. With only a few weeks before shooting, we’ve lost a lead cast member and have failed to secure funding, so it may be time to pull the plug. So disappointing. But from the ashes, an unrelated documentary project may have risen for myself and some of our cast and crew I gathered for the short film. You know what they say: “One door closes, a couple more open, but just a crack … and they may be chained shut from the inside.”
As I reflect on all of this chaos, I seem to be falling behind in the only job that I do have. I can’t blame anyone else for that. Not the homework girls, the wedding planners, the pyramid schemers, the loud yuppies, crazy cat ladies, or anyone else — this distraction is all my own.
Damn. The irony. Today, I could use a good distraction.