My name is Robyn and I’m a young aspiring TV writer in L.A. who found your blog after it was linked from Jezebel. Your post “The Magical Vulva of Opportunity” really struck a chord with me because between parents encouraging me to “go back to school and became a professional naval-gazer in a safe environment like a college campus” and the snippets I hear every day about struggling, unhappy TV writers, I’m starting to wonder if I’m setting myself for a life of disappointment. This sentence in particular made my stomach drop:
“There have been shows I was almost on, shows I was on, shows I almost created, shows I wrote but nobody read. There have been proposals and pitches and meetings and punch-ups and “I don’t understand; they said you had the job, but now they just don’t have the budget for your level.” I’ve been singled out, recommended, read and “adored.” I’ve been pitched to, passed over, rescheduled and abandoned. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve written even more. I’m a couple of credits away from being elevated higher than “mid-level female writer,” and I can’t wait to find out what new, terrible, miserable problems the next level brings.”
I know I’m 22 and still outside of that skyscraper looking up at its enormity, and I know it’s not your job to reassure some kid who graduated from college and moved to L.A. the next day with no tangible career prospects except a dream to write for television and maybe movies, but I want to know that you’re happy and that guy and his agent are just (albeit unconsciously) sexist jerks. I want to know that this is the only thing you’d ever want to do and could do. I want to convince myself that if you feel a richness in your life from this career, then my anxiety is for naught. I know it’s a lot to ask, haha.
I currently work in an entry-level job at a tech/marketing company, work on endless revisions to my sitcom spec and half-hour pilot and sometimes send out that Very Dramatic play I wrote last year to theater company’s reading committees. I presume you’ve been there and I’m curious what you would say to your past self knowing what you know now.
Thanks for being an inspiration to young women like me (neurotic as we are.)
All the best,
It is surprising you didn’t get a phone call at around 11:30pm my time last night, as I wanted to call every single person in the world after I read the following email: Read more
I’ve mentioned before how my dreams are annoyingly literal. I rarely have to spend any time pondering, “I wonder what that meant.” Yes, even REMpam is a Wonder Killer.
How literal? Well, to be extremely graphic, I once had a dream in college where a notoriously tough professor was butt-raping me in front of the entire class to prove a point about the importance of authenticity in acting technique.
IT IS NOT FUN TO BE DREAM ME. Read more
I just think that many hours in a row of one thing is kind of bad for the brain. Like, Clockwork Orange bad. My dreams last night were ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I woke up during one of them and had to write it down. For you. Please don’t miss the ending, as it has a very special guest star.
Okay, so Kate, Jack and Sawyer are walking through the jungle when Jack casually mentions he wishes he could have some Chinese food. Kate smirks and says, “Follow me.”
She leads them down this windy, rainy path until she pushes through two trees and uncovers: Chinatown. They wind through the crowded streets and into a Chinese restaurant. Kate finds a table around a corner where they can eat protected from being seen. Jack, breathless from the journey, looks at Kate as sweat rolls down his forehead. “Nice work,” he pants. She smiles. Read more
We all have those dreams where we think of the most brilliant joke or story and when we wake up we forget what it was. If we do remember the joke — usually in the shower or on the drive to work, when our brains go back to slumber-numb — it’s usually a letdown.
I had a dream I tweeted this joke. In the dream it was so important to me that I tweet this joke, that I interrupted a fancy dinner and I think even someone speaking at the front of the room. I had a dream that I was a total asshole, just so I could write a joke before I forgot it.
I even remember the joke.
Muse loves singing about pronouns. (see: “WE!” and “THEY!”) Muse loves pronouns so much that even their name is a mash-up of two pronouns.
Genius dream joke or too much grammar humor? I don’t care. Muse really does love to hit their pronouns.
Hmm… I think this episode might air a week later than this site thinks. I’ll keep you posted.
The point is:
My name will be on my TiVo…next to the word “Oprah.” It’s like every word I’ve ever written was all leading to this one moment. It’s very exciting.
Gayle is very nice and tall and pretty. This is the clip of conversation I thought you’d appreciate.
Love the “vagina” joke. Oprah and I were laughing about that.
Thank you so much for doing the show.
INSIDE PAM’S HEAD
I made Oprah laugh.
Look at Pam’s face. I wish I had a camera.
Wow. Oprah really does make your wildest dreams come true.
I had a dream about Dad the other night.
He had this basement installed in the house, which — whatever — and he wanted to show me all of the antiques he had started collecting. It was a bizarre collection of ugly statues and souvenirs from places he’d never been. Some he bragged about scoring off eBay. Some still had tags from garage sales.
My father, as far as I know, never stepped foot in an actual garage sale. Read more
date: August 2, 2005 10:59:24 AM PDT
subject: (no subject)
I had A dream that I was At My House And I was Crying for mys sister that I haven’t seen in a long time.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
I don’t know why Meagan thinks I can interpret her dreams. I’ve never met Meagan, so I’m not sure what led her to sending me an email about her REM memories.
Just taking a shot here, Meagan, but I’m guessing you miss your sister. I know how that feels. I haven’t seen my sister in a long time. I love her very much, and whenever I stop to think about how little I’ve seen her since I left for college, it is heartbreaking. If you count up all the hours and lined them up consecutively, perhaps we’ve seen each other for about a month in the past twelve years. It’s not enough time. I constantly feel like I’m missing out on her life, and there’s nothing we can really do about it. I want her to succeed, she wants me to succeed, and we don’t want to live the same kind of life. We never have. From when we were little, as much as we loved each other, we never wanted to be all that much alike. It makes sense that we shot out in wildly different paths. Both of us would accuse the other one of taking the harder road. Read more
Today I was wearing my brand-spankin’ new Wonder Killer t-shirt for the 1st time. I went to hear David Sedaris read and get my books signed. He’s very cool and funny. He was talking to those of us in the 1st 3 or so rows and signing our books. When he got to me he said, “Can I sign that book for you…Wonder Killer? Heh. Wonder Killer.”
How great is that?
That’s all, I just wanted to share my Sedaris story. The 3 hours early I went to the bookstore were totally worth it! You should come sign books in Oklahoma — I’d wear the shirt again and totally buy you a beer after.