Nose to the Ground - #8

DEAR ROW:

I used to be a pretty spirited teenager and twenty-something activist ready to pounce on the nearest or latest social injustice. I went to law school with high hopes of alleviating any kind of social injustice for good. Naïve. Definitely. Arrogant. Of course. Elijah-complex from the Bible, thinking I’m the only one who cares enough to right wrongs. Had it badly then. I often had it so badly I was stifled by my overwhelming righteous indignation. I suppose then it was just indignation.

Law school was supposed to fix that. Give me the tools to put my righteous indignation into actionable steps. It didn’t. It only confirmed how much I abhorred these institutions/systems that claim to be working for the betterment of society. I couldn’t run from the courtroom fast enough and back into another graduate program. I became Superman and Flash, flying and running, running and flying all the way to O-hi-o.

And as I find myself in a program that affords me the avenues to explore my passion and the tools to advocate for alleviating social injustice, albeit through a different lens…there’s still something missing.

Picking up a serving spoon and spooning a heavy serving of mashed potatoes on a displaced person’s plate is direct. It’s instant. Opening up my MacBook Pro. Finding my Final Draft file. And typing dialogue for a made up character seems mighty remote from that displaced person’s talking stomach.

I miss the human interaction that advocacy often brings. I miss being an ear to someone to share their stories with. I miss helping put a smile on a child’s face by playing a competitive game of Checkers with them. I miss lobbying for a cause for a local community.

And I know. All of this can still be done. Right now. I can partake in all of the above this minute. But I often grapple with efficiency v. over extending myself. Finding that balance. And isn’t my writing eventually going to help someone? Say something?

Eventually? I want do something now!

Well…There is a need for diversity awareness and sensitivity in my school program (in most schools, in most office environments, in most cities, in most nations, etc.). 

[Cue the melodramatics.]

Chanel: Could an opportunity for advocacy been staring you right in your face, but you've been too self-absorbed and unwilling to shoulder any blame, that you've pushed any idea of you being a helpful conduit for eventual progress aside? 

Self: Yes, girl. How are you just now realizing this?

Chanel: ...

Self: Shame. You don't even respond to yourself. Well, did you at least read Shonda Rhimes’s recent comment about the DGA diversity award she was given? They still don’t understand that this kind of award only highlights the lack of_____ in their institutions? 

[Cut the melodramatics.]

This is how much I need to put my nose back to the ground and advocate for something, Row. My internal dialogues are now appearing without warning in public. Not good.

Write me back, 

Chanel
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DEAR CHANEL:

Josh Whedon has a similar response when he’s continually asked why he makes strong female protagonists and female centric content (Buffy the TV show) – he always replies with… the fact that you ask me this question every time I get interviewed is why I do it. 

I think that if you’re being asked or provoked to ‘represent’ and be a focal point for diversity – you should take it… it may feel tokenesque, but if it means progress, why not? While you might be overextended, when in your life is it ever BAD to be busy? Are you afraid you’ll suffer exhaustion and be checked into a rehab center? Lol. You’re in graduate school, you’re in academia and it’s basically the best learning and growing platform you will have. I say just stay busy and use any outlet you can for exposure and use every tool, trait, angle to your advantage.

I think that your writing accompanied by good press/publicity can be a fantastic way to bridge the outreach gap you feel from writing on your computer to real interpersonal interaction. I agree that a righteous naiveté without direction is dangerous, but so are silent protests through words that will never get read or produced/published. It's just as ineffectual.

I think you’re plenty forthright to lead the charge. I think your demeanor of being intellectually and selectively vocal is exactly why you were probably moved in this direction. The question of diversity is silly. I applied for a program through a Big Network and the essay question was “Describe how your diversity has worked to your advantage” – which I found ridiculous because the program was targeted to diverse individuals – so clearly it couldn’t have helped us THAT much if the network created and is implementing the program… 

In closing, I say keep on grinding and pressing forward but don’t forget to pick your head up once in a while and look around. You might be grinding that nose for so long you don’t realize how far ahead you’ve gotten.

--Row

Represent - #7

DEAR CHANEL:

So I’ve been working at this prodco – which consists of one man, BM #1 and his ‘actress’ girlfriend… that’s how all the prodcos in LA are…  “We” are a production company – cut to: One dude in his studio apartment with interns sitting at his alcove kitchen table on their own laptops sucking off his free streaming internet from his apt bldg.

I’ve recently been ‘promoted’ which means I didn’t quit after the first month and I’m working more on development.  What does that mean?  He has ideas and what I do is translate them into legible and composed words on paper for treatments, one pagers, show bibles and the like.  Sometimes I even get asked for my input or get used as a sounding board to challenge and poke holes in his story like a Red Team… have you seen Newsroom?  I love that show, anyway I’m his one (wo)man red team and sometimes I win and others I just end up writing what he wants.

It got me thinking… while the activity of development with BM#1 is basically what I’d like to do (aside from directing… which I’m actually excited about but that’ll be for another letter) only on a much smaller scale, more on spec and most importantly for projects that I don’t care about.  He makes no qualms about selling TV as a commodity (which it undoubtedly is) you won’t get any arguments from me about art vs. business.  I am one of the first to say that show business is exactly that: a business.  If it ain’t making money it’s not worth anyone’s time, at least in Hollywood.  Indie projects are a different animal.  But what that means for me is… if I’m doing this for some guy for minimal pay and little to no autonomy… why don’t I just look for a manager myself and work on my own writing and do what I want to do which is get staffed on a sitcom next year?  Why am I starting here at this point with this dude?  Is it because I think I need to pay my dues for crappy work and chump change pay?  Particularly when BM #1 disputes hours that I legitimately log?  He’ll ask me what he owes me and when I tell him he still pays but not after a few hem and haws like I’m taking the shirt off his back for the 10 hours I worked.

I have an MFA, I have transferrable skills and I completely understand the format and structure of screenwriting.  I’m not some hack who woke up one morning and THINKS she can write. Yes, the urban myth is very true – because I’ve met these people – more to follow but yes there are people who seriously wake up in middle America, quit their steady job pack it all up and chase their dream to Hollywood – without a plan or skills.  

But I’m different; I actually have a POV that is unique and distinct.  Based on the DGA article: http://www.studiodaily.com/2013/10/dga-to-women-minorities-in-tv-its-not-getting-better/ - I’m a commodity myself.  In fact one that many shows would love to have because I’m not only a female and a minority but also gay which is a triple threat!  Which is something that this industry needs.

Thoughts? 

--Row

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DEAR ROW (a.k.a Triple Threat):
I don’t have many words in response to your letter, mainly because I do feel as if you have done the therapy thing in your five hundred words. You came to the conclusion at the end. You solved the puzzle, girl.  

But I will ask: Do you want to be a commodity? Because the late/great Janis Joplin says, “you are what you settle for.” And I don’t want you settling as a commodity. You are a gift. (Here Chanel goes being spiritual again.) But you are. You bring diversity of race, gender and sexuality to the writing world. Your touch isn’t to be sold like a Chiquita banana. It’s to be gifted to the world like one of Oprah’s favorite things. Now another Seth Macfarlane spin off show about Brian the dog or Stewie, that is a commodity. He is a commodity.

Because you are bringing something new and what the world NEEDS—a different effing perspective, so we can stop hearing about WPP—I don’t see that as being commodifiable. Maybe my logic is skewed. I need apples, and they are commodified crops on the stock market. But just because things are commodified, doesn’t mean they should be. (For the record, I do not believe homes and crops should be traded on the stock market. You hear that, Janet Yellen, newbie Fed Reserve chief?)

I guess I’m an outlier. I am an outlier. I know this. Because I’m horrible at self-branding, quite possibly because I don’t believe in it. Not as I understand it to be. If I do any type of marketing—and I struggle to type that word—it’s out of sincere belief that there is a higher purpose that could perhaps save a child from getting shot. (A little too dramatic, I’m sure.)

Alls I’m saying is that I don’t believe a gift can be commodified. And you have a gift and needed perspective. THEY will commodify it, sure, but I hope that you’ll have some artistic license in how. Can one even maintain artistic integrity and still be a commodity? I don’t know. But if you do want to be a commodified, I’ll shut the eff up. (I’m running in circles anyway.)

Write me back, 

Chanel 
the non-commodity (maybe)

JUST Coffee - #6

DEAR ROW:
So as I’ve previously penned to you, I’m newly a barista. And I feel old. (Probably using the word ‘penned’ doesn’t help.) I can’t remember diddlysquat at my “I-don’t-wanna-practice-law-I wanna-be-a-playwright gig,” otherwise known as working up a funk at the coffee shop. Some things come quicker than others, but I guess that’s life, ain’t it? The owner ordered me to serve a customer, and even though he said PLEASE his tone made me want to quit; plus that PLEASE came with a pointed finger. 

Am I just sensitive, have a big ego, or feel like as a human being I shouldn’t be spoken to as if I’m three-fifths of one? I stand on the shoulders of my ancestors not beneath them, just saying. They fought for our freedom, not prolonged our oppression; and they never intended for me to get bossed around by a coffee shop overseer.

OR maybe it’s because I’m damn near thirty-one and feel as if I should not be ordered around like you would a negligent teenager. The customer will be attended to. He can wait thirty seconds for the other customer to put his flimsy recycled top on and mosey on out of the way. It’s JUST coffee. We’re not giving out emergency blood transfusions.

Maybe I’m the wrong person for the job, Row? I was just seeking something to give me some semblance of routine when I’m not interning or writing. But playwriting’s a lonely gig and you get used to the silence. The control. The calm. Working at this coffee shop is like being around other artists, on crack. Constant conversation. Constant over analyzing. Constant deep spiritual movements that are so constant they cannot be genuine. Like the same lady at church catching the Holy Ghost every Sunday. BUT I do need to be around other artists. Being a playwright is a double-edged sword...

The flip side: most of the other barista’s are gay. Some have even successfully macked on customers. (Did I just say ‘macked’?) Successful translating into the title of girlfriend-girlfriend. And many writers do camp out in coffee shops. I camp out in coffee shops. And I do feel among the transitioning. Many of my colleagues are experiencing the ‘in between’ like I am. New rule: you have to have at least one degree and working on or applying for your second degree to work at a coffee shop.

…I’ll try to humble myself, or mentally become an indentured servant, so I don’t irrationally quit the gig that is providing me with steady flows of dinero and structure. I hope you’re well, mi amiga!

Write me back,
Chanel
the decaffeinated barista

________________________________________________________________________________

DEAR CHANEL:

I mean let’s face it… you ARE old, but not in that “gimme my ginko biloba and St. John’s Wart pills...” to remember where you put your eyeglasses (duh- they're on your your head...), old. You’re old in that entry level and labor/task related jobs, aka the coffee shop, just aren’t the types of jobs you’re used to working, old.

I’ll even take it a step FURTHER and say, yes you may even be ABOVE it. Look, you went to law school, graduated (a feat in and of itself) and passed the bar on your first try… you’ve accomplished more before 30 than half the population will in their lifetimes. So yeah you forgot one PONC’s order on Monday that always comes in at 10 on the dot and you will never remember his absurdly quirky and distinct order… and that’s okay because what you actually need to remember is your below the neck worker bee gig does three things:

#1 earns you disposable income.
#2 gives your mind a reprieve from the intensity which is playwriting, letting your body do all the work for a change.
#3 exposes you to external/social stimulation because constant seclusion causes alcoholism, specifically in writers – it’s a historical fact.

In conclusion, fuck ‘em. This is why you’re at this job and who cares if people assume that you’re some loser who attempted another path in life and this coffee gig isn’t a choice it’s a consequence of necessity… you can’t worry about that. Just smile, serve ‘em a hot cup ‘o joe and get that dollar tip, girl! Think of it as research, you can always write these folks in as characters in your next story! Or you can write an authentic barista scene because you’re living it. Good writers write authentic experiences… use this as material to craft an authentic human interaction.

While you’re at it I’ll take a medium chai latte, 2%, extra hot… Thanks, kid. ;-)

--Row

The Meet & Greet - #5

DEAR CHANEL:

Being in a new city creates opportunities for new interactions, right now I want to talk about the interview process. It’s like going on a date but without the benefits of a hot meal and the tension of the goodnight kiss… but all the same anxiety and fear of judgment.

So I had an interview today with two young women, who are in the beginning stages of starting up a small prodco. They’re looking for a director – the first job that actually requires me to use my degree and is (at least I feel) a worthy job title for what I’m looking to actually do in this business.

The interview was easy, light and fun… which usually is how my interviews go. I (albeit cockily) firmly believe that if I can score an interview I’m pretty much a lock OR a solid candidate in the running. Whether it’s a cold interview or one I prep for, depending on how much I care really – I’m usually on point. A good friend of mine told me I just know what to say and I say it well… which hopefully is a good thing?

Overall I’m excited about this new prospect and a few days short of a full month of being into town it’s nice to have something like this come up. Of course there’s no pay… yet. But the creative opportunity is HUGE and making friends and building a really cool working relationship with some actors and artists in my age and professional range is really exciting. Let’s put it this way… the interview went so well that I didn’t mind the 50 minute, 12 mile drive home in the middle of rush hour at 5pm on the 101 freeway, northbound…. Which if you know me, and you do – I HATE traveling in traffic. LA Traffic needs it’s own letter, which may come in the near future should I feel up for the challenge of giving the post the attention it deserves – or am mad enough. Let’s leave it at this, I just imagine that everyone has the legal permission to purchase and consume medical marijuana and are all driving under the influence… when I look at it like that: the delayed break pedal reactions, inability to merge, slow speed and sheer unawareness that there is, yes in fact, an entire world of people outside of them in their fancy German sports car ALSO sharing the road and attempting to get home in one piece in a timely manner, all make sense and in fact I’m actually more lenient of the drivers when I just imagine them all stupid high (legally of course). Being in the thick of this gridlock made me feel like part of the working machine of the town, like I was becoming a part of something bigger in town where loneliness rivals the solitude that NYC creates.

I should know next week what the deal is… which is just like sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring after an amazing date, isn’t it?

Anxious and hopeful

--Row

_________________________________________________________________________________

DEAR ROW:

We are absolutely total opposites when it comes to interviewing. I would expect nothing less than for you to nail every interview you go on. I imagine you high-fiving your future employer as you walk out; they go that superbly. You, my sister-in-the-FWP-struggle, have the marvelous gift of gab, and the talent to back your loquacity up.

Seriously. When you were in Los Angeles interning last spring, how many internships did you have? In a three month span? It’s not will you get the internship, it’s when will you get it? And that’s normally on Los Angeles time.

I, however, can never shake the awkwardness off of my being. I stumble over my words. I talk in circles. I forget the strength of my vocabulary. I pretty much talk like a six-year old. BUT a sincere six-year old. It feels more like a pedophilic dating process, than like an adult one. Which is all kinds of wrong.

I hope you’re not waiting by the phone or computer. I know that’s the inevitable after a first interview or date. But as soon as you take your mind off of it, move on to another activity (whatever that activity may be), that’s when you get the call, or the email.

You already know this. Good things deserve some repeating.

TWO SNAPS for when you do get that call.

Write me back,
Chanel
your sister-in-the-FWP-struggle

The In-tern, ESQ - #4

DEAR ROW:

Even though I’m getting it from the front and the back, not literally, I know where your mind goes, I know I’m supposed to be in theater. But like you, I wrestle with being an intern. Yes, it was a genius excuse to get away from grad school for one semester, and small town Athens, OH. But…But I’m 30! And while I never thought I would be both a barrister and a barista, I just certainly never imagined I would ever be an intern at this age.

How does a thirty-year old intern address oneself? Do they say intern? Do they actually say
in-tern? I’m as modest as they come. I’m like a modest mouse, not the band. You know this,
Row. I hide when anyone gives me a compliment, even if it’s complimenting a shirt that I in
no way possible flew to India to make. But saying intern is like me turning into a Japanese
samurai just to perform seppuku. It. Literally. Kills. My. Soul. It’s like denying all of my
education and experience. It’s self-belittling. Okay. There’s definitely some ego involved in
that too, Row. I want people to know that I am a lawyer. I passed the Illinois bar. And this
is MY CHOICE. If I could wear a sweater that said, “This is MY CHOICE,” and on the back it
listed my education, I would. Would wear it proudly.

But despite the soul killing, my internship affords me backstage passes to the production of
a wonderful play: The Convert, by Zimbabwean actress and playwright, Danai Gurira. Kick-ass Michonne on The Walking Dead, Danai Gurira. No, I still have not watched this television show, Row, and probably never will. But this play. This play actually makes me question my submission to Christianity. Even though I have one foot in Jesus’s blood and the other in common sense, I still questioned my wavering belief in the Bible after reading her play. And if a play can make you do that, I want to write. I want to write plays that will make people question their ego, their submissions, their perceptions, their racism, their stereotypes, their greed, their blissful blindness... This internship is giving me a reason to believe playwriting can actually be a suitable avenue for advocacy. And that I might have just made the right CHOICE.

So call me intern. Go ahead, Row. Just say it. I’ll say it. I am an intern.

Write me back,

Chanel

the intern, ESQ.

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DEAR CHANEL, The Intern, ESQ:

Shall I refer to you as such henceforth? I don’t mind. It seems pretty fucking cool because it’s like the lowest rung and the upper echelon of professions all wrapped into one nifty title. I also slightly resent the fact that you believe my mind is always in the gutter – while, yes I do tend to rent a villa in the gutter, most of the time I sublet it and only use it as a vacation home … but I won’t lie I totally thought about sex when you said you were getting it from both ends… haha.

At the end of the day whatever your title is… you’re making a lateral jump in careers – it’s
the ladder theory. Because of this we must ‘pay our dues’ (I hate that phrase) and start at
some point. So checking the ego at the door and working your way up by building rapport and connections is something you need to do. Break it down this way: You spent four years in undergrad another three in law school then what? Two more as a practicing lawyer? That’s a total of NINE years of hard work… you’re in your third year of graduate school… you might as well be a junior in college the way the world sees you.

Sure, you have transferable skills that make you more that just some youngbuck intern – but
you’re inexperienced, not published, not produced and you haven’t sold anything… so you’re an intern. It is what it is. It is also your choice and who cares what other people may think. As long as you keep in mind that your potential for growth is infinite and you keep working hard and grinding away you’ll soon be interviewing interns to replace you! Use it for what you can and don’t get too bogged down by the label, I know we’re gay… it’s hard for us, but “labels are for jars, not people” (another phrase I hate). See this as an opportunity to make mistakes, learn and reap access to free shows and contacts.

Keep on freeloading because we both know you ain’t getting paid!

--Row

"EXEC ASSIST" - #3

DEAR CHANEL:

I have managed to get a job… rather let’s call it a ‘gig’ for now because I’m not quite sure what else to classify it. It started out as an “executive helper” but has now evolved in the span of just two weeks… still the same pay and rate but I’ve become responsible for finding interns for other tasks and I’ve been given an email address and access to other projects and some development/pitch work… basically I’m transitioning into a creative position – which is nice. I guess. The BossMan dude said he would like to hire someone full time but wants to wait until the revenue stream is more consistent before doing so… but I don’t know, we’ll see. Not sure that I’ll be around when that happens.

I guess it’s a good thing that BM #1 thinks this, and to be honest if he didn’t live so damn close to me I’m not sure I’d be so apt to work for him. I am making some pocket change and I’m doing something… which beats being depressed lying on my futon in my pajamas at 2PM playing bingobash on my iPad. BUT it also makes me wonder what am I getting out of it? Like seriously what exactly am I GETTING OUT OF THIS? Initially it was about the money but since there’s really no money, I’m starting to understand that this is MY career and I’m in control. While yes, a lot about this business – particularly on my side of the country – is about someone else validating your skills in so far as enough to label you officially as that which you THINK you might be and provide financial reimbursement for your services for that validation.

For example:
Actors: are you an actor if you take class after class and work on monologues daily but don’t get cast? No, you’re still just a waitress… at the end of the day.

Comedians: are you a comedian if you don’t get booked for a show and get $20 for your five min set? No, you’re still just a Barnes & Noble drone.

Writers: are you a writer if you spend six hours a day rewriting drafts of your pilot and no one has read it, repped it, or tried to sell it? No, you’re still just a barista.

So my question is: am I a writer/director/producer? Or am I just an exec assist at the end of the day, and if so do I like that? Is that what moving out here was about? Am I proud of that absurd title? Do I want to sit at Thanksgiving dinner and tell relatives that that’s my job title in the big, bad, H-Wood?

Of course not, I moved here to get staffed on a show, become a legitimately paid and employed writer whose work gets produced and aired on TV. That’s what moving here is about.

Thoughts?

--Row

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DEAR ROW:

I have to completely disagree with you about labels. And I hate labels. So I’m not even going to identify my calling as a label. If you have a gift for writing and you are actively writing, you are a writer. If you have a gift in acting and you are actively pursuing acting, you are an actor. And so on. I don’t even believe the ‘actively’ is necessary to identify yourself as such.

I was a writer, even while I was in law school trapped under Contracts and Civil Law books. Those suckers are heavy as hell. I am a writer, even though I find myself slowly beginning to become fond of my new coffee shop gig. I am a writer, even if upon graduation I go back to law, or work at Home Depot. I will always be a writer because that is my calling.

Will I ever be a famous writer? A working writer? A published writer? If I never do, I am still a writer. I’m not even an aspiring writer. I am a writer. I don’t have to aspire to be something that is ‘God’-given. I have to hone my talent, of course. I have to find and fine-tune my voice, sure. Being a writer is like being a singer. A singer knows they’ve been given the gift of music. Whether or not they choose that path, they will always be a singer… Writing has been following me around like a ghost ever since I was a freshman in high school. (Maybe sooner, but my memory is a goner.) What could that be, if not a calling? I was a writer even in high school.

Row, if you feel like you have been called to be a writer, director and producer, then you ARE a writer, director and producer. Sounds a little Whoopi Goldberg to Lauryn Hill in Sister Act 2, I know. But if you don’t identify as such, no one else will. (This all feels a little hypocritical, as I struggle daily with calling myself a playwright because I feel my work does not ‘align’ with the dominating theater culture. I should care not.)

The question really comes down to: what do you feel like you have been called to do? I know I’m getting all effing spiritual and crap. But I have to believe I’m in this hard knock industry for reasons larger than making more cliché work, putting more PONC on television/stage, or perpetuating stereotypes. I have to believe that I’m in this industry to “break media,” as the fearless Kanye West says. (I’m not obsessed with him, I promise. But ya gotta respect his fearlessness, even if foolish at times.)

The gig you currently have seems to be affording you the creative responsibility you’re craving and might be helping to define your goals in the industry. I’m happy it was convenient for you to travel to because it’s these quirky ‘small’ roles we play that help us get to the bigger ones. (I sound like a hallmark card. I’ll stop.)

OH. The manager’s list. Stalk them. Gotta do something uncomfortable to get something great. (And I don’t mean sleeping your way to the bullshit top.)

Write me back,
Chanel

your spiritual guru :)

The Writers' Circle - #2

DEAR ROW:
So being new in Philly, I’m attempting to cozy up to writers who look like me, you know, women and brown. For a little solidarity. Another perspective. To keep me hopeful. Provide feedback. Maybe even find inspiration in investing my time in another artist. Write it forward, you know? Like pay it forward, but in writing: artist genuinely helping other artists. I strongly believe that when others close to you are succeeding, your time will soon come. So help a sister-artist or brother-artist out, yo…

But I also genuinely would like to meet folks outside of my new theater internship. Because in this City of Brotherly Love, I truly only know my father and newly relocated cousins. And if I’m seriously considering Philadelphia as a candidate for a ‘settle’ worthy city post graduation, I need to gingerly and safely spread the sisterly love.

Anyway, the other day I attended a QBWWC. Mistake. I have nothing against people under the age of twenty-five. Their spirits are like steamed milk with lots of foam. Or a cloud. I guess I could have just said cumulonimbus cloud, with no threat of rain. They’re like ready to jump off of a cliff any minute to feed a homeless person. Effng gotta love that…

I thought the point of the group was to write, via writing exercises and/or prompts. We wrote. Did some writing, of course. No one really wanted to share their pieces though. There was a lot of uncomfortably awkward silence and darting of the eyes to advert one another’s stares. And then for about an hour I felt pushed into a discussion about queer disability advocacy work, or the lack there of. And the effectiveness of polemical activists, like Cornel West. Were we trying to solve something, and I just wasn’t in on the mission? A healthy political discussion any other time is like foreplay to me, but this was to foster our craft and hang with like-minded writers. But their gosh darn beautiful youthful spirits misled me to a store-front Queer Panthers meeting... I do hope they never become jaded like I have though, Row.

My quest to meet other writers continues.

Write me back, 
Chanel  (wish I could pronounce cumulonimbus cloud)

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DEAR CHANEL:

I think what you’re experiencing is the elitism of a “graduate student trying to assimilate into the amateur world of writing as a hobby because of loneliness” syndrome.  Let’s face it, we can bitch and moan about grad school workshops but the simple fact is through grad school we’re growing confidence in our artistic voices; and the whole point of writing for us is to get published, produced, and be exposed to the masses.  The sheer fact that these young bucks are not comfortable yet in their OWN writing but happily spout rhetoric and theories they learned in their freshman ‘seminar intro into the history of the psychology of the digital caveman’ classes or whatever kids are learning these days, proves that they don’t have a unique POV or anything new to add to theorems just yet.  Which is WHY they’re ready to jump off a cliff and give the shirt off their backs to feed the homeless (even if the homeless can’t eat fabric), because that’s all they CAN do.  They can only give physically and do – they can’t contribute anything new intellectually to the conversation of life because they haven’t lived enough to come from a genuine place to say anything about anything.  So they write their little journal entries and tuck them away in the deep dark depths of the back of their notebooks covered in Che Gevuerra stickers.

So my suggestion: worry less about finding writers who look like you and more about them having common educational and experiential backgrounds as yourself, that way they’ll share and workshop with you and you guys can get your material to a publish/performance worthy state.

Lastly, you’re not jaded – you’re a WRITER.  You’re a realist and you’re trying to say something with your work.  If you were really jaded you’d still be at that law firm taking away foreclosed homes from hardworking middle class families to pay your student loans.

Keep on keepin’ on.

--Row