Musings

I had a break from Farmington this week so I could go to Los Angeles again. I got the call from the manager on Friday night so there wasn’t really time to drive. I grabbed a ticket on Southwest, landed a room at my favorite hotel (The Beverly Garland) and gagged because it was summer rates, and to add insult to injury they charge more for a non-smoking room. I spent the weekend preparing a one page pitch document for the TV series that my manager and I had cooked up, and then I started rehearshing the pitch for the Wild Cards movie. I hadn’t done it in about six weeks and you lose the flow.

I went out on Tuesday afternoon even though my meeting wasn’t until Thursday morning. On my way to the airport in Albuqerque I stopped in Bernalillo to have lunch with a representative of Wassach energy the company that purchases Western’s gas. Rob is a very nice man, and it was just a meet and greet, but I think I’ve made a little girl in Utah very happy. Rob was mentioning that his nine year old daughter loves to ride, and he was going to have her share their neighbors horse. I told him to buy her a horse, and gave him the ultimate pitch to fathers of daughters. Girls who get deeply involved with horses don’t get deeply involved with boys until they are late in their teens. I saw him musing about that, and then he said, “I need to talk to my wife about this.” Then it was off to the indignity that is flying today.

I’m not a fussy person, but I confess looking at all these bare feet in front of me I couldn’t help but wonder what germs were being shared by hundreds and hundreds of people as we react to a past threat when the terrorists are going to be thinking of a new way to try and kill people.

On Tuesday night I went out to celebrate my friend Len Wiens birthday. (Yes, that Len Wien, creator of Wolverine, Swamp Thing, etc. etc.) Wednesday I alternated between practicing the pitch and writing the Wild Card story with a little time spent fleshing out the characters for the TV series. Then it was show time. I got up really early on Thursday and left an hour before the meeting. I only had to go over Laurel Canyon and a little way down Sunset Boulevard, but it took _an hour_. I was sweating bullets because I absolutely hate to be late, but I managed to walk into the offices of Temple Hill at one minute past nine. One of the partners in the company is a big Wild Cards fan so I focused my attention on the other partner who didn’t know the franchise. Turned out it was a good call — he was the senior guy.

After that I bounced down three floors and worked with my manager on the TV series until he was called into a company meetings. We added a few more characters, and I left him with a stack of books about space stations, and space enterprises. I killed a couple of hours and came back for a lunch with Michael where we spent another two hours talking about the show. He also grilled me on how my writer’s group operates. He says he’s thinking about starting one in L.A. for some of his clients. The fame of Critical Mass spreads ever wider.

Thursday night I went out to dinner with Mike and Cindy Cassutt. Mike and I are working on a movie pitch about a return to the Moon and a forty year old secret. We did some talking about that project, and we went down Ventura Blvd in Studio City for a great Italian dinner. We stopped in a trendy club for drinks, but the airconditioning was set for sub-zero, and we retreated. I was a little disappointed because apparently Matt Damon frequents this watering hole. Of course if Mike, Cindy and I had waited too late we probably wouldn’t have gotten past the velvet rope — too old and not hip enough. While we were waiting for the valet to bring the car we got to watch Starlets on Parade. First a Porsche or a Masarati would pull up. A forty something man with a touch of silver in his perfectly cut hair would hop out and toss the keys to the valet. Then he’d bound around to the passenger side of the expensive car and open the door for a young hottie in a form fitting dress with the hem six inches above her knee.

I came home on Friday after another night of only a few hours of sleep. I’m too keyed up to get my mind to rest so I don’t sleep. Running on adrenaline is fun, but I’m probably going to crash sooner or later.

I should hear something from the guys at Temple Hill Monday or Tuesday. Once again hope is rising. Sometimes I wish I weren’t an optimist. Then the hits might not hurt so much.

Melinda

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 16th, 2007 at 8:29 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.