There is a pebble of content I was unable include yesterday
because it didn’t quite fit but I am including today because it does. In fact, yesterday’s “pebble” is today’s
central concern.
YESTERDAY’S PEBBLE: “I’m a central
concern!”
(Message: Be
nice to yesterday’s pebbles. You never
know what will happen tomorrow.)
Okay.
So I am listening to a professional artist explode my
stereotypical myth of the idealistic painter, giving everything for their art
(versus the greedy television writer, who someone unkindly called – actually
called all writers – “Hookers with
typewriters. “) Yes, there are artists
who give their all for their work. But
there are
also sensible artists, wisely thinking about the rent.
Later during our dinner, as an almost throwaway addendum but
it was really, as Will Kane in High Noon
called it “…the whole thing”, (professional artist) Ruth casually remarked,
“There is also the reward artists receive, simply doing
their art.”
Hearing that, an identifying explosion went off in my head.
Though merely a television writer, I understood that idea.
You do it because you love it.
I cannot with a straight face recount the things I gave up
to do what I loved because there were never that many. Ups and downs. Disappointments. The heartsick response to projects going down
in flames. Sure. But did you notice? Those setbacks involve “doing it”, the
inevitable “body checks” from playing the game.
All signs I was “inside”, and not out.
(I can’t imagine what “out” feels like, the required sacrifice just to
keep hope alive.)
Even my last job as a one-day-a-week consultant on the okay
but not special sitcom According to Jim
was not me, lowering my standards to keep plying my trade. I worked on Jim like it was Taxi. Mining the possibilities of making the show
better.
Last weekend, I belatedly saw it.
What exactly I risked to remain in the game.
We were driving to visit our daughter Anna (husband Colby
and the magnificent Golda-roo.) It took
three freeways to get there: The
eastbound 10, the northbound 405, and the southeast-bound 101 (that turns into
something else but I can’t remember what that is, so if you get lost you can
blame me.)
Daydreaming in the passenger seat, it occurs to me that this
is the exact route I took, driving to work on According to Jim. In the morning,
when I had an arguable fighting chance.
And on the return trip at night.
When I arguably didn’t.
It was pitch dark, and “Rush-Hour” busy.
That’s how it is here.
You can drive L.A. freeways at two in the morning and still encounter a
traffic jam. I have often wondered where
these cars come from. They couldn’t all be working on television shows, could
they? Maybe they could. In which case, they were tired and angry and
frustrated
and dangerous.
Particularly me.
Who should not drive at night at the best of times. And “late and exhausted” are not that.
My apologies to anyone driving behind me on those return
trips from According to Jim. Changing lanes and careening towards
off-ramps. You probably thought I was
drunk. I wasn’t.
I’m just a terrible “Night Driver.”
Why was I out there?
Because I loved what I did and would risk everything to keep
doing it.
In this case, literally.
I had my “Eye of the Prize.”
When I should, more helpfully, have had my eyes on the road.
There is a pebble of content I was unable include yesterday
because it didn’t quite fit but I am including today because it does. In fact, yesterday’s “pebble” is today’s
central concern.
YESTERDAY’S PEBBLE: “I’m a central
concern!”
(Message: Be
nice to yesterday’s pebbles. You never
know what will happen tomorrow.)
Okay.
So I am listening to a professional artist explode my
stereotypical myth of the idealistic painter, giving everything for their art
(versus the greedy television writer, who someone unkindly called – actually
called all writers – “Hookers with
typewriters. “) Yes, there are artists
who give their all for their work. But
there are also sensible artists, wisely thinking about the rent.
Later during our dinner, as an almost throwaway addendum but
it was really, as Will Kane in High Noon
called it “…the whole thing”, (professional artist) Ruth casually remarked,
“There is also the reward artists receive, simply doing
their art.”
Hearing that, an identifying explosion went off in my head.
Though merely a television writer, I understood that idea.
You do it because you love it.
I cannot with a straight face recount the things I gave up
to do what I loved because there were never that many. Ups and downs. Disappointments. The heartsick response to projects going down
in flames. Sure. But did you notice? Those setbacks involve “doing it”, the
inevitable “body checks” from playing the game.
All signs I was “inside”, and not out.
(I can’t imagine what “out” feels like, the required sacrifice just to
keep hope alive.)
Even my last job as a one-day-a-week consultant on the okay
but not special sitcom According to Jim
was not me, lowering my standards to keep plying my trade. I worked on Jim like it was Taxi. Mining the possibilities of making the show
better.
Last weekend, I belatedly saw it.
What exactly I risked to remain in the game.
We were driving to visit our daughter Anna (husband Colby
and the magnificent Golda-roo.) It took
three freeways to get there: The
eastbound 10, the northbound 405, and the southeast-bound 101 (that turns into
something else but I can’t remember what that is, so if you get lost you can
blame me.)
Daydreaming in the passenger seat, it occurs to me that this
is the exact route I took, driving to work on According to Jim. In the morning,
when I had an arguable fighting chance.
And on the return trip at night.
When I arguably didn’t.
It was pitch dark, and “Rush-Hour” busy.
That’s how it is here.
You can drive L.A. freeways at two in the morning and still encounter a
traffic jam. I have often wondered where
these cars come from. They couldn’t all be working on television shows, could
they? Maybe they could. In which case, they were tired and angry and
frustrated
and dangerous.
Particularly me.
Who should not drive at night at the best of times. And “late and exhausted” are not that.
My sincere apologies to anyone driving behind me on those return
trips from According to Jim. Changing lanes and careening towards
off-ramps. You probably thought I was
drunk. I wasn’t.
I’m just a terrible “Night Driver.”
Why was I out there?
Because I loved what I did and would risk everything to keep
doing it.
In this case, literally.
I had my “Eye of the Prize.”
When I should, more helpfully, have had my eyes on the road.
No comments:
Post a Comment