Where Are You Now?

I'm not really sure

The question used to be “What are you working on?” At every party, show or anywhere people working in the industry would gather, this question used to be the gold standard of Hollywood small talk. Everyone in the biz was always working on something, regardless of whether it was a real job or just staring at a blank computer screen for that screenplay you’ve been “writing” for three years. I always used to have an answer prepped, especially for social situations where I knew I was going to see people that intimidated me.

I learned early on that in Hollywood, you are supposed to constantly project success. What are you working on? Well, I’m so glad you asked, Diane. I have a meeting, I sold a show, I sold out a show, I’m in Deadline, I have deadlines. What are you working on?

Somebody long ago (who I assume was a real piece of shit) put it in our heads that if you have even the faint whiff of failure on you, it’s over. Nobody wants to be around you, because, as we know from centuries of scientific research, failure is contagious. And when I say “failure,” I want to be clear, we’re not just talking about the normal kind of failure most people know about, like “I got fired” or “I didn’t qualify for the Olympics.” No. In Hollywood, failure is a vast spectrum. On one end we have the failure of “losing the Oscar to Meryl Streep” and on the other we have the failure of “doing nothing.” Doing Nothing is a disaster. You need to be doing something. You need heat. Heat begets more heat. Doing Nothing is as cold as the air conditioning in an office run entirely by men.

Somewhere along the way, I also learned that most people don’t feel their own heat even when they’re practically melting from it. Most people are in the same mental free fall no matter what they have going on. We all have the same latent terror in our voices when answering “what are you working on?” Even those with millions and millions of dollars behave as if they are clinging to the side of a mountain.

But these last few years, there’s been a shift in the small talk. As the industry continues to hemorrhage jobs, the conversation has become a tad bit gentler. Last year’s double-strike revealed the truth: many many many of us can’t find work in our own fields and don’t know when we will again. Asking “what are you working on” is kind of a dick move in this climate. Instead, I’ve noticed people sometimes employing a pre-sympathetic “how are you?” with the same tone you’d use with a tornado survivor. Or, increasingly, I’ve heard “Where are you these days?”

This question used to be asked a lot by comedians, who tend to switch coasts several times throughout their career. No one can keep up with whether you’re living in New York or L.A. But now, the question seems to pop up more and more in mixed company. “Where are you these days?” is appropriate small talk in a time when many are leaving (or considering leaving) Los Angeles in search of affordable housing and new careers entirely.

Geographically speaking, I am in Virginia. Last year, I found myself in the perfect storm of a double strike following years of shrinking writers’ rooms, combined with the unexpected need to find new housing in the wilds of the L.A. renter’s market. In the face of this chaos, my husband and I decided to leave. For almost a year, we wandered. We both had some upcoming work on the road, which meant that we didn’t really need to sign a new lease anywhere just yet. We were also very fortunate to have family and friends willing to let us stay with them for a bit. Finally, we decided to move to Virginia in the hopes of some stability and peace.

I’ve avoided telling people this simple fact, because of the aforementioned Hollywood heat requirement. Does moving back to your hometown thousands of miles away from the billboards of Burbank count as “heat”? I fear it does not!

For more than twenty years, I have lived on the rush of risking it all to make it in Hollywood. Of throwing everything I had of myself into a whim. To seeing it - once in a while - pay off. So many of my dreams came true! It’s unbelievable! I got to breathe some very rare air and collect a lifetime of crazy stories along the way! But fundamentally, it has turned out to be a bit of an abusive relationship. The dehumanizing tricks of studios and networks, who string you along for years without pay. The false promises, the false starts, the imperceptible changes in the wind that leave you with nothing to show for your hard work and talent. The Deadline article announcing the show that did get picked up, and it’s literally the dumbest idea you’ve ever heard in your life. (It will go on to air for twenty-seven seasons.)

Physically, I may be in Virginia, but mentally, I am all over the place. At this very moment I feel ready to do my greatest work. I finally feel completely confident in my skills, my ideas, my instincts. I could really be a part of something special, if that something existed for me. It feels like everything I worked for has been ripped away.

I go back and forth in my head about what it all means. I try to stamp out the voices of detractors from long ago, rising from their troll graveyard to tell me I was never very talented anyway. I wonder if I should just finally surrender the fight and say goodbye to the career that defined me. I don’t know how to grieve something that I’m not even sure is dead! But then my 20-something self screams “Don’t give up hope!” And she’s right, hope in Hollywood can make magic. But it can also destroy you. I’m so tired of being destroyed. I’m tired of loving something that doesn’t seem to love me back.

I told a friend recently that it feels like we were all on a very large boat. But without anyone really noticing, the boat got way smaller. There is no rhyme or reason as to who got to stay on the boat. (Though I suspect being famous helps. Being the son of the captain helps. Being friends with the son of the captain helps.) I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to ride the boat again. And I won’t lie, the shore is kinda nice. I’m still me, and I still have my ideas and everything I’ve learned along the way. Surely that has some value. I won’t ever stop being creative, and at least that feels like a good place to be.