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ond stage, where I was actually a professional,
was much more frustrating than the years of
being a kid who just didn't know better.
Those were the years when I pondered
and actually did leave the business at one
point and constantly told myself that I had
to figure something else out. I needed a Plan
B. I was getting older, I had reached my thir-
ties, I had lost my agent, I was broke. It was
pretty dark.
At that point, it wasn't, "Am I good
enough or not good enough?" It was sim-
ply, "This is too hard to succeed at and I
need to be realistic." So I decided to become
a stockbroker. But I never quite got there
because the market crashed in 2001.
So I was stuck trying to be a stockbro-
ker, and I was still writing scripts but they
weren't going anywhere. I didn't have a
car. I didn't have an agent. Those were the
darkest days.
At some point, I had an epiphany where
my success was not going to be based on
getting an agent, selling a script and mak-
ing money. I couldn't keep depending on
that because it wasn't happening. I told my-
self, "If the script I write is better than the
last -- if, within the process I'm getting bet-
ter as a writer -- then I am a success. It does-
n't matter if it sells; it doesn't matter if it
gets me an agent. That's my parameter."
That was my big lesson. I had to redefine
success and success was getting better at my
craft and finding my voice as opposed to
selling a script, getting an agent and mak-
ing a lot of money.
But there were a few years when I was
frustrated because I knew I was good
enough to be at the table. Often, it's not a
case of not being good enough. It's a simple
case of it being that hard to get a seat. There
are not a lot of seats at the table and there
are a lot of people trying to sit at the table.
It's that simple.
For me, it was going to New York to write
a script that had been kicking around in my
brain that everyone responded to, called The
Only Living Boy in New York
-- that was the
one that got me at CAA and noticed.
The most interesting thing was because
of the frustration -- because I was writing
at a professional level a few years before I
broke onto the scene in a major way -- I
was ready. I could hit it and I did.
A lot of people get there prematurely.
They get there too young. They get there be-
cause of a great idea or a hot spec, and they
don't know what to do with it. It's just as
hard, if not harder, on the inside than it is
on the outside, by the way.
That's the thing that people don't real-
ize. Everybody just assumes it's all talent
and talent is important, but talent's just
your outside jumper. You need to play de-
fense. Defense is professionalism and part of
professionalism is you have got to be on
time. You've got to hit your deadlines.
I don't wait for inspiration. Does a
brain surgeon say, "I can't do surgery
today. I don't feel it." No, he goes in and
he does it every day. It's what he does for
a living. You're a professional. You've got
to act like a professional. It's huge in terms
of getting work.
The Dilemma wasn't my idea. It was
Brian Grazer's idea at Imagine Entertain-
ment. My agent called me and said, "Brian
Grazer has a very basic notion for a movie
idea. It's basically a question: If your best
friend's spouse was cheating and you knew,
do you tell him?
I was going to say, "I don't think I can
do this, because I don't think it's a real
question. I think that the guy code response
is, `Of course you tell him. That's man code.
You tell him immediately.' But then I went
to a few dinners with a group of people and
I floated the question and it was such an ac-
tive debate. Not everybody said yes, and
many people, in fact, said, "You don't tell
him." Some people said, "No, you go to the
spouse and give them an ultimatum and
say they have 24 hours to tell them. And if
they don't tell them, you will." I said,
"That's fucking great! That's a scene in my
movie right there."
It got me engaged. I realized it was a re-
ally live-wire issue and I was thinking,
"Wow, I get to go write this. I get to bring
this debate to the screen. What a great
gift!"
That's what I love about writing: It's the
most fulfilling pursuit. I get to work
through everything I see, feel or go
through in my life on the page. It's the
greatest gift and blessing of all. It's not
even a job. It's free therapy and they're
paying me for it.
January/February 2011 creativescreenwriting
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