On friends, colleagues and jealousy
When you were first getting started as a writer, did you meet other hopeful screenwriters? And, if so, did you grow, over time, to absolutely despise them?
Because I’m feeling this. When I first moved to LA a few years ago, I met a whole bunch of disreputable screenwriter wannabes. I made friends with them. We helped and encouraged each other. But in the last year or so, I began to grow weary of their company and their lame-ass superficial ideas. I wrote a script that landed me a fairly prestigious agent and have since gone on to have meet and greets and do all the things that other screenwriters do who haven’t yet sold a break-through script. I’ve pitched for assignments. I’ve duly submitted new scripts that haven’t yet tweaked the fancy of some mid-level studio exec. I’ve met with producers. I’ve played the whole game. I feel like I’m on the cusp.
But I’m still sort of in that netherworld between WGA-sanctioned writer and struggling wannabe. The thing is, all the struggling screenwriters I’ve grown to know in the last few years… well, truth be told, they irritate the fuck out of me now. I have no patience for them anymore. And they seem to have no patience for me. They’ve grown really demanding. It seems like for every new door that opens for me, they feel like I owe them the passcode. The secret handshake. The “in.”
What I want to know is, did you go through this? Did you, at some point, have to sort of leave your fellow strugglers behind? I don’t want to lose my friends, but at the same time, I feel like it’s really important for me to separate myself from them right now. I also feel like, if the shoe were on the other foot, they wouldn’t think twice about blowing me (and all my scripts) off. I mean, they’re calling me and asking me if I’ll send their latest script to my agents… who have only hip-pocketed me and who I can barely get on the phone as it is.
Hollywood is such a weird place. I feel like I’m still learning all the ins and outs of the politics that go with it. How have you dealt with fellow screenwriter friends who haven’t yet crossed that line, but who still count you as a friend, with all the benefits that come with that friendship? Does that make sense?
I’d really appreciate some advice.
–Jay
Los Angeles
Your letter pretty well encapsulates a lot of what I have felt, and to some degree continue to feel, about Los Angeles and the film industry.
To a surprising degree, screenwriting can be a meritocracy, where good writing (and savvy) leads to a fulfilling career. Talent and hard work are rewarded; laziness is punished. The lag between cause and effect can be frustratingly long, but there’s reason to have faith.
From your letter, it really does sound like you’re off to a good start. Congratulations. Work your ass off, land an assignment, and write the hell out of it. Then do it again, and again, and again. You’ll know you’re doing well if you’re too tired to go out drinking with your old screenwriting buddies.
Yes, I’m saying to let ‘em go. Not all of them, necessarily. But it’s time to thin the herd.
I think there’s an important distinction between friends and colleagues. Here’s the single most important question to ask yourself: Who is happy for you? A true friend is glad you’re finding success, without any ulterior motive for himself. Be smart: hold onto your friends. I have honest-to-goodness friends who I met the second day I arrived in Los Angeles, who will be my friends until I die.
But I also have colleagues, mostly other screenwriters, who are important to me even though they’re not really friends. With colleagues, it’s okay to feel some jealousy. Even small twinges of schadenfreude. Particularly at the beginning of my career, I was constantly comparing my success to their success, and it made me work that much harder. Yes, we helped each other out when we could, but the biggest help by far was by continually raising the bar, not just in the quality of our writing, but what we were able to achieve career-wise.
Most of your so-called screenwriter friends are probably fall into the “colleague” category. Some of them are definitely worth keeping in your life. Ask yourself which ones you think are actually good writers. Here’s the test: whose scripts are you genuinely excited to read? If you dread cracking open Jim’s scripts, and dread giving him notes, then you really don’t believe in him as a writer. You’re not doing him or yourself any favors keeping up the charade.
You don’t have to tell him, “Jim, buddy, I think your writing sucks.” Just be too busy to read the next draft. Say it’s too much like something you’re working on. (And remember that trading scripts works both ways. It’s not fair to ask for his notes if you’re not willing to do the same.)
Jim may think you’re an asshole. That’s his right. But the process of adding and dropping friends and colleagues isn’t unique to this business. I’m guessing you’re in your 20’s. With certainty, I could say you’d be going through the same thing no matter where you lived, or what you were doing. Things change. People move on.
What’s different about this business is the musical chairs aspect. Hollywood only “needs” a very small number of screenwriters. Maybe it’s a hundred. Maybe it’s three hundred. Whatever the figure, it’s a very small number compared to the vast legion of wannabe screenwriters in Los Angeles.
The cliche is that every waiter in LA is an actor. The truth is that every non-waiter is probably working on a screenplay. So when these aspiring screenwriters see you climbing those first few rungs of the ladder, it’s no surprise there’s some jealousy and resentment. After all, just a few months ago, you were exactly where they were.
In some ways, it’s easier to begrudge a person a little success than a lot of success. There’s a relatability, a why-not-me factor. It sucks for them. It sucks for you. Accept that and move on.
If it’s any consolation, look around at all the aspiring actors in your midst. They’re going through the exact same winnowing process, but at least you’re being judged on your words. Imagine how much more frustrating it would be to succeed or fail based on the whims of a casting director who liked your look, or felt you could stand to lose 10 pounds.
Articles
September 14th, 2005 at 1:45 pm
A true friend supports you and all your creative endeavors, while people who live under that thin Hollywood veil of superficiality can only claim to be your friends, furtively following your success. I try to choose my friends wisely; I’m wary of those who only spend their time talking about their work rather than actually doing the work.
September 14th, 2005 at 2:06 pm
Thanks for this post — it articulates everything I’ve been starting to feel in a way I’ve had difficulty explaining myself. I know I’ve been on both sides of the scenario and felt uncomfortable either way. And it’s oddly comforting to hear someone else express what you’re feeling.
September 14th, 2005 at 3:39 pm
It’s strange how I’ve come to experience essentially the same thing. Even though I don’t have an agent, or anything of the sort yet. But I was demi-hired for an assignment to write a screenplay for someone else. So apparently that makes me better than the people who are far more talented, but not ‘working’ screenwriters. How sad life can be. But John, you’re the grand-master right now. Charlie did fantastically, and Corpse Bride is being universally accepted (so far), and will also do well. So, John, how does the A-List feel?… Can I get the number of your agent?
September 14th, 2005 at 9:29 pm
100 screenwriters?! Oh man. That really depresses me. I mean, I have to think there are more than 100 really talented screenwriters in Hollywood. And to think that their talent is not needed…just bums me right out. I agree, most people aspiring to write screenplays are TERRIBLE writer. Then, there’s a small percentage left over who have some merit as a writer, but really can’t do everything well enough to make multi-million dollar movies out of it. But there is certainly more than 100 poetic, insightful, hard-working, storytellers who can write a beautiful, entertaining script. And then I can only conclude that they’ll be left in the dirt. If they don’t happen to be Gwyneth’s best friend’s brother-in-law or encounter some stroke of impossibly good luck, they might as well move home now and start training to be an astronaut.
September 14th, 2005 at 9:36 pm
Oh, and John…Dear Abby much?
September 14th, 2005 at 9:40 pm
Fuck my grammar sucks tonight.
September 14th, 2005 at 10:17 pm
This is unrelated, but have you read “The Perfect System” John? I’m asking because you talked about the “lag between cause and effect” which is like a direct quote from that book.
September 15th, 2005 at 12:08 am
Speaking of jealousy and the odd behavior of friends when one has some success. I’m experiencing this with a fellow writer and best friend right now. I recently had some luck by way of a hot new director that found one of my scripts online. Long story short, the guy’s got major activity around town and has multiple offers to back his first studio feature. And he picked my script to champion around town as the project he wants to make.
Here’s the rub. My buddy and I have always read each others scripts for feedback, ideas to make it better, etc. Not once in 10+ years of doing this did either of us ask for story credit. But because of my recent developments, my best friend had the audacity to ask for story credit because of his feedback! It just blew me away.
I think when people see their friends take off with success, it’s not only professional jealousy but a fear of being left behind. Either way, it’s pretty ugly. You see people’s true colors.
September 15th, 2005 at 2:25 am
From Jeff Nathanson’s ‘The Last Shot’…
Joe Devine: Can you help me find a script? Fanny Nash: This is Hollywood. Just go outside and ask anyone you see to give you a script. A gardener, a cripple, a child molester. They’ve all got ‘em.
PS - Whenever I am tempted to lose faith, I look to Tony Gayton’s story…10 years, and when he was about to quit, cranked out ‘The Salton Sea’. But yeah, it’s every man for himself, or rather every script for itself.
September 15th, 2005 at 6:38 am
I would never ask a writer for an in with his agent. Someone else’s agent, sure. But you’re saying “I want your agent to spend time with me that she could be spending on you.” That’s not too friendly, really.
September 15th, 2005 at 6:44 am
Hey, Is that Jay Morris? If he doesn’t want to talk to me he should just tell me, and you know what… your notes for my Navy Seals 4 script sucked.
September 15th, 2005 at 7:07 am
it’s a hard gig to generalize, in general, but some of those were some good blanket statements…i have found, mostly, the hand that pulls you up is the one that is already on top…to quote tom petty, it’s hard to find a friend.
September 15th, 2005 at 7:34 am
But don’t forget, “The waiting is the hardest part.”
September 15th, 2005 at 9:02 am
I would also encourage Jay to think about his own integrity and ability to be a friend and/or professional colleague. There is no one-way path to success in Hollywood. It invariably involves ups and downs, and even when you go way up, you’ll come down hard again too. And you’ll need someone to lean on and talk to. And John August will only be available to you via blog postings. You might really need someone a little more immediate and fleshy. So don’t just pick your friends based on what they can do for you. If you’ve already done that, then you won’t have any real friends when the time comes to have need for a sympathetic shoulder.
September 15th, 2005 at 9:51 am
No offense here, but Mr. August’s recommendation is pretty cold. These kinds of discussions make me uneasy and question humanity. And the fact that most everyone is in agreement is even more sad. Just my opinion. Why does this guy have to cut his friends loose if they’re not up to his level of screenwriting? You guys are coming off like a bunch of 9th graders.
September 15th, 2005 at 10:33 am
The point isn’t whether to cut his actual friends off. The point is if they were real friends in the first place, they’d be unequivocally happy for him whether he was knitting doilies to pay the bills or actually making a living at writing screenplays. If they’re not, and they’re bitter, and angry, and using him, it’s time to cut them loose — life’s too short to hang out with people who don’t support you no matter what.
I’m sure he’s got some great friends in the pack, but the idea is to “thin the herd.” Lose those people whose calls inevitably lead to the uncomfortable joking-but-not-joking, “So, when are you gonna let me talk to your agent?” (insert uncomfortable laughter here).
September 15th, 2005 at 11:25 am
I think the bigger question is “who’s your friend in Hollywood”? Because I agree with Curtis’s post above–it seems rather…shallow to be talking about dropping “friends” because you’ve decided you’ve reached some new point in your career. Maybe it’s not about “friendship” at all. I have found that most “friends” in the business are not at all friends–they have no loyalty to me and none of my interests at heart. Isn’t that what a friend is? So to “lose” them…well we’re not talking about friends but about people trying to get ahead and using whomever they can in the process. It sounds like Jay got what he could out of these people, and they got what they could out of him. Jay was not a friend to them any more than they were to him. I can’t help thinking that Jay might not be ready to write a movie I’d pay $15 to see–he just seems to lack any of the insight into humanity I would look for in a movie. (How’s that for a judgment.)
September 15th, 2005 at 12:20 pm
Because he’s struggling with the concepts of loyalty, success and artistic worth, you don’t think he’s ready to write a movie you’d see? What more “insight into humanity” do you want? The secret of life?
September 15th, 2005 at 12:29 pm
Sadly, I think this has been a little peek inside how things go in Hollywood. Yet another reason for me to second guess this whole screenwriting gig. Why must it be so ugly?
September 15th, 2005 at 12:54 pm
Well Curtis. You might just have the necessary sensitivity to be a good writer. And as we all know, sensitive, good writers are wonderfully appreciated in Hollywood and treated with tremendous affection and respect. Snap!
I say surround yourself with like-minded people. Work with like-minded people. Hollywood is full of self-interested, shallow bums because the human race is full of self-interested, shallow bums. But there are some great, smart, creative and yes, even, sensitive people in Hollywood too. Seek them out. Form a union.
September 15th, 2005 at 1:04 pm
I suspect that will be one tiny union.
September 15th, 2005 at 1:09 pm
Yes, Curtis, you are most definitely depressing enough to be a good writer. The union might be small, but who wants to have a club anyone can belong to.
September 15th, 2005 at 1:14 pm
I’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic or not. So I’ll just leave this pointless conversation now.
September 15th, 2005 at 1:20 pm
Heheheh. Yes, I’m being sarcastic, but with true affection for a fellow suck. Seriously, we can do with more people who think about the human condition. If you’re any good at writing, I’d probably go see your movie. And am I breaking the blog code of philosophy or something? I new to it, and I’m not sure if I’m breaching etiquette by jerking off with Curtis through someone else’s blog.
September 15th, 2005 at 2:25 pm
Here’s a thought… what opinions do you have when it comes to helping some, but not others? I’ve been close, but have yet to chomp that cigar. However, I like to think that if I ever did make it and was ever in a position to help a friend or colleague who I thought had definite potential, but not opportunity, that I would do what I could. Of courese, I can only count a couple that would fall into that category.
That said, there are others that wouldn’t fall in there. If we’re talking about friends, colleagues, to help or not to help, where do we draw the line? Help all or none? Help some, but not others?
I think I’d lean towards being upfront and saying, “Yes, you I would help. You others, I’m very sorry but probably not.” I think then you’d really seperate the friends from the naysayers.
Thoughts?
September 15th, 2005 at 5:11 pm
I dunno. Problem is what if your friend just isn’t that good. I mean, ya might love him to death, but he just might not be a very good writer. I think I’d help anyone I saw as talented and who otherwise struck me as a good sort.
September 15th, 2005 at 6:02 pm
I think the people who are dismayed at the severing of friendship ties are looking at it a bit wrong. This guy’s issue is not that he wants to get rid of his less-talented friends. His issue is that the people who he thought were his friends now expect him to help them out since he’s had a bit of success. If he has friends that are bad writers but aren’t trying to get him to push their careers, I imagine he’d keep them around because they are truly friends.
I’ve just recently moved to Southern California myself, and have yet to develop any relationships in the area. I’ve got no reservations about befriending fellow aspiring writers, but at the same time I know there are people out there looking for every advantage they can get and will see me as another tool on their path. Unfortunately, you only see this if/when you have some success, and then you really do have to decide if it’s more help or harm to keep them in your life. I’ve had to go through the same thing with non-writer friends, and I guarantee Jay doesn’t want to cut these people off, but he has to do what’s best for him first.
September 15th, 2005 at 6:11 pm
I think ultimately it comes down to “what have you done for me lately?” Has that “friend” always been there for you? Has he always been willing to help? Did that friend always encourage you in your endeavors? And most importantly, was that friend always there as a shoulder to cry on when you were rejected by that agent, producer, contest, etc.? If you can answer these questions, you’ll find your answer.
And just remember: You can pick your friends. You can pick your nose. But you can’t pick your friend’s nose.
September 16th, 2005 at 7:44 am
‘they irritate the fuck out of me now. I have no patience for them anymore. And they seem to have no patience for me’…you’re right Jay, us Disreputable Wannabees networked better than you and beat you to every meeting and told them ‘hey, watch out for that Jay guy when he comes in, steer clear from him.’ BTW, the spam precation word below today was ‘blows’
September 17th, 2005 at 1:04 pm
This is probably something that happens in every profession as somebody “moves up the ladder.” It’s just in “Hollywood,” this type of interaction of friends-competition-co-workers is intensified because entertainment-biz people tend to hang out with other entertainment-biz people — and you never know when someone is going to hit it big or fail. In the real world, most of us would have more friends in all sorts of different fields and our career pressures wouldn’t be so twisted with friendship. I’ve been on both sides of the fence on this one. I didn’t have the guts to blow off old friends, although I certainly wanted to. But I also know how it felt to be blown off. I once had a pretty good friend, and a fairly nice guy, who got a gig on a primetime series as an actor. He told me and several others outrightly that he couldn’t associated himself with us anymore, even though he liked us, because it was time for him to hang out with more successful people. I had never heard anyone say that before. I actually wasn’t even mad at him. I sort of envied the blantant chutzpah and careerism of this guy.
September 18th, 2005 at 3:39 am
Hey, thanks everyone for all the advice, all the topic-specific witticisms and outright condemnations. It’s all good.
After I sent my question to John, I remembered some advice someone said to me after I’d just moved to LA. (A guy who after 15 years in the business finally has a big movie coming out at the end of this month! Yay, friend!) He said, “Keep in mind, Jay, you won’t make any real friends out here. Don’t even count on it. Acquaintences. Just acquaintences. Remember that and you won’t have any problems.”
I get (and I think everyone else does, too) that we are all out here to do a particular thing, a specific thing. And it ain’t to make friends. Sad as that is, as anti-huggy-feely, Oprah-fresh as that is, it’s true. And we all know it.
I’ve been through some shit in these last and somewhat constipated years since I moved to LA. Just like everyone else. I’ve had people I thought were friends turn on me because they found out some development chick I was dating had the ear of some big-ass VP at some studio. I’ve had people I thought were friends lie to my face when the truth was handier because they thought it might benefit them in the long and/or short run.
I’m telling you, the industry can be a vicious and terrible place. But that’s not what my email to John was about.
My question was less cannibalistic, more existential. The people I met when I first moved here were, you know, nice to me. I was alone. And when I met them, I felt like I belonged for half a second. I felt a sense of community. Over time, I’m saying, I began to realize that… ooh, this is hard to write… well, they just didn’t have it. IT, you know. That thing. That thing that other writers recognize in each other. Like vampires do when they meet their own kind. Like immortals in HIGHLANDER. That zing.
Perhaps if I’d been a better writer to begin with, I wouldn’t even have become friendly with them at all. But I wasn’t. Or I wasn’t looking for that at the time. I needed something else, I suppose. I don’t know.
Wow. This whole post is about as comfortable as sitting between my spinster aunt and alcoholic grandmother while they discuss the subtleties of menopausal night-sweats. In church. Erg…
It wasn’t mercenary, my question. I guess that’s what I’m saying. But that explaination doesn’t really let me off the hook, either. Because it’s really a question of talent. And what do you do when you realize that the friends you’ve made, that ragged crew you’ve collected around you to be your network, your support, your bitch sessions, your cushion… what do you do when you wake up one day with stark clarity, with the undeniable knowledge that you, yes YOU, are better than they are, better than they are right now. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but now, right now. And that’s all that matters. In the here and now. And you know, you feel it in your gut, that in order to make it in this business, you’re going to have to, for lack of a better word, ally yourself with better writers, writers who give you that zing.
Because you know you’re barely conscious yourself of what you’re capable of. You’re grasping. You know that you don’t deserve the agent and the lunches and all the meet and greets and pitch assignments. You know that in order to pull this whole, unbelievable thing off, this thing you’ve been seeking your whole grown life, you’re going to have to amp it up about a gazillion notches. Everything. You. Your writing. Your sensibilities. Your (oh, what do the agents call it?), the way you “present” in polite company. All of that. Everything.
You’re going to have to pull something out of yourself that those people, those friends, those guys you had lunch with and traded witty emails with, those people who were the first people in LA who told you that you were good, those people… you’re going to have to LEAVE THEIR PARADIGM BEHIND. All their ideas about Hollywood and how to write and how to break in and how to make it and all that other bullshit. All their sad stories, and you know they are sad stories now because you know, deep down, that they just aren’t ever going to make it in this town. Ever. Shit.
You have to leave them behind. You have to stop pulling for them. You have to stop hoping for them. You have to stop believing in them to the point that it diminishes you. I guess that’s what I was getting at in my email to John.
You know. You just know. And it’s a sad, terrible thing to have to know that. In fact, it’s such a great big tidal wave of knowingness that it bouys you swiftly from the pity pond straight into the rabid river of anger. Why? Why couldn’t they be better? Why can’t they? Why does everything they send me to read have to be so fucking mediocre? So… unwritten?
And why? Why now, do they have to pick this particular moment to be so fucking needy? To be so unessential? To be so unsupportive of me. Why, now? To not get it? Me. Me! Great big boundless, talented me! Huzzah! I’m the one. Yes? Shit, I hope so. I still don’t know. And that’s why I hate them. Because I’m trapped in that talent eddy. Swish-swoosh. Somewhere between those who have made it offering a helping hand up and those who haven’t (and probably never will) offering me a boost from below. I’m friendless at the moment. Alone with my computer and my thoughts.
My industry “in” hasn’t happened quickly. And that’s why I’m in this position now. My break-through has been instead a slow crawl towards a tantalizing glimpse, a “Yes, we think you rock, Jay, but…” It’s been murderous.
In order to make that last, crucial step over the lip of the Hollywood abyss, I feel, deep down, like I’m probably going to have to let some things go. Things that are weighing me down. My rucksack full of comfort food, and comfort friends. Friends who are wriggling and writhing and not going to be put down without a fight.
Crap. I hate it. Even though most of them aren’t really happy for me, I still hate it. Even though, of all my friends, I only got one congratulatory lunch from of one of them when my first script got optioned.
I miss them. I miss that easy struggle. It was kind of pure back then. It was simple. Black and white. Hollywood was indifferent to all of us. And we all knew why. Because we were too good for Hollywood. They just didn’t understand us.
But now… wow. Things have changed. I’ve always had sort of connected friends. I always knew folks who had agents and such. Over the years, I’ve watched those friends sell half a million dollar scripts to Paramount and New Line and Disney. I’ve watched from the sidelines as their careers took off. But they were never there for me in the way that my pre-pro friends were. I had the occasional lunch, the occasional dinner and phone call. But the crux of our friendship was always, “Jay, you’re good, you’re really good. Now write a script that’s as good as you are. And I’ll see you later. I’m turning in early cause I’ve got a nine AM meeting with so-and-so.”
I don’t really know where I am at the moment. I only know how I feel. Articulating those feelings is difficult. Oh, hell. Maybe writing is as lonely and thankless an endeavor as I always suspected it to be. And my circle of friends were a mere illusion to defray the inevitable solitude, the inevitable battle of guts versus page. The only thing that matters is what’s on the page, right? No matter how you manage to pull it off. It’s the only thing that really matters, in the end.
I hate like hell to go it alone. But I will. I damn well will. If I have to.
Jay from Hollywood –
September 18th, 2005 at 9:55 am
Insecurity breeds contempt I suppose.
September 19th, 2005 at 2:50 am
Hey, Jay, when I sold my first script, none of my friends took me out for a “congratulatory lunch” either. And you know why? Cause I wouldn’t let them — I was the one that owed THEM lunch. And that’s your problem — you think you’re owed congratulations from your friends for your success, however tenuous that may be, but the reality is that it’s the other way around. Some two-bit agent makes some room in his hip pocket for you and all of a sudden you’ve forgotten that it was those friends who made you a better writer (even if it was by teaching you what not to do). It was those friends who were willing to read you and give you notes when no one else would. It was those friends who gave you the “sense of community” you mentioned. And what do they expect in return? To pass on their script to your agent? Jay, really — what’s so wrong with that?
If you don’t feel comfortable with doing it, then tell them NO. It’s really not that a big deal. But here’s what you don’t do: don’t act like THEY’RE the ones crossing some boundary. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing if you were in their shoes. Don’t act like they owe you a lunch cause you got an agent or made a sale. And above all, don’t write some 2,000 word woe-is-me missive on a screenwriting site when you should be spending that time working on your own writing, because then I have to waste a half hour of my time on a rebuttal (for the first time ever, on any blog — that’s how much your attitude infuriated me) when I should be working too.
The people I met in the first year that I moved out to LA? Those are still the people I hang out with. They’re not my “colleagues” — they’re my friends. That distinction might work for John August, but it doesn’t work for me — colleagues are the people you meet in a professional capacity, and if these “friends” of yours were there for you before you turned pro, or when you turn pro (or IF you turn pro) then they can’t be colleagues.
Now okay, these days, I only ask a few of my old friends for notes on my work, because the truth is, the others weren’t too good at it and I’ve got more than enough people volunteering them as it is. But if any of my friends give me a script that they’ve written, that they’ve spent all those months and hours on, you better believe that I’m going to read it, I’m going to reread it, I’m going to give them notes, and I’m even going to pass most of them on to my manager or agent, cause hell, if they’re gonna take 20 percent of my money, they’re gonna earn it. The way I look at it, I owe everybody who helped me back then big time, and that’s just about the least I can do.
Do I think I’m a better writer than all my old friends? I’ll tell you this — if I did, I’d never say it out loud. I know for a fact that I’m not good enough to worry about why everyone else’s work “has to be so fucking mediocre.” I’m way too worried about whether or not my work is fucking mediocre.
Your ego and your lack of loyalty makes us all look bad, Jay. You’re not nearly successful enough to have such a big head.
September 19th, 2005 at 7:17 am
Jay, if the succinctness of your post is any indication of your writing, you best step off the high horse cause I just can’t see your writing be so above and beyond your friends’ that they are now deemed unworthy.
I think there’s something else going on here that you need to examine. Want to be a better writer? Start looking below the surface.
September 19th, 2005 at 3:17 pm
Jay,
You’ll get a lot of bile for your thoughts, but you are not alone in your anxieties about leaving people behind. It happens to everyone who crosses the gap. I haven’t experienced it, but I’ve seen it. And despite the howls and stones from some people here, it’s natural and it’s going to happen whether or not you come here and offer your rationalizations up for analysis.
If the binder in your friendship with the wannabes was both the ability and the drive to succeed, then perhaps you no longer can continue with them (unless you have a true friendship as opposed to a writer friendship). If you can’t relate to them, you can’t stay there out of obligation. Or guilt.
I have a good friend who’s risen to considerable success. She went from insecure wannabe to being one of the top TV writers around. And our friendship quite peripheral now. It’s awkward, but I get it. She’s in a different Paradigm (as you put it) and she needs to be with people who aren’t completely fucking clueless about the intricacies of her job and life.
I let her go. I also have let go of friends who were not moving forward in other ways, like ridiculously chaotic and perpetually-drowning types. I want people around me that I can look UP to. People who push me onward and encourage me, not people that I have to constantly coddle like a part-time psychologist.
(Yes, I know that perhaps Jay’s friends want to look UP to him, etc., but they sound like they’re clinging to him to avoid facing the fact that there may be something besides screenwriting that they’re supposed to be doing in life).
Your real problem may be that while you don’t want to be around these people any more, you don’t have anyone to replace them with. You’ll make lots of acquaintances-not-friends in Hollywood, but they’ll never make up for the absence of real friends. Hollywood is a lonely place. The higher up the ladder you go, the more potentially lonely you can be. You’ll make friends with supportive, stable writers, but they will also be your competition. They will be as busy and consumed with work as you are.
Advice? Befriend an editor. Editors make good friends, I’ve seemed to notice. Or get married. Your spouse has to be friends with you; it’s in the contract.
Just avoid the insanity that comes from the isolation. I see some real crazy cats out there — rich, famous writer/producers who are absolutely batshit and who’ll never find their way out. Don’t be like them. Find somebody.
Seriously, meet some editors.
September 19th, 2005 at 3:19 pm
Dammit, something went wrong when I posted. Here’s the rest.
If the binder in your friendship with the wannabes was both the ability and the drive to succeed, then perhaps you no longer can continue with them (unless you have a true friendship as opposed to a writer friendship). If you can’t relate to them, you can’t stay there out of obligation. Or guilt.
I have a good friend who’s risen to considerable success. She went from insecure wannabe to being one of the top TV writers around. And our friendship quite peripheral now. It’s awkward, but I get it. She’s in a different Paradigm (as you put it) and she needs to be with people who aren’t completely fucking clueless about the intricacies of her job and life.
I let her go. I also have let go of friends who were not moving forward in other ways, like ridiculously chaotic and perpetually-drowning types. I want people around me that I can look UP to. People who push me onward and encourage me, not people that I have to constantly coddle like a part-time psychologist.
(Yes, I know that perhaps Jay’s friends want to look UP to him, etc., but they sound like they’re clinging to him to avoid facing the fact that there may be something besides screenwriting that they’re supposed to be doing in life).
Your real problem may be that while you don’t want to be around these people any more, you don’t have anyone to replace them with. You’ll make lots of acquaintances-not-friends in Hollywood, but they’ll never make up for the absence of real friends. Hollywood is a lonely place. The higher up the ladder you go, the more potentially lonely you can be. You’ll make friends with supportive, stable writers, but they will also be your competition. They will be as busy and consumed with work as you are.
Advice? Befriend an editor. Editors make good friends, I’ve seemed to notice. Or get married. Your spouse has to be friends with you; it’s in the contract.
Just avoid the insanity that comes from the isolation. I see some real crazy cats out there — rich, famous writer/producers who are absolutely batshit and who’ll never find their way out. Don’t be like them. Find somebody.
Seriously, meet some editors.
September 19th, 2005 at 3:21 pm
Ok, seriously, I’ve figured out the problem now:
If the binder in your friendship with the wannabes was both the ability and the drive to succeed, then perhaps you no longer can continue with them (unless you have a true friendship as opposed to a writer friendship). If you can’t relate to them, you can’t stay there out of obligation. Or guilt.
I have a good friend who’s risen to considerable success. She went from insecure wannabe to being one of the top TV writers around. And our friendship quite peripheral now. It’s awkward, but I get it. She’s in a different Paradigm (as you put it) and she needs to be with people who aren’t completely fucking clueless about the intricacies of her job and life.
I let her go. I also have let go of friends who were not moving forward in other ways, like ridiculously chaotic and perpetually-drowning types. I want people around me that I can look UP to. People who push me onward and encourage me, not people that I have to constantly coddle like a part-time psychologist.
(Yes, I know that perhaps Jay’s friends want to look UP to him, etc., but they sound like they’re clinging to him to avoid facing the fact that there may be something besides screenwriting that they’re supposed to be doing in life).
Your real problem may be that while you don’t want to be around these people any more, you don’t have anyone to replace them with. You’ll make lots of acquaintances-not-friends in Hollywood, but they’ll never make up for the absence of real friends. Hollywood is a lonely place. The higher up the ladder you go, the more potentially lonely you can be. You’ll make friends with supportive, stable writers, but they will also be your competition. They will be as busy and consumed with work as you are.
Advice? Befriend an editor. Editors make good friends, I’ve seemed to notice. Or get married. Your spouse has to be friends with you; it’s in the contract. Just avoid the insanity that comes from the isolation. I see some real crazy cats out there — rich, famous writer/producers who are absolutely batshit and who’ll never find their way out. Don’t be like them. Find somebody.
Seriously, meet some editors.
September 19th, 2005 at 6:45 pm
Anon - 9/19/2005 @ 2:50 am
I agree with your thoughts I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.
Seriously, great post. Good attitude.
September 21st, 2005 at 7:03 am
Anonymous and others —
I appreciate your thoughts. All of them. I mean, after all, it’s a blog and everyone’s opinions are equally valid in such an environment. I deserve neither condemnation nor lauds, however. My thoughts are ragged, black tendrils caught between the shadows of someone who, just a few short months ago, knew who he was (a pre-pro) and today, someone who doesn’t quite know who he is or where he is in the great, Hollywood scheme.
I do know that I care about my friends and colleagues. Probably too much, or I wouldn’t have bothered writing to John about my hithers and thithers.
It’s such a weird place to be in, snagged between amateur and professional. Perhaps, if I’d had a break-through script with all the perks that come with it, I wouldn’t have had time to deliberate the silly backs and forths of my situation. And none of you would have had the satisfaction of condemning me for my obscene thoughts, nor praising me for my pragmatism.
I was just being honest. And you know, now that I think of it, most of the professional writers I’ve befriended in this town over the years… they were all sort of, I don’t know, hesitant to offer a hand up until I wrote something that they thought was really worth getting behind. They were supportive, but at the same time, standoffish. You know what I mean? Unwilling to open themselves up and their contacts in the industry until I’d written something that they thought knocked it out of the park.
So, that’s what I’m going to do. That’s my barometer for all my pre-pro friends. Even though I’m barely there myself, even though I’m still struggling with all the insecurities and fakeries and black thoughts that plague all my pre-pro friends, I’m going to set that measuring stick high. And I’ll do like my pro friends did to me (even though it’s hard and lonely and I wish I could be back there with my old friends commiserating). If they send me something that’s just no good, then I’ll refrain from telling them. I just won’t respond to the specifics and I’ll just keep encouraging them to write something better. I mean, I’m living proof that one can go from shredded shit to shining diamonds in just a few scripts. I believe that my friends (most of them, anyway) are capable of hurdling the same chasm. And, fuck it. Even if they’re not, they’re still good people. As long as their struggle doesn’t diminish my struggle. That’s the thing. I mean, I’m a mid-western boy, and politeness is part of my genetic make up. But my polite helpfulness has a tendency to quickly metastasize into a disease to please. A full out onslought on the organs of creativity. A tumor that can suck the blood oxygen out of the most inspired premises, a slow degeneration into terminal phone calls, terminal notes on others half-assed scripts.
The main thing I have to focus on is myself. And to give myself permission to do that without feeling guilty for abandoning my writing group, or abandoning our bi-weekly dinners. I don’t think, in my whole entire life, that I’ve ever completely focused on myself and my ambitions. This whole me-Hollywood thing is new to me. It really is. Until I moved to LA, I’d always been a part of a community of writers and artists who supported each other, no matter what. I guess, even though I knew Hollywood was a brutal and alienating place, it never really hit home to me. Not until now. That it’s okay to focus on yourself exclusively. In fact, it’s expected. In fact, it’s demanded. If you’re going to succeed.
How do I know this? Because, deep down, I know that any one of my friends would trade places with me at the moment — even though I don’t have a signed agent, even though I don’t have a 3 picture deal at Disney, even though I really and truly have nothing tangiable. They would trade places with me in a fucking heartbeat and forget my name with a sigh. My friends have told me as much. With what they’ve said to me and what they haven’t said.
It’s hard. And I don’t think it’s going to get any easier. Because, for me, my imagined success in the Hollywood wheel has always been tempered by my imagined actions. I always understood that I would be nothing more than a cog in that wheel. How then, will I conduct myself when the great big check-signers come calling? Who will I be? Will I change with the money and ridiculous promises? Will I become one of those people strutting on Melrose that me and my girlfriend used to make fun of while sitting at the Starbucks? Will I, too, become a scenster in black? Too fucking fabulous for prime time?
Integrity. What a strange word. All four syllables of it.
I don’t know. After this exchange on John’s blog, I still have no idea. All I know is I’m trying. I’m making that effort to stay true to myself and my writing while, at the same time, to not let go of my human self. I want to believe in my friends. I really do. But at the same time, I hate their sideways looks. I hate their thinly veiled contempt disguised as back-handed complements. I hate the way they think I owe them something when I don’t yet have a left leg to stand on. And I hate that they don’t get it. I hate that they haven’t had other friends who’ve “made it”, other friends who have put them in their place so I don’t have to.
I hate their resentment for my “big break.” And I hate that they don’t recognize that I got that break because I’m really fucking good, and that I worked my ass off for three years, staying up late every night and working every goddamn weekend and going without sleep so much that my boss at work actually reprimanded me for it.
It’s not because I’m lucky, you fuckers. It’s because I sat my ass in the chair and dug deep. I refused to scare. That’s it. That’s the only reason. I missed birthdays and weddings and funerals and dinner gatherings and two fucking Christmases with my family and I missed countless other shin-digs and happenings and I sat my ass in the chair. That’s it. That’s all I did. And you didn’t. Not yet, anyway. That’s all. I wanted it more than you. I did. I really did. I wanted it more than all you son of a bitches out there posting about how much you wanted it and how many contests you’ve entered and how great your premises are. That’s all. I just… I wanted it more than you. And I still do. I do. I really do. I dug deep. And I found something there that somebody in Hollywood wanted. I thought and I planned and I schemed and I hoped and I prayed and I fucking wrote. Every day. That’s all I did. And, dammit, I did more than you did. I did. I wrote better.
I’m not going to apologize for that. No way. Because it cost me. It cost me girlfriends and parties and sleep and the approving nod of my boss and missing my niece getting born and too many other important events to count.
You know what? I’ve changed my mind about all of you, and any friends who might be reading this. Fuck you. Fuck you in technicolor. Fuck you in surround sound. When you do what I’ve done to get your foot in the door, then we’ll talk. When you’ve given up just about everything and everyone who matters to you because of your addiction to writing, then we’ll talk. When you’ve been passed over for promotions that could net you a six-figure income, when you’re sitting there staring at the blank page knowing you don’t have enough money in the bank to pay your rent and you write on anyway, then we’ll talk.
Shit. I started out writing this post as a sort of placation. But now I’m pissed off. Now I’m full of fury and righteous anger.
If you don’t get me, and have no sympathy for everything I’ve been through (we’re talking NO support at all from my family), then kiss my quivering ass. Seriously. I mean it. I’ll see you in the fucking movies.
Cheers!
– Jay from Hollywood
September 21st, 2005 at 7:36 am
Yeah, one probably shouldn’t post while angry. We’re venturing into “best kept to self” territory here.
September 21st, 2005 at 8:09 am
Cbrown — Of course you realize that your terribly ironic stance, that safe distance from which you feel comfortable criticizing others’ genuine feelings, that this is the very thing that’s keeping you from writing that break-through script.
Or not. Maybe you’re just no good.
I don’t know about you or anyone else, but I genuinely miss the unapologetic heartfelt artists of days gone by. Those who weren’t afraid of being caught with their ironic pants down around their ankles. The horror! Guys like Bruce Springsteen and Alan Ball. I’d rather be embarrassed by a genuine moment gone wrong than spend a lifetime hurling ironic softballs from a safe distance, like some Andy Warhol copycat, some warmed-over meatloaf that wasn’t even that good first time around.
Best to you –
Jay
– Jay
September 21st, 2005 at 8:30 am
Save your self-righteous crap for your own blog. The question isn’t why you would want to be friends with anyone, but why would anyone want to be friends with you?
John, can we lock this thread so no one has to suffer through Jay’s rants anymore?
September 21st, 2005 at 10:04 am
Ouch. I guess now I know why most people who get a foot in the door in H’wood don’t talk about this stuff, even though most of them (with a sliver of conscience) have these feelings.
What can I say? I’m still learning the ropes. The good news is, I have a Paramount meeting this afternoon, and the exec I’m meeting with, I could almost guarantee, couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what I have to say about personal H’wood relationships, about what my friends think about my rather modest success of late, or about what anonymous (or anyone else here on John’s website) has to say about my existential meanderings.
Best to everyone and no hard feelings –
Jay
September 21st, 2005 at 11:30 am
Yeah… well… your Mama!
September 21st, 2005 at 12:34 pm
Jay,
There was no irony whatsoever in my previous post. If you don’t know that some thoughts (especially thoughts that begin with “Fuck all of you!”) are best left unspoken (and un-posted), you will soon enough.
You have no idea who I am, and you certainly know nothing about my career.
On the other hand, I and the others have found out plenty about you. Good work! I’ll leave it to you to ponder whether you have moved up or down in our estimation. Of course it doesn’t matter what the readers of John August’s writing blog think. We are, as you have indicated, just a bunch of wannabees. So I wonder: Why have you have spent so much time here today trying to justify your embarrassing outbursts?
CBrown
September 22nd, 2005 at 12:18 am
Clearly, Jay is trying out for the role of the next Troy Duffy. The sad part is, at least Troy Duffy got his picture on the front page of Variety before his head swelled up. All Jay’s got so far is a meeting with some CE at Paramount.
I agree — lock this thread. It’s giving me a headache.
September 27th, 2005 at 8:29 am
I’m suddenly remembering “Barton Fink”. Wasn’t he a writer who didn’t have the time for life experience because he was too busy writing importantly about life experience? A good writer needs to live a full life - which includes friendships- otherwise, what sort of experience can he or she bring to their work? Artists don’t live in a void. You can’t paint a still-life in a darkened broom closet.
September 27th, 2005 at 12:07 pm
Hello? Obviously you’re unacquainted with Cezanne’s materpiece, “Still Life In Darkened Broom Closet.”
September 27th, 2005 at 2:16 pm
oh.
September 27th, 2005 at 2:29 pm
Was joking. I liked your formulation there. There is a line from Thoreau somewhere: “It is futile to try to sit down to write, if you have not stood up to live.” (Paraphrasing.) I read that line in high school, and it was very discouraging. It made me want to join the Peace Corps. (I didn’t.)
October 11th, 2005 at 9:28 pm
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