Thursday Thirteen: What I've Learned So Far

On Becoming Film Producer

1.  Failure is your friend. I could trot out the expected cliche, 'Failure is a great teacher'. It's true, but not my point today. Each failure adds value to the next attempt. 

2.  Never take no for an answer. Sooo obvious, right? But it's a miracle how many times we chicken out when someone puts an obstacle before us. I grow feathers far more often than I'd like to admit. 

3.  Be humble! If we were Spielberg, we wouldn't be talking to the assistants.

4.  Assistants are your friends.

5.  Don't be seduced by the glamour. Say this to yourself whenever your ego starts resembling that of a mini-mogul; "It's about the work." 

6.   It's the screenplay, stupid. If the story sucks, don't bother.

7.   Don't let the perfect become the enemy of the good. Sometimes we must compromise in order to win the bigger battle. So what if this film is going straight to video? You're building a reputation. Which brings us back to...

8.   Reputation is everything. The movie business, probably more most, is a relationship business. Don't be a jerk and don't lie; unless you want to be known as a jerk and a liar.

9.   Learn from everyone. 

10.  Help others wherever possible, you never know how that might come back to you in the future.

11.  Don't give up.

12.  Don't give up.

13.  Don't give up.

These are some of the things people have taught me matter so far. It's mostly common sense stuff. But you'll be amazed how quickly sense flies out the window when getting started in the biz of Dream Making. Yes, I'm still uncredited...for the moment. However, this is still good advice and your mileage may differ.






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...A Thousand Words

I'm shy.

Sort of.

Not really.

Okay, it's like this. It's my face. I have zero control over what appears on it. Every stray thought and emotion starts in my eyes and makes its way over my lips and cheeks (complete with wait for it...a visible blush. Lovely!) and into my eyebrows.There are few people who like playing their cards close to the chest more than I. There are even fewer who are as spectacularly bad at it as I am.

Want to know what Maya *really* thinks? Ask her a question and then watch her face.

Perhaps, there is some lingering tribal suspicion regarding little soul-sucking boxes, perhaps not. At any rate, the notion of my naked soul, preserved in the moment for whomever cares to see; sets off reflexive butterflies in my gut. The idea of seeing revealed and preserved some stray thought not covered by my personal Freedom of Information Act freaks me out. So when "smile pretty for the camera" time comes around; what would I do? Go blank and paste on a smile.

This is crazy. I know it's crazy. None of us can expect to move through the world completely invulnerable. Our vulnerability is what elicits the best of human emotion in others; compassion, empathy, generosity, protectiveness, love.

Still, in my younger days, my primary goal was self-containment. This woman was an island. Looking back, I realize few people were more ill-equipped for that role than I. At my core, I feel deeply connected to humanity, it is in my nature to love deeply and forgive freely.I'm a sap. Such people are rarely invulnerable. Why was I so afraid for others to catch a glimpse of that girl?

Nowadays I'm better. But still, If you want a great picture of me, don't let me see you comin'.

REPOST: Is Worth...

Fingertips trail ancient walls, the occasional tree gets hugged; the mood of a city filters in through my senses. Years later, a sound or scent or taste will take me right back. Even better, I have only to call the experience up in memory to know how a place felt. I've learned that snapping pics along the way tends to inhibit, rather than inspire this process.

During the first leg of my first European journey, I took reams of pictures. The Moms recorded video and snapped photos of every train station and street corner across five countries. And for a while, their camera-enthusiasm was infectious and I clicked along with them. My prepared travel mode; plugged into my CD player, the book in my hand a handy camouflage; was great for savoring a city and it's denizens. In addition to providing a soundtrack for my memories, the music calmed me during the hectic rush between taxis, trains and buses. Reading a book is a great way to observe unobserved. And because Rory Gilmore and I were separated at birth (omigosh...just realized, that the phrase "could be my daughter" is more applicable...ouch) far too many books weighed down my luggage when the trip began. I developed the habit of leaving them behind when they were. To this day, I wonder about the travels of those who read them after me...and whether they were as freaked out as I was by the ending of Carol O'Connell's "Judas Child".

Giving up my camera however, was, like most good things that happen while traveling, an accident. Five weeks into the trip, the Moms had gone. My travel partner and I were spending two weeks at a resort just outside of Assisi. A resort, which, due to an extended fight  with my friend and the determined pursuit of the Neapolitan handy man, was feeling just a tad cramped. So a beautiful snowy day found me in Siena, a couple of trains and a bus away...without my camera

Dang it.

Only, not so much.

I remember scattering pigeons as I crossed the piazza, cursing my forgetfulness. I can feel the suspicious gazes directed at me from the white haired ladies on the bench ahead. I walked all over old Siena that day, not missing my camera nearly as much as I thought I would. And then I found it.

Down some side street, I will never find again was a gallery of modern art. They were just opened, some of the rooms had not yet been finished. The art...it was mostly okay. Some pedestrian, some self-consciously cool, with a couple of truly awful and brilliant pieces thrown in. I went up and up and up,  and was on the roof. To this day, I'm not sure whether it was the installation or the view which first took my breath. Maybe it was one of those moments where art and life collide to create an impression far more evocative than either could on its own. It's true, I know; a good photo of the scene would be more descriptive than words. Instead the experience is private, jealously guarded in my own heart.

An immortal moment...something in Siena which exists only for me.