Quantitative Quality Questioned

Quality vs. Quantity.

Why the competition?

Maybe it should be:
"Quality and Quantity, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Or whatever the non-9-year-old-girl equivalent would be.

Pilar Alessandra interviewed Benderspink manager, Jake Wagner, on episode 345 of her high quality/quantity On the Page podcast. Like so much in this industry, Mr. Wagner's insights were both encouraging and discouraging.

Here's a quote from Mr. Wagner, taken from a recent interview with Jeanne Veillette Bowerman of Script Magazine, that sums up one of his sentiments from the On the Page podcast:

"All you need is one great script. The rookie mistake is when you have four or five scripts, I’m always wondering why aren’t you repped yet? I don’t buy it. Don’t tell me you have 10 amazing scripts that are award-winning quality. If the feedback is so remarkable, then why hasn’t someone slipped it to their contacts in the industry for you?"

The encouraging opinion is that you only need one great script.

The part that concerns me is that he doesn't believe there are unrepped writers out there with four or five great scripts.

Statistically, he's probably very close on his assessment. But his assumption must be that the screenwriter who claims to have four or five great scripts has shopped each of those scripts around, being shut out each time.

In my last entry, I mentioned I have written nine feature-length screenplays and two half-hour sitcom pilots. In the interest of keeping things simple, I'll treat the teleplays as screenplays and add all the projects together... where's my calculator... oh, there it is... okay, 9+2=11. Just as I thought.

I'm not repped. I must suck.

Do I think all 11 of my screenplays are great? Nope. In fact, I only consider two of them great. But I'm still tinkering away at them -- the great ones and the not so great ones -- always rewriting.

But here's the thing. When I see what's being produced, whether on television or on big screens, I consider at least 3 or 4 of my screenplays worthy of production and my overall writer's "voice" to be worthy of representation.

Does that mean I'm "settling" when I get a project to what I perceive as the "good-enough" stage? Of course not. I finish a screenplay, maybe do one or two rewrites shortly after, then let it simmer for a while, and then dig in again for a new round of rewrites. Besides, were I to sell a screenplay outright, I would be rewritten by a team of established veterans anyway, so sweating every line of dialogue and description is a little obsessive, don't you think?

Except that I'm a perfectionist.

So where am I then? Am I a delusional scripter with a folder full of bad Final Draft documents since I'm not repped?

I don't think so.

Then what am I doing wrong? Why hasn't a Jake Wagner scooped me up yet? Why am I not staffed on New Girl or Nashville? Why haven't I sold a pilot? A screenplay?

Because nobody wants to hear from a small-town stay-at-home dad in flyover land.

To answer Mr. Wagner's question, "...why hasn’t someone slipped [your screenplay] to their contacts in the industry for you?" Because my contacts don't have contacts in the industry. It's another Catch-22 where industry people won't read material unless it's sent to them by industry people. It's like trying to join a members-only club where the sign-up booth is only accessible by members.


So I just keep writing. I believe I'm serving lobster tails at dollar menu prices. I believe my voice is both delicious and affordably bountiful. Or something like that. Quality and quantity. Dig?

I certainly believe I talk about myself too much here. Man, I hope this is useful to somebody out there!

You'll have to excuse my friend. He's a little slow.

"It takes 20 years to make an overnight success." -- Eddie Cantor

I'm almost there! And in the words of hydroelectric schedule makers, "It's about dam time."

I've been acting professionally now for about 15 years. All that means is that I was first paid for acting when I was 22 or 23 (maybe 24? 25?). I played a rancher in a Cub Foods commercial. No lines. Only a few seconds on screen. But I got paid for it.

I wrote my first screenplay more than ten years ago. The next one I wrote, just a year later (and with co-writers), was optioned. Cockily cashing the small option check, I figured, was just practice before cashing the bigger checks just around the corner. I could almost taste the nectar of my blossoming screenwriting career.

The option expired and the movie was never produced. Bummer.

So I wrote and produced my own feature-length movie back in 2008. We secured distribution and the movie played all over the world. But nobody liked it. Drat.

A couple years later I wrote a sitcom pilot that I shot and released on the YouTube channel I co-founded and built around what was then the most watched online video ever. The channel earned me a few hundred bucks and almost as many headaches over the couple years we maintained it. D'oh.

Now I have a movie making the festival rounds, or I should say, making the festival application rounds. We were accepted into the first festival to which we applied but then rejected by the next. Now I wait on more than a dozen other festivals' decisions to screen or not to screen my latest labor of love that I wrote, directed, edited, produced, and played a lead role in.

Over the years I've created and produced dozens of my own projects, and acted in at least a hundred movies, commercials, and industrials for others in Minnesota and Los Angeles. I've written nine feature-length screenplays (and started 326 more, give or take), a couple television pilots, and three angry letters to Home Depot.

Actually, only two angry letters to Home Depot. But they deserved more.

Oh, and this awesome blog. How empty would the lives of you three pity-readers be without this blog?

Has any of it gotten me anywhere? Really? Have my efforts amounted to anything more than a side job or hobby? Will all the time I've dedicated to this career be worth anything when all is said and done? Am I really any closer now than I was 15 years ago?

All along this oftentimes painful journey I've never quit running. And I never will. I can't. No, seriously. I'm at the age now that if I stop running my muscles cramp up and it takes me a day to get them going again.

Momentum keeps building. I still believe that one day I will sputter into Hollywood on my hoggish scooter, Samsonite briefcase full of dreams clutched to my side. I'm nothing if not a dumb dreamer.

There are times I feel like Lloyd Christmas is talking about me, not Hairy Dunne, when he says, "You'll have to excuse my friend. He's a little slow."

I feel slow. Like my four-year-old's response to, "Dinner will be ready in a half hour," I'm slumping my shoulders, hanging my head, and moaning, "Ohhhh, it's taking fooooreverrrr!"

The challenge for me is to appreciate all that I have accomplished instead of kicking myself for not accomplishing more. This journey isn't what I expected, but every part of it may be necessary to one day become an overnight success.

I Want it All (And I Want it Now)

"Don't aim for success if you want it; just do what you love and believe in, and it will come naturally." -- David Frost

There's an episode of The Simpsons in which Homer buys a burrito at the Kwik-E-Mart and Apu tells him it will be ready after 60 seconds in the microwave. "But I want it now," Homer whines.

Yep. I'm Homer.

Why is it so hard to wait for my burrito?

Cuz I'm hungry.

And the only satiation for my hunger is a film career burrito with philanthropic salsa and a side of refried social activism. Of course, I wouldn't mind washing it all down with a financial security margarita.

Here's the thing. If I really want the burrito, I'm going to make it myself. The homemade version may take longer than its microwave counterpart, but it's bound to taste a whole lot better.

I've been working on the recipe for more than 15 years and I think I've finally concocted the right mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. And beef. As in beefcake. Cuz I work out and stuff.

Anyway.

Aside from my weekly self-loathsome breakdowns -- my most recent one was triggered by reading this earlier blog entry (five years later and I still haven't achieved the goal I set forth there) -- I'm more motivated and optimistic than ever before. That burrito is cooking and soon I will devour it.

But for now, I'll do my best to follow David Frost's suggestion of just doing what I love and believe in and allowing success to come to me naturally. After all, I wouldn't want to be stuck with a Monsanto burrito, right? You know, unnatural. Cuz I want success to come naturally.

At least I have a future in running metaphors into the ground.

And the future of this blog will refocus on more specific experiences in this non-cullinary journey of mine from Minnesota to Hollywood. There will still be salsa. There will always be salsa. Especially when the chips are down.

Awed Odds

"If you play the odds, there's no reason to ever attempt a career in show business. If you live your dreams, there's no reason not to." -- Bonnie Gillespie

Twenty scratch-offs and six multi-chance match-the-numbers stubs. My wife won $120 worth of Minnesota lottery tickets at a charity event last month. We were both shocked because we never win anything. That's not an exaggeration. We never win. Anything. Even our cribbage games end with us both losing somehow...

So when she came home with two gas tanks worth of lottery tickets, we couldn't wait to get scratching. Don't get me wrong... we knew we weren't going to hit any jackpots, but even if we came out fifty cents on the dollar, we'd be treating ourselves to large sundaes at Culver's... maybe without a coupon even!

We won $3.00.

And really, I'm surprised we won that. Ya know... I haven't actually cashed the one winning ticket yet, so I suppose there's a chance we misread the ridiculously complicated game... or maybe we possess one of the rarest of lottery tickets that actually requires the scratchee to pay the winning amount.

Needless to say, I'm not a lottery player. As someone who regularly defies odds in all ways non-beneficial, I figure, "why bother?"

It stands to reason, then, that I should give up this ridiculous Hollywood dream. Anyone who can manage to come out netting a 1/40 return on investment in lottery tickets isn't exactly walking around with four leaf clovers in his hair and a horseshoe in his pocket.

Luck plays such a huge role in penetrating the bubble with which Hollywood surrounds itself. One can't help but be awed by the odds stacked against a nobody from flyover land.

And yet I keep scratching.

Maybe I'll get there. Maybe I won't. I'm already embarrassed to be 37 years old and continuing to chase something a non-idiot would have given up long ago. Pride is out the window. All that's left is stubbornness. And desire.

If only I could find a little luck...

"Plastic Donuts" by Jeff Anderson is a great introduction to spiritual giving

As a member of Waterbrook Multnomah Publishing Group's Blogging for Books program, I get free copies of Christian books in exchange for posting reviews.  With MN 2 Hollywood focused on the film and television industry, the books are often not particularly in line with my purposes for maintaining this blog.

But my faith is important to me.  Not because I want to shove it down other folks' throats, but because the core teachings of Jesus Christ center on loving God and each other.  Christianity aside, nobody can convince me that love is not the exact thing this world needs.

The most recent book I read through this program is "Plastic Donuts" by Jeff Anderson.  It's about tithing, giving to God a portion of what He first gave us.  My view of tithing is likely inconsistent with the view of most Christian leaders in this country.  I don't believe we are called to give specifically to a church, but to give to outlets to which God leads us to give.  This very well may be a church (or churches), but it could also be a charity dedicated to helping others.  I believe we are called to spread the gospel of love that Jesus preached while He was living among us.  I don't believe we are required to fund fancy sanctuaries, extravagant light and sound systems, and inflated pastoral salaries.

But that's another topic for another time.

Here's the review I posted at Amazon for "Plastic Donuts."  I truly do think it's worth a read, especially if you've been hesitant in the past about tithing.

This is a short, easy read. Light on theological jargon, heavy on practical insight, Plastic Donuts is a great introduction to the idea of spiritual giving.

Rather than pound out black and white laws about giving, author Jeff Anderson approaches the subject in a loose manner. He doesn't answer longstanding questions about whether a 10% tithe is intended to come from one's net earnings or gross earnings or whether or not 10% is the benchmark for being right with God. It's a matter of giving what one's heart feels compelled to give, whether it be more or less than 10% and whether that 10% is calculated to the penny off gross or net income.

Nor does he demand a person's tithe go entirely to one's church. Spiritual philanthropy is a far too often overlooked calling for God's people, and Mr. Anderson's words inspire readers to cheerfully give back to God a portion of what He first gave us, whether that be directly to church or to help our brother man.

The parallel between a child offering her father plastic food and God's children offering a portion of their finances to Kingdom work is a little thin, but the message within these concise pages is desperately needed, especially in today's first-world consumerism.