Every morning, the first thing I see when I wake up is this big ass palm tree outside of my window, preceded by a deep blue sky (or more accurately as of late, a cloudy one that brings literally NO RAIN). When I see that palm tree, shimmying next to my neighbor’s weed plant, I take in a big deep breath of air that is riddled with gratitude. And when I walk to the Central Library, past the ever rising brand new KoreaAir skyscraper, which all the business folk watch come up with a certain curiosity on their lunch breaks, another deep breath of gratitude consumes my lungs. Making my way downtown (feel free to hum the Vanessa Carlton song, because I sure as shit do), I see a plethora of faces: homeless, famous, lovely, pissed, handsome, and touristy. All necks craned and eyes shooting upwards towards the glorious and neglected downtown of Los Angeles; a place of ghosts considering what it was back before the infamous recession. DTLA is considered the Skid Row of a glimmering city full of potential, but please let the record reflect that I freakin’ love it.
When I gave up my life to move here and pursue my dream of seeing the words I wrote being spoken by actors, any of ‘em, there was truly a part of me that suspected that my ass would be living in the Hills by now; I mean, afterall…I’m decent looking, tremendously talented, and ambitious to a fault. So my success seemed emanate, to me at least. To be true, I genuinely felt like those parts of me would guarantee my access into the professional world of Hollywood and boy oh boy was I wrong. It takes much more than all of those vital functions to make it in this city.
But what if you took all those functions and added to them the dynamic capacity of social networking? The answer is: a recipe for success. Maybe. I’m doing my damndest to rub elbows with the people that can make my words a reality, that can show the world what it’s like to fall in love with an original feature, one that can ignite excitement amongst the viewing audience who has forgotten how to think in terms outside of the ‘remake’ box. Hollywood is tremendously concerned with making movies and telling stories that we’ve already seen, but only after adding a bit of CGI and a few hot actors to the mix and BOOM! Red carpet gold, and money out the wazoo. There ain’t nothing wrong with that. My downfall and my upside is that I understand that studios these days only want to make hella money.
All of that being said, I don’t give a shit about the money that a successful screenwriter makes these days. Okay, well, maybe I give a bit of a shit because I’m always hungry and always wishing we didn’t live in a ‘shared housing’ situation, but that’s not why I do this. Why I do this is based on the simple fact that I know I can bring quality stories to the masses; stories that you will love, stories that you will never ever forget, and stories that you will want to see over and over again. Stories that, most importantly, come from my heart and soul-even when that sounds tacky, which it shouldn’t, but it may. I write because if I don’t, I go mad-as Lord Byron said. I know that, via Rockefeller Films, I can bring you stories that will take your breath away and make you feel…whole.
So right now, gang, I am totally broke and living in the city of dreams and I am writing to save my soul. Even if it never ever amounts to a real movie being made, I’ll be able to sleep well knowing that I am trying. Nay; I am doing. The difference you would learn in my script titled “How To End Your Life”. But that’s for another time.
SOTD: “Underground” by Kimya Dawson