laurels

Here's the deal with laurels and laps- where the hell are they??? Just like your lap disappears when you stand up, where the hell are your laurels? Or is "laurels" another word for butt cheeks? That's the only thing I can think of that one would rest upon that is plural. Well, maybe pillows...anyway, I'm working like a one legged slave on this rewrite. It's going a lot better than I thought it would. The hardest part was the first cut. Kinda like performing open heart surgery on your own child. You know they would be better for the surgery and you possess the skills, but damn if it's not hard to make that first cut.

I received a disturbing myspace message the other day from a friend. I told him that I want to move out to L.A., but I don't have a reason to because I don't know anyone out there. He wrote me back and said that, just by virtue of me being a writer, I need to have my chocolate self out there schmoozing and making contacts and getting my face out there. It was a difficult thing to hear because, well, it's the truth, damn it. I am doing okay from where I currently sit, but I know in my heart of hearts that if I were out in Los Angeles, I could get twice as much done. The truth hurts, ladies and gentlemen. The only thing that worries me about moving to Los Angeles is money. I don't have any and it takes a lot more than what I have to live day to day out there. Just my luck, I'd end up turning tricks for a spot in the "According to Jim" writer's room. Have you ever seen "According to Jim"? Ugh. Hardly worth a blow job.

Last month, I was a querying fool and send out over 100 queries and submissions. This month, I don't anticipate quite so many; I'm shooting for forty. That's only because I want to do the best job I possibly can on this rewrite. I really want this relationship with the producer to bear full-length feature fruit. And on that note, it's time for me to get back to the script.