The Rumors

You are what you do. You are not what they say you are.

I have been told to my face that I’m a bitch, that I’m dishonest, that I’m manipulative, intimidating, that I have no soul and God will be my judge, that I’m a phony, I have no passion, no experience, no purpose, that as a woman I should do what I’m good at and stick to filing and saying yessir, and that I don’t know what I’m doing. To. My. Face.

If that’s what people are saying about me to my face then I can only imagine what the heck people are saying about me behind my back. Every word hurts. Not because it’s true, usually I can let those slide off of me without losing my cool, but because I’m human. No one likes to be treated with disrespect, and no one likes to feel unsupported or sabotaged.

But let’s give a little context for the kind of pain that can inflict upon me. Words like that are not bullets or knives in my back or my heart. It’s more like stepping on a sharp pebble or a piece of glass. Temporary. Hurts like a mother. But I can limp for a few steps until the pain eases and I usually forget about it when I hit my destination.

This blog is not about me today. It’s about you. Because I’d bet my soulless butt that you can relate to how that feels.

One of the easiest ways to test the mettle of any would-be filmmaker is to see how they handle The Rumors. If they ignore The Rumors entirely, they are fools. You should always be aware of how you are perceived, even if it’s by people you don’t care about. This is an industry where PR can make or break you. It’s not just about who you know. It’s about who knows you. On the flip side, if you completely crash and burn and have a meltdown every time you hear something bad about yourself, then you don’t have the skin for it.

The happy medium is where you learn from the attacks, and discern when to adjust, when to ignore, and when to set the record straight. For instance, in my earlier days, the word “bitch” followed me around like a lost puppy. I thought I was simply being assertive. But I took note of The Rumors because I don’t like being called a bitch. Since then, I’ve softened my approach and that word rarely comes up anymore. When I’m called dishonest (always by my competition, I might add), I don’t even bat an eye, because I make every single effort to be transparent, on the page, and professional; and I have the track record to back it up.

Despite The Rumors that float around the industry like fish poop in an aquarium, I still manage to find work. Good work with the competent, savvy, professional power players that I want to work with. I believe that you attract that which you are. And I am what I do. Not what they say I am.

If you are suffering from a case of The Rumors or any form of industry sabotage, take it like a pro. Don’t ignore them completely, because sometimes those rumors are there to help you in the long run. Learn from them. Pick yourself up, and as Jennifer Connelly says in A Beautiful Mind, “Maybe try again tomorrow.”

Prove the evil competition wrong. Keep going. Get better. It’s a rite of passage for becoming a pro. Remember that there is nothing you can’t overcome. Because you aren’t what you did. And you aren’t what they say you are.

You are what you do.

Lesson of the Day: Knowing When To Quit

I definitely have a newfound respect for writers today. I am in a writers group that is predominantly male, which I typically like. It is a great group of passionate, positive people, who don’t mind a good critique. They also do pretty convincing Wookie impressions. :)

This morning I was left in a puddle of my own tears and my story’s blood wondering what is probably the most important question a writer really means to ask when getting feedback: Yeah, but should I keep going?

The surface level answer is yes, of course you keep going. You’re a writer, aren’t you? You write, they hate it, you write some more, and that’s that. But I feel beaten up, sore, exposed, and unhelped from a group of guys that weren’t trying to do damage –they were trying to help.

In short, I wasn’t prepared to share my work, let alone have it put through the critical car wash with the top off and windows down. I got hosed in a big way. And at the end of the day, I was so preoccupied with how the feedback session didn’t go, that I wondered if I should even bother writing the new draft.

To be fair to the guys, they were working with what they had, which wasn’t much. Like I said, it’s my own fault. I gave them information and explanation, which they then analyzed, somewhat out of context. I didn’t give them a script, or a visual and emotional description that they could react to and analyze.

That is where I went wrong. How do you know you’re prepared to show your work? It’s when you have something that people can read and respond to and then analyze the sucker. If you’re writing a new poem, don’t present your concept and a list of words. Show them the poem. If you’re writing a novel, don’t just give them a synopsis. Give them a synopsis (for context) and a sample chapter. If you’re writing a screenplay, don’t give them a beat sheet, give them a script.

Now, I am used to being in charge. I am used to being the one that runs the meetings, directs the conversation, guides the writer and challenges him/her to create the story that I can sense is there. I’m also used to having a strong piece of writing to show off and back up my claims of being a good writer. I have a reputation to keep up. I am used to intimidating, either with my vast knowledge or with my writing. I guess I am a cocky son of a gun.

I think it is that reputation that I’ve worked so hard to build up that comes back to bite me. It seems that whenever I trade in my producer/script consultant hat for simply the writer hat, that the others in the room feel the need (at least from my perspective) to really see what I’m made of. So the gauntlet is thrown down and the hazing begins. And to be honest, this feeling of being hazed probably feels the same no matter how good you are or aren't.

Story beats are challenged, and before I can give the complete answer, the boys go off on tangents with other thoughts, and they come back to me saying “so you don’t have an answer then”. To which I bite back frustrated tears and say, “yes, the answer is in the second act. We’re not there yet.” And I think, so this is what it feels like to be a writer. And I swear I will be nicer in the future.

And I realize that the most important ingredient to anything you are going to show: Give them something that demonstrates your voice. You know, that voice you tend to lose during feedback sessions. The voice that makes them shut up and read.

As Proximo says in my favorite movie, Gladiator: (holding up a sword) “Thrust this into another man's flesh, and they will applaud and love you for that.”

I’m now trying to make sense of this rather rough and tumble feedback session. It was hard. Really, really hard on me. But it wasn’t malicious. And for that reason, I will absorb everything those guys told me. And in a few hours, I will open up my script and start writing.

Because the answer to my own question Yeah, but should I keep going? is a huge resounding DUH!

Lesson of the day: Don’t present your work too soon. Remember the story. Regardless of how people take or don’t take what you present, there is always something to be had even from the hardest feedback sessions.

And if, when you demand of them like Maximus does in Gladiator “Are you not entertained?” and the answer is No, not really, try to refrain from spitting on your peers and get back to your story.

Because the best time to not quit is when you want to.