So…here I am. In Pasadena. California. In a few hours, I’ll head over to Bob Gosse’s house to watch a rough cut of RUNAWAY. My first view. Ikes!

Headed over here early because I had a few hours to kill between my Gosse meeting and the meeting I had this morning…a producer of note, who had not much in the way of work, but a bucket load of good advice. …Most of which I really didn’t want to hear, of course.

So, it is interesting that, in this state of mind, the fates have led me to the land of Wheaton–the perennially frustrated artist, always on the verge of re-breaking through. And here, I find myself wandering–both mind and body, not quite able to settle in anywhere in this town, in this day. And as I walk, I puzzle over why there’s a knot in my gut. What it means.

It takes over an hour to understand the what. Somewhere between the Gordon Bierch Brewery and the Second Cup Café it hits me. The feeling is fear.

The why is more complicated. It takes a lot more walking. More walking, in fact, that I have time for, because I need to be at Bob’s house in a little over an hour. So I walk more, and I struggle.

I thumb through my cell phone for numbers. I call home, but no one answers. On one hand, I am relieved, because home is also complicated today—Sydney sick, Lynn tired, emotions running hot. But it’s home. It’s my lifeline. So on the other hand, I’m disappointed when I hear the truncated fifth ring—the bastard ring, the mocking ring. And then the artificial bell sound—“bling! blong!” which in bell means, “No one wants to talk to you here, asshole. Hang up.”

My lifeline is unspooled for the afternoon.

I think to call Debi, but I know she’s in meetings. I think maybe I’ll call Action Jackson. Hell, I even think about calling my mom and dad. Bleep!bleep!bleep! I sift through every name on my phone. No. No. No. Hell, no. No. No. And so on.

Then, of course, a small insight sneaks in. I recognize this insight. I don’t even try to hide the disdain on my face. I hate this bastard. But I can’t make it go away. Actually, I know I need it to stay, but I’m not going to admit it to the little fucker.

It’s part of the why, it tells me. Not all of it, but an element that makes up the why.

“I know,” I say.

No one’s gotta tell me that. I feel it, like a chill in my bones. That’s not the way I say it to the insight, though. To him, I speak in haughty tones. Like I’m better than it. Even though today I’m not so sure.

“Do you know who I am?” It asks me, really expecting me to answer. If it had a body, I am certain it would be tapping it’s little foot. The way it is, I don’t care. I want to take a freakin’ machete to my own vision of its tapping foot and chop the thing off.

I walk some more, silent. I cross Colorado Boulevard. I keep my eyes pealed. Maybe, just maybe, I will see the Wil, himself.

“Hey, man! I love the web site. ‘Just a Geek’ rocked!” Yada yada yada…

Though we’ve never met, we’d be instant friends. Two guys on the verge in the entertainment industry. And husbands. And fathers. And geeks. And we’d marvel…

“We’ve got, like, everything in common!”

“Except, you were on ‘Star Trek’.”

“Well, yeah. There’s that. And I was a child star.”

“Two things.”

But we decide that stuff ain’t important. What matters is we’re the same NOW. So we become lightning fast friends, and the time between now and the time I need to show up at Bob’s would pass like nothing.

That is, until, Wil notices. You know…that little shit following me around.

Wil leans over. He peers over my shoulder. The thing waves. I can’t see it wave, but I know it’s doing it. And I can feel it smiling. No…grinning. A shit-eating one at that.

“Who’s that?” Wil asks.

I don’t want to tell him. What I want to do is pretend the thing isn’t back there. That it doesn’t exist. Alas, I know it does so exist. I know, in fact, that it’s more real than Wil Wheaton standing in front of me. Because he’s not really standing in front of me—that’s a figment of my imagination. The thing following me is real.

I decide to level with Wil, even though he’s a fantasy figure. He still deserves an explanation, I suppose.

“It’s name is Yougottaworkthisoneoutyourself.”

Wil chuckles: a knowing one. An “I shoulda known” one.

I get it. He’s had one of these little pricks follow him around in the past, too. I mean, hell, I read “Just a Geek.” I know.

So I make Wil go away. He vanishes, though his presence still hangs in the air. And that’s comforting, because I know it’s the real Wil’s energy. Not the energy from some lame hallucination I created out of my sick little head.

And then I turn to Yougottaworkthisoneoutforyourself.

“We need to talk,” I tell it. “I want to know what your game it. I want to know who your working with or working for or what the hell you’re doing here this week, of all weeks!”

I doesn’t say a goddamned word. Smug little jerk.

“What do you guys want?” I ask. “Do you want me to fail? Do you understand that this week…this is the week I need to be up beat, on my game. Do you get that?”

“Of course,” is all it’ll give up.

“Of course. Thanks. That really helps.”

Then it looks at me like I’m some real dumbass.

“You know who else is here.”

I squint my eyes a little. Cock my head to one side. I want to look condescending. Like it’s not making a lick of sense.

Suddenly, I stand up straight. I look around—spin around, more like it. Shit!

Yougottaworkthisoutyourself smiles. He nods.

“No!” I scream.

The cute and well-put together Asian lady walking past shoots me a look somewhere between “poor guy” and “stay the hell away from me”.

“Not Imnotgoodwenough! Not Icantreallydoit! Not Imabigfatloser!”

He nods again.

My shoulders slump.

“What are those guys doing here?!?”

“How should I know,” Yougottaworkitouryourself says. “You’re the one who invited them.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Of course, you did. Remember? When you were walking out of the producer’s office? What did you say to yourself? What was going on inside that head of yours?”

And then I realized he was right. I walked out of that posh Beverly Hills office, and I might as well have been screaming.

Certainly, I felt like I was drowning. At the very least, like I was suddenly over my head. At the deep end of the pool, when all I could do was dog paddle.

I sighed. How? Why would I call those guys? Why..?

I look up. Yougottaworkitoutforyouself’s eye. What do I see in it? A tear, perhaps? With a snidge of understanding? I dash of compassion? His face is soft. And then I realize something.

He’s not the enemy. He’s here to help.

I start to say something, but he holds up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Just…”

He points toward the Starbucks across the street.

“See that place? You’ve been to one of those before.”

I shoot one of those “don’t be a smartass” looks. He knows damned well… And he said it like he was describing some sort of brothel. Then again, maybe he was.

“You’ve been carrying around that laptop all day. Go put it to some use.”

And then he was gone. Not completely so, as, like Wil, I can feel his presence here. But it’s a comforting one.

And so, I cross the street. I parked my butt in this chair. It’s far from perfect here, but I can get over that. The words…I inhabit the words. And in them, there is quiet, serenity. Calm.

And I write this. And I know that it’s not the end. Rather, it’s just the start.

Has that old dog, Bill, gone? Oh, where, Oh where can he be.

Look up in the sky!

It’s a bird.

It’s a plane!

It’s a frog!!

A FROG?!?

Anyone remember where THAT old nugget comes from? Of course, it’s our old friend…

Anyway, sorry about being incommunacado. I need to get better at letting everyone know what’s going on. In fact, I was reminded of as much by my good friend (and loyal TRUE LIFE readers) Kari, who, during a TEAM TRUE LOVE walking party reminded me (I was lamenting that I wasn’t writing in the blog at that time ’cause I was exhausted from my NY experience)…Well, digging in and doing things, even when you don’t feel like doing them sometimes…that’s life, right? TRUE LIFE?

I hate it when people say things that I don’t want to hear and then they’re right. Chaffs my hide to no end.

BUT, back to what I was saying…

I was doing some re-working on STAGGERFORD AND I kinda got a little job doing some re-write work on another movie that is supposedly filming next summer. A pretty big one, at that–budget definitely in the eight-digit range. So…that was kinda cool. And kinda one of those romantic comedy things.

Okay…stop laughing. Get UP OFF THE FLOOR. I don’t care that, based on my other work, that seems like an oxymoron. If you don’t stop laughing, I’m gonna slug you!

Okay…now that THAT’S over with.

SooOOoOo…I was saying that I had about two weeks to get the work done that I needed to get done on the re-write stuff…but I was sick. Dead dog sick. NDE. Well, alright…not quite that bad. BUT-! It was pretty much–

I’ll bring Underdog down, or my name isn’t Simon Bar Sinister.

made it so I spent about four days of writing time flat on my back and completely out of it. When all was said and done, I had about five days to get the work done that needed to get done. I was still feeling pretty weak, but, as you know…

Here this ring, I do fill, with an Underdog Super Energy Pill.

It was down to the wire, but, once again–

Underdoooog. Yoouuu’re the greaaatest.

Was what I heard.

In truth, the guy is pretty happy with the results so far. I am not sure, but I am thinking there will be other work on the project as well. I will see when I get home.

Ummm…what?!? You say? Home?

Oh, yeah…the reason why I titled this little post what I did in the first place. That’s right…

Here I am: LA

I am out here till next Friday, “taking some meetings”, as they say. We’ll see what happens. Got some meetings set up next week with managers, agents, and whatnot. I will let you know what happens.

Till then, I gotta split. My LA hosts are up and around and want to take me to breakfast. They probably think I am the laziest person on the planet.

“I once was lost, but now I’m found…

Was blind, but now I see.”
–Traditional
I had a great conversation with my friend, Pigger, this morning. And I really needed it. Helped to lift me out of some sour spirits from a pretty sucky day yesterday.

Not only is Pigger a gentleman and a scholar, but he’s also a helluva guy. And on both an interesting plane and journey right now. I am very interested to see where this guy lands.

Anyway, the conversation was good for me on many levels, not the least of which was I was finally able to get out in SOME form, thoughts on a topic that I have been contemplating for quite some time: living in the within versus the without. In other words: living in your head versus living in the world.

The conversation–and my comments–were by no means exhaustive. It all pretty much just scratched the surface, I suppose. But it was a good start. And it means it is a good day because I was finally able to put at least a LITTLE bit of what’s been rolling around in my head into some sort of…form.

And so…I got so excited that I got to finally talk to my friend, Pigger, and have this great conversation, and use iChat/AIM (I never do that)! …I saved it and decided to post it here. Seems only fitting, eh? I mean, what is it, if not TRUE LIFE?

Enjoy…

AIM IM with Jonathan Wrenshall
10:41 AM
B: can you hear me now?

J: yes
whats up dude

B: I am a bad friend…that’s what’s up.

J: well…i would say busy…haha

B: Na…I been letting it slide. Sorry for being incommunicado.

J: im not worried…alife….what can you do…one thing at a time

B: Are you working now? school?

J: are you at home now

B: Yeah…got back on monday

J: no working no school

10:45 AM
B: Why don’t you pop down here for a few days? All you gotta pay for is gas.
We would love to have you?
Er..you.
We miss ya.

J: yeah i know…its tricky though…then i have to tell the govt, who is generously paying me, why i went to america…its actually a big deal…i still plan on coming…sometime

B: Ah…I see. Goddamned govt
Are they expecting you to be looking for a job?

J: yes…despite being left and somewhat oscialist in comparison to bushs regime…they still have rules
i think that is the general understanding…but lets get serious

B: I felt bad about blowing off your parents. I hope they were okay. Your mom redid drapes! In the end, I had to go to OK. I was worried about my mom. All VERY last minute.
I felt REALLY bad, in fact.
I guess we will see them on the 6th, though.

J: i will tell you that all concerned parties…ie the family, think that i do nothing all day…which , in the view of general society, is true…but in actuality i do quite a bit…just contrary to the general beliefs and flow of the real world

B: You exist on the metaphysical plane. That’s all you need to say. And you eat a lot of Kraft Dinner, which is keeping an entire industry vibrant in our great land.

10:50 AM
J: yeah she was a little upset about that…not gonna lie to you…haha…but i assume its because she was excited much as i was…

B: Yeah…I know. I got served. Told that I am “this close” to getting into the asshole club. Maybe I’ll send flowers..?
Would she like something like that?

J: hayha./..its true…except for the KD part…i spend so much time with my thoughts and brain…its weird…ok let me give you an example of what i am faced with daily…adn then i will tell you about the flowers…last night i was in the chair reading and chris’ girlfriend came in and said…”oh . something productive.” …oh man…i almost lost it…and so i said “what is so productive about reading?” because i wondered what the difference between sitting and reading and sitting and contemplating or imagining or thinking or whatever was…i do nothing right now…but i do so much more…ok i got that off my chest…i am redeemed….now for flowers
i dont know…im not sure if it was…umm…flower worthy…hahaha…not like that…i dont know…maybe flowers and a nice note…i have no clue basiaclly

10:55 AM
J: its funnyt bill…people need you and your family just as much as you need others…you know?
you have a lot of goodness to offer…as a whole…and in parts

B: I think I’m gonna do that. Your mom and dad are SO MUCH like family to me. Which is probably why I did a brat thing, eh? Anyway…I think it is flower worthy. Just ot let her know I love her. To let her know how much she matters to mer.

J: i think deep down people get excited about 5that

B: Stop now, kid. Yer making me blush.
Thanks, though.

J: hahaha…well no…i mean im just trying to say something true……
its really easy and makes for better conversation…haha

B: So…are you thinking now about perhaps sharing a few of these kernels of wisdom that are popping in your head with the rest of us? Perhaps via…I don’t know…a…blog…or…something?
11:00 AM
B: I read your entry on the “thinking I was going to die” thingy. It was very interesting reading. Pretty brave, as a matter of fact. It made me want to read more of your stuff.

J: hahaha…yeah…but they are toguh…the really good thoughts i get are always so hard to keep…they exist on that outer plane where my memory is dealing with unfamiliar territory making it hard to grasp such thoughts…i try to write most down immediately…but i dont know…and when i write now…i never think its good enough…because i always think i can do better

B: Of course you can do better, dork! We can ALL do better. I feel like I write for shit! But the doing it…that’s what helps me get better.
My hope is that you will try to share even a fraction of what’s going on up there in your head. Otherwise, it feels a little–wrong word, but I will use it nonetheless–selfish?
That’s one of things I know you struggle with…putting it out there. All I can say is come on in, the water’s fine.

J: you know the hardest thing…and this was something iw as gonna ask you about when you came here…i have ideas…and they seem lame but they same that you could use them for the basis of a story…but i dont want my stories to be driven by a central idea like that…i want them to revolve around some sort of philosphical or moral question…or something that is not so tanginble…umm…its hard for me to explain…do you copy ??

B: Yes…but I will wait for your next ballon before I respond.

J: and i think the word selfish, although some mmight say it is a cop-out, describes, deep down, almost any human reaction….
my next balloon was random
haha

11:05 AM
B: Absolutely…re selfish. What I meant was…stingy. These thoughts feel like something you should share.
Anyway…re your point. I’ve done A LOT of thinking about this. It’s gonna be hard to put into typewritten words–so much to say–but I will try. here goes…

J: i mean say i have a story about a bum who lives his life listening to radio contests and calling in to win…over his life he was one tonnes of neat stuff…and almost survives this way…ok…so what…no where is the juice…where is the struggle…what happens on a deeper level…
i know its tough

B: Like you, I have spent A LOT of my live residing almost exclusively in the landscape that is my own mind.
To me, it felt awesome. It was wild and wooly, and somehow safe all at the same time. And it was cacophonous and quit all at the same time.
I mean…quiet.

J: caco what…

B: And I marveled at similar things–these scenarios, I will call them…revolving around some deeper and esoteric question, rather then mere plot. Scenes that commented on…examined the question, rather than always trying to–I don’t know–answer them, or make some sort of tangible statement, etc.

11:10 AM
B: Cacaphony — it means loud.

J: i just looked it up…thanks..hahahaha
yeah so you know…but i havent been able to break through to somehow add thoses elements…i mean those are ideas…but they are different sort of ideas…and you have to think completely differently

B: One thing I began to realize in my late 20s, though–and I knew it earlier, but it was more like a sliver in my finger kinda of thing–was that it was lonely. It was difficult because I really felt like I had no one to share all of these cool insights with. And further, I realized that because I had created this entire context and almost an entirely new language–no one else could understand what I was trying to say, even if I wanted then to.
Yes…and when you look at my last bubble, you may see a hint of the truth in there, which is this–there IS not way to add in those more…conventional elements. Because you’re talking about apples and oranges.
And then I realized something…

J: i hear that…i dont know if this is what you are getting at…my friend james eluded to this once…being a writer can be very lonely…often times people will lock themselves away for a time and try to pound some stuff out…much like that life of a magician…they grow up having no friends because you have to be a geek and you have to always practice…

11:15 AM
J: realization…a window to the truth

B: Yes…what you’re saying is close, but not quite what my point was. Here it is…what I meant was that it’s all about CONTEXT.

J: i knew it was out of line…but thats waht i was reminded of

B: No…it wasn’t out of line…it was REALLY close! A shade of what I was going to say–which is…
Personally, I came to a realization–I love your “window of truth” statment, because it’s true. I realized that I don’t LIVE in my mind. I live in the world.

J: werid
weird
but neat
and true

B: I have a “life” of some sort in my mind. My consciousness exists there. But why? If not as a means–a tool–to help me exist better in the physical world?

J: well sometimes i just feel like i should stop thinking about everything…everything…everyday occurences….and just let it all happen without question like it seems most others do…but i dont know…i cant completely abandon thought

B: In other words…my mind, and my existence in there, wasn’t the be all and end all–there was more to me than just that. And the tangible me–the only me that I could share with anyone else in any sort of connected context–was existing out there in the physical plane.

11:20 AM
B: No! Don’t do that! That’s not the way.. The trick–you’re making me get ahead of myself–is to live in BOTH worlds.

J: haha…that was probably an out of line comment oagain..haha…but thats what i rolled with

B: My point is that I realized if I didn’t want to be lonely–if I wanted to–
No out of line comments, Jon. There are none of these here. Put it out there, if you are feeling it.
This is pretty freeform.

J: i know there are always points…but i love to blurt out wht the first thing that comes up in my mind because i figure…no matter how relevant or not…you will somewhat understand…haha..i know there are others points usually…hahahaha sorry to make you bounce around so much…haha

B: If I wanted, on some level, to be connected with the rest of the Universe–or the Universe outside of my own head–well, then it was a simple case of “when in Rome, do as the Romans do’>

J: yes!

B: In other words, you live simultaneously in two worlds. You need to speak the language and do the things in your own head that are meaningful to you.
BUT!
You also need to speak the language and do the things that are meaningful in THE WORLD, if others are going to understand you. And…you can’t forget.

11:25 AM
B: You are ALSO a citizen of the physical universe. THis is your home as much OR MORE than the Universe in your head. For, at least on some level, your conscious self could not live–maybe not even exist!–without your physical self.
So…which one is more important?

J: ok./..two quesstions…do you feel you have a group??? im not gonna explain further…see what you come up with…and why did the narrator brick up fortunato in the cask of amontillado
oops…i didnt wqatnto send that yet

B: In the end, I believe both and neither…I believe they are interconnected. That they feed each other. And because they are as important as each other, they deserve equal time and attention.
I feel like I have server groups.

J: server…like church server…or computer server???

B: And in order to best function in the physical world, there are conventions–the language of words and action–one must follow, at least in some fashion, in order to be comprehended by others (who are also living in two worlds).
I meant several. Sorry.

J: ok…thats cool…i have several…or at least two groups of compoeltely diff friends…but i doubt i could pick more than two to talk about what i want to talk about….you know…like…yes here we go back to kerouac…but he had his group…and i think it ehlped his mind develop….

11:30 AM
B: One of those conventions–one that I found–was the craft of writing. It has structure and it’s kinda rules based, and it sometimes feels like I am fitting a quare peg into a round hole–meaning the thoughts and concepts generated out of me head world into some world-based (and comprehensible) form.

J: i gotcha…i understand what you are saying…but exploring the physical body as compared to the oh so mysterious mind…??

B: In concert with…

J: i understand my body is an agent…but the mind man…i dont understand that at all

B: There are two landscapes. We are explorers of both worlds. And we have..responsibilities..? to both.
And I suggest you don’t understand your body as much as you do your mind right now.

J: traveling is fun…on both planes…yes
whoa…you think so

B: Yes…I do.

J: why is that

B: Maybe “understand” isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s that you’re struggling with how to reconcile them..?
I’ve come to realize that the two worlds will never really match up.

11:35 AM
J: maybe…im with you…im just trying to see the light…maybe its almost like taking your body for granted…and forgetting about it while going off to discover this, almost cliche, idea of gettting insode your mind

B: And there are very few people who can understand the language of my head world (e.g., the same kind of people you were referring to when you said you have groups, but only two people in the group got what you were tyring to say)…
Yeah…that’s pretty much it.

J: thus we ….man…we have to look outward more often…yikes

B: As much as you do inward, I believe.

J: it makes sense…now…since you are part of that kerouacian group…..have you read edgar allen poe…the cask of amontillado…or seen the short moive version perhaps…??

B: And you need to…HELP others–those who are not going to readily understand your head world language–to get what you’re trying to tell them, in the manner that will best be received and comprehended by them, and still –hopefully and at least–contain the core of your original concept/meaning/whatever from your intended message.

J: i am sure there is no other reason then to entertain the reader….but why did he bury that man alive

B: That is, if you give a shit about doing that. I am a writer, so obviously I choose to pay attention to it.
Am I going to show my ignorance when I say I’ve never read it?
But…I do know Poe. it was probably because he was obsessed witht he morbid.
Hey! I got smileys!

J: ok…well it doesnt matter…i know it is just for show…but that is the whole story…all 8 pages of it.

11:40 AM
J: you may be on to something….so tell me…right now…i meant what…are you sitting in your little chair…is elvis hanging out….grey skies out the window….what are you working on?

B: I am actually lounging in bed. Minnie is sleeping next to me. I had a TERRIBLE day yesterday. Really knocked the wind outta me. I really need to get up and start my day (see, I haven’t done that, either!), but I have still been a little shell shocked, I guess.
It’s funny…this conversation has really helped to pick me up. Thanks, man!

J: hahaha…nothing like a single topic debate with controlled sturcture

B: At the moment…as far as writing…I am supposed to be working on a script I am writing for my friend Dean. About reincarnation. reading a fascinating book by a guy named Hans TenDam…
No shit.

J: so when and where is runway coming out…and how can i date ronim tunney

B: See what I mean, though? Following a conventional structure in the physical world, helping the head world somehow.

J: of course you know i mean robin
your good for me

11:45 AM
B: And I used this convention to make a point to you that the only way I coulda done so in head world language would be to go “AAAAAARRRRGGHHHCCKKKKKKKFFHSDJFKSALDJHSLKJHKASJHAKJ!!!!!’ Didja get that??
And you for me, my good friend.
Just call Robin. I am certain her Aussie director boyfriend won’t mind.

J: aussie’s///what do they see in them…i got an accent too eh

B: Anyway…we gotta finish getting the thing edited first. Last word is sometime by the end of the year? A rough cut? We’ll see.

J: shes old anyway…i was really hoping for rachel leigh cook…more my age range
ok…i want to see the debut though…or the playing of it at a festival or something….

B: The producers are taking care of all that. Hiring the best of the best, which is good. But…I won’t know more until Jan/Feb what the trajectory is for the movie.
You GOING to the premiere! All of the Wreshalls, dude!

J: cool

B: Right now, I am focusing on other things. What to do with STAGGERFORD. Getting the next thing done. I have been, for some reason, thinking a lot about the book I 2/3 finished…The Bottomless Pit. I might go back to that. Get it done, finally.

11:50 AM
J: i like the bottomless pit…never read it…but i like the title…and what you told me of the basics….anyway i have to get this day going…get a coffee, shower, get oot and aboot…, maybe write something, and check out the outside world…

B: I DID see, however, a very rough assemblage of scenes a few weeks ago, though. I was very happy. I could see the movie poking out in there. Like a newborn, crowning.
Me, too. hey! I had fun. thanks for talking to me.
J: sweet…
that must be like music for you…
yeah me too…my brain hurts in fact…anyway man…lets do this again…until we will live only through our blogs…hahaha

B: Yeah. See ya. And REALLY think about coming down sometime–hopefully soon. It would be great to do this with beer.
Later, gator…

J: peace!

Well, I know. I’d be asking the same damn thing? What’s up with this guy? Does he not care? Has he lost it? Doesn’t he realize that in order to be a writer, one has to actually write? I mean, put words down, man!

OhhHHhhHhhh….

Now I get it.

In reality, I have been, as they say, under the weather. More like, I’ve been under my covers…shivering and hacking out a lung. I spent some time last week uploading the RUNAWAY BOYS pics–

Oh…wait. Before I take another literary step, I should show you this:

It’s official…stop calling it RUNAWAY BOYS. Now…got it? Get that out of your head.

Hey, you! Over there! I just heard you. Now…stop. I know, I know. It’s been hard for me, too.

As of a few days ago, however (and until further notice), the title of the movie stands at simply:

RUNAWAY

So, there you have it.

Which, for me, causes no end of headaches, not the least of which is what the hell do we do now with respect to an acronym? Crap!

I mean, when it was MICHAEL’S LETTERS (original title), it was easy. ML. Simple, elegant. You could pop that into an e-mail message 50 times and not bat an eye. Not break a sweat. No carpal tunnel on my watch, baby. ‘Cause you can identify my movie in two quick key strokes.

Okay…then last year, we switched the title to RUNAWAY BOYS (used here only for illustration. No need to worry that I am hanging on desperately to the title RUNAWAY BOYS. No alterior motive to keep typing RUNAWAY BOYS. No issues whatsoever with changing the title from RUNAWAY BOYS. I mean, RUNAWAY BOYS, who n-? Oh…sorry). Anyway, although it took some time for us to get used to the title (Debi hated it at first. I was luke warm, but it grew on me), but I was satisfied from the outset at its acronym potential. It was perfect, was it not? RB. Wow. Again, two key strokes. Try it. Like buttah.

But now…what the hell are we going to do? Everything is ruined! I mean…RUNAWAY?!? Forget the aesthetic quality of the new title. Forget its marketability. Forget all that crap! What are we going to do about an acronym?!?

Come on, people! Give me a freakin’ break!

R?!?

Ummm…no. You can’t have a one letter acronym. I am certain there are rules…laws, even. I can just see the acronym police swooping down, descending like a plague of locusts, down upon us for daring to defile the sanctity of acronymian holy ground. Because that’s what it is, friends. A one letter acronym is like shitting on the altar of acronyms. Plain and simple.

And we can’t have that. It’s unforgivable.

So…where does that leave us?

Well, unless someone has a bright idea–like a glyph or something of that nature–I am afraid that we will be forced to refer to the movie now and in perpetuity (or at least until we change it again) as…

RUNAWAY

No acronym. No nothin’. Just wake up and smell the Ben Gay, folks. You GOTTA TYPE THE WHOLE FREAKIN’ WORD! And when you’re having a pleasant conversation about the movie (yeah…I didn’t even TOUCH on those implications), you have to actually say the entire title..!

It’s too painful to think of. All those e-mails. All that typing. All that risk of injury. All that time wasted typing unecessary letters. All that unecessary vocalization. ‘Nuff said.

Who cares if everyone likes it better than…………the…other way? Who cares if, the more I think about it, I think it works better, myswlf?

We have committed a crime–nay! a SIN!–against acronyms. And for that, my dear readers, I must hang my head in shame.

I won’t focus on why I haven’t posted recently. I am certain that I will get into all that in the coming days. Suffice it to say that I am in a place where I am once again ready to face TRUE LIFE. ‘Nuff said for now, eh?

Today, I want to relive one moment…one that will forever live, indellible, in my memory.

10:30 pm, Saturday, September 25. 2004, of course.

My plane got in about 30 minutes earlier, and Action Jackson, being the gentleman that he is, offered to pick me up at the airport. I was happy that I didn’t have to take a cab, but I was feeling a little sorry for myself, too. I was kinda hoping that Lynn and the kids would have been there to greet me. You know, the big welcome home thing and all.

As the escalator eased toward the baggage claim, I almost thought that I would get that surprise. I casually craned my neck (the art of doing so and yet looking simply like you’re trying to stretch. I’m certain it doesn’t work, but humor me, huh?), but nothing. And when I finally reached the bottom, my heart sank even a bit further.

Oh, well, eh? It was, after all, 10 pm. I know Lynn was bushed. It was, in fact, one of the reasons why she hadn’t met me in New York upon the picture’s wrap, a circumstance that still had me smarting.

But I brightened a little when I saw Jack. It was, as he would say, all good. We gave each other a quick hug. I hefted my junk into the back seat, and we took off.

As we drove home, we didn’t talk much. I simply watched as the landscape–MY landscape–drifted past me. Hello Borders! Hello Best Buy! Hello my very own Starbucks! Hello there, you broken down ole building and loan! (Oops! Wong story..!) Hi there, Holiday gas station..! As we turned off the freeway, I was finally relieved for the lack of any pomp and circumstance regarding my homecoming. Even as I greeted each of my favorite landmarks, my eyes transformed more and more into little, puffy slits. I was sinking further and further by the minute. Yeah…this was a good thing.

We pulled into the driveway, and the house was thankfully dark. It was now about half past. Everyone was asleep, and all I had to do was contend with Elvis (who was about to Fu-rrrreeeeek!). Jack stopped the car and asked me whether I was going to take in my bags right away–he wanted to get going. I told him I just needed a moment. I wanted to get through my Elvis homecoming, then I would be prepared to schlep my crap.

I got in the house, and Elvis was surprisingly calm. I mean, don’t get me wrong…he basically attacked me with hugs and kisses. I think, though, he was a little stunned that I was there. I’m certain he wrote me off as dead. Hell, maybe he thought I was a ghost…who knows?

I peeked into the dining room as I petted Elvis, and the place was utterly empty. Yeah…in a minute I would trudge upstairs and slip in beside Lynn and fall fast asleep. I guess that was just fine with m-

“SURPRISE!!!!!!!”

All of a sudden, on go the dining room lights. It was my family, screaming at the top of their lungs. And in the next instant, I was on the business end of a monkey pile of hugs and kisses and congratulations. Action Jackson, who was obviously a partner in crime, sat back with a smug smile plastered across his face. Oh yeah…and he took pictures.

Wow… It rates up there with the coolest moments in my entire life.

I did it.

I made it.

And I made it home again.

…And my life will forever be changed.

I am in the processing of uploading pix from the production. Hopefully, by the end of the week… Then again, you know me. And I think I’m ready to start talking about the experience, now that it’s had a chance to percolate a little.

I don’t believe, by the way, that I am going to continue through with the RUNAWAY BOYS thread I created back at the beginning of September. Or maybe I will. Who knows? I believe that the photo album I’m creating will actually work best toward telling and finishing that story.

That said, maybe I’ll just start living again. You know, my TRUE LIFE…

Later…

It’s 11:00 p.m. In about four hours, if everything goes as planned, Tim McCann will yell “Cut!” Then, Bob Gosse will announce, “It’s a wrap! That is a wrap for the feature film, RUNAWAY BOYS!”

Sigh…

I’m sorry that I haven’t done a very good job at keeping all of you in the loop as production has progressed. In the end, the whole time I have been run, run, running so fast and furious. Either that, or when I have had a minute to sit down and try and post something, my brain simply shuts down and my fingers refuse to move.

All I can say tonight, in fact, is this. I haven’t quite processed through it all yet, but I can feel a monster glob of emotion bulding up inside of me. Right now, it’s still a relatively calm rumbling, but in the next…hours? days? it’s going to build up to a TNT-level explosion. …And it’s not gonna be pretty.

It’s strange. I can’t quite explain it, except in the imortal words of Inigo Montoya in THE PRINCESS BRIDE:

 

I mean, that’s it, right? For..geeze! Three years now…I have been single-mindedly focused on making this movie a reality. And now…saying that I’m “making” a movie is no longer valid. Now it’s I’ve “made” a movie. Wow… Wow… Wow… It’s in the can. On Thursday, at the wrap party, I’m gonna see the first glimpse of footage stitched together. Ikes!

Anyway, it feels very strange. Like…I’m almost scared for it to end because–for just how ready I’ve been to make this happen and to move past it–what am I gonna do now? And I get worried that I am due for some MF’ing serious post-partem depression jag after I get back home.

Then, I remember what Westley said back to Inigo…

Hmph…I hadn’t thought about that.

Can I get back to you in a week?

For now, ‘night all. Screw all this philosophical B.S. I’ve got the rest of my life to be depressed ’cause my freakin’ movie’s in the can. In 3 1/2 hours, my movie’s gonna be in the can, and I am going to PAR-TAY LIKE A ROCK STAR!

Peace out.

Okay…I only have a few precious moments to move the story further, as David will be here in about an hour to take Debi and I up to Catskill.

Ikes! We’re doin’ it! We’re heading up there! In about four hours, we’ll be settling into our room, then heading over to the production office, and meeting the rest of the cast and crew, and…and..!

Just keep breathing. Just…keep…breathing…

Anyway…now we fast forward to:

MONDAY, AUGUST 9

We had arrived home in Bloomington at around 8:00 p.m. We were all drained. I felt it especially because I had just driven about 300 miles pretty much non-stop. That, and I was fighting against a foul mood all day.

Not just my mind, but also my entire body kept telling me the vacation wasn’t long enough. I needed more time.

Driving out of Grand Marais, I turned to Lynn.

“You know, our cabin is open for the next week, too.”

At first she laughed. Then she looked at me. Immediately, the chuckled ceased.

“Uh…I…No… We can’t. We have our dogs, Sydney has cheerleading… We…”

“I know,” I replied, driving along and trying to keep tears at bay.

Thus, the start of my battle with the serious grumpies.

I didn’t give a crap about how tired I was, though. Al had promised a draft of Tim’s version of the script in my e-mail Monday, and I hopped in the Internet to retrieve it.

But it wasn’t there. Fine, I said. I was too tired to read it, anyway. And I was no good to anyone, either. The only remedy was to go to bed, which was the best decision I’d made all day.

OKAY…I will try to write more after my shower, etc. If not, I will try to do more tonight.

Oh yeah…do you realize that a mere 4-5 miles away from where I sit in this placid uptown apartment writing about my little movie that literally tens or perhaps hundreds of thousands of people are gathering to protest George Bush and the Republican National Convention? And are the Olympics still on? I tend to forget these small events lately. I TRUE-ly live in a bubble right now.

SNAP!SNAP!SNAP! just went Debi’s fingers.

“You still gotta pack your stuff up.”

Yeah…I better get going, or I am going to be in some serious trouble, my friends.

Later.

Good Lord! Talk about a major case of Tempus Fugit!

I sit here, back in Al’s pad in Manhattan. Debi and I are tapping away on his and her laptops. Yes, she is FINALLY here, finally ready to dive in, and tomorrow we will head up to Catskill. Aaron and Robin and the rest of the cast, and Al and David and all the crew are pretty much all up there. Just add Minnesotans.

But…before all that, I promised a story. Didn’t I?

For that, I must set the “Way Back Machine” for about two-and-a-half weeks ago. You may not have noticed, but we lived in a much different world then. At least, I did.

If you remember, around that time, I had just gotten back from Grand Marais. While I was there, I spent not an insignificant amount of time trying to wrap up a pretty extensive re-write of the RUNAWAY BOYS script, from notes I had received from my July trip to NYC (which now seems like a hundred years ago). About four days later than I wanted, and about 24 hours later than Tim and Bob (our line producer) needed it, I e-mailed the completed draft to the RUNAWAY BOYS posse.

…And I didn’t need to wait too long for a response.

Now, for the sake of keeping days straight, I will break everything down day by day.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 3

I was exhausted from the excruciating and frustrating work of getting the re-write done. Yesterday, when after I sent it off, Lynn asked me how I felt about the changes I had made.

“I think they’re corny and trite,” I replied, quite honestly. “I also think that I gave them what they asked for.”

Which is true. Without giving specific plot points away, the biggest concern Al and company had about the script was that they felt Michael’s (the main character) back story needed to be fleshed out more—wait…that’s not the right word…DEFINED. They wanted it more defined.

In the script as it originally stood, I had kept whatever drove Michael to do what ever he did (how’s that for vague) rather…well…vague. I wanted to leave it a little to the audience’s imagination. The prevailing East Coast wisdom, however, was that people wouldn’t accept that and that they would want some sort of explanation regarding the character’s intentions. They thought it would make the character more sympathetic. And…they had a specific suggestion regarding how to accomplish that.

The problem was, of course, that the suggested back-story was itself a pretty big and complicated animal. Yeah, while I was in NYC, everyone kept on saying, “We’re not looking for any major re-write. Just take a look at the current back story scenes and work it in there.” I nodded my head, but I knew that this was much easier said than done.

In the end, I was unsuccessful. I didn’t have a great feel for the new story, and I didn’t have a lot of pages (five, maybe six) to develop it. In the end, the draft I wrote definitely got the point across, but it sounded stilted and forced and ham-fisted.

All this added up to a very frustrated me. I was already tired, and my one yearly opportunity to recharge my batteries—the annual Grand Marais trip—was already half over before I was ready to actually begin vacationing. While the rest of the family was off taking a boat tour around Lake Superior, I was running around this day trying to get a last minute copyright registration rushed through because the production couldn’t become a SAG signatory or whatnot without it.

Oh…one positive note about the rewrite. I DID think that overall the story flowed better. I didn’t just surgically redo scenes and then cut and paste. This approach wouldn’t have worked, anyway, because the old back-story (and thus, the new one) had tendrils that pervaded the majority of scenes in the script. That, and I knew from recent reads that there were sections of the script that clunked along, scenes that needed re-sequencing, etc. Bearing this in mind, I took the opportunity to do a little house cleaning.

The result was a cleaner and better-arranged screen story that hummed along like something akin to a quartz clock. This was some comfort that the work I had done was not entirely in vain.

My family came home from the boat ride, and I greeted them with a lighter heart. The trip, which had begun very rocky for me, was about to get a lot smoother. The churning sea that was my mind grew quiet, and I was now prepared to allow it to be so.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

After a very refreshing day of backbreaking labor—I volunteered to help Lynn’s brother clear some dead birch out of a two-acre plot they bought about 20 minutes south of Grand Marais—I felt on top of the world. It was a sunny day, and my muscles’ bitching was mostly just for show. They loved the attention, and the pain brought on by hoisting logs for five hours was glorious in comparison to the torture of ever-tightening tendons and muscles in atrophy—the hallmark of my (at least physically) sedentary life of sitting in front of a computer screen day in and day out.

Lynn swung by the property and picked me up. Then we headed back to our cabin, where I took a long and glorious shower and prepared to head into town for a few drinks at our waterhole of choice, The Gunflint Tavern.

But first, I knew I needed to call and talk to the Filbert boys.

So…I did, and the conversation was quite diplomatic. What I mean by that is that Al was going out of his way to get the point across to me that, although people had concerns with the back story scenes I had written (which I already knew would be the case, being that I had problems with them), everyone realized that this was all the result of my trying to manifest the notes that they had given me in New York—that I was simply trying to write the script they asked for, and when they read it they realized it wasn’t what they wanted, after all.

It was all very Minnesotan sounding, and I believe that I told Al at least once in the conversation that he was sounding more and more like me with the passing of each new day.

Fast forward to an hour later. We all agreed on two points. First, Al and David came to the conclusion that what they were really looking for was some sort of conglomeration between the version I had just written and the original version of the script that they had bought (and everyone involved in the production, by the way, had signed on as a result of reading). That was just fine in my book.

And the…a clearing of the throat from Al.

“And…we were talking about it here in the office, and we were…ah…thinking that- Tim was saying that maybe it’s time… He would, you know-“

“Quit talking like a goddamned Minnesotan.”

Nervous laughter.

“He would like to take a stab at doing a director’s polish of the script this weekend. You know, do what we said—marry the two drafts. We’re wondering what you think of that.”

I think I surprised them.

“I fell great about that.”

Silence.

“Ah…wow. Cool.”

Then Al asked: “Is it that you’re burnt out on it?”

“No,” I replied, quite TRUE-thfully. “In fact, I’ve really been digging on the story again, which is something that I never thought I would be able to say again in my life. Thanks for giving me a reason to get re-acquainted with it again. I’ve really enjoyed doing that.”

Then I went on to explain what was the most important thing: if Tim was going to own it, I needed to give it up. It was my script, but it IS his movie. Every freaking script ever written—whether movie or live theatre—goes through a whole other stage of evolution when people start visualizing the thing and actors start vocalizing the lines. I knew this time was coming.

Not to say that it wasn’t difficult. Yes, it was sure as hell cutting my heart out with a butter knife. I personally felt like shit. This thing was my baby…my baby for (going back to the time when I wrote the original short story) going on six years. Six!

But my baby was all grown up. Graduation was over. Everything was said and done, and the only thing left was picking up all the paper plates and half-full punch cups after the open house. My baby was all packed up and moving out. No…it had already moved out. This was the call that said it was all tucked into its college dorm room and glad to be starting classes. …And it was doing just fine without me.

I didn’t say any of that to Al and David, of course. That was simply what was going through my head. I knew I had to give it up. It was time. It wasn’t going to be easy or “feel good” (is about the best I could muster over the phone), but I knew it had to happen. Further, I demanded it, I told them.

The weight hanging on the phone line dropped off immediately. Everything was suddenly light as a feather, as I am certain that Al and David were utterly relieved that I had taken what was very difficult news and handled it so well. Then again, like I’ve said…what else was I going to do? It wasn’t about me anymore—as if it ever was, anyway. Not to sound cliché, but it was “about the work”. About what was going to make the best movie, not massage my ego or salve my breaking heart. That shit’s for egotists and amateurs—posers whose work is only going to be seen by their grandmothers.

That’s not why I was called to do this.

“You have two minutes left on you calling card,” an automated voice broke in.

This whole conversation had taken place on a pay phone in a Holiday gas station, on total public display. How fitting, huh? I thought it was great. Me yelling in the phone (the phone sucked) like some Thespian in a Greek drama.

Oh, yeah…and then there was two pieces of very interesting news DID salve my achy-breaky heart. Sarah Michelle Gellar was reading the script—freaking Buffy the Vampire Slayer! Her manager, who had been the one who ASKED if she could bring it to her, was recommending that she do the movie. I wasn’t sure exactly whether Buffy/Daphne was the best fit for the material, but as Tim McCann had quite pragmatically observed less than a week earlier, if she was in the movie, it would pretty much guarantee distribution—probably wide distribution…and lots of publicity, and great video sales. It would, quite probably, launch all of our careers.

They other piece of information was that they weren’t waiting for Buffy. Being that the manager brought the idea of Sarah Michelle to the producers, they were still free (and pretty much obligated) to court other actresses. One actress that was very interested, as a matter of fact, was a girl named Bethany Joie Lenz, who stars on the WB’s ONE TREE HILL. We all thought she rocked in BRING IT ON AGAIN, and Tim and Aaron were meeting with her that Saturday when she flew in for the day to do some TV Guide interview. If they liked her, they were considering making her an offer for Carly.

But..! That wasn’t really the news. The REAL news what that Rachael Leigh Cook was somehow also interested in the part. Suddenly, after lamenting that we couldn’t find anyone for the damned part, there were three great possibilities for Carly. All was right, at least in the casting world.

So…I hung up the phone and headed over to The Gunflint Tavern. I beat back a couple of tears as I walked over to the place, but that was about it. And a couple Schell’s Deer Brands later, I was feeling just fine about the whole thing.

“Now you can actually enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Al said through our good-byes. In this, he was absolutely correct. Everything else aside, the weight was off my shoulders. Finally, I could stop worrying about the movie and simply focus on having fun with my family.

I raised a glass to toast. Lynn and Corky and smiled politely. They weren’t sure what they were toasting exactly, but I think they were relieved, too. Relieved that I was finally joining the vacation.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 5

Courtesy of wi-fi in the town of Grand Marais. My vacations will never be the same.

I didn’t sleep well the night before because once the beer (and later martini) buzz wore off, I started worrying. I wanted to make absolutely certain that Al and co. knew I was fine with the whole Tim taking a stab at the re-write thing.

About six in the morning, I drove into town and parked next to the public library (the hub from which all wi-fi mojo emanates). I opened up my iBook and tapped out the following:

From: Bill True
Sent: Thursday, August 05, 2004 10:52 AM
To: Alan Klingenstein
Subject: Hey..
Just have a sec. Wanted you to know that after sleeping on it, I am feeling even BETTER about Tim doing a polish. As I said yesterday, he needs to do it in order to own it. Also…there comes a time when two heads are better than one. And, of course, I trust ya.

Anyway, got kind of cut off yesterday, so I just wanted to reiterate my thanks. Thanks for believing in this script and in me. Thanks for making this movie a reality. And thanks for presenting this “director’s polish” concept with the care, professionalism, and tact that is Al Klingenstein. I really appreciated that.

Talk to you Tues.

Thanks again…
Bill

To which he responded later that day:

Thx Bill. Like I said, a lot of what you did really worked, and pretty much everything that I thought didn’t work was the obvious result of you struggling nobly to work out modifications in response to our notes. I hope and expect that Tim will repay both our trust, but yes, we gotta give him his shot. I really think we’re both gonna be pleased with what we see on
Monday.

Thx for being the partner that you are. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you always being part of the solution for us all.

Have a relaxing rest of the wk and feel free to call whenever you want. Talk to you soon, Al
‘Nuff said, right? Besides, it was my pleasure. ‘Cause as the saying goes, “if you’re not part of the solution…” That night, I slept like a baby. The same goes with every night in Grand Marais after that.
COMING SOON! PART THREE: THE SCRIPT STRIKES BACK

Yikes! It’s really happening, ain’t it?!?

You are looking at a snapshot of a copy of a scanned version of a fax of the ACTUAL AND REAL shooting schedule for the RUNAWAY BOYS shoot. It came via e-mail to me (and the rest of the production personnel) about 20 minutes ago. Since then, I’ve just been sitting here (in Dunn Bros…where else?) gawking at the thing.

In spite of everything—going to NYC, living through the past couple of weeks, meeting Aaron, yada yada yada… This…THIS is what really brought it home for me. That on Tuesday of next week cameras are gonna be rolling, Tim’s gonna say “Action!”, and actors are gonna start struttin’ their stuff—I even know which scenes are happening on what day! …And it’s all from a little short story and then a little script that came out of my very little head.

Sometimes I am so boggled by all of this. At other times I am so honored, I tear up. Other times I am all “This is SooOOoOOo cool!”—I feel like a kid in a candy store.

Every once in a while I am scared shitless. Thankfully, this is the case by far the minority of the time nowadays.

I am, in fact, even less scared than I was just yesterday. The kids and I popped up to Cambridge for a short visit with my parents (Lynn is in CA at a qigong retreat till Wednesday). There were about 15 minutes when it was just my mom and I alone in their half-finished house.

We were sitting on the couch together (hell! Just ‘cause your house ain’t done don’t mean you can’t live in it a little, right?), and I was giving Mom my patented “Now the only thing left to worry about it that the movie doesn’t suck” speech. Well, everyone else listens to that speech and is more than willing so commiserate with me—to be a willing party to my little exercise in wallowing in self-doubt.

Not Mom.

She wouldn’t hear anything of the sorts.

“Billy,” she said. “Don’t say that. Your movie is going to be wonderful. It’s going to be terrific. You’ve worked so hard on it. Everyone’s worked hard on it. You just got to have a positive attitude…say ‘It’s going to be great.’ That’s all. …And it will.”

Ahhhh…a mother’s faith.

You’re right, Ma. It’s gonna be great. Plain and simple.

…And it’s going to all happen beginning next Tuesday.

So…speaking of being back in Minnesota… I touched down in the Land of Lakes around 3 a.m. Saturday morning. Inclement weather just to the west of New York caused major delays, and we sat on the tarmac for over two hours waiting for whatever storms were out there to blow over. I was a more than a little worried about this because I only had an hour lay over in Chicago before I had to catch my next flight—the one to Minneapolis. Turns out that flight was late, too. No idea what the reason was for all that…didn’t care, either. Was, quite frankly, thankful.

I arrived home exhausted—both of the mental and physical varieties. Slept in till about 9:30 on Saturday, when I was awakened by a big monster hug from my Zach Attack. Wow! It was the best hug I’d gotten in…man! Weeks. Months! Then he climbed into bed with me, and Syd kid wasn’t far behind him. Neither was Elvis…or Minnie for that matter.

There we were, quite the crew, all giggles and tickles and dog slobber. And though it wasn’t nearly right without Lynn there in the mix, it felt good to be home.

Since then, I’ve gotten two good nights’ sleep. I can, however, still feel the tiredness tugging at me.

NOTE: I really typed all of this yesterday…Monday. I had somehow deluded myself that I was going to finish the whole story yesterday. Then, when I finally settled in after a long day of cleaning and errands and running kids around and catching up with a couple of good friends and what not—when I finally got home and crawled into bed around 11:45 p.m., I suddenly comprehended just how messed up in the head I was on that particular point.

When I awoke today, in fact, tiredness didn’t merely tug at me; it consumed me. Apart from my quick trip to drop Sydney off at cheerleading practice, I slept like a log until after 9:00. I opened my eyes, saw the time, and jumped out of bed in a panic. I rushed through my shower and getting dressed, and I was still ten minutes late to my appointment with my barber (I want to avoid looking utterly and completely shaggy in the event I can’t avoid a camera lens over the next 3-4 weeks).

Anyway…so what I’ve decided is to take a play from the Wilmeister’s playbook. Write it out little by little, day by day, over the next few days. That way, by the time I head up to the set in Catskill, I will hopefully have you all caught up on the story of my recent and amazing trip.

So…keep posted. I think you’ll like it. The whole thing is interesting (in a Project Greenlight kinda way), I guess.

For now, I have spent the most awesome day alone with my beautiful daughter. We watched three-and-a-half movies (yes, there is a story behind that), had lunch at a Mongolian barbeque, sipped coffee coolers, and gabbed gabbed gabbed all day long. Wonderful…so wonderful to get in touch with her again. All that said, I’m bushed, and I’m going to close my eyes now. I will—I promise—catch you on the flip side.

‘Night, all…

CUT!

Which would, in fact, be today.

It’s official. Meet our new (and I believe improved) Carly.

What can I say? I haven’t met her, yet still I love her. There is, in fact, no VERTICAL LIMIT to my love. I can’t help it. I CHERISH her. I love her; I love her IN-LAWS. I don’t care about her past. I don’t care if she’s got any skeletons in her closet. I don’t even care if she’s gotten mixed up in THE SECRET LIVES OF DENTISTS. She is, in my mind, a SUPERNOVA. I will, thus, be hers till my END OF DAYS.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

We have a new produciton start date: August 31. That means I am heading back to MN on Friday, after we read through the script out loud on Thursday night and I make pretty much the final tweaks before rehearsal and production. I’ll come back with Debi NEXT weekend, and then the real fun will begin.

I am VERY happy with the script. This process–and the results–have been, to say the least, amazing.

Speaking of…I gotta get back to work! ‘Night, all!

…And thanks, Robin..!