:(

I haven't won a single contest this year. Some people have no taste.

Just shut up

And here are the four sorority girls who garnered hateful glares from every writer at Insomnia trying to do the final polish on their ABC/Disney spec (this was the night before the deadline). Do they realize it's possible to communicate without screaming at the top of their lungs? So thankful to know everything about your lives, now, darlings... Might post an in-depth analysis of your conversation, later.

Like Napster for Books

I can't afford to buy anything, including Blake Snyder's now industry-standard tome "Save The Cat," so I went to Barnes and Noble and used my phone to take pictures of the important parts.

Am I a thief?

If I am I hope I'm a sexy thief like Thomas Crowne. Or Catwoman.

Just Because You're Paranoid...

Currently grinding teeth to ash wondering if the notary should have stamped the actual legal release instead of just the notary page in the ABC/Disney Fellowship submission package...

Further Conceits

Scenes in which characters have lengthy talks with priests pretty much suck, too.  Who talks at length with their priest, these days?

Conceits

TV writers love it when characters have conversations with ghosts.  Viewers not so much.

Ain't No Party Like a West Coast Party

Got to go to a Hollywood Party (yes, party gets capitalized in this instance).  A lot of showrunners, a lot of EP's, Michael Angeli (BSG) throwing a glow in the dark frisbee around and accidentally smacking a guy right in the face with it.  And of course wannabe's.  Like me.  The other wannabe's were all readily recognizable.  They were all under 25, gorgeous, in tight skirts and couldn't handle their liquor.  Yes, actresses.  Actresses desperately hunting down showrunners and producers and pretending they were huge fans of said showrunner's show, giggling, nearly spilling their margaritas all over the place and lightly touching said showrunner's arm as they talked, hoping against hope that somehow these producers would remember them and one day cast them in something (or at least invite them to another one of these parties).  And if not, at least there was a free spread of party food.  This being my first Hollywood Party, I was struck by how similar it was to the ones on TV, specifically the one on the premiere episode of "Angel" (now pigeonholing myself as a genre writer. . . and you wonder why this blog is anonymous)

But anyway, my point is that as I stood there, alone, because I didn't know anybody, being irritated at these young actresses, it occurred to me that I was really no different.  I was at this party hoping to meet a producer who I'd strike up a conversation with and who would want to read my stuff, or who needed an assistant, or. . .  You get my point.  But it wasn't a mixer, it was somebody's party, and as bold as I am sometimes, I didn't feel like interrupting Javier Grillo-Marxio's conversation to introduce myself and then suddenly have absolutely nothing to say.  At least the young actresses have something to offer in the short-term (pretty face, tight skirt, light touching of arm, maybe more if they feel like they're getting somewhere).  Young actresses: 1.  Me: 0. 

At least there was a nice spread of party food. 

Internet Created By The Devil

Another coupe for Google Ads:

"Pakistan Girls - www.Pronto.com - Find Pakistan Girls In Photos at Great Prices."

OMFG

After last night, is a better tagline for "Mad Men" than for "Gossip Girl."  Devastatingly great.  I may never write again. . .

The Homeless Are The Future

Seen a few days ago: A couple of homeless men comparing Ipod selections.  "You've got some good stuff on here," one said.

Sadly, he's not the oldest Hannah Montana fan

In front of me at the pharmacy last night, a fiftyish Asian gentleman read the "Spotlight on Miley Cyrus" issue of People, paying special attention to the photo spreads. . . for a full 20 minutes.

I know I'm in LA

Because my barber was on the phone negotiating a production deal while he cut my hair.

Withoutaclue

Withoutabox, aka WAB, aka the absolute most frustrating method of submitting a screenplay to a contest.  

"Project Website" as a category for a screenplay?  Really?

Additional contests are not listed alphabetically?  Really?

Terrible.

a not win is not a loss

I did not win this latest contest.  Working TV writer Doug Molitor continues to do quite well with his "Guard #3" script, though.  

In fact, many working writers win these contests, along with previously working writers who win fellowships.  Is it right that I have to compete with these people?  Of course I know it is, since they had to face the same odds.  

And besides, I'm better. . .

Insomnia Cafe Sucks (and so do you)

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that many of my fellow aspiring screenwriters are raging assholes.

I'll back up a little bit. All the Starbucks around here are tiny. Okay, there's the one at Santa Monica and La Brea, but where am I supposed to park? And being a pretentious aspiring screenwriter, I have to write in a coffee shop, right? The Coffee Bean's are even smaller than the Starbucks are, so really the only place to go is Insomnia.

And go we do. All of us. 12 people in there last time I visited, all writing screenplays, all but one on Macs.

"Pretty cool place," I thought. Sure, they only take cash, and sure, it's kind of cramped (even Insomnia isn't as big as the Starbucks I used back home), and sure, the girl behind the counter gave me the stink-eye when she asked "Did you purchase anything?" when I asked for a glass of water, even though I'd made eye contact with her both when I ordered and when I picked up my iced coffee (which sucks compared to a Starbucks frap), but it's got atmosphere, right? And it's kind of dark, which is nice. And everybody's a writer, so it's a friendly atmosphere. . .

Only that last part is horse puckey. It's an in-crowd club just like every other lousy independent coffee shop I've ever been to. The regulars high five each other but only scowl when you dare to reach over next to them to plug into the power strip. Need to know if somebody's sitting there? Don't ask! Because you'll just get a curt "no idea" and a look of firm drop-deadness (Yes, I'm talking to you, dude in the stupid hat! Why are you wearing that hat? Are you Walter Matthau?).

Have all my fellow writers been here too long? Are they so scalded by the ever-present Los Angeles sun that they can't show a brother some love? Is it competition? Am I seen as just another usurper trying to take their piece of the pie?

If you read this, my fellow Insomniacs, please, please, turn those frowns upside-down!