August 2, 2008
AND... just like that.
All better.
Amazing.
Posted by bonnie at 10:57 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
All or Nothing
I'm stressed. The task(s) of updating Self-Management for Actors is overwhelming at times. I need to simplify, to break it down into much smaller list items, to ask for help.
I actually said to Keith, yesterday, "I'm aware that I need help. I'm ready to ask for help. But there is no way to communicate the whole of what I need to any one person--or team of people--in such a way that will yield the result I need." In fact, when I did actually come up with a very easily-communicated, single task for which I *could* ask for help, I got none. I posted to my Proofer Patrol two days ago that I needed someone to volunteer to fact-check an old column I had written. It's been a couple of years; perhaps the info needs updating.
Now, on my team of Proofers, I have people who have already said they'll be experts in certain areas. So, I HAVE fact-checkers. Yet no one bunnied up. And when I asked again, yesterday, no one bunnied up. Do I need new volunteers? Have I asked something so completely unreasonable of a group of people who have agreed to fact-check by requesting someone "call it" so I know at least THAT little bit of my overall burden is being addressed?
WTF?
But this is not a post in which I bitch about people who are graciously donating their time and energy and expertise to help bring this new edition to life.
This is a post in which I attempt to work out some of my "all or nothing" issues.
As you may know, we're working on getting corporate sponsorship for the Cricket Feet Showcase. So, our grant writer/corporate sponsorship proposal writer, contacts me every now and then and asks for things. A bio. My casting resumé. A list of current sponsors. Statistical data about our showcasers.
Yesterday, she asked for a list of the festivals at which the films I have cast have screened. I used to keep up with that. I used to keep a list of every single festival that every single film I cast went to. I kept a list of the awards each film won as well. And whenever I would discover one that I had missed, I would be livid. I would panic. I would scramble to update my website and resumé and then I would fret about how I had missed learning about the festival sooner. Had the producer neglected to inform me (despite the fact that it's in my casting deal memo that I will be notified of all festivals)? Had I missed an email? Was my server down? Had I been informed but was so busy at the moment the email came through that I hadn't made the update in a timely fashion and then forgot that I had been informed?
It was crazymaking.
So I stopped keeping up. Nearly every film of the 40-something I have cast has gone to a festival (some, up to 25 festivals). Every film I have cast that has gone to a festival has won an award somewhere. This was very important information to detail, per the corporate grant proposal writer. But I have let go of keeping up with it all! Believe me, when a film I've cast plays at Sundance or wins at TriBeCa or gets an Independent Spirit Award, I'll keep up. But for my own sanity, I had to let go of keeping that list.
"So, give me what you DO know. Give me your old list," the grant writer instructed.
*shudder*
You mean you want an OLD list. An OLD list that had ERRORS which is why I abandoned the list-making to begin with??
PERISH THE THOUGHT!
"Yeah. Just give me the list."
Panic panic panic. I have to update a list I stopped keeping up with 19 months ago. I have to get all of the information I've neglected to keep updated. And I have to get it NOW. I have to STOP working on the book I'm getting no help updating (again, I know both that I am getting help and that it is really no one's responsibility to help me update my damn book. I'm sharing the spirally place my brain went at that moment) and update a list I haven't been updating BY CHOICE and I have to get it exactly right and I have to do it right now.
Panic panic panic.
Even woke up in a panic attack this morning.
Still trying to shake it off.
My heart hurts. Physically.
Now, the logical part of my brain says, "Score 85% Gillespie. It won't kill you. Most people in life show up and score less than 65% and skate on by. MOST of the time, you score 99% and still kick yourself for that 1% you 'failed' yourself and others. By scoring 85%, you're still going to be ahead of most people on the planet AND you're still going to be providing something excellent. Trust that."
And the part of my brain that believes even 99% is a complete and utter failure on my part says, "SCORE 85%?!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?"
Now, I know I've come a long way. Despite my extreme "self-talk" example, above, I really am a lot better than I used to be. I am a very high-functioning obsessive-compulsive. I know that. As Beffers said yesterday, "Your OCD is so much more productive than mine." Yes. My OCD is much more productive than most. And it's also much more productive than it used to be. It used to grip me like this... a lot. It used to block me from workflow. It used to require rituals that everyone noticed. Now, it requires rituals no one really sees. We have containment. ;) Me and my OCD have become co-conspirators for focused work.
MOST of the time, I use it as a tool to help me focus--to the exclusion of almost all else--and get more work done than most people could ever hope to accomplish. And do it well. I know that. I appreciate that.
But when the "old OCD Bonnie" comes back around, she gets REALLY freaked out about how it's going to happen. I'm suddenly back in grad school and even though I have a team of undergrads whose job it is to earn a grade helping me check facts in my Master's thesis and there's a huge committee meeting deadline looming, I know in my core that there is no way they'll ever do as good a job as I would do with the tasks because they couldn't possibly care as much as I do. About getting it right. About having it work. About delivering 99% or better. And if I don't deliver on time, I'm stuck in this degree program another semester... and that's simply unacceptable. (Why? I do not know.)
Just gotta keep reminding myself what I already fucking know.
It's not "all or nothing."
It's not "all or nothing."
It's not "all or nothing."
It's not "all or nothing."
I know. I know. I know. I know.
Even if I use all sorts of logic to break this down, even if I let myself off the hook for any self-imposed deadline, even if I say, "Screw it. I'm out. Not even going to do this," I do not get relief from this GRIP of fear, this panic, this block.
So, I'm not looking for logic. I'm not looking for, "there, there." I'm looking for a way to FEEL BETTER about where I am and what's stretched out ahead of me. And oftentimes, writing about what I need gets it going for me. ;) It's like the post relieves a bit of the pressure. So, that's what this is. It's an invitation--perhaps a demand--that the peace come.
Then the rest will flow like crazy! I know that for sure.
Posted by bonnie at 10:19 AM | TrackBack
October 24, 2007
Community, Creativity, and Cheers
I arrived early. Way early. So early that for the first time I actually found a parking spot on the street when I did my "lap before committing to the parking deck" and then sat in my car listening to the radio and touching up my makeup.
I was nervous. Really nervous. Like the kind of nervous that I used to get before I had to speak to a group of 200 actors for three hours straight. Before I knew how to do that on auto-pilot. Back when that was new.
This was new.
Back in July, Chairman posted a notice about the Warner Bros. Comedy Writers Workshop at a MySpace group we're both a part of. I was in the middle of "showcase hell week" when I read it, but somehow it sparked off something. Some desire I didn't *really* think I had.
Maybe I want to write a spec script. Maybe the joy I got out of having my showcase scene performed was something deeper. Something worth exploring.
I slept on it.
The next day, after the first night of the showcase run, Rockstar Intern Julie and I came back home and decompressed (while Keith stayed behind and cleaned up the theatre). I told her about this wild idea I was having trouble putting aside in my mind. She sat up in a most alert-Julie fashion. I'll never forget her sitting on "her spot" on the floor, me on "my spot" on the sofa, and that look in her eyes that said, "Oh, God, Bonnie, DO IT."
It would be days before I would mention this idea to anyone else. In fact, I spent an hour trolling through the list of shows in production at CastingAbout.com to write down titles of shows I could potentially spec. I figured, anything I'd seen more than a half-dozen episodes of was fair game. I had no idea for a story. I had no real attachment to any particular show. I just knew I wanted this... and I had three weeks to get it done.
As I created one column for sitcoms and another for dramatic episodics, I felt no real surge of energy over any item on the list until I wrote the words "My Boys". It was at that point that I knew, I needn't finish the list. That would be the show I would spec. I'd seen nearly every episode of its first season and, wouldn't you know it, TBS was running a marathon of its first season on July 29th to get us geared up for its second season, starting July 30th. Perfect. Armed with the TiVo and a yellow legal pad, I began.
Each night at the gym, I read chapters of The Eight Characters of Comedy, Television Writing from the Inside Out, and Created By.... It was like three weeks of night school.
And by day, I would watch the episodes of My Boys while writing a meticulously-detailed show bible. I created charts. I had notecards for each main character with all manner of adjectives scribbled in the corners. A print-out of the cast photo was now posted on the wall of my work area. I transcribed the pilot to be sure I got the show format down. I outlined subsequent episodes to catch transitions from early format to "the show standard."
Cold open. Voiceover. Looooong act one. Voiceover. Short act two. Tag. Voiceover.
There were no script samples available. I looked everywhere. None. Closest I could tell, we were looking at a Sex and the City-style or Arrested Development-style script. Go with the single-camera, no laugh track, voiceover brand of sitcom that came before it, I figured. You'll be close enough to right. And everything I'd read said that the most important elements were gonna be:
1. You get the show. Its voice. Its tone. Its characters.
2. Your script is clean. Perfect spelling, punctuation, formatting.
3. Your dialogue is funny. Fast, fast, and funny.
Check. Check. And holy-hell check.
I was ready. Four days ahead of the deadline for submissions and I was now ready to start writing my spec script. Setting: A delicious, delightful dinner out with Keith during which I told him about how intrigued one of our showcase cast members had been about my story of how the showcase scene I wrote stemmed from a really horrific set-up I'd experienced when I lived in LA in the early '90s.
As Keith and I talked about the conversation I had had with the showcaser a couple of weeks earlier, I said, "I think this is where the show needs to go. I think this is the A-story. But what the hell is my B-story? And C-story?" And just then we experienced the Middle-Aged Balding Entitled A-Hole at El Cholo. Suddenly, the B-story was born. And it was so meaty I no longer needed a C-story. It was time to write. The gears were greased and with just one long weekend in which to do it, it was time to open Final Draft and put that puppy together.
Now, I had written one spec script before. In undergrad TV Writing in J-School at UGA. It was for The Simpsons and it was actually damn good. But for those of you keeping track, that would be... oh... over 15 years ago, and even though I've paid rent via a writing career for a pretty good long time, now, writing non-fiction for actors is just not the same as banging out a spec script. I was underconfident. I knew the odds were against me getting anywhere close to being in the party of three who would win the Fellowship. I also knew I could do this. And dammit, I was gonna.
And I did.
With just hours to go before registering the script and sending it off to Warner Bros., I sent it to My Ron Howard to read. Anna is not only a brilliant writer and director, she is hilarious. And she knows what sells. She has a flippin' Emmy, for cryin' out loud. Her notes were like bonus sprinkles of powdered sugar on already-delicious French Toast. And they came in just in time. Tweak here. Punch-up there. And the best part was the note in which she said, "Oh, and if I'm too late in getting these thoughts to you, please know that you already have a script here that is every bit as good as anything anyone is putting on TV anywhere right now. Your voice is clear. You, my friend, are a writer."
(Oh, how I would fight with my mom over that one. "My daughter, the writer," she would say. And I would stomp my pre-teen foot and scream, "Muh-thur! I am an ACK-TRESS!")
Off the script went and I had absolutely nothing to think about for the next seven weeks. Out of my hands. It was done. On with the rest of the work of my life. We'll just see what happens come October 8th.
Regular readers of my Showfax column know what happened October 8th. (Actually, I received my rejection letter on the 6th, but the column was so damn good that I didn't amend it to include the final outcome.)
But y'know what? I didn't feel sad. I felt empowered. In almost no time, I made a decision to do something brave and scary and then, by damn, I did the damn thing.
And on October 9th, when I wanted to wallow in self-pity over having written a spec that no one would ever see (no matter how "big and bad my talk" was, in that week's column), I received an email from the good folks at Naked Angels' Tuesdays@9, reminding me that it had been awhile since my last visit.
In fact, it had. I was a semi-regular visitor back in the summer of 2004. I went to scout actors after Subhash told me about it. I met Blake there and he propositioned me about writing a book together. And we did. Keith went several times and read the wonderful, original material that was being mounted each week. But then life did what it does: got busy. And I stopped going, despite how much I enjoyed the community, the creativity, the cheers.
But it's like Kathleen knew--when she sent out that email blast to everyone who had ever been on the Tuesdays@9 mailing list--that she was gently reminding me that this did not have to be the end of the story for my little spec script.
Sure, I had Frankensteined a couple of sections of it into scenes for November's showcase, but I still really liked the script as a whole. So this email at just the right time was enough to convince me to break it into fifths (to meet the 10-page max submission limit) and plan to show up--alone, for the first time in three years--to this once-familiar place, filled with artists who know each other well.
Of course, I found a way to talk myself out of going, around 7pm. I was in the middle of Fixing a Hole, dammit! I hadn't left the house in over a week! I was deep in a funk-infested process that HAD to be completed in a very particular way, and taking a break to walk into a room filled with people I might not even know with a spec script that was already rejected by the good folks at Warner Bros. when I was happily indulging the depths-of-despair routine so that I could get through it already just did not sound like fun. VERY easy to talk myself out of this one. Very.
And then another email landed in my inbox. This one was from My Cousin Joni, who had helped me with a couple of baseball analogies for PJ's voiceovers in the spec script. She had read about The Let-Down and wanted me to know that she was still proud of me for having tried it and that she loved the script anyway; thought it was every bit as good as anything anyone is putting on TV anywhere right now. And she loved me for being brave.
That did it!
Out I went. I grabbed the print-outs of the segmented spec script and let the mighty TicTac find its way to St. Nick's Pub. I was early. I was nervous. I ordered a strong drink at the bar, way overtipped, and climbed the stairs to the performance room. And there was Blake. And Subhash. I could finally exhale. Blake pointed me in the direction of Kathleen, who was happy to take my submissions, assuring me it would be four to six weeks to get in the queue, but that she loved my adherence to the exact submission instructions from the website. (I'm all about the details, baby.) I said to her, "I'm so nervous!" And she said, "That's why we do this in a bar."
Before I could get up from her submission table to find my own seat, Blake had come over to hug me some more and catch up on about a hundred things. And then Chuck walked over and we caught up. And then I was introduced around to Steve and Jared and Tom. Finally, I found a seat in a corner. I wanted to watch. I'd never been here "as a writer" and I had brought my notepad, ready to watch this experience no longer through the eyes of a casting director.
Enter: Keith. He has left class early to come support me. I am both elated (that he's here) and pissed at him (for missing class). Blake comes over and catches up with Keith now, too. Bless Blake. He is such a good man.
The night is over before I want it to be and I've embarrassed myself by taking a stutter-step up to my seat upon my return from the restroom, making a loud "clunk" with my boot during Kevin's very funny scene. I am sure I'll be asked never to return. Keith says the only thing one can say to the daughter who inherited her mother's "embarrassment disease." Let it go. So I do.
We leave and I'm hopeful that I'll return the following week. And I do. I sit with Subhash and am elated when KiKi comes over to me and pulls me in for the biggest, most welcoming hug I've had in ages. Again, the scenes are wonderful, the actors are outstanding, the music is fantastic, and this time I stay after with KiKi and Corey and we talk about zillions of things and laugh, laugh, laugh.
Okay. Now I'm going to be okay. I can come back next week. And the one after that. Then not on the 6th because of the showcase but then after that, just one more week and we'll be getting to the slots that perhaps one of my scenes could occupy. Cool. Lots of time to get really down with how this feels. Know who these actors are, scope out who should read what, and feel "in" more than I do right now. Cool.
And in comes another email from Kathleen. "Would you be willing to put up a scene from your My Boys spec this week? Any of them would be fine."
ACK!!!!!!
Yes. The answer is YES, dork! YES. "Yes," I reply. "Of course. Happy to. Thank you."
ACK!!!!!!
Luckily, there are all manner of things to busy myself with between the moment of invitation and THE MOMENT 50 PEOPLE HEAR MY WORK. Showcase, showcase, and more showcase. Plenty to do. Puh-lenty! Keep yourself busy, Gillespie. It's no big deal.
I arrive early. Way early. So early that for the first time I actually find a parking spot on the street when I do my "lap before committing to the parking deck" and then sit in my car listening to the radio and touching up my makeup.
I am nervous. Really nervous. Like the kind of nervous that I used to get before I had to speak to a group of 200 actors for three hours straight. Before I knew how to do that on auto-pilot. Back when that was new.
This is new.
I walk in, order a drink at the bar (and to tell you how nervous I am, here's the drink I order: WATER), and head upstairs, only to be asked to come back up in ten minutes (after soundcheck). Fair enough. I am insanely early. I wait downstairs, watching news coverage of the fires on the big-screen TV. I answer a couple of emails on my handheld. I sip my water. Fifteen minutes pass and up I go, along with a dozen other folks. It is time.
As nervous as a loner at the Homecoming Dance upon his approach of the bleachers filled with potential dance partners, I begin walking up to actors, "Um, hi. I'm Bonnie Gillespie. My scene is going up tonight. It's my first time. Would you consider reading a part for me?"
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, CASTING DIRECTOR?
I know. It's insane.
Yet, that's how it goes. For six roles and one reader of stage directions. Seven times, I'm a nervous wreck. I ask Stacey--whose first time it was two weeks ago when I was first back--whether she felt nervous then. "Of course! I think it would be unnatural not to feel nervous." Good. I like Stacey. She's smart.
It's now out of my hands. Everyone has their sides. I have no idea when my piece will go up, nor do I know what it means if it's first or last or what. "Mind Taffy," I tell myself. "Let it go."
Babes McPhee is here and I've not seen her since closing night of her play (which I cast), December 2006. Ack! That's criminal. We catch up. I don't remember a thing. I'm so nervous. I need to get more water.
Two showcasers have come to show their support, get in on the actor action, just be there with me. I am so touched. And if I weren't so nervous, I'd probably let that show a bit more.
Regulars are nodding at me as they pass by. I'm not a stranger now, even though only a half-dozen people here know my name. As I'm walking by the entrance, a young man enters and says, "You're Bonnie Gillespie!" And I say, "Yes, I am!" as I extend my hand to shake his. "I'm Eric. I attended a talk that your husband gave at AFI a couple of weeks ago and I saw on your MySpace that you were going to be here tonight. So, I decided to take the initiative and come by to introduce myself."
Rockstar. I tell him how this whole thing works, point out Kathleen, and encourage him to go introduce himself, so perhaps he'll be asked to read.
I scurry back to my seat and resume taking notes on people. This guy looks familiar. That guy is always funny. See if he'll read my script if I'm asked to bring one back again in the future. She looks so much like my niece that it's distracting. Oh dear GAWD that lady is a hoot!
Notes... notes... notes...
And we begin. Michael reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. He knows I'm nervous. I thank him for being there. It means a lot.
Second scene up--it's mine. Kathleen introduces me and I scooch past Babes to take the stage and set up the scene, while the actors take their seats in front of me. I say that it's my first time and thank you for the opportunity, this is a spec script for the TBS single-camera sitcom My Boys and the only thing we've missed by starting here at act one is the cold open in which PJ agrees to go out on a blind date set up by a coworker of hers. I'm really nervous, so, wonderful actors please introduce yourselves--and I fly off the stage.
I grab my notepad and take Ethan's seat, since he's up there reading the amazingly funny part of Mike. On my copy of the script, I place a checkmark every time there's a laugh. I place an X every time I think there should be a laugh but there is not one.
Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. X. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check... until it's over. Those ten pages flew by. I recall that halfway through the read, Barbara has turned around, looked at me, and given an enthusiastic thumbs-up while mouthing, "This is really funny!"
It is. It really is. And no one here is laughing because they need me to feel good. They're laughing because it feels good for them to do so. And my words led to that feeling.
Wow.
Applause and cheers as the actors return to their seats and the next group heads to the stage. My actors pass me, hand back their sides, shake my hand and say things like, "That was fun," "Thank you," and, "Anytime. You're great!"
Michael leans over and says, "You got some cheers there, girl."
He is right. This was a very strong scene.
Exhale.
Enjoy the rest of the night, which includes some of the most brilliant song stylings I've ever heard. I knew Steve was incredibly funny two weeks ago when he read. And last week too. But tonight he was the musical guest and damn if he didn't make the entire room burst with laughter and then weep before the song was over. "You won't be able to buy that on CD, folks," he said. And I was pissed. Because I totally would've bought it. Oh, hell yeah.
It's at this moment that I realize how lucky I am to live in a town where people get up together and celebrate creative energy, ideas, and music. They riff off each other. They jam. They cheer one another on. They give a shit. And they're not just sitting around at home thinking about how unfair this town is and how unrecognized their talent is. They're out there DOING IT. And THAT is rewarded.
Oh my, I realize, I've just fixed a hole.
And it's not because they liked what I did. It's because they welcomed it. It could've sucked, but I was still given the shot. And that, my friends, rocks like nothing else.
Tonight I left clutching the business cards of several people who want me to join in smaller-group writing/reading/critiquing series. I left having connected with actors who moved here having read my books and columns for years, gearing up for Hollywood--and only after Kathleen introduced me and my scene did they put that together. I left with Ernest and Michael who walked me to my car, good southern gentlemen that they are. And I felt so full. So damn full.
And it's not because they liked what I did.
It's because I made room for doing it in my heart. And then I did it.
You will get what you want when you are no longer attached to how it gets to you.
Amen.
Posted by bonnie at 4:13 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
October 13, 2007
Where To Begin... (So Much. So, So Much.)
So, I've been fixing a hole for almost two weeks now. It's been intense. It's something I thought would take ten days to two weeks. Turns out it's gonna take more like three weeks. Or not quite. But something more than two weeks. That's for damn sure.
And while I'd like to blame the kitties (see below) or the effin' inevitable throwing out of my gawtdamn back AGAIN (see every few months for the past year, it seems, despite valiant efforts at diet and exercise to keep my back healthy), it seems I can't blame anything. This sort of effort simply takes as long as it takes. And in for a penny means in for a pound, like it or not. At least for me.
Day Five: Everything work-related is brought into the living room. I begin a life in the floor.
The goal is to put all things casting in one area, all things writing in another area, and all things speaking or producing or consulting or anything else related elsewhere.
Big chunks first. Then we further compartmentalize. And by "we," I mean "me," (or rather, "I," since grammatical correctness is important to me). As is hoarding, it would seem.
Day Six: Archie--totally useless. Surprise.
Also useless: Salema.
Unrepentantly useless: Thwok. Whore belly. Natch.
Day Seven: Oh, it looks like it's gonna be another day of solo efforts 'round here. (Bless our sad, dead orchids which Keith is sure he can fix.)
Again. Being judged. At this point, I realize it's been a week since I've left the house. That's not a problem, except that I feel I should have accomplished a LOT more.
Day Eight: A LOT more. I expected alphabetized spiceracks by now. And now my back is out. (See above.) I am so flippin' annoyed I can't see straight. I know it's from sitting in the floor for 20 hours at a time, but I'm pissed. How DARE my back go out on me?
The good news is, most all of my casting work is making it into binders. This should help a GREAT deal, as I field the bid requests that are coming in. (Yes. They keep coming in. I'm not complaining. I just owe like a half-dozen producers an answer. This will help.)
Okay, fine. On this note, I leave the apartment. Yes, even though my back is seizing up upon every tap of the brakes (yay for driving with the clutch), I leave. I go to the Naked Angels' Tuesdays@9 series (which I haven't been to since September 2004, when Blake proposed Acting Qs to me). I took my rejected spec script and three stand-alone scenes from the showcase and meekly, timidly handed them in, realizing that no matter how much one rocks at one level in this industry, there is always a place to start over and feel like a total newbie.
Day Nine: The binders are looking good. But I'm obsessed with both my back pain (and bonus cramps--yay menses) and something I learned last night: That someone I thought I knew took her own life since the last time I saw her, emailed with her, spoke with her. There's a chill in me that I can't shake, now.
Thwok is so in love with plastic bags. She's the exact opposite of the adult cats, who fear plastic of all kind. Anyway... I can't stop thinking about what makes someone commit suicide. And I guess I kind of know, having attempted it 17 years ago. Good lord, that was forever ago, wasn't it? Eesh.
These are the containers Keith brought home from Target. I am in love. ;) Still troubled. Still thinking about the woman I thought I knew. Still wondering what it is that makes anyone feel so alone, so troubled, so completely un-help-able in life that she will end it all. But then I also know that sometimes it's just a matter of one wave of thoughts. One cycle of "thinking better of it." One brush with perspective that can make anyone so very creative and tortured decide to choose to stick around. Man.
Why for the love of God do I have a thousand postcards? Why? Out they go. Well... all but a couple hundy, anyway.
Day Ten: I have accomplished something huge. I have found a way to put ALL of the Casting Qs, Acting Qs, and Acting Out raw materials into one, small file box. Everything else is in the trash. Phew! It's really exciting. PS--My back is now in such excruciating pain that I am crying out, constantly. Keith is beside himself with helplessness. I wish I had squirreled away a Vicodin somewhere. For the love of FUCK, I am in pain.
Thrilled that Keith bought so many bins. I'm using them both to sort and to ultimately create organization. Life is good. But I'm still in pain and I'm still troubled about the girl I thought I knew killing herself. Stop, stop, stop with the troubled feeling, Bon. You've got work to do. Oy, my back. Again, stop.
Oh, look at those lovely shelves! We are SO on the way. I am now splitting my non-organizing time between selecting book covers for the 3rd edition of Self-Management for Actors and wondering if I've gotten as far, emotionally/spiritually with my "fixing a hole" process as I have with the physical--again, wishing I were further along with all of the above.
I'm feeling good about what I've done so far, even though I still have a ways to go. I am very pleased to have only turned on my computer for an hour each day (doing most work from my BlackBerry--which I now refuse to name because I'm certain I will be replacing it with an iPhone in 2008, to go along with my November '07 black MacBook on which there will be absolutely no Microsoft products whatsoever if I have my way) but not at all pleased about living on the sofa, all propped up on pillows and reeking of BenGay (although it's actually something called BioFreeze, but you get the point). I seriously HATE that my body has to shut down when I want to get a lot done. It's such a battle. Good thing I'm stubborn.
Day Eleven: I've hit a wall. It's a stall. Can't do nothin'. Nothin' at all.
Good thing I have useless kitties to help me do nothing.
Such a good thing.
One more binder to finish... but the producers keep needing one last thing (even though I've been off the clock for over a month). Eesh. I'm sooo gonna start taking producer credits on these low budget projects. I really don't mind the mentoring, but man, it'd be nice to have it all be FOR something sometimes.
Day Twelve: I'm back in the floor. I'm playing with my favorite things: office supplies. I swear, my version of porn is the Office Depot catalogue. Let me loose at Staples or Office Max and you've unleashed a fiend.
Can't throw these zip disks and floppy disks away just yet. Keith's convinced that we will find a way to get the goods off 'em and burn 'em to our hard drives or DVDs or something... but I'm not sure that's gonna happen. Still, I'm not throwing away my cassette tapes either. I do have faith in that whole analog-to-digital transfer. It's all about time, really. Kind of like wedging into a really tight parking space. Given enough time, it'll happen.
New favorite box: my art supplies. Oh, how I miss that "minoring in art" part of my life! I really did create a lot of lovely things. I forget what an outlet that was for me. I guess writing has taken the place of that, now. But still, I do miss the smell, the feel, the thought of my charcoals and conté crayons.
Ah! How lovely is this bookcase shaping up?!? The writing and the casting is leaping into binders. The office supplies are in bins and boxes. Everything is labeled and clean... almost. Ooh, I somehow feel good despite the fact that I'm hunched over like an arthritic senior citizen. (I'm grumbling like one too.)
Trash--OUT! Out, out, OUT! This has been the funnest part: all the trash goes out, out, OUT! Several trips a day.
Cut to: another useless cat. *sigh* She is pretty, though.
Let's call it a montage of useless cat photos. I swear, these Archie photos were all taken on different days. He is THAT predictable. No wonder he and Keith get along so well.
And while I'm snapping photos of the useless animals, Keith says, "Do me." So, here he is too. Happy Nonaversary, m'love. :)
Oh, our Nonaversary. I did say I was going to explain that, didn't I?
Well, this blog post is already a record-holdingly long one and I have a buttload of work to get done this weekend, so I'll call this a bookmark to that story. I will share it. It's good. ;) And Keith and I even have a really cool spa/resort weekend trip planned for later this month to celebrate our Nonaversary, so maybe that's when I'll roll the tale out.
'til then, I guess this is just another of those "Fixing a Hole Progress Reports." I'm alive. I'm improving. I still have a great deal to do. And it's all gonna get done. I'm more patient with myself today than I have been. I think learning about someone I thought I knew having chosen to be impatient with life's solutions for how it's supposed to work out for her has inspired me to take my time with just about everything. It's the better choice, for damn sure.
Posted by bonnie at 2:36 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 5, 2007
Hole Progress Report (or is it "Fix Progress Report"?)
Eh, whatever you call it, it's my way of letting y'all know I'm still alive, sincerely limiting my computer time (no, I wasn't kidding when I said it), and making lots of progress.
Easiest way to show that progress is via the physical manifestation of the inner work I'm doing. Like... eight bags of clothes, shoes, and handbags to Goodwill on Day One.
Only the most absolutely "urgent" items stashed on one-third of our sofa. This is where I have to start, when I'm officially "back at work" in a week or so.
End of Day One: I now only use one-third of my closet. And that's really nice. Who needs 200 pieces of clothing and 20 pairs of shoes, anyway?
Day Two: Somehow it's always ugliest while it's "in the midst" of the doing. It's gotta get gnarly before it gets prettied up. (Check back next week for that.) For now, there are all sorts of "sorting boxes" and "zones" in the house.
No longer will there be portions of my writing career in each room, casting files in three different places, financial papers stashed in five different corners. Nope. It's all "going together" now. What doesn't get tossed out, that is.
Day Three: Rockstar Intern Julie helps me purge about 250 demo reels. (Would you say 250, Julie? It felt like 250. Not sure.) She and Keith fished out DVD cases they wanted for their own reels and everything else hits the dirt. Sorry, awesome actors. If I can't find your reel online anymore, I don't need it. (Well, we did keep a FEW. Heh heh.)
Made Keith go through about 300 software CDs and told him at least HALF had to go. I mean, c'mon... what do we need with anything that runs on Windows NT or Mac OS 9 anymore? Oh... and does anyone know where I can donate the last two pairs of prescription glasses I ever owned before getting LASIK three years ago? (And, more importantly, why I would hold onto two pairs of glasses for now-perfect eyes for three whole years?)
Day Four: Purged VHS tapes and audio cassettes from who-knows-when and of who-knows-what. Have one large plastic bin filled with "master tapes" of things we want digitized. So... add that to the "when we have time" or "when we have money" project list, along with scanning thousands of photos. *sigh* I'm hoping for "when we have money" winning that battle... because I do not have the patience for some of these projects.
This is where we're left today. These (in front--next to all of the crap going to the dumpster) are all of my writing files--all in one place. Well, that's not true. Within five feet of this are another three boxes and within five feet of that are three large mail bins filled to overflowing. And then there's the box of "future columns" source material, plus a couple creative writing and spec script project material areas that are within reach.
Gotta get all of the writing stuff in one place (and segregated well enough to make it easy to access when I need any part of it). Ah, hell, as I type this, I remember one more box that's in the bottom of the linen closet, filled with original interviews from Casting Qs. Gotta get that together with the rest of the bunch.
Anyway, that's my external check-in about a third of the way through my Getting My House in Order project (and "house" also means "heart." Believe me, there's not a day I haven't cried buckets while working on all of this--and watching DVDs in the den (the TiVo-free room) of things like "for your consideration" episodes of my favorite Emmy-nominated TV series and amazing movies. Bless the Academy).
Casualties of Schedule include one meeting at SAG, one speaking engagement at SAG Conservatory at AFI, one private screening of a friend's kick-ass film (and getting to connect with my Westside Happy Hour Posse), one amazing actors showcase, and hundreds upon hundreds of unanswered emails (I never count the dozens of unreturned phone calls. That's typical).
Enjoy: folks emailing to say, "Just hi. Thinking of you," with no pressure whatsoever. Don't enjoy: "Um, what's going on? Why haven't I heard from you about this? Are you or are you not free to come give us four hours of your time in November? Answer me, dammit!" when I've already made contact to say, "Hey, taking some downtime. November will probably work, but give me a couple of weeks to get back to you on the for-sures." Grr. A sense of entitlement (especially entitlement to the time, mind, and spirit of another person) is an ugly, ugly thing.
Bottom Line (as of the end of the first-third of this, anyway): less computer time = awesome, less TV time = unnoticed, less public/social time = necessary, less access given to others = essential, less crap in the house = amazingly revitalizing, less bullshit in me = on its way.
I remain a work in progress.
(I'll post again on Sunday night to promo the column. Nothing too exciting or Earth-shattering. Saving that stuff for my real life right now.)
Posted by bonnie at 8:32 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 1, 2007
Fixing a Hole
It's like magic when this happens. (And it doesn't happen often.)
I'm sitting in the little-used den. I'm cuddled up under the quilt my mom made for me. I'm sobbing with overwhelm.
Then I think about what it would take to feel "back in order." (Or at least "on the mend.")
A-ha! Mental health break it is.
So, I'm off. I'm fixing a hole. It's an important one. Sorry 'bout all the cancelling I'm doing to fix this. Not optional. See y'all on the other side (in a week or so).
I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go
I'm filling the cracks that ran though the door
and kept my mind from wandering
where it will go
And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong
I'm right where I belong
I'm right where I belong
See the people standing there
who disagree and never win
and wonder why they don't get in my door
I'm painting my room in a colorful way,
and when my mind is wandering
there I will go
And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong
I'm right where I belong
I'm right where I belong
Silly people run around
they worry me and never ask me
why they don't get past my door
I'm taking my time for a number of things
that weren't important yesterday
and I still go
I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go
where it will go
I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in
and stops my mind from wandering
where it will go
©1967 Lennon/McCartney
Click here to listen for yourself.
Posted by bonnie at 3:07 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
August 24, 2007
Oy to the no.
So, I'm really bad at saying no.
That's not entirely true. I actually do a decent job of saying it. I always try to remain transparent about my process in having come to the decision that is NO (because, believe me, I know that a NO you don't understand can smart like the dickens, and as much as you might dislike the NO that you do understand, at least it gives you a starting point for either fixing the issue for next time or knowing where to go from here. I guess that comes from the former life as an actor thing. I never want to say no to an actor without providing some measure of feedback--even if the only feedback is, "You rock. We'll get you on the next one").
Anyway.
I mentioned the whole five-projects-in-the-queue waiting for bids for casting services thing, right? And I just had to say no to one, outright. And usually when I say no, I try to include a good list of casting colleagues who might be a better match for the project. I look to help a casting associate friend who is looking to build up credits as full CD. I always try to leave a situation at least a wee bit better than I found it. At least with a lead. Or something.
But I don't even have time to do that anymore. Ack!
And somehow I feel really, really bad about that. Same way I feel bad about creating enforcing a whole big section of my FAQ. I WANT to have time to answer all of my email. I WANT to give every newbie actor who asks advice on how to make it (or at least how to start).
And even though I am constantly reminded by those who know me best that the only way to have anything to give at the more public venues is to begin to limit that giving to those places, I somehow still feel like crap when I have to say no. Again.
I realize--assuming Mr. Superagent and I hit it off in person on Tuesday and I start filtering all of my stuffs through him--that I'll soon be met with the business end of a shitstorm, potentially. And if it's not now, it's soon enough. There are people who have become so accustomed to being able to reach me that--as I've mentioned before--this shift will not be pleasant.
At 2am, on the way back from the gym (that's another story for another time), I mentioned to Keith that I think this is kind of like that whole, "My favorite actor who used to come in and preread for me suddenly got his own series and now his email address and phone number have been changed, his Actors Access account is now managed by his 'people,' and while he'd probably be happy to 'take a meeting' about a role I'm casting, the days of point-to-point contact are over," except that I'm living it. And I'm sharing it (because, y'know, I'm all out about my damage and stuff).
That doesn't mean it's going to be any more gentle a transition for anyone... just that I'm sitting here commenting on what's changing as it changes (and dammit, if that's not what a blog is for, I don't know what is... I mean... other than sharing cute animal photos and popular memes).
SPEAKING of the word NO. Um... just NO. Really. Just. NO.
PS--Photo of big time agency conference table is from Endeavor (NOT the location of my hopefully future Mr. Superagent meeting, uh, NO. I like *kind* superagents, thankyouverymuch).
PPS--Houstons has the best fucking sushi on the planet and I could eat it all day, every day, and then some more. Holy crap, this stuff is delish! (Note: take-out is only available from 2pm to 5pm Monday through Friday. Probably for the best, or I'd eat it every day for lunch. I am not kidding.) Suddenly feeling a bit like Jane Espenson, with the lunch coda. Hee!
Posted by bonnie at 3:02 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
June 3, 2007
VENT!
Son of a FUCK!
Sorry, but I've got to rant!
I did my top-of-the-month backup of my computer's guts and somehow did an overwrite of last month's backup (which ordinarily wouldn't be an issue except that last month was when I did the BIG purge-of-years'-old-emails backup that then ONLY existed as text files in that May 1st backup).
So, now--just like when Keith first came over in August 2001 and tossed out my "old" Netscape Mail profile thereby losing all of my last few years' of Mom's emails--I've lost a buttload of archived stuff that may or may not be important. Because how can you know? It's not 'til you have that moment when you think, "Oooh! I have that email! Let me look that up," that you decide it's all gone, gone, gone and it's now over, over, over (at least in the absolute proof sense). But I am now prepping myself for the for sure-ness that it's gone, no matter how important it might be.
It's over. The 1's and 0's are no more. Big fat suckola.
And so what?
That's the bigger question. I mean, what does it matter if that stuff is gone any more than it matters that a box of my favorite books got destroyed in a flood or a box of my old love letters got destroyed in a fire? It's all a reminder of the bigger point: today, I am this. And that's it!
Ah, well... life is bigger than what my backup drive can contain. And if it all goes away, it doesn't diminish my value.
Posted by bonnie at 2:02 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 4, 2007
The Ultimate Guide to Productivity Group Writing Project
Okay, so one of my favorite people on the planet (that's Colleen Wainwright, AKA The Communicatrix, AKA CoCo) tagged me on this productivity meme launched instigated by Ben Yoskovitz.
My first thought (before following any links, just reading her emailed head's up) was, "Cool. I've been remiss in blogging lately and I loves me a good meme." Second thought (after following links) was, "Ack! What the EFF do *I* know about productivity?!? And how on Earth would I write about it in such a way as to be worthy of inclusion in a group writing project of this quality?"
And then I started composing a comment to post at Colleen's entry on the subject. It started out as a quick "way out" of having to do this, and then it became exact evidence of precisely how it is I am productive: I start out thinking, "Eh," but then KEEP GOING until I am thinking, "Holy crap! This is IT!"
So, here's the comment in its entirety. Enjoy!
Oh dear me, I am so embarrassed to say this, but my one and only productivity tip is this:Don't sleep.
Pretty shitty tip, no?
Because while I have a buttload of ideas about what makes me as productive as I am (doing what I love 95% of the time, doing what I dislike but have to do only 5% of the time; finding inspiration to ACT on ideas before the monkey mind comes in and distracts me or tries to talk me out of acting; writing quickly, editing slowly; using color-coded transparent pockets to organize papers, using color-coded Entourage rules to organize emails; going radio silence for blocks of time in order to recharge and reconnect with Self; cubbies, glorious cubbies; intern days once a week; holding my feet to the fire with regard to my deadlines--both for getting work done and stopping the work; doing as much of my living in public as possible, so that I don't have to answer as many individual questions as the inefficient public would like to have me do; trusting that I am valued not for what I do, but for the very fact that I simply AM; and playing as hard as I work, just not as often), it's the lack of sleep that *really* allows me to be as PRODUCTIVE as I am.
And how can you turn that into a tip? It's a disorder!
Ah well, maybe THAT's my tip.
Turn your disorders into tools to help you ROCK.
Ooh, much better.
There you have it!
And now I tag/request posts on this topic from some of my favorite productive people: Adam Marcus, Alex Collins, Anna Christopher, Anna Vocino, Bob Brody, Camille Mana, Dawn Andrews, Debbie Campbell, Faith Salie, Joel Viertel, Kimberley Browning, Kristina Hughes, Mitchell Fink, and Stephon Fuller.
Happy weekend, everyone.
PS--Anyone else love it when CNN covers Paris Hilton's DUI jail sentence news and breaks for commercials... one of which is an ad for the Hilton Family of Hotels? Man, that's good stuff!
Posted by bonnie at 6:48 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
April 6, 2007
So, this was fun.
Tuesday night, I spoke to a group of kids from my old acting studio, Atlanta Workshop Players. Every year, they come out to LA and I do a little thing with them. It's always a blast. This year, rockstar manager April Mills joined me. Last year, it was superstar manager Kathy Colorado and megastar agent Robin Spitzer. Excellent stuff. Always.
Well, this year, one of the kids did a monologue for us and, in reviewing his resumé, I noticed he attends North Springs High School (my alma mater; which had no drama club when I started there... but it sure as hell did by the time I left... and now it's a Performing Arts Magnet School, if that tells you anything). So, in my very Bonnie-like way, I commented on many elements of the young actor's work, and then said,
"Go Spartans."
Three or four kids in the room jumped up and began singing the North Springs Spartans' fight song. They were THRILLED that "someone famous that they'd met in Hollywood" went to North Springs. I was beyond amused by this statement, and I proceeded to list the famous people *I* loved knowing went there, before/during my time there: John Schneider, musical gods Richie Robinson, Jeff Sullivan, Jeff Pinkus (all three of whom were in my math class), and of course my cousin Faith Salie.
Then one of the kids said, "Yeah! And Usher! And Raven!" to which I replied, "Yes. It was a huge deal to me that they went there... before they did."
Very funny to the adults in the room. The kids rolled their eyes, like kids are supposed to do.
Okay, so cut to another scene a bit later. It's brilliantly funny. I ask the kid what it's from and he says, "Oh, it's really old. It's from something called 'Kids in the Hall.'" (And he says this as if this "Kids in the Hall" thing and the Spanish Inquisition happened around the same time.) Again... I remember being 15 and thinking that way about stuff.
But it's what came after that was most brilliant.
"Well, you know," he says (off my reaction, which is getting laughs by the bellyful all around the room), "I think there was a lot of funny stuff from your era. Like 'Welcome Back Kotter,' for example."
One of the adults in the room (who was one of MY coaches when *I* was a kid at AWP camp) says, "That's from MY generation. Not Bonnie's!"
And the kid says, "Well, you know what I mean. Like the old 'Mork & Mindy' days."
I finally scream (through laughter), "STOP DIGGING THIS DITCH!!!"
By now, we're all in tears laughing.
It was just really funny.
So, anyway, I'm thinking tonight about how I'm the White Oprah (or, Whoprah, as I like to say) and how I have my Steadman and my Gayle and all of my kids. And today, one of the "kids" in the showcase (during our IM-based conference about his type and resumé format, etc.) asked if I miss acting.
"Nah," I said. "I get to perform weekly, pretty much. I get up in front of a group of people and I talk and crack jokes. They listen and they laugh and they take notes and then they all come up to me after and get my autograph (in books) and it's all very much like being an actor, except I don't have to pay union dues or audition. I just show up and do my thing. And I love it."
And I do.
And then I get these amazing emails from people I've never met who say they've been reading my words forEVER (which is, at most, since 2000, when I started writing for Back Stage West, unless they were reading my "Don't Get Me Started" or "It's Like This" or "Girls of Grace" columns before that) and that I've somehow changed their lives for the better... that they never would've "done this" if not for something I've written.
And the "done this" is simple. LIVE THEIR DREAMS.
I don't know. It seems so easy to say that no one should need to hear from someone else that it's okay to do that... but hell, maybe there is something to the fact that crazy dreams feel more validated when someone is writing about going for it (and doing so with passion and smarts and accountability and authenticity). And just like some kids went back to Atlanta feeling like, "Wow. I can make it, even though I come from this little place... because Bonnie Gillespie came from this school and look at her," maybe it's not even the stuff that we DO, but that what we DO... we do big.
In case that's what matters, that's what I'm doing. Living big. And I'm loving it, loving it, loving it.
(And yes, to those of you who have written to me about how much my life is about to change, I know. I see it. I feel it coming. And I guess that's why I keep stopping every now and then to write it all down. I don't want to forget how any of this felt. No more than I want to forget how it felt to write up the first Drama Club Steering Committee raison d'être with David Salie in the '80s. You know... back before fire was discovered.)
Posted by bonnie at 2:25 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
March 5, 2007
Who do you think you are?
So, I received an email last week that I was pretty sure would be today's Your Turn.
(As you can see by visiting that link, the email about which I am currently blogging is NOT the email I chose to use.)
Without going into much detail, I'll reveal here that the email's bottom line question was, "Who do you think you are?"
(Y'know, because here I am giving advice to tens of thousands of actors each week in my column, and what the hell do I know?)
So, my first reaction was an ego-based one.
(I don't know many who would read such an email, such a review, such a piece in the tabloids and react FIRST in any way *other* than ego-based.)
But, happily, within about two minutes of having that ego-based reaction, I had a more centered reaction. MY true reaction (I hope).
Because, y'know what? It is *healthy* for people to be skeptical about those who "give advice."
It is a GOOD THING for people to need to see the credentials of those who proclaim themselves as experts.
Thing is... I've never said I'm an expert. I actually totally agree with those who think there are people with BETTER CREDITS out there, whose advice would be of far more value.
BUT!!! Here's the difference! I'm REALLY GOOD at communicating ideas. I'm pretty freakin' brilliant at formulating analogies that drive very simple points home.
And people who have WAY more experience than I have may not have the ability to communicate tips in a way that I can.
Even so, at best, I was a marginally successful actor in a minor market, doing right-to-work state acting gigs (and I always earned more money hand modeling and hair modeling than I did acting or singing).
And now here I am in LA with a whopping four years of casting experience under my belt... but I've been considered an expert on casting since 2000, when I was hired to write a weekly column about casting for Back Stage West.
Hell, I was still pursuing acting back then! (Man, that was a million years ago.)
Anyway, so I got this email and actually agreed with the guy: My IMDB page is not at all impressive.
Doing industrials, commercials, and local theatre in a minor market won't get you a nice StarMeter ranking. Oh, and...
...um, I guess I should expect to be slammed for casting "only never-seen micro-budget films a couple of years ago," when IMDB won't list indie films until they play at festivals.
That said, I've learned to be patient. I know who I've cast in what projects. I know what has been shot. I know that it can take awhile for films to "show up" and...
...believe me, I dealt with the ego-blow of CSA rejection over the very fact that everyone on the committee knew me as a journalist or actor (not as a casting director) and that IMDB showed fewer than the required number of years in my casting credits (despite well over the required number of years actually spent in casting).
Eh, but none of that matters! Because I do my job the same REGARDLESS of how much love I'm feeling.
I am a former actor. I am a writer. I am a casting director. I am a producer. I am a voice for demystifying the entertainment industry.
And I don't apologize for not having achieved a certain level of "cred" as an actor before going into any other of the areas for which I am now paid to have a say.
My point in bringing this up in a blog entry (and part of why it was decided this would not be a good "Your Turn" topic) is that there are moments that you ASK FOR (like, being interviewed internationally, for instance)...
...and then you realize that with the granting of that wish comes the ego-smack of being a more public figure than you were the day before.
(Eesh! And here's where I think this *would've* been a great "Your Turn" topic!)
Actors who pursue this life in Los Angeles (as opposed to in minor markets where "it's an honor to be nominated" is a phrase only uttered onstage at a community theatre event) CRAVE the spotlight at a slightly brighter intensity than those who pursue this life elsewhere.
AND THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT.
Some people are born to be more public than others. What's interesting is that some will have a slow enough rise that they can share a bit about what that journey to "public property" is like.
Others will skyrocket and end up in rehab because they can't even begin to get their wits about them. It's all just too much too soon.
So, in that respect, I guess it's awesome that I'm getting what I've asked for in life. And that what I've asked for is a reasonable level of respect for the information that I put out there. Within a reasonable amount of time.
But y'know what? Even if I were never respected for "putting it out there" (hell, even if I were never respected for "what I know"), I'd still enjoy this ride.
I seriously have the most fun job EVER.
I get to populate fictional worlds with brilliant actors who bring words on paper to life. I get to bring amazing people together.
And I happen to know a thing or two about the many ways in which actors can get to the "head of the class" when hoping to stand out somehow.
It's not by being special. It's not by being different. It's by being AUTHENTIC.
And in the end, that's what I hope to be as well.
Augh! I guess all it comes down to is this:
It doesn't matter who I think I am. I KNOW who I am.
And who I am is, quite frankly, many things. (And so so so much of my life has nothing to do with acting, casting, writing... any of the things that define me to so many.)
Yay, me! ;)
It's about who the world thinks anyone is. And where anyone places importance.
To thine own self be true, right?
And beyond that, if you happen to take advice from anyone else EVER, please always keep it in perspective.
We're all just making it up as we go along anyway, in this life. ;) ALL of us.
Posted by bonnie at 4:55 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
January 26, 2007
Y'know what?
I love my life.
Yeah, I'm in hour six of this "organizing receipts" thing and maybe I'm slap-happy, but I'm just astonished by all of the beautiful, wonderful things in my life.
As I see receipts from celebration-filled dinner parties, I am thrilled that I had so much to celebrate in 2006, perfect places to celebrate, and amazing friends with whom to rejoice.
Yeah, I drive the same car I bought in 1989, but y'know what? It was in the shop all of twice last year (each time for less than $200) and that beats a car payment ANY day. (And besides, the TicTac is a WAY cute car, even still.)
So, I embrace the bills. Because it meant we had a home in which we could run utilities! And while I enjoy seeing all of the pay stubs from Keith's acting work, my casting and writing work, book sales, speaking engagements, and our random computer gigs that help fill in the rest, I am giddy knowing that there will be still more of these when I'm doing this tedious task again a year from now.
I've learned that staying in a state of gratitude is better than a glass of wine, for this task.
Posted by bonnie at 1:20 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 23, 2006
Gratitude
Y'know what I haven't done in awhile?
Just exclaim from the rooftops how much I love my life. So, let this count as me doing that. I seriously have a rockstar life with loads of love and blessings. Whether I say it or not, I am grateful EVERY day to have this gift.
Posted by bonnie at 2:55 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack
September 3, 2006
Taking a Break
I've been bitching too much lately. I've been complaining. A lot. I've been seeing the negative in the world and that's seriously not like me 90% of the time. So, it's getting annoying (and I'm sure not just to me).
I've also been craving drinks. Not just drinking socially. Not just overindulging. Craving. And I can't tell if it's a temporary physical need that comes from an emotional desire to escape or if it's the beginning of a problem.
But let me state for the record: I love drinking. Love it. I think it's fun and social and cool and one of the best parts of being a responsible adult who works freelance. I'm not like a college kid who can't wait for the weekend to go out and par-tay. I like the celebration of the every day. And I like being able to shut my brain off sometimes too.
But I'm tired of complaining. I'm tired of needing a drink to escape from the things that make me want to complain. And I'd like to give my diet and exercise regimen a chance to have some results. I remember noticing how great a friend looked after a few months of diet and exercise (I won't out him, here) and having him counter with, "I had to take a break from drinking to really get the results I wanted." I admired his self-discipline.
So, with just over 100 days left in the year (and remembering how I completely changed my body and my spirit in as much time eight years ago), I'm considering doing a major self-improvement campaign. I already exercise every day. I eat gluten-free and drink tons of water. I don't drink sodas or coffee or any of those things that tend to derail people. I'm currently the healthiest I have ever been, despite being a good 50 pounds overweight. My heart, my lungs, my knees, my endurance... all outstanding. Hair and nails strong and long. Skin flawless. And I am blessed with a kick-ass hourglass figure, even though it needs to reduce by about 20%. I don't have "problem areas." I'm just a big girl.
Here's the thing though. I can't tell if I need to do a T-totaller "give up drinking for the rest of the year" thing or if I can do like I did eight years ago and give myself "reward days" every now and then (days on which I can be less strict in all areas--food, drink, exercise requirements). I kind of like the idea of forcing myself to be 100% for 100 days, but I also can't imagine that it's a practical expectation. What I DON'T want to do is decide to be "perfect" then choose to have a night off and turn that into an excuse (ala: "I failed. I suck. Screw it. It's all over").
Man! I just feel so good even imagining doing 100 perfect days. It was such an amazing thing, watching my body change when I did a 100-day campaign in '98 (note: I did not do 100 "perfect" days back then... but I also had a very different lifestyle, being a full-time PhD student at the time).
What to do, what to do? Hmm. I guess I'll just start with one day and see how that feels. I guess I'm blogging about this as a way of holding my feet to the fire (although I can already tell I'll get annoyed by questions of, "Hey, how's that 100-day thing going?" if things AREN'T going well... so, I'm not sure what my plan is. Maybe I don't have a plan. Maybe I'm looking for suggestions? Hell... I'm just glad I'm not bitching in this entry. I am sooooooo over the complaining. That is a BAD habit, for sure).
Posted by bonnie at 12:55 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
August 16, 2006
My Ego (or "How Babes McPhee Made Me Realize I'm a Lot Like Samuel L. Jackson")
I have a healthy ego. (I also have a very fragile ego. I'm a lot like everyone else in that respect. Catch me at the right moment and I am my biggest fan. Catch me at the wrong moment and I hate myself more than anyone would ever freely admit they hate anything. Ever. I'm no different than anyone else, in that respect.)
But most of the time, I think I'm a freakin' rockstar. I know I don't save lives, inspire people to be their best selves, or provide shelter for the homeless, but sometimes I give good advice to actors, cast great movies, and bring a little laughter to those around me. That's gotta be worth something. And I choose to decide it means I'm a pretty damn cool chick. I could be worse. I have been worse.
So, on Saturday, Babes McPhee mentioned something about my healthy ego. I was like, "Huh?" And she said (referring to my MySpace profile), "Hell! You list yourself as one of your HEROES!" And I stopped and said, "Well, yeah! I mean, if I don't think I rock, how can I expect anyone else to do so?"
And then I thought about how, when listing my favorite authors, I always list myself. Why? Well, if I don't LOVE my writing, how can I expect anyone else to do so? (And seriously, I love reading my writing. I read EVERYTHING I write. Yes, I get lots of email from actors who say they've read everything I've ever written and I always think, "Nah... you haven't. Only I have." But only I know how much I've truly written--and I've read it all. That makes me my biggest fan.)
So, what's wrong with that? (Except that it's totally not socially acceptable to SAY you love yourself.) Not a damn thing.
When I saw this article about Samuel L. Jackson, I really got it.
Of the various lies that actors tell--there are no small parts, it's a privilege just to be nominated, working with Woody is a dream come true--there's one that Samuel L. Jackson simply cannot abide. "Everybody thinks it's cool to say 'I hate watching myself onscreen,'" says Jackson. "Well, that's b_______. We're in a narcissistic business. Everybody likes watching themselves." Jackson, 57, proudly sees every one of his movies in a theater with paying customers. If he's channel surfing and spots an old performance, he puts down the remote. "Even during my theater years, I wished I could watch the plays I was in--while I was in them! I dig watching myself work."
True, that. But here's the great part.
If watching oneself is, as Jackson claims, all actors' secret pleasure, Jackson distinguishes himself from his peers in two ways: he cops to vanity, and his vanity has a track record for dovetailing with popular taste.
So, here I am... "copping to vanity." And there's not a gawtdamn thing you can do about it. Sssssssss! (7pm, Beanery. Yo.)
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August 10, 2006
Being Flexible
Several times in the past week or so, I have been thanked for being so flexible. I thought I might have a column topic here, but the more I think about it, the more it's just a blog entry. So, here it is.
Being flexible is EASY. But, based on the number of times I'm thanked for being flexible, I'm guessing most people AREN'T flexible, and that's why it's so novel that I am. I look at it this way:
Our plans hold up and I see you tonight. Or. Our plans fall through and I see you some other night PLUS I now have free time I hadn't counted on.
Sure, I could get pissy about what I *could've* been doing, had I known our plans wouldn't come together a week earlier or so, but whatever! It's SO no big deal.
One producer was making me crazy a few projects ago, really WANTING to be right and really NEEDING to assign blame for things not having gone a certain way. "If you had just done THIS..." "Why didn't you do THAT..." and so on. I kept responding with, "Okay, cool. How can we move forward to get the results we want NOW?" And that really frustrated this producer.
When the "You should have..." stuff kept coming, I finally said, "Great. How do we go back and make that happen NOW? Oh wait, we CAN'T. Can we move forward?" It was beyond silly to even HAVE the conversation, but truly some people can't just MOVE ON... they need to point out flaws and make sure EVERYONE knows something went wrong somewhere.
That's a really dick move, BTW. Let me tell you about the EXACT OPPOSITE way of dealing with someone's mistake and how much COOLER it makes you.
Keith shows up for the wardrobe fitting on the set of CSI: Miami earlier this week. The team recognizes him from last season and one woman says, "Oh, hi, Kevin! It's so great to see you!" He hugs her and thanks her for the warm welcome, says it's wonderful to be back and let's get started, etc.
Later, she notices someone else calling him Keith.
"Wait! Your name *IS* Keith, isn't it?!?" she asked, ashamed. "Don't worry about it," Keith said. "You knew you meant me. I knew you meant me. Why do I need to make you feel bad just to be right? I mean, we both knew you were talking to me every time you said 'Kevin,' so why point out your error?"
I love that shit.
Why, when I can just be flexible, would I need to make sure the world knows I've been somehow inconvenienced?
There is NOTHING inconvenient about my life. I love every bit of it. And if someone says, "Oh, this is Bonnie, our casting agent," I don't feel the need to say, "It's casting director." And if someone calls to say, "I'm not going to make it to dinner tonight. I'm so sorry," I say, "Okay. Cool. I'll miss you," and head out for a meal with someone else... such a happy surprise!
I've got no time to go out of my way to try and make people feel bad. And I worry about people who DO. No... wait... I don't worry about them. I avoid them. I've got no room in my life for that kind of drama. Life's too damn short.
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August 4, 2006
Freshmen
While Keith and I were on our walk tonight (and I was bitching my ass off about some things I'd read recently that were really pissing me off), I finally GOT it.
I will always feel like this every now and then, as long as I continue to dole out advice for actors just starting out.
Just like the grad student who teaches Freshman English to a hundred eager required-to-attend 18 year olds each fall, I will end the semester having really REACHED about twenty of 'em (and hope that they remember to thank me for having taught them about the wondrousness of the language and its power), having passed-on-through the majority of 'em (as they head on to whatever else it is they want to do with their college careers), and having flunked a couple who I know I'll be seeing again next year, as we do it all again.
And when the new school year starts up, I'll occasionally feel the need to say, "Don't y'all REMEMBER this from when I went over it last year?" But I can't, because almost none of these students were IN this class a year ago... and even if a few of them were, they sure as heck aren't BACK here because they GOT all of this the first time around.
I guess I get pissy about it from time to time because, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, sometimes I just answer questions by providing links back to where I've answered the same questions before. And before that. And before that too. And sometimes even if someone emails me and says, "I've read EVERYTHING you've ever written and I love your advice," that same someone will end the email with, "But I just need to ask you ONE QUICK QUESTION." And that question will be nothing more than that actor's inability to READ what I've written and APPLY it.
Just because I didn't say, "And you, Chris, this last part of this week's column is especially for YOU," doesn't mean that Chris can't assume that it might somehow apply... and not just in general terms.
*sigh*
Just needed to vent. I love what I do. I don't mind answering a zillion questions. And I LOVE LOVE LOVE that people feel they can reach out to me with questions. But what I REALLY love is when someone shows me they GOT what I meant when I said something, and asks something that BUILDS upon that concept, challenging ME to help them get better information.
But there will always be a freshman class. And I have to be okay with teaching the fundamentals over and over again sometimes. Or I have to not be a teacher. And that's not my style, now is it?
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June 27, 2006
A Big Day
Today, Tuesday, the 27th of June in the year of our lord 2006, I, Bonnie Gillespie did something very brave.
I entered the CLOTHING OPTIONAL part of the spa and exercised my option to NOT WEAR ANY.
I must be entering the "when I am an old woman, I shall wear purple" stage of life.
Bitchin'.
Posted by bonnie at 5:57 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
May 22, 2006
How Does Your Garden Grow?
I was telling Keith that I'm really bad at patience. He shared a story with me. It's from his days as a Jesuit-educated kiddo. (I was never taught such deep stuff in public school.)
The young priest goes up to the wise, old patient priest and says, "Father, please teach me patience." The old priest says, "Well, patience is a gift from God. So, let's pray for you." The two get down on their knees and the old priest begins to speak: "Dear Heavenly Father, please visit upon this young man all manner of suffering, trials and tribulation, please give him pain the likes of which he has never experienced." The young priest says, "What are you doing?!?" To which the old priest responds, "Once you have endured all manner of suffering, sitting still and waiting patiently will be the easiest task you've faced."
So, I'm getting okay with being patient. I mean... look at my choices! Sit patient, I shall! Like it or not. ;)
But I got to thinking about my "mess of options" as a garden. Let's say that, in my handful of years in Hollywood, I've been planting seeds in various sectioned-off areas of my garden. Pretend that I somehow had the wisdom, good mentorship, or an instruction manual to guide me. And that's why I did a really great job of putting seeds into the ground at areas with the right type of shade for their healthiest growth, knew not to put plants that choke the life out of one another in close proximity, and carefully chose fertilizer that works well, even though I--at the time--thought I was just biding my time playing in the dirt.
I may not have realized, while writing for Back Stage West, that I was planting seeds. It just felt like a cool survival job for an actor with an MA in Journalism. I mean, what the heck, right? It was easy, it related to my world, and I was asked to earn money writing about casting for a readership of actors... so I did it! When I published my first book, I probably didn't think of that as planting seeds, since it seemed like such a BIG DEAL. That HAD to be a harvest, right? Book publishing couldn't be seed-planting. So, I didn't worry about the seeds I had already planted, since I was busy harvesting. Or so I thought.
Getting into casting was definitely seed-planting, but it was in a totally different section of the garden. I'm pretty sure, at this point, I considered it an entirely NEW garden, rather than looking at some large field as a whole. But the thing is, I didn't uproot the seeds I'd planted years before just because they were no longer relevant to me. In fact, when I left Back Stage West and went a whole year without a weekly column, yeah it was weird, but it was also okay. Like, maybe that part of the garden would grow someday, maybe not... but I didn't really care. I had a new garden and that's where my focus was.
So when I started writing a weekly column again a couple of years ago, I didn't look at it as though I'd gone back to that same area of the garden to plant new seeds, nor did I assume that I was harvesting something I had planted in the past. I figured I was just planting new stuff! And I enjoyed watching it grow quickly, not ever assuming that the quick growth had anything to do with having learned something about how to plant or nurture little sprigs of anything in the past. I mean, this was a whole different garden, right?
And when a few films I cast went on to appear in festivals and win awards at them too, I thought, "Cool! A little bud is popping up! How fun!" And I kept planting new seeds, because, y'know, THOSE seeds (the films winning festival awards) were already plants now and there was really nothing for me to do anymore. If I didn't keep planting NEW stuff, I'd run out of anything to garden!! Plant, plant, plant... hurry, hurry, hurry. Stuff the ground with seeds everywhere, in case something stops blooming and I'm suddenly out of anything to harvest. New relationships, new projects, new connections... focus, focus, focus... busy, busy, busy.
Hang on... what's that? That dark little corner over there where I'd planted seeds a gazillion years ago... what's going on over there? Holy crap! I must've done something right because without even watering, tending to, or fretting over what I planted years ago, something lovely emerges from the ground, healthy, beautiful, filled with life. It's like the sprinkler system I thought to install (even though I was sure I was wasting money at the time) has been doing its job. And the seeds were so well-planted, the soil so well-chosen, and the shade/sun ratio SO just right that there's LIFE there too!
Crap! Do I stop gardening in the section of the yard I'm paying attention to? Do I try to maintain both crops? All TEN crops? Could I possibly tug on the little seedlings just beginning to spring up to see if they're heartier than what's bursting through on its own over there? No... that would kill it all. Hmm. Do I... dare I... just WAIT? Could I ever trust that I actually knew what the heck I was doing all those years ago and enjoy that different plants are going to bear fruit at different times... and when they all bloom at once, just enjoy the view, invite people over, and have a feast?
Yeah. If I'm patient, I can do that.
Sometimes being a decent gardener means waiting for spring.
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