Friday Sitcom Update

Up for air after powering through the first two acts. I hope to finish act 3 this weekend, then work on something else for a few days while the story marinates. My goal is to complete another draft and polish, then send out the script to trusted friends for review, spruce it up and off to my agent by the third week of April.

So, by next Friday I will complete act three and polish.

How's everyone been?

Super-Memory Man

Before he was Super-Memory Man, Bob acquired other names based around the root word "Asa." "Asa" was how Bob's Pennsylvania accent rendered the phrase, "That is" or "That's" as in "Asa pretty good sketch." As a result, he became Robert Asa, Bob Asa, Bobby Asa, Bobby A, Mel Asa, and others that Bob would remember.

Nightline story here.

Time on My Feet

Ran 50 minutes yesterday, the most since early Sept. Some knee soreness but not much, and no pain this morning. I've been using the dirt horse trails at Griffith Park, the dust tamped down from last week's rains, locomoting at a modest 1:2 run/walk ratio. I'm happy to be able to do any sustained exercise.

Writing daily. I'm stalled again on my projects three, but I'll untrack and finish them. Today, I loath their every clause, comma and contraction. But that will change, I'm thinking, once they're completed.

And now I've completed my post.

Gibbon Activist Slain!

Write Enough has obtained information suppressed by the L.A. Times. Undisclosed sources report the Times has possession of a video tape showing the murder of gibbon activist Ingrid Bunt. An outspoken defender of lessor apes, Bunt believed they were as intelligent as humans and superior to teenage males and members of congress. In 2003, her body was found on Monkey Island at the Tucson Zoo. Police believed Bunt was murdered while attempting to register gibbons to vote.

Long thought to have been slain by nomad bums, Bunt was killed by gibbons. According to sources, the footage shows Bunt holding out a form to a gibbon while she pantomimes signing. The gibbon distracts her with cute, touching gestures that indicate understanding. Meanwhile, a second gibbon creeps up behind Bunt and riddles her with a Glock .40 caliber. Tossing the pistol into the moat, the gibbons emptied Bunt's purse, ignoring credit cards but keeping a compact mirror and a package of mints. Later, footage showed one gibbon using the mirror to direct sunlight into the eyes of a mountain goat. The second gibbon traded the mints to a female in exchange for sex and flea removal.

What is the Times afraid of? Release the tape today or be branded "monkey pawn." Of course, nowhere in all this do we learn of any gibbon remorse. To this day, they loll about their island, well-fed, waiting, waiting, waiting.

TNT '08 5k plus Chi Running

Winter Team traveled to Uplands this morning for the Megan's Run 5K. With my knee diagnosis still in medical limbo, I cheered on the troops. Mile one led impressively up in the direction of Mount Baldy. And while it didn't go that far, it certainly seemed to. A good downhill after that with the finish line on a gradual incline; not an especially speedy course. Congrats to teammates Chris, Dierk, Coach Pete, John A., musical John, Stacy and Ginnie who all won age group medals.

Lately, I've been reading up on chi running. Combining t'ai chi relaxation techniques and alignment with running, the style claims less injuries and less effort than conventional locomotion that relies on muscle strength. Given my foot strike issues — Mr. Heavy Heel — I'm willing to grant them a shot once I'm cleared to run again.

Much writing lately. Fun writing, good writing; writing that I enjoy. These three projects I'm working on have been in limbo since the move. Nothing like an injury to boost output. More soon.

My Work Life Stagnates

What stinks after three days? (Guests and fish.)  Plus my animation career. Waiting at the X-ray factory today for knee imaging, I flipped through my day runner. One job interview back in April. That's it for 2008.

Granted the industry has been in flux (as have I), but I can't recall a year where there's been so few opportunities. Alas, much of the problem resides within.

I'm terrible at networking. Meet-and-greet events leave me cold. Staying in touch with old co-workers (who have worked steadily over the years) has been sporadic. Market awareness eats. I have no idea what's hot in TV animation right now. Stay current? I'd rather watch The History Channel. And if there's a new animated film out, I'll wait for Netflix.

When I do get an opportunity to pitch a show, I tend to hold back. This is bad habit I've developed to deal with rejection. (If I don't try 100 percent, my work is never 100 percent rejected — and by extension, me.) Marathon running has done a good job of eroding this flaw, since time goals require total commitment.

Work ethic is strong, but lacks focus. Weeks and months pass whenever I develop a show. Then I pitch it around and eat several heaping bowls of "no thanks." Concept crash; big let-down. I often recharge by working on book outlines or screenplay treatments. (New, unsullied ideas always have the greater appeal.) I allow them to fill up time instead of getting back to animation. If I want another staff gig, I have to make that important.

Because the Warner's job arrived unexpectedly back in 1991, I expect something similar to pop up again. It could, though I wouldn't hang from a hook waiting. Alas, active participation in my career is mandatory.

It's so much easier to blame other people. I think I'll keep doing that for another few days.

The Family That Blogs Together . . .

My sister, Mary Pat, has joined the blogging community. Give her a read as she opines on matters great and small from the moist Northwest.

"There Will Be Sandwiches"

Over lunch, Paul Dini schooled Tom Ruegger, Sherri Stoner and I in graphic noveling. I've got an idea that Tom and I are working on, while Sherri had a few notions that might work best in that medium.

Mostly we swapped bizarre pitch stories. Dini brought home the gold. He'd once been contacted by the assistant of a powerful Hollywood figure. The Big Man wanted Paul to attend a meeting for a new prime-time animated series. After a few questions, Paul realized the Big Man had him confused with Bruce Timm. Paul tried explaining this, but the assistant clearly didn't relish telling her boss he was wrong. So she slapped down the deal closer:

"Why don't you come anyway. There will be sandwiches."

A week later, after attending the meeting and eating a sandwich, Dini received a call from the assistant: the Big Man didn't want Paul for the project. He wanted Bruce Timm. Paul asked if the Big Man wanted his sandwich back, but the irony was lost.

Busy Writing Week

A script for the bug show, an original sitcom, and a graphic novel outline all demand my attention. But I'd rather watch a DVD of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. This BBC espionage tale based on the John Le Carre novel holds up well after 30 years. There's a ton of info to get out. Rather than overuse flashbacks, the show relies on good actors to convey back story in interesting ways without boring you into paying your bills — or working. Good old Netflix.

Mac Smacked

After a morning of colored wheels and crashing, I fear my four-year-old laptop hovers between this world and the next. For, lo, its day has come; its poised to join the Choir Eternal; it shambles slowly toward the laptop graveyard.

In short, I need a new hard drive. Happy? Let's see . . . .

This Old Hill House

I'm rereading Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House. Having just mentioned Norm Abrams, I thought of writing a story in which the Yankee carpenter arrives to rehang the doors in a sprawling, evil mansion. Themes would include isolation, madness and proper use of safety goggles. Maybe next month.

Mitch Watson at the Actor's Gang

Pal and playwright Mitch Watson has a hit on his hands. Klub (umlaut pronunciation on the "u," — Kloob — but I can't find the character on my keyboard) takes a dark look at the world of theatre through the eyes of a bitter clown. (Portrayed by the very busy Mitch Watson.) Check it out at the Actors' Gang.

Note: The website mentions a run through July 19. But Mitch assures me the play ends July 12. Believe the author and not the electronic page.

USC and Writing for T.C. Boyle

Last night, MDW and I attended a film screening on the USC campus. Having graduated in 1987, I believe this was my first trip back. (Though I have been to the Colosseum for football games.) My final semester was taken up by a creative writing project under faculty mentor, T. Coraghessan Boyle. Professor Boyle had an arid sense of humor, dropping out dry koans then moving on. In class once, he suggested we always write the last paragraph of a story in French so the reader would feel stupid. He was a great resource and a warehouse of story-crafting knowledge even then. But I never took full advantage of his insight. I was eager to get back out in the world and write for real.

My plan had been to take a job somewhere overseas and write something very expatriate and wry. But having focused so hard to finish college in two and half years, I folded immediately after graduation. I checked out jobs, sent out stories, started new ones, began a book, but my follow-through was shot. The only thing I completed was jury duty. Finally, a few months later, I stopped even pretending to write, returned to acting and spent the spring and summer performing bad plays.

What's this got to do with anything? As Dummy Fever gathers dust in its third draft tomb, I've started thinking about acting again. Maybe it has something to do with all the energy we put into selling the old place, getting a condo plus my training for a marathon, then running two in less than a month. I fear my follow-through has crashed again.

Could just be a 21-year cycle. In any case, I will complete the book. And no more acting.

Cyber Juggling

Work arrives in the form of a fine animated show about insects. Just a single story for now. But Herr Computer pines away in the digital hospital and I'm forced to shift between MDW's machine and another computer that isn't connected to the Web. But persevere I shall. Then I'll stop writing like Yoda.