Showing posts with label Joss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joss. Show all posts


Joss and Jane went up a hill...

...and hopefully they don't come tumbling after.

(***note: This thing is very late in the posting. I've been dog-paddling in half-marathon training, wedding planning, holiday prep, and jump-starting my writing habits. But I can't not post it, late as it is.)

Two pivotal players in the Mutant Enemy family made some announcements in the last few weeks:


In the LA Times, Joss Whedon stated that he doesn't think the Friday night grave-digging is a bad sign for Dollhouse. And while both he and Eliza Dushku seem pretty intent on their PR-spin, it's pretty hard to ignore all the naysaying. You can't talk to anyone without an apprehensive grimace crossing their face before both parties exchange their fears about its fate.

But, nonetheless, regardless, despite this fact, and however, Mr. Whedon had my ear. He's had it since I randomly caught the premiere episode of Buffy way back in good 'ol '97. And as a godfather of 21st century TV cool, who wouldn't want another Whedon show on the air for some time to come?

We're talking Whedon. Dushku. Wordplay. Fanboy glee.

But, most importantly, there's not much out there as far 2008/09 newbies go. There's only a few shows that are drawing my attention. And the TV geek in me is just screaming for a new show to get my attention piquing all over the place. I'm looking for something to get me to actually watch some TV -- dare I say it? -- live. I so wanna break TV specing guidelines and start sketching out a spec on a new show right in the midst of its first season.

I really, really, really want Dollhouse to work. I want Fox to be patient. I want Whedon and staff to fire on all cylinders. And I want Dushku, well, to be be Dushku on the little screen for as long as possible.

C'mon. Say it with me: Dushku.

So how about we all back-pedal and just have some faith. Who doesn't want Dollhouse on the air? Exactly. So let's quit with the naysaying before we Tinkerbell all over it.


And meanwhile, Jane Espenson's latest post may very well have marked the end of an era. Apparently Jane will be taking a break from her blog as it's stood for the last few years. Go ahead. Read it for yourself.

Completely understandable, I suppose. But sigh-worthy. Very very sigh worthy. This is a blog so many of us have been reading for years now. And Jane's been incredibly generous with her time. Hers was the first writerly blog that I followed.

It's just weird to think that I could be working on a spec, hit some snag, and not be able to check out Jane's latest post to see if it had some serendipitous and timely advice. There's always the archives. But still. Era.

Thanks, Jane. Thanks for the words, the advice, and the lunches.

ps. Dushku.


Dark Nights


There's a lot I could have posted here recently -- like the game of sardines the TV Writers in LA played last Wednesday at the Cat & Fiddle -- but I've been much too busy. I'm racing against the clock to make my Dexter spec work before the WB and ABC/Disney deadlines. I have a back-up spec, but I really want to make this one work. There's something there, if I can just unearth it. I want it to purr, to do feral things to those that read it.

Recently, my friend P took a break from entertaining the masses to give me some notes on my mess of a script. And I think he helped me strike on something. The question now is whether or not I can beat the clock. It's not a complete rehab, but it's significant.

I've already been working around the clock on this one. Writing from 6pm till I pass out, on lunch breaks, stolen moments, weekends. Working on very little sleep. It caught up with me, so I had to recharge this weekend. But the long dark nights are going to have to come back if I'm going to pull this one off.

My job has been really stressful recently. So that, and trying to make this script work, the usual LA stresses, and some other personal stuff -- it's been a draining few months. I must be showing the wear and tear, as my boss called me into her office this past week to ask me what's going on. Apparently people notice weight loss, sleep deprivation, and general zombie-like characteristics. Go figure. I guess not all of us are completely wrapped up in a our own secret schemes. What's up with that?

I just blamed it on the wedding. I love the catch-all wedding planning excuse. It's awesome. Easily ends all undesirable conversations.

But I have to admit that there is some appeal in pushing against boundaries. The stress of deadlines, pushing your body to the limit, letting the days bleed together, feeling ravaged. Dragging yourself through the daytime, your previous night's work allowing satisfaction to trump exhaustion. It's easy to feel helpless out here. I guess I like feeling like I'm doing everything I can. That I'm engaged in something -- that there's still some fight left in me.

Some things are still worth a good brawl.

(Plus it was worth an elevator exchange I had with this woman at work, let's call her Chicken Little:

Chicken Little: Oooo, you don't look good.
Me: No I don't.
Chicken Little: (leaning away) Are you sick?
Me: I kinda got my ass kicked.
Chicken Little: Ooo nooo...
Me: No, it's OK. She was butch.

If only I could adequately put the look on her face into words...)

So although I'm under no illusions about this rehab work being a barrel of monkeys, I'm looking forward to this next stretch of long dark nights. I'm determined to make this spec purr.

Here's to beating the odds.

ps. As I haven't posted on the TV Writers in LA group yet, I guess I might as well point to those who have, in case you haven't read any of the bakers dozens of blogs that have written about it. Check out Josh, Jane, and Matt. Good stuff.

pps. Good 'ol 25 posted on my blog! That's awesome. Good to hear from you, man. Looking forward to the second half of the season. Here's to hoping that you're wrong about Harden.

ppps. Huh. Now that I think about it. Maybe a barrel of monkeys is exactly what it will be...

pppps. Speaking of a barrel of monkeys, and if your under-a-rock status extends to The Joss himself, here's surefire way to throw some coal into your fires, to inspire the clickety clackety, or just to get at those monkeys:

Dr. Horrible and his PhD in horribleness...


Nothing good can come from today

It was one of those mornings. Nothing went right. The day was one gigantic leap out of the wrong side of the bed. Insta-agitation, just add water. Blech. And it was all probably stemming from the fact that I was on my way to the death-of-me-job. I hate this job. I loathe it. I dread it like kidney stones. It turns me into an unpleasant person -- which despite some of the entries in this blog to the contrary, I'm not. I spend my day fighting anger until I'm twisted into this wrenched up ball of silent, beaten fury. It takes me way too long to unwind.

I've been having these recurring dreams where I'm back in high school and I've apparently ditched every class of some subject (usually math), I've never done any homework, and finals are coming up and I'm clearly going to fail and there's no way around it, though I scramble and scramble. I wake up in a mild panic, having to remind myself that I've been out of school for a while, high school for much longer, and I was never that kind of student to begin with. But I still spend the morning following these dreams feeling caught, unprepared, lost, and helpless.

And I've only had these dreams the last four or five months, on and off. It's gotta be because of the job.

So I had one of these mornings today. It was awful. Nothing good could come from today. Not a chance.

And I did hate work. It was awful and I spent all day daydreaming and quitting. My friend P relishes a good opportunity to quit. He's fully prepared to make a scene, burn a bridge (where they don't matter much at least), and walk the hell on out. If it's not right for him, he figures, better sooner than later. I wish I could do that. I wish it all the time. But I'm responsible. Blech. There's bills and student loans and blah blah blah.

I keep telling myself the right industry job is out there and I just need to hold on. But I also think about quitting and taking up a night job somewhere and spending my days writing. Or some menial job like at Office Depot or something, and just doing something mindless and hacking away at my scripts.

I don't know.

BUT --

two good things did happen today, shocking me oh so largely and pleasantly:

1. A at the B, that amazing worker of magic and do-goodery, sent me a copy of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse. More on that later. But it's been making it's way around the writerly world, and I'm so excited to get my hands on it. I'm saving it for tomorrow. SO. GEEKED.

2 I was invited out to pie by another writer. Pie. Writerly chat. What could be better?

Two good things. Not so bad. It's almost enough to make going to work tomorrow less like kidney stones and more like acid reflux. Almost. But I'll take what I can get.

ps. Many thanks to the providers of the Two Good Things From The Day Where No Good Could Come.