I've been writing for the screen since 1999. I moved from Seattle to Hollywood in November of 2004. Three of my five screenplays are making the rounds.
My latest comedy, FALSE SECURITY, took 2nd place in the WriteSafe.com contest for the third quarter of 2005.
I wrote, produced, and directed a short film titled, Memoir.
I gained representation as a screenwriter in 2006.

davidcdanielATgmail.coµ

Old Mr. Aardvark was not happy. He lived in a beautiful land and had a lot of money, but no matter how many times he counted his money he got no happier. He had spent his youth making more money than he could ever spend so that his happiness would be assured. Now, very old and very bitter, he summoned his adviser, Badger.

"I'm not happy, Badger and I want to know what you're going to do about it," snuffed Mr. Aardvark.

Badger bared his spiky teeth, for that's how badgers smile, and said sibilantly, "A simple solution is to re-enumerate maximized assets—"

"No!" scruffled Mr. Aardvark, "That's the whole point in a nutshell. Counting my money no longer makes me happy." Mr. Aardvark plucked another red ant from the jar on his desk, bit off its head, and chewed at Badger.

This was a new twist in the old ant eater's snout, thought Badger. Money had always made Mr. Aardvark squiggle with joy. Badger grunted in thought while Mr. Aardvark impatiently nibbled. Badger huffed in concentration until he remembered an article he'd read in Mammal Magazine.

"Perhaps... Just a wild idea..."

Mr. Aardvark clacked his claws on the desk.

Badger dived in, "Perhaps there's a way to make your money make you popular."

Mr. Aardvark paused before nibbling yet another red ant, "But if I'm not popular now do I want to be popular... ever?"

"I have it on very good authority that being popular makes mammals quite happy."

"Really? And how might I become popular?"

Badger, sensing his advantage, broadened his broad chest, crossed his claws, and pontificated, "Simple stuff. The land of Hollywood is always looking to make mammals popular."

"The land of Hollywood?" fluffled Mr. Aardvark.

"The very same."

Mr. Aardvark was nonplussed but Badger barreled ahead, "It's very simple stuff—they tell stories all animals love. All we need do is have Hollywood tell a lovable story about you and popularity follows."

Mr. Aardvark's tiny marbly eyes gleamed for a moment, then he squinted at Badger and gruffed, "But we don't know frick from frack in that faraway land."

Badger clicked his claws and said, "It just so happens I know a Hollywood drake who knows a Hollywood monkey and most importantly: I have a Hollywood plan."

Mr. Aardvark squiggled and declared, "Then let it be so, Badger! Go forth to the land of Hollywood and make me popular!"

In June I spent some time on the set of The Soloist as a background actor. I like being on sets, even hot dirty sets like Joe Wright's. I didn't meet him, but I got to see him work. He's very methodical to the point of being maddeningly slow: He called 9 takes (I counted) of Robert Downey Jr. getting out of a car, closing the door, and walking across the street. I could see both Downey and the monitor and I'd swear in court that all 9 takes were essentially identical. More time was consumed when Mr. Wright decided he wanted a short push on Downey as he crossed toward the camera. I watched his DP's crew lay 10 feet of rail on the lumpy L.A. street and then meticulously level every inch.

And here's my slightly belabored point: Joe Wright did what he does as a director because he was the show's director. It didn't matter what I thought of his speed or style or approach. He was doing his job and I was doing mine and when my work is added to his and everyone else's work on that show it will be released in theaters across the world as a product of Hollywood, California. Joe probably knows how to answer the question: Who are you?

I was asked that question on Wright's set by the sound man as he sat behind his sound cart. I was nearby looking at four monitors set up in front of four empty folding chairs each with a pair of headphones dangling from the backrest. I couldn't resist putting a pair over my ears, thus prompting the sound man's question.

The literal question was not the issue, but how it was asked. The question was mostly rhetorical: He didn't really care who I was but he was 99.9% certain that I had no business touching his headphones. I was being scolded in the Hollywood tradition. I apologized to Mr. Sound Man. I was out of bounds.

It's not that there's a hierarchy per se in Hollywood. It's more like concentric circles of overlapping relationships. Who you are as a Hollywood pro is mostly determined by one's past and present relationships. One could say Hollywood relationships will get you through times of no money far better than money will get you through times of no relationships. And I think that's the same as it ever was.

Fear not, gentlest of Readers, your RSS feed isn't acting weird. I am actually posting to my wee blog one year and one day after my last post. I didn't realize until yesterday that it had been a year since I was here, but that's not the reason for this article.

The reason for the post, and why yesterday was notable is because of who I was talking to on the telephone and why: I was talking to a producer about a show I will be writing this fall.

Yesterday's phone conversation was the result of another phone call I received months ago but not from the producer, and not even from anyone who knows the producer. It's a strange story I'm still figuring out how to tell, but I will be telling it over the coming months as conditions permit.

Obvious Qs I Can A Now

Q. What kind of show is it?

A. It's slated as a new TV series as of last week. The initial conversations anticipated a miniseries, ala SHO or HBO but the producers think it's got enough juice for 13 episodes on one of the Alphabet networks.

Q. TV? But you're a screenwriter!

A. Not true. I'm an aspiring screenwriter. At the moment I'm a TV writer.

Q. How in hell does an "aspiring" screenwriter with no contacts in Burbank land a writing spot on a freaking TV series?

A. I answered my phone.

I'm not being flip: I answered my phone and that conversation led to some informal meetings and later a formal meeting and an offer for a writing spot. I won't be the showrunner--he/she will be coming on later. I can't give the details now but I promise the story-so-far is amazing and will likely become even more amazing over the next few months.

Q. So you sat on your ass for a year, then your phone rang and now you'll be writing a TV show?

A. No. I sat on my ass for only 9 months before I got the call.

Q. Does this mean you've left Anhedonia for good?

A. I'll put it this way: I'm out of town as far as Anhedonia is concerned but I'll probably keep my apartment there for awhile longer just in case...

Anhedonia is where you can end up when your journey becomes miserable. I think I've been on the outskirts for a while now and my ardent attempts to find the proverbial interstate have finally landed me in the middle of downtown.

I still enjoy writing well enough, but screenwriting isn't remotely fun anymore. I'm sure I'd like it just fine if I'd become remotely successful as a screenwriter. I'd like screenwriting now if I could expect any success with it in the future. The operative word here is "expect." I didn't stop expecting a good outcome all at once. My level of positive-expectancy has been dwindling for some time. I'm finally noticing now that my metaphorical tank is nearly dry.

Looking up and seeing Anhedonia's city hall forced me to choose a route out of town. There were only two. Route 1 is passable only with a full tank of high octane expectancy. Route 2 requires the opposite--sell the proverbial car and simply float away on the breeze.

But seriously, it harks back to that sarcastic definition of insanity where the insane person repeats the same behavior but expects (that word again) a different result. I no longer expect a different result. It's a disappointing realization but the relief I felt softened the impact. The nice thing is I don't have to tender a resignation or give HR two-weeks notice.

I'll leave this wee-blog up because it contains essentially what I have to say on the subject of screenwriting and requires no further effort on my part. All my decisions and the results of those decisions are here--over four years worth--for whatever they might be worth.

People have been asking me if I've heard from the producer I wrote about in my last article. Yes, I have.

The upshot: SCRATCH is a pass but I have an open invite to pitch anew.

Here's a bit of what she had to say:

First, I think you are a very talented young writer, which is why it's no surprise that you have a manager and/or additional representation. Your presentation is professional and accomplished, both personally and on the page.

I was surprised at the caliber of writing in your screenplay in a good way. In certain ways, you're better than the story you ended up telling (if that doesn't sound too moronic.) You set up your premise well, the pacing and tone were consistent, the characters felt more than one-note, your humor and language were edgy and rang true to the ear, and concept-wise, you did have fun with it.

But this piece, to my mind, is a 'close but no cigar'...

Don't worry, I assured her she's not old enough to be my mom. I also assured her she didn't sound like a moron (to me anyway). I think she picked up on my struggle to fit the original story idea into a space a bit smaller and tighter than the screenwriting process would otherwise require--if that doesn't sound too moronic.

I am NOT saying that Blake Snyder's beat sheet killed my cats. I wrote the screenplay by myself from my own idea. I am the sole author and I bear sole responsibility for the outcome. Period. Besides, I think the beating is responsible for the following sentence: "You set up your premise well, the pacing and tone were consistent, the characters felt more than one-note, your humor and language were edgy and rang true to the ear..."

I re-read SCRATCH after digesting the rest of her notes. I still like the premise and script. What I'm not sure of now is whether I'll submit it anywhere else. I haven't had a chance yet to talk to M about the notes--she's been super busy lately. But I'm not in a hurry. Hey, it's summertime...

The inevitable outcome is I return to the trees as a spec monkey. That in itself isn't so bad, but I'll have to eat my own words, to wit: I won't write another spec until I sell one.

See what happens when you shoot your mouth off? Consider yourselves warned.

Summertime also means reading-time and with all the hubbub lately I've not had a chance to mention my current summer read: Writing Drama by Yves Lavandier.

Mr. Lavandier's publisher sent me a review copy recently and I've been wearing the tip off my highlighter. Here's a line I marked: "...drama is an art and will never be an exact science, and because the rules are rich and complex, these cannot be simply reduced to a series of formulae."

He's also put his efforts where his words are. He wrote and directed a feature in 2001 titled, Oui, mais... (Yes, but...) that earned a few awards. The publisher told me a DVD will be available from Amazon on July 17.

So, between writing and reading I'm gonna be one busy little spec monkey.

Enduring Readers of this wee-blog have seen the notes I've received from Biz folken--the few left in Town who still write them. I always appreciate receiving them and even when they're not even close to glowing. I'm a writer, so I appreciate someone taking the time to write me notes.

I received an email from one of my Pitch Fest contacts. I didn't pitch this exec in person. I emailed her my 3 synopses based on her company's Fest sheet. Anyone over the age of fifteen has seen one or more of the films she and/or her company have been involved with. Some of these films cost a lot of money and made a lot of money. She was at Universal when Universal was big.

Here are her notes to me:

Dear David,

Okay, one at a time.

I'm having trouble with SCRATCH conceptually, because ultimately, I'm not sure who the audience is for this film. It's not enough to say "everyone loves cats"--indeed, I have three. Is it a male fantasy to have a larger relationship with a feline? Do women wish they were loved by men who see them no more than pets? Is this THAT DARN CAT meets the SHAGGY DOG? Once the gimmick is on the table, does the piece lose its steam? CAT WOMAN with Halle Berry, great casting, was a bust. This sounds like a high-concept, but at the end of the day, I believe it to be very limited. (By the way, I had a similar problem with SPLASH, and look how that turned out.)

FEAR OF THUNDER doesn't work for me, because I really don't know why Paul Shannon has to play dad to an eighteen year old he's never met nor cares about--he's a bad guy. And does this film take place on sea? Is this a thriller like CAPE FEAR or DEAD CALM? Or a drama? I'm just not intrigued with this premise.

FALSE SECURITY is, to my mind, LADY KILLERS/OCEAN'S THIRTEEN REDUX. In other words, the worst crew on a heist for statuettes? Again, I'm not jumping up and down for this concept.

As such, I'm going to pass at taking a look at these scripts, but I do thank you for the introduction and wish you sincere good luck with them.

I read the notes and thought. Then I forwarded the email to M, let her know I'd send a thanks, and thought some more.

I didn't feel defensive. None of the notes were necessarily wrong, nor were any of them necessarily right. I might change my one-sheets in one or more ways to prevent misunderstandings about some of the aspects mentioned in the notes. I cringed at her use of Catwoman. I knew that exact comparison was going to be made by a producer one day as soon the show tanked. And I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

I wrote her a thank you note--and I truly hope every writer who gets notes thanks the note-writer. I send thanks no matter what I think of them. Too few producers write notes. A simple note of thanks can ensure the ones who do remain willing to continue.

I couldn't help but mention the double irony of the producer's example using Splash. I related the "Splash with a cat" episode. Perhaps an appreciation (or complete agape) of irony is a requirement for success in Hollywood. Regardless, the producer appreciated the irony enough to request the first 15 pages of SCRATCH.

I know, it's ironic.

I stumbled upon it by accident. It's a word unlike any other and orders of magnitude more powerful than any f-word you've thought of all ready. The amazing thing is it's a word you know.

But this word is like a gun. We know what a gun is, and some of us have handled and fired them. But the vast-vast majority of us have never used a gun to terrify someone. But you know a word that can terrify a person every bit as much as presenting them with a view down the barrel of Dirty Harry's cocked and loaded .44 magnum.


BEGIN DISCLAIMER
Parents: Please make sure your minor children are not within viewing distance of the screen.
Those persons with pulmonary conditions making them sensitive to emotional shock are advised to STOP READING NOW.
The author of this essay, his agents and/or assigns offer no warranty real or implied for anything and especially not the f-word about to be revealed.
And that's in perpetuity and forever too.
END DISCLAIMER


Okay, now that my butt his covered I can reveal the word and it's a big load off my shoulders to do so. I won't play the Frodo part in this little tale. Nope. You won't find me climbing either a real or imaginary volcano to dispose of the metaphorical power of the f-word.

I'd rather share it with you, the gentlest Readers in the known universe. You decide what to do with the awesome power the f-word holds. Just please-please-please don't try to rule the world--things are just too much of a mess right now.

The word is: F A I L U R E

See? I told you you knew it. You've even used it. But, like the gun, we're careful when using it. We never point the word at someone. We don't point it at ourselves either and for the same reason: It's terrifying!

I discovered this word by accident at Pitch Fest. Things got slow at registration and we got to joking around. I said I was going to offer a class next year titled: What's Your Plan 'B'? Preparing for Failure in Hollywood

Wow, talk about a buzz-kill. I glanced around at the widening stares in my direction. But not being one to quit when I'm behind, I said matter-of-factly, hey not everybody with a script is going to sell one.

A couple people went pale and another's breathing was quick and shallow. Then someone said, it's just a matter of trying hard and really wanting it.

But fear had raised their voice an octave and they didn't reassure anyone. Soon there's 4 people all telling me how failure is simply not inevitable. Ever. For any one. For any reason. Not even me. So shut up.

Now these were all writers I was talking to and every one old enough to know better. They should have known this is an old theme and rendered most brilliantly in Eugene O'Neill's, The Iceman Cometh. I recommend the AFT production starring Lee Marvin as Iggy.

Cripes, it's going to be a long hot summer. Let's start by lightening up.

Link: The Great American Pitch Fest 4

I didn't plan on going. I got email Wednesday night asking for volunteers starting Friday to help over the weekend. I'm still not sure why I agreed to volunteer. I'm not one who jumps at chances to volunteer and especially not to assist a for-profit convention in Universal City.

Curiosity was a big factor. I felt like I had to get off my numb ass and at least see what those Canadian organizers were up to. I was also curious to meet some of my fellow screenwriters and the Biz folken who would hear their stories. I wanted a reality check. I thought maybe I might pitch a screenplay or two.

- The Pitchers -

In three days I interacted with more writers than I have in my whole life. There were over 400 attending the fest. They came from all over the U.S. and Canada. I met a few from Australia. The age-range was significant. One was a 10-year-old girl there to pitch a comedy. Another was a man in his eighties. Most were friendly, considerate, and energetic. A few were complete assholes.

The average IQ of the writer attendees was well above the median. I expected that so maybe I'm biased. Same goes for the average level of neurosis: definitely off the the proverbial shoulder of the metaphoric curve. Bear in mind however that this group contains mostly people who aren't gregarious by nature. For many attendees it was the social equivalent of drinking from a fire hydrant.

I didn't expect as many women to attend. My rough guess from working the pitch floor on Sunday: about 50%.

The average age was significantly higher than expected. My rough guess: 30-35.

Most were non-smokers.

- The Batters -

There were many late additions to the roster bringing the total to nearly 100 prodcos and agencies/managers on the floor by 10:00 a.m. Sunday.

Most prodcos sent actual working execs. Maybe 30% were proxies from the lower ranks.

Most were friendly, considerate, and energetic. A few were complete assholes.

Most were non-smokers.

I spoke with an exec from IFC/MFilm Sunday afternoon. I asked him if he was hearing good pitches. He said he'd heard many. I remarked that writers aren't always "good in the room," and bless his heart he said he never holds that against a writer--he doesn't expect one to be comfortable in that kind of meeting. I don't know if his attitude is common among execs.

Several first-timers told me they were very impressed with the event. I can only imagine what they expected--something akin to an epic fuster cluck I bet--hey, it's Hollywood after all: a town where too many clichés are all too true.

- Me -

Yes, I pitched some scripts. I concentrated on prodcos looking for comedies--I have two gathering dust and would love to know if either one or both are anything more than brass-bradded doorstops.

I'm happy to report that I got actual laughs several times while relating the antics of Kitty and Dr. Will, and Luther Wyatt's crazy crew's plan to steal gold. I also pitched FEAR OF THUNDER a couple times and got some genuine-seeming interest.

No one's called me to make a preemptive purchase so far, but those execs were pretty burned out by Sunday afternoon. I probably won't hear anything until later in the week--they need some time to recover.

I was mostly friendly, considerate, and energetic. A few times I was a complete asshole.

I smoked more than usual.

I've been trying to think of a good example of a writer-as-role-model. So far, not so good. I can think of various writers I like and none of them are good role models. I wouldn't want a child of mine emulating the attitudes or lifestyles of any of the writers on my short list:

1) Ernest "Papa" Hemingway
A boozing womanizer with no visible means of support. And why the nickname? He never had kids. I see him drunk on rum and sweaty from the Florida humidity coaxing some underage local to count the toes on his kitties...
Sorry Ernie you're not role-model material, but thanks for all the books.

2) William Faulkner
An alcoholic from the south who liked to date much younger women. He must have believed his compromised liver had finally landed him in heaven when his hungover self came to in a writer's bungalow in 1930's Hollywood. Oh well, at least he became a good screenwriter.

3) John Updike
John who? Exactly. He won two Pulitzers from the Rabbit series after writing short fiction for the New Yorker forever. He writes 3 hours a day six days a week. But he's never left the east. Even my aunt left the east--the most eastern east coaster you will ever meet! Mr. Updike is just too weirdly eastern and obscure to be any kind of role model.

And the list just goes on like that. I'm thinking that maybe writers become writers simply because they're not qualified to do anything else. And I suppose that qualification-less qualification includes me. Can you imagine Melville working as an accountant? Or Poe as a roofer? How about Hunter S. Thompson, M.D.? As for me? I'm not putting myself in the class of those listed above but still, you wouldn't want me drilling your teeth or managing your portfolio.

So parents, the message is clear: Don't let your babies grow up to be writers.

I'm in a pissy mood. Maybe it's hormones--yes, we Y-chromo types get fluctuations too. I think there are extenuating factors beyond the biological. Here's an excerpt from my affidavit:

I recently received two (2) direct inquiries about my current level of "creative" output; i.e. am I making pages and if so, what are the gist of those pages. These inquiries came within a 48 hour period from two different and unacquainted persons causing me a high degree of concern and emotional distress...

But seriously, I did get the inquiries I describe above but I have not retained counsel on the matter. I'm in a snit because my honest answer was in the negative. I have not made "creative" pages since finishing The Princess and the King way back in December of last year. I haven't really wanted to. I don't have Writer's Block by any description I've read or heard. I have notes on dozens of stories any one of which could be my next "creative" project. Screw it. I'm through with showcasing. I refuse to write into a void. I'm tired of writing for the entertainment of flakes. I don't suffer from hypergraphia so I'm not compelled to go through the motions--and that's what writing feels like lately: going through the motions, grunt work.

M was one of my creativity inquirers. As my manager she has every right to make that inquiry and my obligation as her client is to answer honestly. We discussed my apparent apathy. I know she'd like another drama spec--we don't even talk about comedies these days--it's a very serious subject. We reached a compromise: M will review the loglines I have collected on disk. If something jumps out at her I'll do it, otherwise I'll send her the latest list and we'll see what we'll see.

Maybe I'm overdue for another spleen venting: I'll just open up those proverbial ducts and let the metaphorical bile flow. The feeling of angst-ridden pressure is what prompted the writing of The Princess and the King--it was three days of cathartic bliss I could appreciate a lot right now, to wit:

I was reminded recently that my best screenplay (TRISTAN AND ISOLT) is at best a writing sample. I felt pissed off when I was hit strongly by the fact that I'll never get to see that show. Not a chance. Won't happen. I'm still pissed off. I like all my screenplays and believe they're all worth their respective budgets. But T&I is different and writing it was too. I know I have a few more "best" scripts in me but my next best won't be a spec. Nope. I'd rather do my next best work as an uncredited but paid screenwriter. It's become a matter of principle--a corrupt, twisted principle by some standards but I'm utterly okay with it.