Had a wonderful pitch yesterday. I told my story of a young teen saddled with tiny but pushy alien cops and a ventriloquist dummy as he's drawn into the pursuit of an intergalactic super villain hiding out in his school. The execs. enjoyed it and laughed, but probably won't buy a script for sundry production reasons.
From a morale standpoint, the pitch was a huge lift. So much of work lately consists of writing scripts and outlines then enduring pages of exacting criticism. Or pitching material that's picked apart in the room. ( Yesterday's second pitch excepted.) It was a relief to simply tell a story that the listerners liked.
I guess it felt like the good old days of improv comedy: immediate feedback, no waiting.
We may shop my story, "Dummy Fever," to one more studio, then it's off to book outline land.
But I sure had a good time.
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Is that Mr. Buddha there? I believe I have his alter, sitting in the eastern border of my slave path. I discovered him along the back fence when we moved in. He suffers from a dislocated shoulder, but he's most perfectly cheery nonetheless.
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