Gratitude

David Gerrold turned 70 this week.  And because I couldn't be there in person to shower him with praise and chocolates, I want to take a moment here to honor him.  He's been a part of my life for 30 years, even when he didn't know it.

I've discussed before how David's columns in Starlog and his "Making of" books, particularly "The Making of the Trouble with Tribbles," taught me everything I knew about the realities of TV production before I got behind the curtain myself.  I learned about script formatting and timing and production rewrites long before I ever set foot in a writer's room or a production meeting -- thanks to David.  I didn't go to Film School, I learned on the job, and he gave me a head start.

Then, in 1993, when I was a very junior writer -- I'd sold 2 scripts and was still working full time as a script coordinator -- I sat on a panel at WorldCon with David Gerrold.  It was my first panel on the pro side of the podium.  He mentioned that he was teaching Screenwriting at Pepperdine, and I tracked him down after the panel and asked if I could take the course.  With his permission, I was able to enroll as an auditor. I made arrangements with my boss on Highlander to leave a little early on class nights to make the commute out to Pepperdine.  The same David Gerrold whose work I'd been following for years was now my teacher in a class of only 20 or students.  It was like having tickets to see Springsteen play the pub on the corner.  Every Tuesday.

When David asked us to introduce ourselves in class and say why were there, I told the story of how he'd already been my teacher for years, through his writings.  I remember him telling the class, "See, that's why she'll do well; she acknowledges her debts."

Which is what I'm doing again today.  For the record.

The New World

5 years ago I was watching this cool little show on BBC America as a break from work.

3 years ago I was having my first conversation with the production company that was bringing the show to Canada.  

1 year ago I was on my way to meetings in London, about to start my full-time show-runner gig.



Now it's about to hit the screen.

"Oh, it's not easy.  Not even a little bit."  

But it's worth it. 

A Whole New World

Twitter.  You may have heard of it.  Me, I'm too verbose to be an early adopter of anything requiring concision.  140 characters?  Is that even enough room for a haiku?  I've got ThingsTo Say, people!

But if you want to get better at stuff, you've gotta do things that aren't a natural fit.  People use a phrase around here, "in his wheelhouse," meaning that a task plays to a person's known strengths, and thus they are the perfect choice, sure to succeed.

To a point.  On Season 3 of Sanctuary, I was fortunate to write a couple of episodes that were right down my alley, containing the sort of stories that I'm drawn to and known for writing.  In fact the second of my two Season 3 episodes, "Awakening," is one that I actively pursued being assigned to because I was so fond of its premise. 

In the course of writing Season 4, through the vagaries of scheduling and the needs of the ongoing story, the two scripts I wrote were well outside my usual specialty -- each in a different way.  For 403, "Untouchable," in particular, I had to tap into a style and structure that did not come naturally to me.  (More about the details of that after it airs. Spoilers, Sweetie!)  And you know what?  I am more proud of those two scripts than of anything I've done in a long time.  I had to really wake up and dig down to get 'em done, and the results are something I am very proud of.

So, lesson re-learned: Don't fall back on old tricks when you can embrace new challenges.

And so, finally, Twitter.  With ComiCon looming large in my sights, shiny new Smartphone in hand, I figured I'd jump in the deep end.  I quickly found myself tweeting from any place I was standing still -- and cursing when I couldn't get a wireless connection from inside the press room while I waited for the Sanctuary Cast to make their rounds.  No signal!  Unthinkable!

Yesterday I participated in an event organized by some of our Sanctuary publicity gurus, in honor of the release of our Season 3 DVD sets.  A number of cast and crew with Twitter Handles were recruited to play #SanctuaryTwitterTag for the day, passing a virtual baton around cyberspace by tagging one another with questions.  Of course it didn't go to plan -- which I soon realized was all for the best.  It would have been less fum and less memorable if it had all gone off without a hitch!  (This is another of those important life lessons, I assure you.)

At the end of the day, I saw tweets from fans that resonated with me, saying that they had found and were now following one another thanks to participating in the event.  I was reminded of the times when I was in frequent attendance at Highlander Conventions, realizing that while the panels with cast and crew are the initial reason for coming, after the first time the fans are gathering to see one another as much as to see us.  That they could have (and sometimes do have) awesome conventions without us showing up at all.  Their shared love is the glue to their community, online or off.  We are mere facilitators. 

And I figured out the secret to keeping it short on Twitter, too.  It's a conversation, not a lecture.  Characters on TV aren't supposed to make speeches longer than five lines, why would I? 

Except over here, of course.  Still got Things To Say.

AFK

Good heavens, where have I been for over two months?! Well, FaceBook, of course, but besides that? One thing that happened is that my primary computer stopped working, gradually and infuriatingly, making signing on slow torture until I finally gave up and switched to my laptop. Which was then hit with the Vundo virus, incapacitating me and reducing me to logging on via an ancient laptop, which gave me a new relationship with the Internet for the last month or so: "Please oh please just let me check my email and send these files, and then I promise I'll turn you off and let you reboot." *sigh* Unable to surf without crashing, I was reduced to playing Spider Solitaire when I needed to procrastinate! (Don't let anyone tell you that procrastinating isn't a necessary part of the writing process! Whatever gets those folds of your brain properly aligned to start the words flowing, I say go for it.)

The primary computer is now back to life so I'm back to being able to surf freely during work-break intervals. Which brings us to the more proximate cause of my recent disappearance, a well-known syndrome known as On A Show.

Talk to any peer group of working writers, at any stage of their career, and they are familiar with the syndrome: one of them gets a staff job, and promptly vanishes off the face of the earth. The first time it happens, you may think that the lucky staff writer is snubbing you, but then it's your turn to be in the same situation, and you realize it's not at all intentional. And then your hiatus rolls around and it's your turn to call everyone you used to hang out with, and beg their forgiveness for going AWOL. And they forgive you, because they did the same thing.

Being On A Show can be all-consuming. Even if it's not a situation where you're in the office till 9 every night and every weekend (and many situations ARE like that), you're usually taking dailies home to watch over dinner, or researching your next story, or assessing every situation through the eyes of your characters. Even when you're 'off the clock,' you're BORING, because everything on your mind is the troubles and triumphs of getting that week's episode in the can. You start to think that the story of how you had to redo the script three times to accomodate the limited availability of a guest star is actually entertaining! So it's best, really, that you confine your social life to your current colleagues and one or two long-time friends who've followed the whole saga like it's their favorite soap opera. (Best if these confidantes are in other lines of work entirely.)

A few years ago I worked on a show that shot in Hawaii, and went on location for 5 weeks, a time of such intensity that it felt like a year's worth of absence. Another time, I travelled with MythQuest to Canada for 6 months at a time. These physical absences were clear cut, and easier to explain, But sometimes, without leaving town, you have to mentally "Go To Canada" with your show, and hope that your friends understand.

I've just finished doing a major piece of writing/rewriting on something I can't publically name at the moment. It's something I very much enjoyed doing, a return to characters I've worked with before and am therefore quite fond of. It's been a brief but intense period of metaphorical Going To Canada-- and returning from it is like returning from months on location. I have to restock the fridge and reconnect with my life. Except I actually have another project with an approaching deadline (not complaining!), so...

As we progress in our careers, my friends and I have sought to create a balance, where we can be working on a project without having to go into the On A Show zone. I do believe it's possible, but I also accept that there will always be weeks when the only thing to do is just give in to it, to be transported out of my actual life and into the fictional world that exists only in the bubble around my monitor.

Idea vs. Execution

And while you're on the Blink page at the BBC site, I recommend reading the original Steven Moffat Short Story the episode is based on. This is an excellent example of the extent to which an idea is changed and embellished as it goes through the TV episodic writing process. The original idea is still clearly recognizable, but it has been very much adjusted and in this case is sharing the episode with another, even larger idea. (Which illustrates another of my personal writing rules, which is that When You Think You Have Too Much Story, That's When You Have Enough Story. The original Sally Sparrow story by itself, though lovely, would have dragged dully if stretched out to an hour.)

Why We Fight

Jill Golick over at Running With Scissors posted a reminder of the underlying nature of the TV Business. The truth is somewhat grim, but enlightenment is always of value. She quotes Wade Rowland's very salient point that, while on a day to day basis we may think our job is to sell scripts to producers, or series to to networks, in fact it is not the shows that are the commodity of television -- it is the viewers. The entertainment value of our shows is not their purpose -- it is a means by which we obtain the attention of the audience, and that attention is what is then sold to advertisers.

Wow.

Humbling.

One interesting this about this model is that it highlights the similarities between traditional broadcast TV and the Web -- both places where the goal is to lure viewer eyeballs in a certain direction by any means necessary, and then put ads in front of those eyeballs.

Considering how superficially similar film and television are, it's sobering to realize that they are built on vastly different models. Films have more in common with books -- in both cases, the goal is to get the viewer to pay their own money to experience the fictional world you have built. But in the TV/Web model, as Rowland points out, the viewer is neither the buyer nor the seller -- they are what is being bought and sold.

This doesn't necessarily change the process of writing, per se -- the immediate goal, Be Interesting, still applies -- but it could change the way we think about our customers, when we realize just what we're really selling them. It's not our stories, or our personal brilliance as storytellers. It's our ability to draw attention.

It explains a lot.

The Future of Marketing Is The Future of Storytelling?

Last night at the "Breaking In Again" panel at the Writers Guild, a number of podcasters and webisode writers/producers/directors spoke about the future of what is now called "New Media" but will soon be known, we imagine, merely as "Media."

Mary Feuer, former head writer at lonelygirl15 and currently the writer/director of the "With The Angels" web series, premiering soon on Strike TV, talked about creating content that stretches beyond the video frame. Characters on lonelygirl15 had mySpace pages for their fictional selves. They created a website, rich with layered content, for a pharmaceutical company mentioned in the storyline.

Very recently, it was a groundbreaking idea to create an illusory reality online, reflecting the fictional world inhabited by TV Characters. Now, it's almost de rigeur to at the very least have a Barney's Blog, if not a whole Dunder Mifflin website. (Which I assume exists. Wait a sec.... Yep. It sure does.)

Which does create interesting creative challenges. Who blogs for the characters? Who vets those blogs to make sure they don't violate canon? The Official Network Website for a show I worked on recently had bonus content on it that was written by the PR department, using an old show bible and outdated pilot script -- the material was wildly off base.

Does the potentially infinite nature of this material create a barrier to entry at the same time as it creates an enhanced experience? Ideally, this additional material makes the story richer, and creates an interactive thrill for the participant who follows the trail and finds all the Easter eggs. But are there viewers who feel daunted by the mass of links they'd need to follow to become fully versed in a work of fiction, and back off?

Tricks of the Trade

I was up in the attic the other day, looking for things to donate to an upcoming charity auction. (Yes, Highlander fans, this is the same infamous magic attic from which I used to bring forth all those outtakes and behind-the-scenes clips that I showed at conventions, the ones that are now on the DVD sets as "Lost Footage.") I was momentarily confused to find in one of the boxes of Souvenirs/Auction gak a paperback copy of David Gerrold's book, "The Making of The Trouble with Tribbles."

But then I remembered that in my 5-cons-a-year period, I often told the story in my Breaking into Screenwriting or Script to Screen panels of how I, as a youngster, learned about the TV biz. And it was from David Gerrold. His columns in Starlog magazine, "Rumblings" and "Soarings," discussed contemporary movies from a writing standpoint, and it was from him that I learned about MacGuffins. I still remember a column he wrote about the disrespect to the viewer inherent in killing a beloved character, and then resurrecting them, thereby rendering the whole thing an emotional psych-out. And a column in which he took a film to task for its lack of a climax, causing me to examine my own nascent writing and realize I suffered from a similar problem. I had a chance to lavish this praise upon him one time when, at the age of 17, I stood in line for his autograph. Hearing my story, he nudged the fellow sitting next to him at the signing table (if memory serves, it was first-time-novelist David Brin) and teased, "Hey, she says I helped her reach climax!" I turned bright red and fled.

David Gerrold's Inside Star Trek and Making of the Trouble With Tribbles books were invaluable resources for me. The anecdotes he told gave a realistic glimpse into the process of being a TV writer and producing a TV show. He tells a story about having to cut 12 pages out of his Tribbles script after it went through the typing pool and got properly formatted. It was an eye-opening reminder about the realities of production -- the primary goal is to have a certain number of filmed minutes, ones that can be produced in the number of days you have, with the resources you have. Being clever or touching or downright effing brilliant is great, but first you have to have something you can make and show. You might think this is self-evident, but in fact many beginning writers -- and even many employed writers -- don't have that internal radar for how many sets, how many characters, how many pages you can really have. David Gerrold helped me develop mine, before he ever met me.

Today, there are hundreds of resources for getting a glimpse inside the industry. Instead of just a handful of Behind the Scenes memoirs, there are scores of detailed DVD commentaries and insider interviews. There are writers and showrunners that have their own avid fandoms. I've mentioned before my impression that many of today's emerging writers learned their impression of the Way Things Work from reading Buffy insider articles. Because of their ubiquity, the buzzwords that that writing staff used for certain things have become generally accepted terms. It gives newcomers a leg up, I think, when they come in already knowing the concepts of Hanging a Lantern on a problem (my early mentors used a different phrase for the same concept -- our watchword was, if you have a plot hole, Drive A Truck Through It) or using a Placeholder or House Number while searching for a cleverer solution that achieves the desired result.

If you love TV, you're probably reading this kind of article or listening to DVD commentaries for enjoyment. But if you want to make TV, don't underestimate the educational value. Listen to the stories about how an idea took form in the writers room, or about how something was changed at the last minute when a location was unavailable or an actor broke their arm. That's your future. That's the fun part of the job.

And don't forget to share your stories, like David Gerrold did, with a new bunch of kids looking for their own way to reach climax.

Keeping the Joy

In 1986, I had my first Hollywood Internship. Administered by the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences (The Emmy People), it was an 8-week internship in Series Development at Universal Studios. I met some great people that summer, some of whom are still friends and valued colleagues. I still remember a thought I had as I parked my rented car (as a New York City native, I had only recently learned to drive, for the express purpose of moving to LA) in the old A Lot, next to the Technicolor Building. "If I ever stop being thrilled to drive onto the lot," I thought, "It's time to leave."

I was reminded of this over the weekend as I slogged through a mountain of financial and logistical paperwork that has accumulated on my dining room table during recent busy times. There were WGA dues forms in the pile. An offer to join the WGA Film Society for the season. And the first of what will be many announcements for free Award Consideration screenings for WGA members between now and the end of January.

Slitting open yellow quarterly income report envelopes from the WGA with a practiced flick, I was forcibly reminded of the day I qualified to join the Guild, when I sold my first script to Quantum Leap. How thrilled I was to write the check for my initiation fee and become Part Of It All. What a kick I got out of getting the WGA Journal in the mail, and the screening invitations. (Even though most years, my busiest months were right around the holidays, and I hardly ever got to take advantage of all those free screening. As Gary Trudeau says, Bravo for life's little ironies.)

Do we go into this business for the Guild card or the screenings? No. But don't forget to enjoy those things. When you have the things in your hand that you used to dream of, when you're on your tenth year of paying WGA dues or slogging through dailies, don't forget to look back and realize, you have what you always wanted.

Who could ask for anything more?

With Dad and the Datsun ZX I wanted then, May 1985.

Immortality

If you're lucky, you work on a project in your lifetime that outlasts you. As a young reader, I was moved to laughter and tears by Dorothy L. Sayers' descriptions of Lord Peter Wimsey's adventures. Feeling the catch in my gut as Harriet Vane gazed longingly at the curve of Wimsey's ear in "Gaudy Night," I was amazed at the realization that although the author was dead, and the character as well, had he been real, would have been long gone, the books could continue finding new readers to fall in love with him. He continued to exist on those pages.

When I became a writer, this was my highest goal: to create a character who would still be gaining admirers after I was gone. It is either my good fortune or my greatest obstacle that in my first staff job, before the age of 30, I was part of one of those rare shows that continues on in the imagination even when it's out of production. "Highlander: The Series" stands the test of time. It continues to find new viewers. As deeply proud and honored as I am to have been a part of the team that built those characters, it's also a hard act to follow. I could spend the rest of my life searching for another show as creatively fulfilling.

None of us left Highlander fully behind when it ended. Those of us who were part of it will always be a part if it, like alumni of a shared school. Or like Brothers in Arms. I left the staff in 1997, at the end of the 5th season, but remained a consultant on the ancillary merchandise for another few years. "Evening at Joe's," the compilation of short stories written by cast and crew that I spearheaded, was published in 2001 -- its very existence further proof of the staying power of the show. If you came to most crews and actors three years after a show had gone off the air, asking for stories set in that world, most of them would be hard-pressed to even remember it.

As recently as 2003 I was spending weeks reviewing videotapes and being interviewed for Highlander DVD extras. And at a Highlander Convention in October 2007, almost 10 years after we'd finished filming, the stories and characters were as fresh in our minds as ever.

Recently, Highlander's head writer David Abramowitz has been able to revisit our beloved characters, writing new scenes for the original cast. One of them was performed live at that Convention last October -- It was absolutely magical to have those characters we'd lived with for years come back to life once more. The actors transformed before our eyes from their casual panel-giving selves, into these characters that they owned, brilliantly recapturing their cadences and nuances. And of course, since they were written by the man who was the heart of the original, the lines were perfect, blending humor and heart.

Other brand new scenes have been filmed for a new DVD called "Reunion." You can see a clip at legendaryheroes.com. The bittersweet thing about new Highlander material is that it just makes me want more new Highlander material. "Reunion" isn't enough, but it's something.




My Time Machine moment: The beach house where this was filmed is also the corporate retreat where I had my first big story meeting after being promoted from Script Coordinator to Associate Creative Consultant on the show, at the beginning of Season Three. The episode "Samurai" was conceived that day.

It's All Written

Robert J. Elisberg at the Huffington Post has crafted a masterful synopsis of the indefensible Labor Violations going on in the the "reality" TV business. Whether or not you believe that these 'editors' and 'segment producers' are performing the function of writers (I personally believe many of them are, though defining which ones will be a complex process), the fact that they are working longer hours for lower wages than State Law requires is finally receiving the attention it deserves. As Elisberg points out:

If Fremantle wasn't making popular TV programs, but in some other business ignoring minimum wage laws, avoiding 40-hour workweek laws, coercing employees and underpaying taxes, we'd likely see arrests.

Read more here.

The Kudos Cascade

Athena TV is honored to have received a Brillante Weblog award from M.Christine Valada of Out Of The Darkroom. If you haven't read Chris's blog, look there for her commentary on pop culture and actual culture, office politics and actual poltics, horses and hand grenades. It is also ironically often a better place to find news about her husband, Comics Legend Len Wein, than his own Weinwords. I also enjoy her food blog, Into The Kitchen.

The award itself works like the old Breck Ad, "...and she told two friends." Each recipient is asked in turn to present the award to their seven favorite blogs. So here they are, my daily rounds of reading:

Lisa Klink's What It's Like tells it like it is from the perspective of a working TV writer. Nine times out of ten Lisa's blog tells it like I would tell it, but pithier. Not too surprising, since she and I have similar resumes in many ways. Once in a while, I have a differing take on an aspect on the business than hers, which I plan to use as launching points for future posts.

Jane Espenson's Jane in Progress focuses on advice for burgeoning writers working on their specs. And lunch. Jane's wit and wonder make the blog worth reading even if you're not in the target demo.

The Anonymous Production Assistant's Blog is not only fun to read, it's a great aggregator -- the A.P.A. is a treasure trove of links to other cool sites and articles. Just today, I followed the trail from there to David Bordwell's site for cineastes.

I can't choose between Eugene Sons's excellent blogs, so I'm going to give Brillante Awards to both his Eponymous Blog , which is an entertaining and enlightening look into the TV Biz from the Animation standpoint, and to his Crazy Dad's Guide to Family Travel, in which he drags his family around the world and shares tips for not killing or being killed in the process.

The Grub Report is the blogging home of Stephanie Vander Weide Lucianovic, a.k.a. Keckler from Television Without Pity, who wrote the TWOP recaps of food-based reality shows. Her Grub Report is an enticing melange of food blogging and pop culture musings. It is also the source of the incomparable roasted cauliflower recipe.

My seventh must-read blog is one that's written anonymously by a friend; since I can't compromise that person's anonymity by linking to it here, I'll close out my list at 6 and hopefully leave you wanting more. Not eligible for the Brillante, but currently at the top of my reading list, is the Hero Complex blog at the LA Times, a great round-up of the latest Geek News. Check out today's post about Zuda web comics, and Shock Effect in particular.

All you Brillante Winners, pick up the award by copying it from here, paste it to your blog, put a link back to this one, and pass on the award and instructions to seven of your favorite blogs by letting them know about it.

Film School

My friend Marv Wolfman suggested that I tell some stories here about working in TV. I'll start by answering an email I got from Michelle in Indiana, a fan of my work on Highlander who found my previous web page and asked: "Did you go to film school especially to learn how to write scripts, or did you go to film school to learn to make films, and knowing how to put a script together was a bonus?"

I actually didn't go to film school at all. I went to a college that was all about the academics and not at all about the vocational training. I learned the semiotics of film as an undergraduate, but almost nothing about filmmaking. But I was interested in episodic storytelling from childhood, when I dreamed of growing up to write Hardy Boys books. By High School, I'd figured out that TV writing was my goal -- I credit the series Remington Steele for that realization. I wanted to write new adventures for the characters, and although I dabbled briefly in fanfic, I was blessed with the kind of parents who, when I said I'd decided to be a TV Writer, never doubted it as a possibility. My mother, who'd despaired of ever seeing me move out of her apartment when my ambition was to be a poet, took great comfort in my new plan, declaring that I would now be able to support her. There's really no substitute for that kind of unwavering confidence.

Most of what I knew about TV writing and production, I learned by reading David Gerrold's various "Making of" Star Trek books, and his column in Starlog magazine. During and after college, I worked as an intern and assistant at studios and on shows, read scripts voraciously, and watched TV with an analytical eye. That was my training -- that, and having the good fortune to write some of my first scripts under the excellent tutelage of Tommy Thompson (Quantum Leap), Jim Parriot (Forever Knight), and the unparallelled David Abramowitz (Highlander: The Series), in whose image I am formed.

(I think people underestimate the importance of your first staff job in forming your professional personality forevermore. If you work for someone who likes to stay focused, deliver documents ahead of deadline, distribute praise liberally to his staff, and go home for dinner, you will most likely grow into a similar person. If your first jobs are with bosses who prefer to demonstrate their power, play basketball in the afternoon and then keep everyone in the writing office until midnight, and alternate between rage and despair, you will come to accept this as normal or even necessary to the process.)

Speaking of Highlander: The Series, one of the most fun encounters I had in the wake of working there was when I flew up to Vancouver to be the on-set writer for an episode of Young Blades. This was in 2005, 7 years after HL went off the air. As I was escorted to the catering truck to grab lunch (an A.D. had spotted me at the end of the line and ushered me in front of the background extras, a perk that I appreciated even as I was embarrassed by it), the Catering Assistant (sous-chef? server?), a guy of about 20 at most, asked me, "Didn't you work on Highlander?" I was shocked to be recognized -- I'd visited Vancouver only three times during HL's run, for a few days each time, and was never well-known to the crew other than our beloved Producer Ken Gord, Post-Production Supervisor Tracy Hillman, who became a friend, and Swordmaster F. Braun McAsh, more due to spending time at conventions together than time on the set. Even if I'd been more of a presence then, this guy was far too young to have been on the crew. So WTF? Then he explained that he recognized me from the DVD Commentary I'd done for the show!!!

When I pulled my collection of Highlander Dailies and Outtakes out of the storage room for DVD Bonus Features, all I had in mind was relief that these treasures would finally be available for fans and for posterity. It never occurred to me that I was ensuring my own posterity, as well. But it's worth noting, as writers continue to struggle for recognition, that you never know when and where things will pay off, and doing publicity for your show may turn out to have unexpected benefits for yourself down the line.

The Collaborative Medium

While at ComiCon, I saw the preview of the first two episodes of the animated "Iron Man: Armored Adventures." I thought it was great, at the end of the hour I was eager to see more. There was one complaint at the mike that the storytelling is unsophisticated, which I thought was handled well with the reminder that the show, and the channel, are primarily serving 8-14 year-olds, with adult viewers an added bonus. They're not going to alienate their intended audience by going over their heads. It's refreshing to see some programming aimed at the future Comic Geeks. (Steven Moffat had a similar insightful comment during the Doctor Who panel, about making the show for today's 8-year-olds, not the nostalgic adults. To each generation their own Doctor.)

That being said, as an adult I found the show suspenseful and witty. And I was hugely impressed with its look and feel. Which got me to wondering about the always-hot-topic of Residuals. WGA members are fortunate and justly proud of the gains we've achieved in this area, where a person who creates a storyline or character has an ongoing financial interest, however small, when that intellectual property is exploited. But watching this Iron Man show, I was struck by the extent to which the design of the technology -- most notably Tony's heads-up display -- seemed to have been influenced by the film. In the ideal world wouldn't that Production Designer be receiving some kind of credit or residual? (Not to mention the comic book artists, but that's a whole other column!) What about sequels that draw heavily on the production design of their predecessors? What about all the myriad Star Trek licensed gak that uses the LCARS look? Do Production Designers and Art Directors swell with pride when they see their work influencing ancillary properties, or do they curse the studios and the Work For Hire business model?

The Element of Chance

I tend to like having things "just so." I've taken pride in mastering the little systems I've established for myself so they're as streamlined as possible, but I still don't exactly travel light, and my prep time for leaving the house would be a burden or a comedy routine, if not for the fact that I get a meditative pleasure out of the routine itself.

But I am constantly learning the lesson that the world does not come to an end if all my plans and routines are completely short-circuited. Far from it. (The Buddhists say you confront the same lessons over and over throughout your life until they sink in, and clearly this is one lesson I'm still learning.) Recently, to prep for an important meeting, I went out to my car the night before to load the CD changer with the right mental soundtrack for the ride over. I find certain music can really stimulate my creativity -- and I also have certain artists who are my phonic lucky charms, it seems when these guys are on the stereo, I wind up nailing the meeting.

Before the meeting, I had my "lucky breakfast" (there are a few versions of this, all of which involve carbs to absorb upcoming nervous butterfly-juice) and put on a favorite outfit, including one of my "magic jackets." The "magic" in this case having nothing to do with nailing the meeting, and everything to do with the miraculous ability of these jackets to adapt to at least 3 seasons of weather, all while looking great and packing smaller than two pairs of socks. And then I got in the car -- where I discovered that, as part of my careful soundtrack routine the night before, I had left the car's utility electricity on. You guessed it -- dead battery.

At this point I had about 40 minutes to get to a meeting that was 25 minutes away if I hit no traffic whatsoever. This was not good. Calling the triple A would never happen in time. Calling the client to say I had car trouble and would be late was an option, but not a good one.

So. I raced back through the house, grabbing the keys to my truck. If you haven't met Rozinante, let me explain that this 1979 Chevy Silverado is not what I would choose to take to a big meeting! She was bought for road trips and camping trips, and though she's in great shape for her age, she's sun damaged and dinged, and covered with bumper stickers for oddball sports. But, she had a live battery. Unfortunately, she also has a finicky carburetor that requires 5 minutes of precious warmup time in order to drive without stalling.

So now I'm on my way to this meeting in my old beatup truck. With very little time to spare, and without my bluetooth headset, if I do hit traffic and wind up needing to call to say I'm 5 minutes late. Without power steering. Without very good air conditioning. And of course, without my chosen music, carefully staged in the other car.

So. What's the lesson here? Should I be a better micromanager, pre-starting the car half an hour before important meetings, to give time to deal with any problems? Surely that's not it. After all, in this case, the very act of prepping the little details to be 'perfect' is what led to the much larger problem. If I'd missed the meeting due to that dead battery, this wouldn't be a funny story. It would be a morality tale about the person too busy emroidering curtains to notice the house is collpasing.

But it all worked out. I wasn't late. The meeeting was a good one. I'm pretty sure I walked out of it with a sale.

So I guess I'll be taking my "lucky truck" to my next meeting, too?

We Need Girlfriends

I saw an episode of this web series at a WGA-sponsored panel entitled "What Are Teens Watching." After failing to win a DVD of the series in the door-prize drawing (Door prizes? At the Guild? Ooookay....) I checked out the rest of the episodes online. #3, "Facebook," which screened at the panel, remains my favorite, but the whole series has charm. I also hear it's being developed as a pilot for CBS. I'm thinking they need a good match for Big Bang Theory. These nerds are younger and less professionally successful, but in the same wheelhouse. It has the endearing premise of centering on guys who really want Girlfriends, i.e., human connection, as opposed to just sex.

We Need Girlfriends

The Panel itself, co-sponsored by the Teen Media Project, was an interesting evening, though it wound up focusing more on the projects of the panelists and moderator (two web series, WNG and Planet Unicorn, and the ABC Family teen-aimed series Lincoln Heights) than on the larger question of what's getting teen eyeballs these days. There were two Actual Teens on the panel but they seemed more atypical than typical, one having already graduated college and the other being an award-winning music producer, so I'm not sure how reliable their window into the teen psyche was...

The young musician, though, made a a telling comment, stating that he's not much of a TV watcher and that this is because growing up, "we only had two TVs in the house, one in the living room and one in my Mom's room, and if the one in the living was on something I didn't like, I'd just do something else." (Quote approximate.) He genuinely felt that interest in watching TV arises out of having your own TV and control of the programming. I couldn't imagine trying to explain to him that most of the hardcore TV junkies I know grew up in single-TV households. We negotiated and compromised over what to watch -- or we watched whatever our parents chose. Sometimes we watched stuff we didn't like -- and sometimes we grew to find it interesting. I fear that in the modern niche-based, personal-device market, people never have to watch something that someone else chose, never have to be exposed to something that isn't right down their alley. This will surely have unintended consequences.