In the past two weeks, I've learned two of my friends (let's call them "A" and "B") have, respectively, stopped directing theatre to pursue teaching math/science (A) and are strongly considering leaving L.A. and pursuing something other than TV writing (B). C and D, a couple both involved in the entertainment industry in some aspect (one's a director, the other's an actor), pulled up stakes and moved out of L.A. to another city. And E, a fellow alumnus of my college who was editing on a prominent cable reality show, decided to end that and go to medical school.
I didn't want this to happen.
Don't get me wrong. They're all making the right choices in terms of their own happiness, I think. C&D were never fans of L.A., B. got screwed over by the show he was working on, and for A, and everyone else who does it, directing no-budget theatre for little to no reward is exhausting.
(*For the record, I have seen a new stage comedy A directed, and it was fantastic--A made excellent use with a small space and 8 actors to cover a sweeping historical tale of American history. It was great. B has actually directed what I consider to be the definitive edition of one of my short plays and wrote an excellent original TV script. (C and D look like they're still going to be pursuing the arts; they just won't be pursuing them here.) I haven't seen E's work in several years, but I liked what I saw and s/he always struck me as having the right sensibility for film.)
In my mind, back at Brown, when I dreamed of great exploits in the entertainment industry, I said to myself "I'll never quit!" (which is true, I won't quit writing. And I'm having a good enough time in L.A. that the very few things that could possibly lure me .) And in my mind, in my daydreams, all my enemies--those who had stood in my way, laughed at me, ignored my talents-- lay vanquished at the feat of the horrors of Hollywood and the tremors of New York, screaming about how they couldn't take it anymore, and I was left standing, along with all my friends & allies, who'd cheered me on along the way. It was never my *friends* who got frustrated and fed up with L.A./New York in my dreams.
Childish, immature, and self-centered of me. I always had dreams of hiring A and B and E to work on whatever projects of mine I was going to do (C and D, although newer, were floating around in the list of people-I'd-like-to-work-with; there's even a screenplay-in-progress somewhere out there with characters named after them). I had--and, to a certain extent still have--two intersecting beliefs:
1) That talented, hardworking people should have the ability to pursue their creative endeavors for as long as they see fit, and
2) That *I* am the person to provide them with this ability if all else fails.
2) is what we call magical thinking. It is noble to want to be able to help all of one's friends by hiring them all for your TV show, but that isn't the way the real world works. You can't just hire all your friends, even if they're qualified. (Okay, maybe you can if your name is Judd Apatow, but then he's Judd Apatow. See also
Whedon, Joss.) And even you do, the show might never get on the air. Or get cancelled after seven episodes. And all this magical thinking is contingent on YOU GETTING YOUR OWN TV SHOW, which is kind of nuts. It's like lightning striking in the same place four times in a row.
These stories don't have morals: I hope A and B are happier with their new lives, and I suspect they will be. (E, as far as I know, is quite fulfilled in his new life, and C and D are *very* happy to be out of L.A.) Other people have other things they can do and be fulfilled. At the end of the day, you go back to writing, not because you have more persistence, or more endurance, as many of the above have been in this game longer than you. You go back to writing, as you always will, because for you, that's all there is.
