Wednesday, September 24, 2014

September 24, 2014

September 24, 2014

With respect to Hollywood, “it’s only a village, you know.  Village life around the pump.” Everyone knows each other, and even those who don’t know, do know.  I actually like it that way, because I find the illusion of life more satisfying than what I see in the mirror. Of course living in London and New York, I chose to go west, as the saying goes “go west young man.” The thing is I’m not that young anymore, and more likely if I can’t sell my writing or this script thing, I will suffer greatly.  And my name is associated with failure, at least that is the way I’m thought of in London and New York.  I threw the dice and came up with the wrong numbers on a continuous basis.  So here I’m pumping my gas in a car that I can barely drive.

What was I thinking of when I married Zelda?  An incredible fuck, and a highly talented woman, who just couldn’t stay focused on the things in front of her.  I wouldn’t say she was my muse, because I really don’t believe in that there is a “fairy” out there that chooses one to write or create with inspiration.  No, her contributions to my work are one of as a critic and knew when I was bullshitting myself.  Every writer needs an audience of some sort, or someone who can look at your work and say “sucks” or “brilliant” - and you know that he or she is going to tell you the truth.  I accepted my wife in that light, as well as being in love with her, or at least, I like the idea of being in love with Zelda.  As metal turns to rust, my love or appreciation was tested when I became a caretaker for her, and therefore here I’m in Hollywood trying to fit in to the machine that produces popular culture. I think I pretty much did my best writing already, so now I’m trying to work just to survive and pay the bills.  I do love the cinema, but I wonder if that is a hindrance in writing a script these days.  I’m much older than everyone else, and when I go to the local Starbucks, I see a group of young men with caps worn backwards, struggling with words in a script format.  If I had t re-live my youth again, “I don’t want to repeat my innocence.  I want the pleasure of losing it again.”

At the moment, I’m writing a script for an entertainer I met in London, and there is a (very) slight chance we can make this into a limited TV series for AMC.  “The Strange World of Gurney Slade” is about a guy who is trapped in a TV series and he can’t escape from it. I wrote six episodes so far, and I think that is all that is needed.  Everyone I talk to in the business says they’re “excited” about this project. I, on the other hand, have been disappointed so many times, that I just take this on the chin, and keep going.  The lead character is heroic, but as a fellow writer once commented: “Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy. ”

I really shouldn’t fool myself.  The end is near.  If I squint my eyes towards the horizon, I can see it rearing its head over the vanishing line, trying to lure me into a trap.  At the very least, if one is a good shopper, you can find some of my books in the remainder bin. I did my best, and the most clearest moments in my life are when I held a pen and put it onto paper.  Beyond that, it was drinking and arguing with my wife.  I have no regrets.  “The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”

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