It's Now or Never
June 27, 2004

In the two weeks leading up to my vacation in Los Angeles, a number of things happened -- things that taken one at a time wouldn't seem so unusual, but spaced the way they were, I couldn't help but feel like I was subtly being pushed into make some sort of choice. One of my goals when I went to Los Angeles was to just sort of feel things out and try to decide whether or not I really wanted to make that risky leap to try to find work in the entertainment industrial complex. Then the following things happened:

-- About ten days before the trip, an American Idol recap fan contacted me to try and set me up on a blind date with a friend of hers in Los Angeles. She mistakenly thought that I already lived in L.A. I told her that I didn't, but I was heading there for vacation soon, and, well, why not? I realized that I hadn't been on a single date in more than two years, and, in addition, they were both writers. If the date sucked, we could all talk about The Industry and still have some fun. Assuming she wasn't a crazy stalker and planned to tie me up in her closet and eat my eyes.

-- About six days before the trip my boss told me he was quitting his position and going back to college to earn a master's degree. As the city editor, I'm currently second in command of the paper, but it's not a very visible position. If I made a play for his job, I'd be running a small daily newspaper, a prime position for anybody who wants to someday work as an editor in a larger market.

-- About five days before the trip a completely unexpected check for $1,000 showed up in my mailbox from my grandmother. A relative I don't remember ever meeting had died and willed her some money. She kindly decided to spread it around to the rest of the family and told me to find something fun to do with the money.

-- About three days before the trip, I was talking to Sushi on the phone and she said that she was beginning to feel as though something important in life had passed her by. Like she had missed some sort of nebulous opportunity to take her life in a different direction. She told me she's not entirely happy with her job any longer and not entirely happy with her house and neighborhood.

Suddenly a casual vacation took on more importance. The Lisa Simpson in my head (and we should all have a Lisa Simpson in our heads) scoffed at the idea that the universe was sending me a message; really, I was probably just subconsciously making connections with the events going on around me and how it related to my situation in my life.

And here's what the situation stands: Either I decide now whether to pursue a career in entertainment or set that dream aside and continue on the journalism editor track. Permanently.

I've been dragging my feet too long with this decision. I buy books and software on scripting and screenwriting, but they just sit around uselessly in my home office. I have about a half-dozen TV-show concepts bouncing around in my head, but I think I may have written a total of 200 words about them.

And I know that I won't do anything more if I stay here. There is no point in actually remaining here if I truly want to work in entertainment. I have contacts -- not many, and not powerful, but they're there. Even though I've never written a damned thing for television or film, there are quite a few industry people who will know who I am if I mention Television Without Pity. I will never, ever in my life be in a better position to make a run at a career in entertainment.

So why the hell am I still here? That's what I've been asking myself since the first evening in Los Angeles. The most obvious reason is the fear of huge failure. I've got a journalism degree. I'm in my element right now. I know that I can do this. I believe that I can write for television, but I won't really know until I actually, you know, write for television. I took a huge risk about five years ago to move to San Diego and work for a small syndication company and the scars still haven't healed entirely. I will not suffer through a year of unemployment again.

And there's a part of me that wondered whether or not my desire is even real. I never even considered the idea of scripting until I started writing for Television Without Pity. I had initially been interested in playwriting in college, but once I got into journalism, I never looked back. There has always been a part of me that wonders if I've just become interested in the industry just because I now pay closer attention to it than I used to.

So I went to Los Angeles to see and to think. If I applied for (and was hired for) my boss's position, that's it -- I'm an editor in a high-stress position. I don't think I'd even have the time to write recaps any longer. I'd probably stop writing this journal as well. (Just pretend here that I've actually been updating regularly.)

I liked what I saw in Los Angeles. And not just the impossibly beautiful waiter who served us when Lisa and Phil took me to the Pig 'N Whistle. The blind date didn't work out for scheduling reasons, but the fan graciously took me out to lunch. Thai food! I haven't had Thai food in two years! Thaaaaiiiii! And I was terribly embarrassed to discover that she was a published author, her husband is a music critic, the guy she was trying to fix me up with is a playwright, and she had no intention of eating my eyeballs. Unless perhaps they were served on dry noodles. We both just really liked the Thai. We talked about The Industry and she pointed out that, since I'm 32 years old (33 in two weeks), I need to move my damn ass if I really, really want to go Hollywood. Because Hollywood is all about the young people, people! Even if it makes the most money off people at least ten years older than I am. Hollywood just wants to get its allowance from Middle-Aged America -- It doesn't actually want to sit next to it at the movies. Just drop it off a couple of blocks from the theater and it'll walk the rest of the way.

Anyway, that's another important time-sensitive consideration. If I fail in Hollywood I can go back to journalism. The reverse is not true.

On my last night in Hollywood I had dinner on the Sunset strip with Lisa, Sara, and Pamie. I bribed them all to come with the dead relative money and paid for hip sushi at a super-trendy spot. It was really, really, insanely good food. I grilled Pamie for information about getting an agent and Sara about the TV work she got after moving to L.A. And we all laughed at the 40-year-old white guy at the next table who dressed as though he was trying to convince the world he was actually Method Man. I guess once you can no longer be young, you can settle for being humiliatingly immature.

Really, I had already decided that Los Angeles is what I wanted. But I needed to hear a little more about their struggles so that I didn't have any delusional ideas about what I was getting into. What I have right now is very safe and secure, and if I'm going to abandon it, I needed a realistic description of what I'll be likely to get into.

I don't find the prospect terrifying any longer. I find it liberating. And I've decided that it's a go. I'm going to leave a good job in an awful place that pays well for the location but drains me of much of my creative passion in exchange for a bad job in a beautiful place that pays poorly for the location but will put me in a position to return to my own writing.

I have no idea whether or not I've lost my mind. I guess I'm going to find out.