Live Right Now

Saturday morning.

Script Frenzy starts at midnight. Cleaning, decorating, outlining, and prepping for the 100pg goal.

“Why are we choosing to play Lord of the Flies? I read the book, I know how it ends. They kill Piggy with the conch and eat the twins.” - Franny, rewriting books while hiking.

Updating here has been pretty non-existent over the past several weeks and I almost wish I could say it was due to jetsetting all over the world, hob-nobbing with the greats, feigning interest in caviar, and so forth of whatever is included in the new American Dream.

Instead, I’ve been here in Los Angeles, writing, casting, and finally: entering pre-production of my new internet series. I have my own version of the Dream.

You know that feeling when you wake up one morning and think, I just can’t continue doing what I’ve been doing. I can’t. I could, physically, but mentally, I need to grow. I need to do something else. So that’s what direction I’ve been turning in. And it’s scary, forging ahead on a new path when you were pretty comfortable on the one already well traveled. But ‘comfortable’ is for when I’m eighty with grandchildren sitting around my rocker asking for stories.

In the past month or so, I’ve been working on casting several new internet series and other projects, headed up to the Santa Barbara International Film Festival with the NewFilmmakers LA crew, saw Van Halen live in concert for the very first time (and can’t forget Kool & the Gang!), worked on a pretty disturbing short film with the wonderful actor Clint Howard, and have continued my exploration of Los Angeles. I now understand why people love Runyon Canyon. On a clear day, there’s no better place then at the top, sitting peacefully and taking in the Pacific Ocean to Downtown LA and everything in between. I love this city. Always will.

Now I must be off. I may not be sipping mimosas with the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills cast, but I do have a pretty exciting shoot this afternoon. Followed by writing, casting, writing, casting… If I ever, ever complain, smack me.

In the past week, I’ve… hiked to the Hollywood sign and found the DeLorean along the way (and the day before the body parts were discovered along our hiking route), watched the sunset from the Griffith Observatory, taken the requisite Beverly Hills tourist shot, thought my neighbor was dead (could have been instead of just tanning, death by scooter seemed plausible), visited New York (if only via studio backlot), learned my calico cat is too much of a princess to share a litterbox, enjoyed another successful sold-out NewFilmmakers LA screening, caught a wonderful performance by Mayer Hawthorne, and had brunch with a couple of lovely ladies.

Also hesitated writing a short film script that came to mind during our NFMLA screening. It’s guaranteed to bum me out the moment I start fleshing out one of the main characters, hits far too close to home. Aromee, after hearing a quick pitch, told me the idea was “depressing as f—-“. So I’ve avoided starting the first draft by watching marathons of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Chopped, and unpacking my new residence. The idea is still nagging at me. It’s something I need to get out.

It’s supposed to rain the whole weekend. Might be the perfect time to sit back, write, and wonder what happened to the one I’m writing about.

In Hollywood things that scare the heck out of me:

A) When hundreds of birds take over a parking lot, blocking the entrance. Hitchcock is still screwing with us from the grave.

B) When someone in the building puts a scary, creepy doll in the lobby that greets you with a cold, dead stare when you walk through the door too late at night and it’s pitch black out, rainy, and there’s not a soul in sight. (I’d probably find this real funny in daylight.)