The Unsurprising Correlation Between Running and Writing

I've started running.

I bought new running sneakers from TJ Maxx. I found a beginner's 5K training plan on Pinterest. I set an attainable goal - the Every Angeleno Counts 5K to support Homeboy Industries in October. I found a local park that lets me run circles on the dirt path without distraction. I downloaded a set timer app to guide my walk/run interval training. And I track my daily progress on my new/old hand-me-down Fitbit.

Oh, and one more thing -

I hate running.

That's right, I absolutely despise every second of it. I get bored instantly, it feels uncomfortable, I constantly want to stop and go home. I have yet to experience a euphoric endorphin rush, or perhaps no wave of hormones can withstand the power of my dislike. All I know is when I'm running, I would rather be doing anything instead of running.

But even after running just 3-4 times a week this month, I have made an unsettling discovery -

I love the feeling of having run.

When I get home from a run, after pushing myself through all the discomfort and agony, I feel frickin' fantastic. My body feels powerful and my spirit is high. I get to be one of those people who says "I went for a run today" and mean it! Love, love, love it.

Then it hit me this morning - my struggles with running are exactly the same as my struggles with writing. With both, getting started is the hardest part. Then there's the overwhelming feeling of wanting to quit that I need to push past. And if I can get past that bump, it's somewhat smooth sailing. Interval writing is the best method for gearing up for longer writing. And the feeling of having written is the best.

I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. Finding success in both running and writing starts with discipline, dedication, and determination.

I've taken similar steps to drive success in my writing. I bought blank journals I love from TJ Maxx. I set attainable goals - write every day and work toward finishing my next pilot script. I found coffee shops and other spots for writing all over town. I downloaded the Amazon Music app to listen to film soundtracks while I write. And I track my daily progress on social media and by joining Camp Nanowrimo for July.

And I similarly love the feeling of having written. There's no better sensation in the world, in fact. Being one of those people that can say "I finally cracked my main character's backstory today" is the best because it denotes forward momentum. And forward momentum is what all writers crave.

Here's another unsettling discovery -

When I run, I write.

It fits so naturally. I'm still cooling down when I sit down with my notebook and start spilling out my thoughts. I take a break to make some breakfast, but then I'm right back to my words. Writing, writing, writing.

So now I have two areas of my life that require self-encouragement and discipline - running and writing. Hopefully discovering how they feed each other will help keep both endeavors on track. 

My Summer Break

I roll out of bed in my parents' house an hour earlier than usual for our special morning excursion - blueberry picking!

At 7am, it's already 75 degrees outside, with temperatures expected to climb to the low 90s.  My mother hands me a pair of thick wool socks. "My boots are too big for you, so these will help keep your feet from slipping around." Wool and hot weather don't mix, but I put them on obediently. She's the expert here, having been to this orchard many times during blueberry season. 

I don the rest of my pre-determined uniform - long pants, long sleeve windbreaker, and baseball cap. I look ridiculous, but my mind remains focused on the beautiful task ahead.

A ten-minute drive and a five-minute ride in a tractor-pulled wagon later, I'm picking ripe, fresh blueberries while standing in a row of bushy plants. Heavy rain the day before has washed the earth clean and the berries look gorgeous. "Whatever you eat now is profit," my dad says with a chuckle, popping a fresh blueberry into his mouth.

For the next few hours, we each have our own blueberry picking energy. My dad is focused, my mom is determined, and I am... relaxed. This is what vacation looks like - nothing to do but breath fresh air, pick blueberries, and slow down.

 

I needed this vacation.

Everyone needs a vacation, of course. My overworked sister getting her MBA while still seeing patients full-time as a plastic surgeon, my brother and his wife, the DC power attorneys who are fixing up their place to sell while looking for a new one - they deserve vacations more than anyone I know.

But I decided to take one too. Because after writing a spec script in 11 days to submit to the writing fellowships, a realization hit me --

As a writer attempting to break into the competitive world of television writing, I spend every moment of my life in stress, anxiety, and fear.

There is no down time, no end of my work day when I leave my writing behind. The expectations are always there so the work is always there. My thoughts are constant and get tangled into each other like a thicket. 

Here's a typical ten second window into my mind --

"This story isn't working and I have no idea how to fix it. Is it even any good? Maybe it is too much like that other show and I should throw it away and start over. Why didn't that showrunner hire me? What could I have done to sell myself better in that meeting? I need to be writing more. I need a bigger portfolio. I need to finish my book. Maybe I'll never be good enough to break in. That means I just wasted the last 8 years of my life. I should have gone on more dates in my 20s instead of focusing on my career. I would probably be married with a kid by now. Is it too late for me? Will I ever get a job? Will I ever be good enough? Why, God, WHY?!?!"

I know I'm not alone in this - all writers have these thoughts. They come with the territory when you're an artist. But these thoughts have been running on a nonstop loop in my mind for the last eight years. Eight years of self-doubt, self-flagellation, and self-judgment.

Time for a break.

I've been pretty good with my 2016 write-every-day #365project up until now, only missing a day or two here and there. But for the month of June, I decided to take a rest. I haven't been writing every day and I haven't opened Final Draft once. I'm letting ideas swirl and just be without immediately trying to force them into story. I'm having long overdue coffee dates with people, watching television shows I've been missing, and - gasp - reading a book. I'm allowing myself to relax and it's been heaven.

My writing doesn't need me this month. My writing needs new perspectives that are not going to emerge while I'm feeling so exhausted and spent. My writing needs me to take a break and recharge so I can jump back into my work excited and renewed. My writing needs this vacation too.

Hard Lessons Learned From Writing My Last Pilot

Finishing my last pilot script was frustratingly tough for me. Finding time to write outside of my 12-hour work days was a big challenge. And when I did have time to write, generating creative inspiration in my exhausted state wasn't always easy. Getting sleep was never a more precious commodity.

Committing to my 365 project of writing every day this year helped me maintain some semblance of consistency, but this damn script has still felt like an albatross on my shoulders for months, pecking at my brain and squawking about how much I suck as a writer.

And that's not what writing should feel like.

So now that the script is finally done, I'm taking this opportunity to look back at the hard lessons I've learned along the way and committing to doing things differently in the future. Because oh no... I'm not doing this again... EVER...

Hard Lesson #1 - I need to write faster.

I started brainstorming this idea in July of 2015. I finished readable drafts on 11/17/2015, 01/22/2016, and 03/15/16. 8 months from start to finish is unacceptable. Broadcast networks develop brand new pilot scripts in 3 months or less!

Next time, I'm putting myself on a strict deadline schedule and not letting things drag out.

Hard Lesson #2 - I need to get to script faster.

3 full months of my 8 month writing time was spent working on the outline phase, which turned out to be a waste of my time since there were so many things I didn't figure out until I got to the script phase. Continuing to write and rewrite my outline for so long was just another way for me to procrastinate. There are plenty of writers who never write outlines before diving into script.

Next time, I'm allowing myself two drafts of an outline tops - a first draft and a revision. That's it. Then I need to start writing the script. And speaking of procrastinating...

Hard Lesson #3 - I need to stop giving in to fear.

I gave myself way too much permission to procrastinate on this project. Justifying my stalling with complaints about my long hours and sleep deprivation. Reasoning with myself and allowing myself to ignore what I had to do.

But I know the truth - all procrastination is fear. Fear was the root issue under all of my procrastination. Fear my story sucked, fear I would be found out as a giant fraud, fear of people telling me they were shocked I was such a terrible writer - these fears consumed my every waking moment.

And the worst part is I listened to all of them. I allowed myself to believe my fears and stepped away from my keyboard so they wouldn't come true. Which is ridiculous because by stepping away, I was doing the biggest thing that would ensure my fears came true.

Next time, I'm not giving in to those thoughts. The only thought I need in my brain is, "What do I want to create today?"

Hard Lesson #4 - My perfectionism is crushing me.

Seriously, it's not good. I beat myself up so much, I should have a frickin' gold MMA belt or whatever the big prize is in that world. I blame my academic overachieving upbringing for teaching me that a perfect score is always the goal.

The truth is there is no "perfect" in writing. A script evolves to a finishing point, not a perfect score. Next time, I'm giving myself full permission to be imperfect.

These were hard but important lessons for me to learn and I'm taking them into the future with an open heart and mind. Thankfully, I did have a few good takeaways that were the silver lining to my experience --

Happy Lesson #1 - I'm getting better at character and dialogue.
Those were my biggest weakness after breaking up with my former writing partner. 9 pilot scripts later, my characters are finally jumping off the page and sounding like real people. Not quite Rob Thomas/iZombie level cleverness yet, but much better than when I started.

Happy Lesson #2 - Writing groups are my best tool for success. 
My writing groups were invaluable for getting feedback and finding new ways to attack a script that I was steady hating throughout. They also gave me deadlines, encouragement and support. Hooray for writers supporting other writers!

Happy Lesson #3 - Soundtrack music is my jam. 
Listening to instrumental film scores helped me focus and concentrate, and a full album cycle was a great way to do a writing sprint. The soundtracks that got the most play during this script writing process included Outlander, Jurassic World, and X-Men First Class. Thank you Bear McCreary, Michael Giacchino, and Henry Jackman!

Now that this script is done, I can finally embark on my self-imposed challenge of writing 6 scripts in 2016. With 290 days left in the year, that works out to a script every 48 days or so, i.e. - a script every 7 weeks. Ha!

Let's get started...

(If you liked these images, why not follow me on Instagram?)

Drowning in Fear

When you fall asleep watching Making a Murderer, nightmares are inevitable.

Mine was about driving onto an icy lake and various scenarios of drowning. According to the dozen or so dream dictionaries I just referenced online, my dream has less to do with a fear of water than my overall struggle with fear.

And damnit, my fear is winning.

As I lie here, gripped with panic over what I should have done differently in my dream scenario, I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that I never should have been in that minivan on the ice, I shouldn't have listened when the person driving me said it would be fun, and I should have done more to save them when it all went south. But most of all, I'm feeling never do something that risky again.

That's giving in to my fear.

Which is not what I should be doing - as a writer or in life. Being an artist is all about disregarding and circumventing the omnipresent fear that you're not good enough, everyone hates your art, and that you're making a huge mistake with your life. 

Fear kills creativity and fluidity. It stops the process in its tracks for a time consuming, soul sucking, losing battle that drains all the wind out of my sails. And picking myself up can be exhausting and feel like a losing battle as well. Fear is the absolute worst.

I don't have time for fear. I don't have time to waste on these self-doubting diversions. I have so many scripts to finish and deadlines to meet and so, so many words to write. I need to move forward, not stand still. The stories abound in my spirit and I need to get them out.

Perhaps my nightmare was simply showing me how much my fear has me at the moment. A warning alarm alerting me to the fact I need to push through something right now. It's certainly a message I can always use - now more than ever.

So that's how I'll take it. I'm not going to drown. Avoiding the adventure and driving away isn't the solution. There's a scenario where I drive onto the ice but don't drop through. I have my thrill and stay safe enough to make it back to shore. I don't die. I'm just fine.

Okay. Time to write...

Fiction Friday: Dinner for Three at Le Bernardin, Part 2

Click here to read Dinner for Three at Le Bernardin, Part 1

"That man is in love with you. I saw it in the way he asked if your steak was prepared correctly and how he made sure you told me about your new assignment at work. He cares about you and wants you to be happy."

Mara felt her sturdy, reliable resolve wavering. "But he's an idiot. He thinks grass fed butter is good for you."

"No one is perfect. Not even me."

"But dad -"

"Mara. He loves you."

Mara shook her head. "He hasn't said it. He's never made a move of any kind."

"Probably because he's waiting for you to let him in."

The truth broke open the flood gates. Mara tipped her head onto her father's shoulder and wept as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. The precious wall that kept her safe and contained had just been challenged by the person she admired most in the world. Its days were numbered.

"You are so brave with your career," he whispered gently. "Be that brave with your heart."

Mara pulled away, wiping her eyes with her pea coat sleeves. "But I don't know how!" she said, suddenly a child in Poughkeepsie again.

"Why don't you start with this? When Hugo calls to ask if you got home safely, which I'm guessing he always does, try listening to him instead of listening to your judgments."

Mara closed her eyes, embarrassed. "God, why do you have to be right all the time?"

"It's a gift and a curse."

"Thanks Dad." Mara hugged her father again, knowing full well how lucky she was to have him. "Now come on, you need to write. You have a deadline on Tuesday."

"My kingdom for another week," he said with feather light chagrin as they pushed through the turnstiles.

As Mara rumbled with the train, she thought about what she would say to Hugo when he called. What Hugo might say about meeting her father. The questions swirled, but she pushed them away. Tonight, she would hold the doubts at bay and simply try to listen. She knew it might only last for five minutes or less, but she had to start somewhere. And her future might as well start now.

The End

Phone Writing

I love writing on my phone. It's just a hand-me-down iPhone 5, but it has enabled me to have a whole writing life separate from my laptop and notebooks.

I primarily use Evernote for tracking pieces, but sometimes it feels easiest to use the Notes app that came with the phone. This morning, I re-wrote a whole scene from my current pilot into an email window.  It's no-frills, but sometimes that's all I need.

The great thing is that I can squeeze in an interval of creativity anywhere. The expectations don't feel as high when you're just tapping on your phone. And I've found the time it takes to type out words is perfectly in rhythm with the pace of my brain, so I get in a nice groove, similar to when I write longhand.

Someday, when I get an iPad, I'm never going to want to get out of bed...

Waiting and Writing

(I wrote this on my iPhone notes app while waiting for brunch to start Sunday morning...)

Why is it during moments like this that I feel the most possibility? In the minutes right before. Before friends arrive, before the event begins, before I have to get out of bed - before life happens. Suddenly, in these moments, I want to write.

These are the fleeting times when ideas float in and I take out my phone to jot some things down in my Notes app. Sometimes fragments of ideas, sometimes a whole piece begins to form as I tap rapid-fire with my thumbs. Until the moment is inevitably interrupted when whatever I'm waiting for begins and my brief burst of momentum is lost.

I'm realizing these bursts probably come because these are moments I'm just with myself. My mind isn't filled with tasks I need to complete or things that need to be written. I'm truly just alone with nothing to do but wait. And in that waiting, inspiration finds me.

Perhaps this is the mentality I need to adopt the next time I sit down to write. Just wait. Be with yourself and the inspiration will come. Trust that any moment could be that moment before. Could it really be that easy? Let's see...

Fiction Friday: Dinner for Three at Le Bernardin, Part 1

Even through the grating awkwardness of the dinner, Mara thought to herself, "Knowing is such a blessing." 

There was a time when she frowned with questions at the thought of introducing Hugo to her father - Will Dad give him a chance? Will Hugo say the right things? Will Dad understand what my heart sees in him? Mara's attention had been inundated by these worries for the better part of a year.

But now, after months of non-movement and needless missed opportunities for progress (by Hugo, of course), Mara was clear that this overly optimistic man-child was not the one for her. Evidenced into reality by the terrifically awful display of social graces before her. 

Dinner had been a mistake, but inevitable. Dad wanted to meet this Hugo person in his daughter's life and Mara didn't know how to articulate the fact that Hugo was on his way out of her heart. In fact, he was practically gone.

And yet, he was here. "Man, can you like tell me something?" Hugo blathered, as if he was talking to a high school buddy and not a Man Booker Prize-winning author. "Like, how do you do what you do? Like inside? You know what I mean?" Her father stared at the question for a split second before answering with the dignified poise and grace for which he was known in literary circles. Mara longed to shrink into her filet mignon.

After an awkward man hug on the sidewalk and a wholly unnecessary lesson on the inner workings of Uber, Hugo was taken away in a purple PT Cruiser. Mara exhaled at last. Dad looked at her with a gentle smile and said, "He's nice."

"Don't worry, Dad. We're just friends."

"If you wanted to make him more than that, I would approve."

Mara sputtered with laughter before realizing her father was serious. "Are you kidding me, Dad? He talked about home brewing and maca root powder all night. If you wrote a character who sounded like him in your next book, the Times would call you a hack!"

She started toward the subway, her temperature rising. Dad followed silently. "And the way he talks about his dog like she's the love of his life. Do you know I was mistaken for her once? Someone I met at a party said, 'You must be Hugo's girlfriend Natalie!' And I had to explain that Natalie was his pit bull and I wasn't his girlfriend. It was humiliating."

"Honey, maybe you -"

"He never finished college," she continued, bounding down the escalator. "He can't fix a damn thing around his house. When something is broken, he just throws it away. 'That's why they have stores,' he says. Oh and he's on record saying his favorite book is The Berenstain Bears and the Missing Honey!"

Mara stopped at the turnstile, unable to locate her MetroCard in her bag. Her father stepped forward and placed a hand on hers, stopping her angry rummaging.

"And he loves you."

Mara blinked. "What?"

Click here to read Dinner for Three at Le Bernardin, Part 2

Creative Kindling at Work

I did not want to write tonight.

My first day back after being sick for two days was jam packed. By the time I wrapped up work at 8pm, all I wanted to do was go home and eat cookies.

But I have a script to finish and no cookies in the house, so I procrastinated with email and social media, i.e. - I feared, feared, feared for another hour before forcing myself to open my notebook and start writing.

Once I did that, this is all the creative kindling it took to get me into the groove:

Proof that A) creative kindling really works, and B) I am a ridiculous individual for stalling for an HOUR before starting to work. Just ridiculous.

Hopefully I can take this lesson into tomorrow. We'll see...

Music for a Sick, Rainy Day

Stomach flu took me down today. Sadly, being creative was the last thing on my mind.

The last time I was this sick, I remember attempting to push through and work on my script, answer emails, etc. My inability to focus on healing resulted in my sickly state lasting almost a week.

This time, I wasn't going to make the same mistake. For the last 24 hours, I've been focused on three things - sleeping, resting, and doing nothing. My mind has been blissfully empty - no overthinking about my outstanding obligations and deadlines. I listened to music, watched The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1 again (man, that movie's a bummer), and ate half a banana.

And I think it worked! 36 hours later and I think my body has turned a corner. We'll see...

So here's my creative offering for today. Whenever it rained when I lived in Boston, I would play the Corrina, Corrina soundtrack on repeat. The day never seemed as gloomy with breezy, summer music playing. 

I made a YouTube playlist of all the songs so I could listen to them on my phone, since I no longer own a CD player. Take a listen for yourself and just try to feel gloomy. 

Damn You, Fear

I didn't write enough over the holiday break. If you asked, I could produce an epic list of excuses - I was spending time with family, working on scripts for my writers' assistant job, cleaning out my inbox, staring at a fascinating, engrossing spot on the wall...

But I know my writer procrastination all comes down to fear. Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love, said it too:

Ain't it the truth. My fear in my writing relates to my life-long struggle with not feeling good enough - a struggle I know I've completely made up in my head. It translates to my writing with a feeling that I suck, I suck, I suck and I can't even face how bad my script is. Even in times when I don't think it's there, I'll often realize that it's always there.

There's a writer's mantra I've heard - ass in the chair. As in, "No excuses. Just sit down and write. Now."

I think it's time for my own writer's mantra - an affirmation that addresses the real reason I don't write enough - fear.

When I searched the Web for "mantra against fear," I discovered something called the Litany Against Fear. Apparently Frank Herbert used it in Dune:

That's a bit too long for me, even though it communicates an important sentiment. Fear isn't something to get rid of, rather something I need to acknowledge and conquer. It's always going to be there - the goal is to not let it hold me back.

A simple search on social media turns up a bunch of great quotes about facing fear:

I don't know what my perfect affirmation will be - I'll let you know when I find it. Until then, I'll keep you trying to write without letting my fear stop me. Perhaps it will be some version of this:

Fiction Friday: Lemonade with Aunt Sandra, Part 1

(Inspired by this picture writing prompt from the Hedgebrook Twitter feed.)

Bart snapped a picture with his phone, his overactive mind already weighing the benefits and limitations of Clarendon vs. Sienna. This was not a #nofilter moment. The setting was as dreary as his mood. He wanted to be at Aunt Sandra's house as much as he wanted a hole in the head. He contemplated the origin of that archaic phrase as he swiped at his phone.

"You kids and your phones," his Aunt Sandra said as she approached. "I brought you out here to see your face, not the top of your head."

Bart didn't look up, defiantly protesting that he was summoned at all. "I'll just be a second."

She held out her hand. "Just for ten minutes so I can tell you something. Come on."

Her tone left no room for argument. Bart abandoned his picture posting and locked his phone before placing it in her palm. "Thank you," she said as she sat in the opposite patio chair.

Bart stared at her matching melamine pitcher and tumblers as she poured them lemonade. "If this is about what I did to my mom's car, you don't have to -"

"I have cancer."

Bart's head snapped up. Aunt Sandra was still pouring herself lemonade. "What?!" he sputtered.

His mother's hippie sister sipped her beverage, then said simply, "It's stage four pancreatic. They caught it too late. And we all know what happened to Patrick Swayze."

Bart had no idea who Patrick Swayze was, but his eyes began to well up immediately, all his hip 15-year-old bravado gone.  "No...no...Aunt Sandra..."

"I'm throwing a party next weekend and I was wondering if you could DJ. Your mom says you're getting pretty good."

Bart broke down into tears. "What are you talking about? I...I can't..." He sobbed, choking on the smell of aging plants from her brownish yard.

His aunt got up from her plastic chair and went over to him, pulling his hunched body close to her. "It's okay, buddy. I've had a great life, really. I just want to go out in style."

She let him cry for another stretch before slapping him on the back and saying, "You can finish crying when you get home. This is my time now and I want to hear about what you did to your mom's car."

(To be continued...)

#365project for 2016

I always have ideas when it comes to new year's resolutions. And yes, on occasion, I meet my own expectations. I still remember the year I gave up Kentucky Fried Chicken (at the time, it was a problem), the subsequent year I gave up donuts (sorry Dunkin), and the year after that when I gave up all candy. My dentist approved.

Creative resolutions are tougher since there's so much inherent change and instability in an artists' life. But I always try, because in general I know the more I move toward developing a disciplined writing practice, the better I will become at writing.

Last year's resolution was to complete 100 auditions. 2015 happened to be the year my acting career took a nose-dive, so I didn't even reach two dozen. 

This year, I'm focused on my writing. Instead of my usual 2-3 scripts a year output, I plan to amp that up to 6 full-length network television scripts in 2016. I'll also planning to publish my second short story collection. Ambitious goals - thank goodness I'm an ambitious person.

To do all that, I'm going to need a lot more creative kindling, i.e. - a lot more writing. So my #365project for 2016 is to write and share something every day.

Starting with this blog post!  

The writing can be in any format, such as a paragraph of fiction, a six word story I can share on Twitter, a one-page scene, or a blog post. Anything goes as long as it's original and shared.

Won't you join me on this journey? Follow me on Twitter and Instagram to read my pieces.

My year starts right now!

Not All Rollercoasters Are Fun

When I celebrated my birthday in May, it seemed my career was on the climb. I finished three prestigious TV writing programs, one of my scripts was a quarterfinalist in a writing competition, and so many people were cheering for me to succeed.

But what goes up must come down. I didn't get staffed, got dropped by my agent, and found myself facing the biggest crisis of faith of my entire creative career. My entire life, really. The self-doubt was painfully suffocating - You've wasted your life pursuing this dream that will never happen. If you were actually good enough, someone would have hired you by now. All the signs are telling you it's time to quit.

I've always said that not losing faith is the hardest part of being an artist. Because artists need faith to survive. We don't choose this path in life because it's lucrative or logical - we do it because we must. So to doubt our career is to doubt our very core being.

But my Taiwanese tiger parents raised me to work hard and be the best, so I've pressed on. June was not pretty. July wasn't any better. I felt blocked even though I knew I had to keep writing.

Thankfully, momentum is an integral component of all rollercoasters and the kinetic energy generated by the years I've invested in my writing life have propelled me through this low point. I'm working on a new pilot script, editing my second short story collection, and I'm almost back to writing every day.

And finally, some good news - I was just hired as a writers assistant/researcher for a new legal drama premiering on BET in 2016. I'm headed back to the writers room! A huge step in the right direction and the boost I needed to start my next climb.

Also, my short story collection HEARTBORN is finally available as a hard copy book. (Pictured here with my morning spinach smoothie...)

It's thin, but beautifully tangible. Order a copy before your Labor Day weekend getaways!

So the rollercoaster that is my creative life rolls on. Thanks for riding with me, everyone. Here's to more ups than downs in the future and the strength to know that no matter how big the dips, faith will always propel you forward.

Finding Your Creative Kindling

I've always had day jobs to support my creative life. Sometimes part-time, usually full-time - all desk jobs. Cubicle, computer, the works.

After a full day of staring at spreadsheets and analytics, my energy is often sapped, which is unfortunate because that's when I have to hunker down and write.

And it's always tough. I'll have a writing to-do list a mile long and very little energy left in my tank. My day job extinguishes my creative fire. It's up to me to get the fire started again.

Thankfully I've learned that just like when you're building an actual fire, you gotta start with kindling. Something to get the creativity flowing and ease into the real work.

Tackling my inbox or checking social media – that's not kindling.  Listening to podcasts, watching TV, or talking to friends – not kindling either.

In my experience, the best kindling for stoking my creative fire is writing and/or reading.  Writing this blog post in my journal - that's kindling.  Reading a few pages of a script or novel, brainstorming new ideas in my notebook, or even reading something I've written in the past – that's all kindling for me.  Meditation works too - or a good power nap.  (Power napping is one of my super powers.)

Creative kindling is anything that gets you disconnected from all the noise and distractions around you and connected to your inner voice.  It's the writing warm-up period.  And it's not optional - it's necessary.

Sometimes it takes me an hour to get the fire going. Other times, only 15 minutes.  It all depends - I just keep on feeding my fire with kindling until it sparks.

So the next time you're sitting down to write and you feel like you "just can't get into it," consider what your creative kindling might be.  And more importantly, learn to recognize what it's not.  Try and find a few things that work, so you can rotate if necessary.

Now start that fire and start writing! 

The 5 Stages of Staffing Season Grief

All experienced in the last 48 hours...

1. DENIAL - The jobs can't be all gone. Surely that NBC midseason whatsit needs a diversity staff writer.

2. ANGER - I didn't get hired because I suck! I should've worked harder to make my scripts better!

3. BARGAINING - I don't need 6 hours of sleep a night. I can write more if I only sleep 4.5 hours.

4. DEPRESSION - Now I'll never get to pitch my hostage situation bottle episode idea...or my Chinatown episode that's really about the Hispanic line cooks...

5. ACCEPTANCE - I'm not the only writer who didn't get staffed. C'est la vie. Gotta keep moving forward. Keep the faith and keep writing. Never give up, never surrender!

Congrats to my friends who got staffed this year! To the rest of us, our breakthrough is just around the corner...

How I Became a Baby TV Writer & How You Can Too

I was blessed to be selected for two writing fellowship programs this year - the CBS Writers Mentoring Program and the CAPE New Writers Fellowship. I was also named an honoree in the WGA Writer Access Project.

My friends and colleagues have been thrilled for me. I'm incredibly grateful for these successes and have been working hard to take advantage of these programs to shift my career forward.

And of course, questions have been coming from all sides -

"How did you do it? How do I get into the programs too? What should I be doing in my career? Can I pick your brain about how I can be successful like YOU?"

My first response is always to smile graciously as the ever present self-doubting voice in my head screams "You're not successful! You're a fraud! A joke! What do YOU know?!"

It's not that I don't have confidence - I'm just a writer - ALL writers have this voice.

So I push the inner critic back and offer what advice I can, knowing it doesn't mean much. Because I'm still just a baby - I'm still trying to get my first staff writer position as a solo writer. I'm no further than anyone else in the grand scheme of things. An advanced beginner at best.

But I'm happy to share what little I know, which is how this post came to be. Hopefully the story of my journey so far will offer something to aspiring TV writers out there.

So here's my comprehensive answer to all the questions I've been getting - how I became an advanced baby TV writer and how you can too -

1) Write every day

My former writing partner once told me I wasn't a real writer because I didn't write every day. I'll never forget how that stung.

Because she was absolutely right - true writers write every day. Talking about something you're going to write or thinking about ideas doesn't make you a writer. Putting words onto a page is the job.

I wasn't a writer when I started. Now, I write every day. Sometimes it's 10 pages of a script, other times it's 2 hours of processing ideas in my brainstorming notebook, many days it's three sentences in my Evernote app on a new idea. I don't beat myself up about the length - it's all about getting into the practice of being in the flow of ideas and words every day.

So if you want to be a writer, start here. Write every day. If you're not cranking on a script, get a journal and start writing something - anything - on a daily basis. It's the best way to set yourself in the right direction.

2) Read and learn
You don't need to enroll in writing classes to get started. In fact, I don't recommend it. I'm a big advocate of starting with a DIY writing education - read some books and write your first scripts.

Because those first scripts are going to be crap - they just are. And that's normal. See Ira Glass' wise words on the creativity gap -



There are a plethora of books about television and the craft of television writing that can start closing your gap. Here are three books that helped get me started -

• Starting Your Television Writing Career: The Warner Bros. Television Writers Workshop Guide
  
  
• Billion-Dollar Kiss: The Kiss That Saved Dawson's Creek, and Other Adventures inTV Writing
  
  
• Writing the Pilot
  

Also check out the suggested reading lists from CBS and Warner Bros.

3) Write your first round of scripts

Take everything you learned from reading those books along with your inspiration and excitement and write your first round of TV scripts - your first spec script and your first original pilot.

Cherish the agony of being a writer, because you are one - you're writing! And celebrate when you finish each script - you can officially enjoy the best feeling in the world - having written. Go you! You did it!

4) Start reading scripts like crazy

It's great that you watch hours and hours of television. You need to know TV in order to write for TV, so those Netflix bingefests are officially research for work.

Now it's time to spend hours and hours reading TV scripts It's not enough to be a viewer - you need to learn more about how television scripts are structured and crafted.

If you're in Los Angeles, you can read an endless amount of scripts at the Writers Guild Foundation Library. It's free and open to the public - just respect library rules. You can't copy or take scripts with you - only read them on site. Check their catalog before going to make a reading list, then go spend a day (or more) soaking in words.

If you're not in LA (which is totally fine at this stage of the game), you can find scripts online at Simply Scripts, Twiz TV, or The Script Source.

But know that you're looking for scripts, not transcripts. Seeing how writers craft their descriptions and action paragraphs is just as important as reading their dialogue.

You can also buy scripts from eBay if you're made of money...

5) Write your second round of scripts

After you've written your first spec script and your first original pilot, submit them to writing competitions and use them to apply to writing fellowships. I know I said your scripts are probably crap, but it's good practice and why not put yourself out there. You never know!

After you do that, move on to your second spec script and your second original pilot.

Do not start trying to find an agent.

I repeat, do not go hunting for an agent after writing your first two crap scripts. Now is the time to focus on becoming a better writer, not freaking out because you don't have "access."

You want an agent or manager to read your best material and your first scripts will never be your best material. You may think they are brilliant and transcendent, but I guarantee that your next round of scripts will be better.

When I wrote my first scripts, I already had an agent from my former writing partnership and I absolutely cringe when I imagine what he must have thought reading them. Probably something along the lines of, "This is terrible. Does she think this script is good? She's delusional. The list of things she doesn't know could wrap around my Hollywood Hills home a hundred times!"

I really thought my first script was terrific - it came out so easily and organized itself on the page beautifully. Now I can't even get through the first three pages without wanting to vomit - it's that bad. But that's okay, because it will always have the honor of being my very first script. I thank it for everything it taught me and tuck it firmly into the drawer.

Read more books and write a second spec script and a second original pilot. Submit those to writing competitions and apply to the writing fellowships a second time.

What's next? Is it time to find an agent yet?

NO.

6) Find a writers group

If you haven't already, join a writing group with writers whose work you admire. If you can't find one, form one of your own.

There are many ways to run a writers group - reading pages out loud during group meetings, reading material beforehand and sharing notes at the group meeting, etc. Any format works as long as you're putting yourself on deadlines and learning to take feedback on your work.

I've been through many writers groups including one I tried to organize myself for a while. They're ephemeral things - not every group works and not every group is for you. Don't despair if you can't find a good one - keep looking - there are plenty of writers in the world. Even if it's just you and a friend committing to reading each other's stuff, that counts.

When you find a group, the important thing is that you give as much feedback to other people's material as you want to get back. Be critical, but not cruel. Generosity, positivity, and doing your homework are the most important traits of a good writing group member.

7) Take some classes

After you've written two rounds of scripts, then you can take a class if you want. Because you want to use a class to hone your craft rather than learn it from scratch.

I took TV writing classes online at UCLA Extension. They're expensive because they're taught by writers who have actually worked in TV and I found them totally worth it. You can take the classes on campus, though I took all of my classes online because that fit into my schedule better.

Classes give you an automatic writers group. You will learn so much from reading other people's material and seeing how they shape their work (or don't).

Get as much as you can from the instructor and fellow classmates as you write your third round of scripts - your third spec script and your third original pilot. Submit those to writing competitions and apply to the writing fellowships a third time.

8) Start looking for an agent

But don't obsess over it. Your goal should still be becoming a better writer and learning how to be a professional.

Start by asking writer friends if you can take them to lunch (not coffee) and ask them some questions. Ask how they got started with their careers and how they found their agents. Do not ask for a referral and ALWAYS PAY FOR LUNCH.

In other words, start by gathering information and building relationships. You're still learning - don't start asking everyone you know for a referral. Your friends with agents want to know first that you're ready, that you understand an agent can only do so much, that you're still prepared to do 90% of the work. Show them you're smart, have a good work ethic, and that you're not desperate. (If you're still feeling desperate, skip this step - you're not ready.)

I found my current agent by referral from a writer friend I'd known for years. We'd been doing writing dates at Starbucks where we'd read and give feedback on each other's material. We had a long relationship before I ever broached the subject of an agent referral.

Don't forget your writer friends also have to read your material first before even thinking of referring you, which is why I say focus on your writing first. Force people to read a bad script and that relationship is over. Only embark on this step if you feel your material is relatively suck-free.

9) Don't give up!

If you're lucky enough to have gotten into one of the programs or won a writing accolade with one of your scripts by now, that's fantastic - you're getting a big confidence boost and jump ahead.

But if you haven't, this is the moment where you test your mettle. You've written six scripts by now - SIX! When is your damn break coming?

It's right around the corner. So KEEP WRITING. Write your fourth round - your fourth spec script and your fourth original pilot. Don't give in to doubt or self-judgment. You're a writer. Your work will pay off. Keep going.

I finished my Certificate in TV Writing at UCLA Extension and was between writing groups when I wrote my fourth round. I was meeting that writer friend at Starbucks and pounding my head against my brainstorming notebook for three solid months as I formed my next pilot about a futuristic cult that trained orphans to be assassins.

And one day I mentioned this article I'd read in my Costco magazine and an idea for a pilot it gave me. She immediately said, "Why are you writing that dumb orphans thing? This sounds like a much better idea!"

So I dropped the orphans and wrote CHILDREN OF EDEN, my fourth original pilot and honestly the first readable script in my portfolio. This script turned out to be everything for me - it got me a terrific agent (the previous agent had dropped me after reading enough of my crappy scripts), it made me a finalist in the Script Pipeline TV writing competition, and got me real industry meetings for the first time.

Based on the strength of that script, I attracted the attention of a producer and we developed an idea together and sold it to CBS. My first income as a solo writer!

This was two years after I wrote my very first crappy script.

Everyone was thrilled for me when I sold that pitch. It was a wonderful experience and I learned so much. I hope all of you get to experience that too. But the journey is not over...

10) Keep writing

After selling the pitch and completing my first staffing season with my new agent, I wrote my fifth round of scripts. You'd think I was a ninja at the craft by now, but no - my writing in this round kind of sucked.

So I wrote my sixth round. And that's the round that got me into three TV writing fellowships this year.

What am I doing now? Writing my seventh round, of course. The writing will never end. Onward and upward. Never give up, never surrender!


So there you have it - how I got to where I am now. Writing, writing, writing. Never resting on my laurels. Always pushing forward, one word at a time.

And I'm just getting started. I'm still looking for my first job. Becoming a working TV writer is a marathon, not a sprint. I've just rounded my first corner - miles to go before I sleep.

Have follow-up questions? Ask them below!

Fictionless Friday: Morning Thoughts on Writing

I'm no good unless I write. The thoughts, emotions, and ideas crowding my brain can render me useless until I have to write. Writing lets everything out.

If I'm lucky, what flows from my brain takes some shape on the page that resembles a story. Other times, it just dumps out in a random collection of thoughts like this. Either way, I let it flow. Better out then in.

In the early days of my writing life, I needed to force myself to write every day. Now, I know that nothing in my life works unless I'm writing. It heals me and saves me at the same time it's stressing me out and making my life hell.

Why do it? Other writers will understand – I write because I must. It is how I breathe – my pen streaming along the page. It's where I rest, where I live.

Oh, to have enough money in the bank to just write, write, write. What worlds I could create, what stories I could tell. Room service and the housekeeper would be helpful, but I don't need much – just a comfortable chair, cozy socks, my notebook, and a pen. The rest is magic.

I love writing. It is my joy, my pain, my lifeline.

Here I go...

Fiction Friday: In Bed

(Because sometimes you just can't get out of bed. Sometimes you just open your notebook and start writing. That's what happened to me last week. Here's what I wrote...)

I could live my life in bed. Well, except for going to the bathroom. Bed pans are gross. Okay, so I’ll get up to do my business, but otherwise, I can do everything else I need to do in life from the warm comforts of my bed. Especially with this down comforter that Dad bought me from Costco. Fake down but so fluffy. It’s like Maria Von Trapp’s bed in the Sound of Music movie, but without all the jumping kids ruining the fluff. Just me, cushioned in pillowy warmth.

I never want to get out of bed anymore. Fuck all those people who get up at five AM to go for a run or whatever. Are their lives really better than mine? Sure they have less body fat, but they probably have fewer brain cells too. Sleep is important. 8 hours a night. Or is it 6? I got ‘em all beat at 10. Color me an overachiever.

Why is everyone so obsessed with people who climb mountains and shit? Is the metaphor on top of the physical achievement really that impressive? I’m going to start my own thrilling endeavor – living a full happy life in bed. I’ll do everything here – work, eat, rest. People can join me for breakfast in bed or a late night snack. This isn’t about being antisocial. It’s about me living my way. The way I want. The way I’m comfortable.

Because out there – that’s a doozy. The world is mean and demanding – there’s no respite for any of us. It’s relentless. There’s a whole industry devoted to getting people to relax – spa products, salad restaurants, getaways to Bali – but all that shit costs money, which adds to the stress. It’s a vicious cycle that we’re all buying into like fools. Lisa is so caught up in it, she doesn’t even realize she’s a hamster on a wheel. Destination: NOT relaxation.

I think I’m onto something here. The real secret to a happy life is to sleep in, stay in bed, and force the world to come to you. Because sometimes you hear your roommate banging around in the kitchen making coffee with her new Keurig machine, which she swears is saving her money, even though the whole thing cost almost a hundred bucks, and that’s before all the different flavored K-cups and the damn accessories. Can’t keep those K-cups in a drawer when you can have them on a spinning display!

Sometimes I hear Lisa doing her K-coffee routine and I think, I just can’t. Not today. I’d rather face plant into this pillow and rest for another hour than deal with Lisa’s judgment before she goes to work. She wouldn’t call it that, of course. She’s just “asking questions.” Like, “Are you going to do something today? Anything happening with the job search?” And my favorite on Saturdays, “Did you just wake up?” Of course I just woke up you bitch it’s Saturday if you can’t sleep in on the weekend then what’s the POINT? I dislike her.

Besides, I can look for a job right here in bed. Monster.com app for the win. I applied to two jobs this morning before falling back asleep. I’ll look again in a minute.

A life lived in bed. That will be the title of my memoir. All about the life and times of Meriwether Washington. That’s my pen name, I’ve decided. Wait, can you write a memoir under a pen name? I’ll be the first. See, already a trailblazer and I haven’t opened my eyes in an hour.

People really underestimate the power of bed. In bed, everything is wonderful. You’re warm, you’re relaxed, and you’re safe. If I could just stay here, maybe I could stay safe. I could avoid people I hate and news that bums me out. I won’t have to see that doctor again. I should really sue him anyway. Doctors are supposed to follow some oath, right? Something that says they have to heal people and treat them well, not like damaged goods when they come to you for help. The problem was in my uterus, not in my head, you asshole. Such a dick. He’s probably one of those five AM runners. I hope he gets run over by a car sometime.

It would have been better if Damian had just come with me, but he’s the biggest dick of all. Fucker was actually relieved – RELIEVED – when I lost the baby. Like he was being dismissed from jury duty or something. “Oh thank God,” he said. I should have punched him in the face.

But I didn’t because he’s not worth it. That would have been more work and all I wanted was my bed. My comfy, cozy sanctuary covered in fake feathers that my dad gave me. Dad would have bought me a crib. Baby and I could have both stayed in bed all day, right next to each other. And dad could bring me breakfast and bring me the baby for his breakfast and Damian could just go fuck himself.

Oh Daddy, I miss you. Fuck cancer. That’s the other thing bed is good for – crying. You can literally curl into the fetus position and no one calls you melodramatic because they can’t see your body under the covers. Where else can you feel that free?

I need to pee. Could I rethink my stance on bed pans? Ew, no. Gross. Fuck. Maybe I’ll get up and then reward myself with a cup of coffee from Lisa’s Keurig. If I take a K-cup from the box in her cupboard instead of her spinning display, she’ll never know. I haven’t had coffee since...well, since before. That damn doctor told me not to have any because of some study on miscarriages so I didn’t but it happened anyway. Fucking quack. They should take his license. What does he know?

I still have that card he gave me. Bereavement counseling. Fuck him. He doesn’t know me. I don’t need to talk about it. I need to stay in my bed. The pain will go away eventually. My fake down comforter will soak it up. I’m sure it’s already done me good these last few months. It’s a very good comforter.

I’m not getting out of bed. The last time I got out of bed, it was a disaster. I opened the door thinking it was my Fuji Wok delivery and found Damian there instead. He drove all the way over but didn’t have anything to say except, “I wanted to see you.” What the hell is there to see, Damian? A broken girl with a broken uterus and a broken heart that you feel more guilty about than anything else. Well stop coming over if you don’t want to feel guilty. Just stay away – forever! At least he paid for the Fuji Wok on his way out.

Damn, now I really need to pee. Okay, here’s the plan. Bathroom, Lisa’s coffee, grab the Chinese leftovers, then back into bed. I can do that in 10 minutes tops.

I think a lot about my dad lately. What he would say if he saw me trapped in my bed. He never judged – not like Lisa. So what would he say? I can’t think of anything except that thing he always used to say on Sundays before getting me up for church. “Are you ready for a Sunday Fun Day?” It wasn’t that funny but I always laughed. He honestly thought going to church was fun. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t a party. Dad started wearing bow ties to church later in life – just another way to make Sunday a fun day. I miss his bow ties.

Maybe I’ll go to church today. There’s an evening service on Wednesdays. It is Wednesday, right? Damn, it’s already 12:30 PM. I’ve been in bed all morning. If I add a shower to the end of my game plan, I can be out the door by two at least. Then it’s just four hours to kill before church. I’ll go see a movie or something. All the good ones are long these days. I’ll go see the one about that boy who grows up on film. I heard that one’s long.

Okay, here we go. Off for my adventure. Bye, bye comforter. My bed experiment will continue tomorrow. I know I can make it work if I really apply myself. For now, I’ll make Wednesday my fun day. Dad would be proud.
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