How depressing that the headlines read “Ex-Child Star Corey Haim dies” rather than “Actor Corey Haim dies.”  Did the last 20 years of his work and life not count for anything?  A couple months back, Audrey Whitby, trippin’s own “l’il effer,” blogged about Corey Haim, ultimately concluding he was her good luck charm.  It shared an optimistic perspective on child actors.  This should come as no surprise, Audrey’s a glass-half-full kind of girl.   Her positive outlook, love of her craft, immense talent and supportive, caring family will guide her along this Hollywood journey that leads so many astray – “Lost Boy Syndrome” would not be a bad name for it, though I don’t think it’s limited to child stars.

Child actors, and frequently their parents, get a bad rap.  In some cases, one can understand why.  Being a child star must be much like winning a gold ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  With so many temptations, it must be particularly difficult for a young ’un to think things through and use the best judgment.  Don’t we learn many of life’s valuable lessons through trial and error after all? The difference is most of us don’t have to make our mistakes in the public spotlight where we’re more likely to be crucified for it.

However, I think we put far too much emphasis on the dysfunction of “child actors.”  I don’t think it’s about age so much as the cold, harsh reality of life in an unforgiving industry that delights in exploiting the very folks it puts up on a pedestal.  And really, are those of us NOT in the spotlight behaving so differently?

Now, I don’t spend tons of time hob-nobbing with the rich and famous, yet I’ve met more than a few folks out here that exhibit many of the same symptoms as fallen child stars.  I know a lot of people I suspect are already “has-beens” without ever having truly “made it.” (premature has-beens?)  Andy Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame simply don’t buy what they used to in these over-saturated media days of Youtube and reality TV.  People who come here with so much hope, promise and belief in their art, suddenly turn bitter, desperate, insecure,  become a “Lost Boy.”

I think a lot of it ultimately comes down to WHY a person does what s/he does.  Those of us who would write and make movies whether it’s on a budget of $3 shot in our backyard, or 30 bijilion dollars on a fancy studio lot simply because we love it so much tend to fare better.  We don’t rely on others’ approval to find fulfillment in life.  We are responsible for our own happiness.  We also don’t obsess over comparing our progress to that of others, we are not competing or trying to prove something, we are not doing what we think we ought, but rather what we know we love.  It’s not out of desperation, it’s out of an organic need to express ourselves artistically, or perhaps simply because we love running around with a camera creating make-believe worlds (often times involving banana costumes), or both.

Others, many whose bad advice I took when I first arrived (d’oh!), are setting themselves up for heartache and disappointment.  I meet so many people who seem to derive no real pleasure from filmmaking.  I kid you not, I know directors who’ve told me, “I hate auditions!” “I can’t stand actors.” “Ugh, my crew are all incompetent a-holes!” and to paraphrase another sentiment, “Poor me, I’m all alone, misunderstood, a tortured, angst-ridden independent filmmaker.”  Yuck!  So why do it then?  There are so many far easier, stable and more lucrative career paths to pursue.  Why torture one’s self with the inevitable rejection, disappointment and heartbreak that comes hand in hand with trying to “live the dream” if it’s not truly one’s dream?  When you stop “doing it for love” and start trying to do what you think will get you ahead, chances are, whether that works or not, it’s ultimately not going to bring happiness and fulfillment anyway.

I think being a successful artist is much like falling in love.  If you don’t love yourself first, you’re not likely to successfully love and be loved by another.    And if a relationship clearly isn’t working, why fight for it?  Time to cut bait and swim on, eh?   I swear I think there are as many people here trying to make it out of sheer stubbornness than a love of the craft anymore.  If they give up, it means they’ve failed – no matter that it’s making them miserable.  But isn’t that a worse failure?  ’tis sad.  And infuriating.  Aren’t there enough crappy films being made for the wrong reasons as it is?  But, as is my way, I digress.  Back to Mr. Haim…

I didn’t know Corey Haim.  Maybe he enjoyed doing The Two Coreys and a cheesy remake/sequel of Lost Boys a few years back.  But, I imagine, the talented actor who exhibited such a promising start in movies like Lucas probably would have gotten more of a “natural high” from finding (or creating) more challenging and fulfilling roles.  I love that moment in Lost in Translation when Bill Murray’s character, in Tokyo to shoot a cheesy commercial, remarks, “I should be doing plays.”  I wonder how many actors, artists in general,  have that moment?

Audrey may just be right.  Perhaps Corey Haim is her good luck charm.  Because of him, she now has a written account of a time when she is filled with hope and excitement and endless possibilities. Perhaps she will reread her entry on the occasional day when optimism is harder to come by and remember what Corey may have forgotten along the way.  Ironically, I just revisited Lucas a few weeks back. I was so impressed by its innocence and heart.  It’s not so much about the rest of the movie as it is about the memorable character Lucas himself.   He’s one of the most romantic characters I’ve seen in a long time – genuine, passionate, fearless.  Do they still make kids like that, I hope?  There our hero doesn’t seem like a lost boy at all.  I hope that’s how Audrey will remember him.  It’s how I will.

As those in our household gussied up, took silly photos, and pranced around the apartment all bubbly, girlie-like, I apologized, “I know, I’m being silly.”  Kenny diplomatically responded, “Not at all.  This is your Superbowl.”  He’s right.  The Oscars ARE my Superbowl.  And they matter, even when my teams aren’t playing.

A lot of my film friends are quick to pooh-pooh the Oscars, Sundance, other such events that measure “cinematic prominence,” but I think they over-think it.  Sometimes it’s best to check your politics at the door and get back to fundamentals.

I was reminded of that at our annual Oscar Party.  Every year we invite an eclectic assortment of friends to get dressed up or down (with prizes for best and worst dressed) and partake in champagne, caviar, a plethora of pretentious finger foods and an evening of decadence as we gather ‘round the tube.

I’ve always found it exciting.  The communal cheering and booing, the suspense, the disappointment, the sentimentality as we look back and the excitement for the future.  Will any of us ever be up there?

I don’t care about the politics, the snubs, the embarrassing dance numbers or other misguided choices involved.  In so many ways it’s so arbitrary.  I have certainly learned that over the past few years as we’ve sent our films out into the world.  The details are hardly significant, it’s the overall picture, the symbol of it all that matters to me, the possibilities, the movie magic.

When film was a new medium, it was intended for scientific purposes.  As it evolved into its logical narrative context, however, people looked down upon this ‘degenerate’ artform.  Much like the works of Shakespeare in his time, cinema was considered the lowest common denominator entertainment for the masses (and this was well before Michael Bay was even born).

We’ve come a long way in cinema’s brief lifetime.  There is so very much diversity in genres and approaches to filmmaking.  And we continue to celebrate it with glamour and verve.  That’s a triumph.  Especially now where everything seeps immediately onto the Internet, VOD and where movies are so often judged by their cover art and packaging rather than real content and entertainment value.

I‘m personally glad the Oscars had its highest ratings in 5 years.  This is one tradition I don’t want to see disappear into extinction (nor do I want to see Sundance disappear.  If the Oscars are my Superbowl, Sundance is my Rosebowl – pick on them all you like, I’ve had a blast every year I’ve gone to Park City and always see great movies and meet kindred spirits I wouldn’t get to otherwise. Yes there are politics and film selection’s hardly based solely on a meritocracy, but it’s still a magical wonderful event that brings film-lovers together.)

As always, we celebrated Sunday night in fine form.  About 20 of us gathered, ate, drank and made merry during the ceremony.  Together we toasted John Hughes, cheered Hurt Locker and Kathryn Bigelow, got miffed about Farrah Fawcett and Bea Arthur’s snubs, and were dumbfounded by the Sandra Bullock win.  Awards were distributed to the Best and Worst dressed (Congrats, Jeri and Stacy!), champagne toasts were made,  And then we danced ‘til the wee hours of the morning.

Our Patron saint Sheila E. kicked us off with the Glamorous Life as always, but perhaps the most fun was a salute to our apartment’s theme songs Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” and Michael McDonald’s “Sweet Freedom” – (stories involving Youtube, air guitar and cocktails  at 3am one crazy night behind both.)  You know you’re among kindred spirits when everybody in the room dives enthusiastically headfirst into the same joke.  Lighters were lit and heads were banging.

I was reminded of undergrad living once more.  This felt like a super fun dorm party on a school night (especially for poor Kenny who actually had to get up a few hours after party’s end to go to work.  You rock, Kenny!)

As the party thinned out to just 5 of us, exhausted, buzzed, but not wanting it to come to an end just yet, iTunechose some 80s ballads which prompted a spontaneous interpretative dance ensemble.  This may have been my fave part of the whole evening.    It so reminded me of improv class from my dancing days – no self-consciousness, no attempts to impress, just people moving to music alone and together, feeling the moment.  It was extraordinary.  It was a true celebration of why I enjoy the Oscars.  Every movie begins with somebody’s dream, a single spark of an idea that ultimately evolves into this collaborative effort .  I think every movie should be celebrated personally.

My Oscars have nothing to do with politics or commerce or ratings or popularity contests.  My Oscars are much like any holiday that Hallmark and hyper-consumerism try to contaminate, but never truly will – at least not for me.   Much like I imagine the Superbowl is to someone who truly loves football for all it encompasses – the game itself, the camaraderie, the favorite players, the nachos, the beer, the cheering, the booing, the face painting. etc. – the Oscars are to me, one who is completely enamored with cinema (and fine food, Agustin outdid himself with a wide assortment of delectable hors d’oevres – scallop tartlets, feta puffs, chocolate covered edamame, shrimp crostinis, minted date canapes and the list goes on…)  It really isn’t about who wins or loses or is snubbed altogether, it’s the time-honored tradition that this once so maligned artform is so valued by our society that we must worship it with glamour and awards and ceremony.  That unto itself is a victory, let us never forget.  One just needs to celebrate it with the proper spirit (and spirits  and kindred spirits, too.)

Some unintentional comic relief on our past sets has resulted from people trying to interpret my pitiful attempts at storyboards.  My inability to draw is beyond mere incompetence, it’s positively absurd.  Fortunately, this will not be an issue on Dolores.  I had our first storyboard session with our wonderful new D.P. on Friday and I swear it felt like a religious experience.  Not only did he build on my ideas and sketch them beautifully in no time flat, but he added so much more to the vision in my head.  So, rest assured, I will not be drawing my usual crazy scribbles for this film, beloved pack members.  We are now in very skilled hands.

It’s been exciting assembling our team for the new film.Much like auditioning cast, building our production team reminds me just how very many different movies we might make, how each additional team member will contribute significantly to the look and feel of our film. Just imagine – we are building a future world together.

I’m always shocked to hear how many directors hate this stage of production.  What could be more fun than spending days on end with potential cast and crew members sharing endless interpretations of one’s next film?  Just as I’d done with  Death in Charge, I’ve been taking the majority of our interviews and meetings at Alcove and Figaro’s (my fave local cafes)  It’s not like any standard interview.  Many of these initial meetings have lasted hours.  But that’s a good thing.  Assembling crew is not merely hiring somebody for a job.  It’s determining who is going to be a part of the family.  We have to know we can communicate, share a similar vision and work well under pressure together.

Also, while there is no right or wrong in art (though Burton’s Alice in Wonderland has me seriously questioning that philosophy –    seriously, how the hell does one make Wonderland BORING of all things?! Fortunately, The Last Station has restored my faith in cinema, but I digress…), it is essential that all creative positions on a production are filled by people who are making the same movie.  We must be able to effectively communicate.  After all, we’re forming a family and producing offspring.

That’s another surprise I discovered out here in La-La land.  See, back in the Midwest, we always made movies for fun.  It’s a pleasurable experience.  Nobody’s doing it to get rich or famous.  It’s for the love of it, the artistic expression.  But here, where that’s not always the case, I’ve learned from peers that not every production team does become one big happy family. In many cases, by a shoot’s end, people might even be bitter and angry with one another (then again, I suppose that is what “family” means to some folks alas)

On our sets, the moment I call “That’s a Wrap!” is generally an emotional one followed by lots of hugging and cheering.  During the course of shooting a film, the members of the cast and crew go on a journey together.  Sure there are tense moments, the occasional bickering, and misunderstanding.  But at the end of it all, we’ve always been a bit sad it’s all over.  When we wrapped on trippin’ in the wee hours of a Monday morning after 16 straight days of shooting 18-hour days, we didn’t go home and pass out.  We cheered, hugged, broke out the beers, gathered around the bonfire and rejoiced.  Hours later, the goodbyes were so bittersweet, reminiscent of summer sleepaway camp when everybody had to go home, promising to write and be BFFs always.  Sniffle.

Anyway, it’s fun being back at the beginning of it all again, knowing that these fun people with whom I’m discussing art, life and philosophy over cappuccinos at Figaro’s, with whom we’re storyboarding and prepping will soon be our kin, too.  Welcome to the family, Guys – we’re so happy to have you on board!

To answer a couple questions that keep coming up, yes, that’s Agustin talking about monkeys on Animal Planet, yes, I know I’m dirty dancing in the name of “art” on youtube with a stunning redheaded belly dancer, and no, I will not give you her phone number (unless you’re looking for a costume designer for your next film, that is.)

I used to be reluctant to “put myself out there.”  I hated having my photo taken, dreaded on-camera interviews and tried to steer clear of interview questions that were anything about me the person, preferring to focus solely on our films.  Similarly, Agustin turned down opportunities to appear on poppy nature programs on Discovery Channel and the likes as he didn’t want to risk compromising his integrity as a serious scientist.

But we’ve both had a change of heart.  The fact of the matter is in fields where one creates a “product” (whether that be a movie or an academic book or what-have-you) one can no longer separate her work from her self.  It’s all about packaging.  We have to become our own brands with distinct personalities.

Nonetheless, one does want to show some discretion.  I’m constantly amazed at what some people will post on the Internet (Facebook in particular – not the ideal place to have a mental breakdown, badmouth one’s peers or discuss one’s bodily functions or sex life. And does anybody really need to know you just ate a peanut butter sandwich?  Crying mundane is not much better than crying wolf, it simply suggests one has too much time on his hands. )

Perhaps this sounds hypocritical coming from one who’s taken to posting her partial journal online (yes, partial – naturally, I edit out stuff not meant for public consumption). And, even so, I felt weird and narcissistic about it at first.  That is,  until some blogging friends with popular websites put it all into perspective for me.

Yes, a blog’s important to keep cast/crew/friends/fans updated on important news – in our case, primarily festivals, reviews, awards, etc.  We also try to offer some insights into filmmaking, festivals and related topics when we feel we’ve something to say.  But there’s a lot more to it.  It’s exposure, brand recognition and offers a host of unknown perks one might not have ever guessed (similar to my aforementioned reasons filmmakers should go to fests.)

For instance, it’s amazing to see what brings traffic to our site.  We have 3 blog entries in particular that contain a few catch phrases and words that bring us regular traffic via search engines.  Who knew when I compared my Alaska film fest experience to the Summer of ’42 that it would compel random folks to check out our site and share their own similar stories?   I’ve made some interesting connections just from strangers stumbling onto our site by accident.  Even more rewarding, perhaps, is reconnecting with old friends who’ve been compelled to respond to this topic or that.  Exchanging blog entries with friends is far more fun than e-mailing I’ve found.  It’s reminiscent of times when people wrote thoughtful handwritten letters.  Rather than pithy notes comprised of half-thoughts and incomplete sentences, we once again share whole stories with themes and emotion and imagery.  How divinely retro!

Similarly,  Agustin’s adventures in TV-land have brought unexpected reaction and perks.  Friends from all over the globe (and even the occasional waiter) have recognized him.  Once people saw how well he looks and speaks of such topics on camera,  doors  for other such opportunities began to open – never a bad thing for a prolific author.

The Communication Age is certainly not the time to be shy.   In an over-saturated market, one needs to do what she has to in order to get her foot in the door.  One hopes at that point, quality work will speak for itself and subsequent success will be based on the merits of the contents rather than the packaging.  In the meantime, however, when I’m asked to come onstage and strut my stuff in the name of “art,” then so be it.  If Agustin has to talk about what happens “when good monkeys go bad,” he won’t immediately recoil at the very thought.

Ultimately, I’m reminded of my fave Moliere quote: “Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for the love of it. Then you do it for a few friends. And finally you do it for money.”  Let’s hope anyway.  Now, back to tricks…

…is a cool tune that saved my world this morning (link below).  See,  I started working on the new screenplay today.  The idea was actually spawned back in September when Kenny and I were having our  Big Bear Lake Fest adventure. We found this super cool antique mart that inspired a cool subplot for our story and I’d so wished we could have just stayed a whole week and knocked it out then and there. But, alas,  that was back during my non-stop travels and there simply wasn’t time.

Sometimes, if I don’t begin writing when inspiration strikes, I can’t find my way back to the world that once seemed so clear in my head, so I was nervous as I pulled out my notes at long last.  Fortunately, this time I’d also created an iTunes playlist that totally captures the feel and some of the themes that inspired me at the time and listening to them again made it all come flooding back.

I can’t recommend creating playlists enough to facilitate the writing process.  Even now, so many songs I once played while writing different scripts bring me back to the place I was when I knocked out those original first drafts.  The Primitives conjure my Chihuahua-mutilating dark romantic comedy The Last Cha-Cha, Joy Division brings me to my existential romantic dramedy Story of My Life,  the Archies‘ “Sugar, Sugar” take me to Teenage Bikini Vampire and anything by Santana takes me to my sexy vampire dark comedy Evil Ways.  As this is one our team will likely make ourselves, I imagine it will be helpful to give the tunes for reference once we’re in pre-production.

Speaking of the team, another fun kick was making this a bit more of a community effort than my usual first draft strategy.  As I forged ahead this morning, I sent out some texts for feedback (thanks, Guys!).  If anybody wants to join this part of the journey, let me know.  I’m doing even more preliminary work than usual in hopes I’ll have fewer rewrites after the first draft and I’m enjoying others’ input.  Also, if you want to join me in my current headspace (nicknamed LITTOZ, full title to be revealed after I fade out), here’s the new playlist:

Dude, Where’s My Skin - Schoolyard Heroes

You Don’t Own Me – Rasputina

Extraordinary Ways – Conjure One

Aim For the Head – Creature Feature

Lust for Life – Iggy Pop

Masquerade – Lunic

You’ll Never Get to Me – Killing Joke

The Art of Suicide – Emilie Autumn

What’s A Girl To Do – Bat for Lashes

The Lunatics Have Taken Over the Asylum – Collide

Brains! – Voltaire

The Passenger – Iggy Pop

This Hollow World – Johnny Hollow

The Greatest Show Unearthed – Creature Feature

Mystery Loves Company – Emilie Autumn

Last Man on Earth – Schoolyard Heroes

Why Don’t You Do Right – Rasputina

The Dark House – Lunic

Tar Kissers – Throwing Muses

Tomorrow’s World - Killing Joke

Mote – Sonic Youth

Dear God – Tricky

Love Like Blood -  Killing Joke

Endomorph – Rasputina

All the Pretty Corpses – Schoolyard Heroes

Sour Times – Velvet Chain

Dance of the Deadless Corpse – Zombie Girl

Our Lies – Rasputina

Ravens Land - Voltaire

Bodies – Drowning Pool

Strange Little Girl - Tori Amos

Strong – Velvet Chain

Opheliac – Emilie Autumn

More Than Words – Extreme

I’m Free – Soup Dragons

Don’t Forget To Dance - The Kinks

Cabaret – from the Original Movie Soundtrack

As any writer knows, “Boy meets Girl, Boy and Girl fall in love, Boy and Girl live happily ever after” does not exactly make for riveting cinema.  There must be stakes and those stakes must be high.  The protagonist needs to want something bad, and that goal or dream needs to be seriously threatened.

It’s a lesson of which I was reminded twice the past 2 weeks.  It began when I’d commented to a friend shortly before boarding a plane, “Man, it feels good to be happy.  I’m so into everything that’s going on these days.   I feel like I finally have the time to really do things right.”

So, naturally those words came back to haunt me like a cheesy Alanis Morrissette song when my plane hit some seriously nasty turbulence. Normally on such occasions I just crank up “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on my iPod and remind myself, “Que sera sera, it’s been a great run. Who am I to be greedy if this is it?”

However, as the plane knocked about this time, I actually felt a bit panicked.  I thought of the people who mean so much to me, all our plans, how much more there is left to do.  Needless to say, I arrived safely and scolded myself for the unnecessary drama my head had created.  But I also lived with a little extra gusto the next few days.

When it came time to write, it particularly seemed to help.  When life and death are on the line, as it is in our script, our hero needs to step up to the plate.  It’s not enough to merely not want to die, one truly has to desire to live.  She has to have something worth fighting for.  After struggling with one of the most challenging rewrites of my life I FINALLY completed a draft I felt confident was just about there.  I was positively euphoric.  Meanwhile trippin’, Death and I Spit on Eli all got into more fests.  Progress was made on Dolores.  I had fun reunions with old friends.  A perfect day.  I had everything I wanted.

With everything coming up roses, the last thing on my mind was pushing daisies, until the following day.   I received some rather alarming news at the doctor’s office.

A super healthy person on average, I didn’t give much thought to my bizarre fainting spell at a movie theater a few weeks back.  Women were always fainting in old movies and I always have felt like an anachronism in this day and age.  Besides, swooning’s quaint, right?  Kenny and I made endless jokes about it, but just to be safe I paid a visit to my doctor while visiting Indiana and Doc Lady found this far more disturbing than I.

A technician gave me an EKG and looked positively horrified when she saw my results.  “What?  What is it?“ I asked.  She wouldn’t even look at me.  “Oh, it’s uh, yeah, I’m just gonna have the doctor come take a look at it. Standard procedure. ”  My ass!  She booked outta there like I was the plague.  Damn.  After a brief eternity, the doctor rushed in.  She eyed the results.  Doc would suck at poker, too.  She readjusted the wires, tested again.  Same results. Something was clearly wrong.

She asked me if I get winded easily, if I feel nauseous or faint after physical exertion.  “Are you nuts?  I workout twice a day, I’m a former ballerina – I positively thrive on physical exertion.”  She acted as if she didn’t believe me, repeated the same questions worded differently as if I’d slip up and change my story. What on earth did that machine say about me – jeez!

They told me they’d need to run a battery of tests.  Words like “heart murmur,” “weak left ventricle” and other scary sounding crap were tossed around.  They started with bloodwork, which didn’t soothe me any.  First, one nurse couldn’t find my vein resulting in multiple painful needle stabs and my new “heroine chic” look with track marks all over my forearm.  Then another looked concerned as she couldn’t even find my pulse.  One actually declared, “There’s nothing to you!” as she looked for a place to insert a needle. Egads! Am I that much of a freakshow?

They scheduled an endoscopy and a visit to the cardiologist for the following week.  Fortunately the next few days were filled with fun distractions, but the cloud of uncertainty never fully vanished.  I felt like Woody Allen’s character in  Hannah and Her Sisters, part of me wondering if I might be nearing the end of this journey.

And naturally, everything around me was suddenly about heart failure – stories on TV featuring women who hadn’t realized they suffered heart attacks, unaware they were dying, Cheney in and out of the hospital with attack number 5 (is that guy a robot or what?) and a plethora of ads for heart medication for which the side effects sound worse than heart failure.  I found myself instantly plagued by a host of psychosomatic pains in my chest.  So much for my relaxing days writing in front of the fireplace.

To add to the fun, prior to my endoscopy they sent me a package of instructions to prepare myself.  Stephen King wishes he could write something as terrifying.   Suddenly I wished I hadn’t seen so many episodes of House.  I’d seen Hugh Laurie and gang shove those tubes all the way down a patient’s throat and it didn’t look like much fun.  And all the weird stuff they discover about people who seemed at their prime only days earlier.  Could this really be the end?

Still, a glass-half-full kind of gal, I did my best to find the fun in it.  I’d never spent time in a hospital before so it was sort of cool to see what goes on.  I got to ride around on a gurney (beep, beep!), experience mind altering drugs (whoa, Dude.  Is that my hand?) and even meet my heart during the sonogram (and my liver, too, to whom I apologized for my decadence at a cocktail party the previous eve, but the technician didn’t share my sense of humor.  Oops.)  According to Agustin, under sedation I was the life of the party, giggling like crazy and flirting with the doctor whom, in my drug-induced state,  I no doubt mistook for Hugh Laurie – yowsah! – am I right, Ladies?

Sadly, I didn’t get a souvenir picture of my heart sonogram, which was super cool to watch and hear, but I did get nifty color glossies of my esophagus and stomach which I plan to frame and hang on my wall.  Sweet!

More importantly, I’m pleased to say, the deluge of blood tests, endoscopy and heart sonogram merely proved me to be even healthier than I was a year ago and I was in good shape then.  I was declared a thoroughly “boring” patient (a good thing) other than a susceptibility to easy dehydration and the occasional odd fainting spell.

Agustin and I left the cardiologist positively euphoric.  Though I was in no better or worse shape than I’d been 2 weeks prior, it felt like I’d been given this wonderful gift of life yet again.  Colors became more vibrant, food tasted better, the air I breathed was positively invigorating.  Suddenly trivialities such as doing taxes, missing a deadline, or foregoing a trip to a festival seemed downright petty.

World’s most bitter Supershuttle driver brought me back to the apartment.  Even he couldn’t bring me down. We’ve all had jobs we hate at one time or another, but he’d had his for 16 years.  It was mind boggling.  He seemed to have his health, no wife or kids to support – what was he doing, maintaining an existence that clearly made him so unhappy?  He talked fondly of the risks he used to take as a child – an adventurer with a wild spirit now living in a Supershuttle purgatory of his own making.  Was it all in the name of job security?  Was he afraid to risk a crappy job that made him miserable to pursue happiness and fulfillment?  I wonder how many people live the majority of their lives in fear.

I took it as one final lesson from my 2-week journey.  Carpe Diem for tomorrow we may die.  It’s not a morbid notion, it simply means we should make every day count.  Nothing wrong with that.  It was sad to leave Indiana so soon, but it feels good to be back in grey and rainy L.A. again. I felt like Gene Kelly sploshing around in my boots en route to a fabulous Dolores-related meeting yesterday.  I’m off to an FX meeting shortly.  I just got a bunch of e-mails from kind strangers who saw our film at a fest yesterday.  Tomorrow, I begin yet another screenplay (3^rd feature since January 1^st!)  It’s a fun place to be, but it means more than ever now.

In every story the stakes must be high.  If they aren’t, the writer has failed.  We’re all the writers in our own lives.  If we get too comfortable, lose sight of the stakes, maybe it’s time to challenge ourselves a bit more.  An easily attainable dream isn’t so much a dream as a short-term goal after all.  And now, please excuse me, I have some stars to go reach for.

The manager at our favorite liquor store offered us a nice bottle of wine for a ridiculously low price warning us that about 1 in 4 of the bottles had bad corks, so it was sort of a gamble.  He went on to explain how one must always have a back-up bottle of wine or two because you can never really know for sure how a bottle’s bound to taste even if it’s supposed to be great. The fellow said once upon a time he’d drink the bottle regardless, feeling it was wrong to waste it.  But now he realizes life is too short for bad wine and if it’s still no good after breathing for 20 minutes, he tosses it. Agustin and I were musing how this is not unlike movies…

How many times have we put one in the dvd player or even gone to the theater only to have to turn it off (or walk out) within the first 20 minutes.  Once upon a time we used to endure the entire 2 hours, committing to the experience.  But now if it’s not even suggested it will “taste better with breathing” within the first 20 minutes, we’re outta there.  Life’s too short for bad movies.

Unfortunately, it seems fewer and fewer films are passing the 20-minute test these days.  Is it really so hard to write an engaging story with compelling characters?  So many features have about 20-minutes of story stretched out into 90 minutes trying to rely on eye candy alone as filler.  Please, folks, heed Bob Dylan’s sage advice…

What kills me the most is that the best films I’ve seen this year have been out on the fest circuit and many will not get the opportunity to see the inside of a mainstream theater.  Audiences are missing out and the filmmakers who should be awarded for a job well done are virtually ignored.

So here is a call to action for a film that most definitely passes the 20-minute test.  In fact, it’s one of the top 5 films I saw last year (I saw hundreds).  I spent much of it with tears streaming down my cheeks from laughing so hard (as did much the rest of the audience.)

Fortunately, IFC had the good sense to pick it up and it’s getting a limited theatrical run and is currently available on demand (for a mere $3 – find it online or on cable).   The film is called The Overbrook Brothers (I wrote about hanging with ridiculously talented supporting actor, Mark Reeb, when I was  at the Bendfilm fest here). Incidentally, I highly recommend not watching the trailer first as it has spoilers.

The film is directed by John Bryant whose short film “Oh My God” (online here) is one of my all-time fave shorts.  It is nothing like Overbrook aside from the fact that it, too,  nearly made me pee my pants laughing.

This is a film you can rent by yourself, with your friends, family, even your grandparents if they don’t mind a bit of language and adult humor (and let’s face it, most grandparents like that stuff even more than we do!)  There is honestly something for everybody 13 and older.  Please support their film and I suspect you will thank me for the recommendation. If you rent it and don’t enjoy it, I owe you a drink next time we meet up, fair enough?

Do all writers go through this, or is it just me…?   You knock out a rough draft of a script, tinker with it a bit and think , “Hey, I’m almost there!” only to return to it a week later with fresh eyes and wonder, “Egads!  Who wrote this crap anyway?!”  Sometimes, it’s hard to determine just how rough a draft truly is at first.  Fortunately, I was just reminded that we writers possess our own brand of “Spider sense.”  I was reminded, I’m delighted to report, because mine just kicked in.

I recognized this super-hero power about a month before we shot Death in Charge.  After workshopping the script and rewriting it several times, I sat down at my desk to make this one little tweak and suddenly this odd tingly sensation came over me – enlightenment!  I realized that the script was finally finished – for real this time.  There had been several premature “final drafts” prior to this moment, but with the last tweak I felt a completely distinct feeling from any I’d had previously –  total confidence that the script was everything I wanted it to be.

Circus and I have been reworking our current screenplay for some time now.  It’s won numerous awards in various different drafts, but despite its popular appeal, I always knew it wasn’t quite working yet.  So, after completing my last writing deadline, I returned to this script once more and declared, “Okay, it’s do or die time.”  We either had to make it work, or move on once and for all.

It was quite the journey.  At times, it felt like it took over my life.  During the past few weeks I’ve had 2 “creative meltdown moments,” teetering dangerously close to the brink of letting go of it forever, declaring defeat.  But that’s not my style.  Though I’ll threaten to upon occasion, I am not one to retreat.  Not if I truly care about what’s at stake.   I just recognize that it’s always darkest before the dawn and sometimes I find Dawn needs a little kickstart to get her ass in gear.  Besides, it was precisely because of these meltdown moments that my mind ventured into new territory that allowed the necessary changes to be made.

Saturday morning I did a final read-through  of our newly completed draft in preparation for a table read we’d scheduled for Sunday.  I reached the end and literally felt goose-bumps.  I knew this reading was going to be crucial.  I knew that by our reading’s end, I would know if we’d indeed succeeded at last.

Fortunately, the reading was a blast (thanks to all those who participated – you were wonderful!)  I didn’t get my full-on Spidey-sense by the end because our script still needs some additional tweaks.  But I did get pre-Spidey sense – which is to say – I know now that we’ve arrived.  This is the draft.  Yes, there’s a bit more polishing to do, tweaks here and there to be made, but the story, the characters, the structure are all finally what and where they need to be.  This is the movie we want to make.

I can’t stress enough the value of doing what it takes to “get it right.”  I shudder to think of the many times I have sent my work out into the world prematurely simply because the opportunity arose.   I’ve since learned we get but one chance to make a first impression, so it’s best to hold off until that first impression’s gonna rock somebody’s world.   Settling for mediocrity is a death sentence for creativity.  Besides, mediocrity in general, simply put,  sucks.

That’s why Spidey sense is an invaluable resource for writers to hone.   A writer mustn’t let impatience, arrogance, short-sightedness, frustration or laziness (a surprisingly common excuse) cheat her out of the opportunity to write the best possible screenplay she can.  If it’s not working on the page, it won’t work on the screen and the world will be subjected to yet another cinematic misfire.   Get it right.  Get feedback from people who have no reason to flatter or mislead you, and also learn how to not mislead yourself.  If it feels stale, try improvising scenes with friends and/or actors to mix things up a bit.  (incidentally, we just had a fun reunion with some of our trippin’ script improv gang this past weekend – thanks, Sam, Amy, Jim and Kara – your contributions were invaluable!)

Though some may prefer to call it “intuition,” “instinct” or even “education,” I truly believe we all have Spidey sense when it comes to our art.  The hard part is being honest enough with ourselves to only identify it when it’s truly there and not simply because we want it to be there.  I’ve wanted to be here  with this script for a long time now, but the Spidey sense remained stubbornly elusive. But now at last we are here and I have never enjoyed more rewarding tingling (or at least none that I’ll mention on the Internet anyway…)  Thanks, Spidey – you rock!  I seriously hope the writers of your next movie hone their Spidey-sense as well!

Once again, I’ve been asked by a filmmaking peer what the value of attending film fests is.  As I responded to his e-mail, it dawned on me how nearly everything going on in my life right now is directly related to my having attended festivals:  my projects, my friends, my perspective, my lifestyle.

Thanks to 4 different fests, I am in pre-production for our next film.  Thanks to various others, I’m working out the final details for a distribution deal for Death in Charge with 4 other shorts.  I’ve written a draft of a feature that is currently in pre-production with a fest friend directing. I’ve teamed up with another amazing director I met at a fest on a multi-national co-production for which he will direct, I’ve already written and we’re currently packaging. I’m collaborating on a book with two fabulously talented and well-published authors (one whom I met at a fest). I have just kicked off a new collaborative effort with 5 other female directors (none of whom I’d know without fests) that will be an invaluable complement to the new feature.  I’ve even contributed my two cents on this very topic to a new book by another fest friend I’ll be sure to plug once it’s available to the public. In addition I have some fun new interviews lined up with several different publications/broadcasting organizations within the next month and can you guess why?.

All of these things are the direct result of connections I made out on the fest circuit.  A few other fun tidbits of news also directly resulting from fests, materialized the past few days, but I’ll wait to share details until things are more solidified.  Suffice to say, trippin’s had a very good week.

So, yes, festivals are worth accruing the unpleasant  debt that’s often required to cover entry submissions and travel expenses.  In all honesty, it pains me we cannot afford to enter trippin’ into more fests than we have.  We sort of tapped ourselves out with Death in Charge, and fees for features are almost double those for shorts (besides, I STILL can’t even afford a freakin’ teapot.)  But we still try to enter a few here and there knowing how very important they are, not only for the life of the film, but the invaluable experience we gain.    Meanwhile, Death’s vast success has opened a bunch of exciting doors, many I never could have predicted.

The key is to not try to force a specific outcome.  One never knows why a festival could prove to be valuable – whether it’s the people one meets, the insights she gains, the inspiration that transpires as a result, or a host of other outcomes.  Of the 100 or so I’ve likely attended by ow (at least 25 I just counted in this past year alone), I can think of maybe 4 that did not result in at least some significant contribution to our efforts. Nonetheless, they’ve all been fun, even when they’re not specifically career-enhancing, which should still count for something, right?

This was on my mind as I ventured into a Hollywood Video the other day.  I was shocked by how many friends’ films I recognized on the shelves. How fascinating to see how some of their cover art (and even movie titles) had changed from their fest runs.  Some were selling the film I’ve seen, others were setting viewers up for disappointment.  A distribution company’s goal is to get people to rent or buy a movie, no matter if it’s under false pretenses.  But a filmmaker should be wary of such tactics.  You’re only as good as your last film according to the powers-that-be.” It makes you look like a bad filmmaker if you set your audience up with certain expectations only to deliver something completely different.  People like to have at least some idea of what to expect  in advance.  Cool cover art might get them to take a chance on your movie, for sure, but it could actually hurt you if a viewer feels she’s been betrayed by it. And if the audience isn’t happy, it looks like you didn’t do your job.

I know a lot of friends who’ve played but a few fests (or none at all) and run straight into a distribution deal. Many seem far more interested in making money, than doing “what’s best for the film.”  I wish them the best of course, but so far it doesn’t seem to be panning out for many the way they’d hoped.  Interestingly, across the board, it seems like the ones who’ve made the fest rounds first have fared the best, not only with the films with which they’ve toured, but with their endeavors in general.   Watching one’s film play to numerous festival audiences offers the chance to get to know the film you’ve actually made (not necessarily the one in your head you thought you were making.)  You’ll learn  who responds to what and how.   You’ll discover who your audience is.  Only then can you truly feel confident about marketing.

Anyhoo, mere fun aside, these reasons and more are why I personally think festivals are invaluable.  They offer education, insight, market research, and a chance to see your work and that of others with objective audience reactions.  Plus, they remind one to live outside her films as well, which can be easy to forget.  That said, I have to slip back into a fantasy world of my own making now.  We have a screenplay reading to prepare for tomorrow.  If you’re near Mishawaka, Indiana – come out and join us!

Hello again, Outside World!  How’s it been out here?

I just came off of a serious writing bender and, Man, is my head a mess.  First drafts come so easy to me.  I can frequently knock out a feature working a few hours every morning in about five days.  Rewrites are another story. I’ve been working on this one for the past couple of weeks and spent about 30 hours total these last 2 days alone.  I’m sure that sounds like hell to some, and parts of it were, but it was also exhilarating.  It’s complete!   Wow!  Only now I feel so disoriented.  Transitioning back into the real world is often hard when one’s been off in a fantasy world of her own making.  I miss my imaginary friends, our old haunts, those who’ve passed away (rather brutally in this one – sniffle) and those who’ve ridden off into the sunset never to return.  And now I’m faced with all this neglected work – pre-production for Dolores, 2 more writing deadlines before month’s end, seriously overdue e-mail correspondence (sorry, Everybody!), travel arrangements (going to Gasparilla Fest in Tampa – one of my fave destinations!) and distribution details to solidify just to scratch the surface.  D’oh!

Plus, I’m in the Midwest for the next 2 weeks which, though great fun, has disrupted the routine I so efficiently honed in L.A.  this past month.  I was a superwoman of productivity for a blissful 3-week spell, so why oh why do I constantly feel compelled to hop a plane and shake things up?  Why?  Why?!

Still, I suppose it all contributes to the creative process.  Had I not spent the weekend in Chicago engrossed in lively discussion with wonderful old friends whilst dining on succulent delicacies (including grilled octopus at two consecutive meals – sweet! I highly recommend both Blackbird and Iberico’s if you’re in the area), would I have found the same inspiration in my writing? (Thanks, Guys!)   If I weren’t juggling this many projects at once, would I be as quick to finish any of them?   If I had more time to spare, would I spend it as wisely?  And, perhaps most importantly, isn’t variety the spice of life?  Who wants to live in sameness day in and day out?  Not me!  Sure it’s a bit nippy here, but it’s sunny, that snow’s ever so pretty and I’m envisioning some quality time  curled up in front of the fireplace with some hot-buttered rum toddy a bit later.  Purrrrrr.

So, to those involved in our current projects, my apologies for the disappearing act.  I have returned and am ready for duty.  That is, until the next bender.  I do have 2 more deadlines this month after all…