I’ve been doing a lot of traveling recently. I went from San Diego to Atlanta, to Las Vegas to Chicago, and in two weeks I’ll be headed to New York. Two of those trips had less than 48 hours turnaround time between them—resulting in my being so exhausted when I hit Atlanta that, despite having two full days off to explore the city, I never left my hotel room. I laid in bed for two days watching Dominic Cooper movies on iTunes and only coming down for dinner out of the hotel restaurant.
But there are finally a few things worth talking about. Speaking of Dominic Cooper, I met him at this year’s Comic-Con, though I embarrassed myself when I just rambled excitedly in his direction. He had to stop me to ask for my name. It wasn’t my finest moment, but I’m over it now because Colin Donnell told me that’s a guy worth getting flustered in front of. And I trust Colin’s opinion, because I get flustered in front of him every year.
I worked with my friends at ELEAGUE in Atlanta, which I enjoy for the opportunity to stretch myself in a discipline that is largely alien to me. Luckily, I’ve had a few good people there to teach me the ropes, including Richard Lewis and Jason “Moses” O’Toole, the former of whom left the building but the former of whom is still there and was quite complimentary of my work. I also finally met Alex “Machine” Richardson and Janko “YNk” Paunovic, and I’m glad I did because not long after that tournament, Janko went off to coach MIBR so that trip I almost didn’t take became the one opportunity I had to work with him. He just led MIBR to the semi-finals of the London Major yesterday.
Then it was off to Las Vegas for a very overdue family vacation, which involved taking my parents to Hell’s Kitchen and going to see my old friend Criss Angel, who called me out in front of the whole room yet again. He’s done this a few times, and I’m still not used to it. Nor was I used to one of the Chicago Med executive producers telling me he reads my website “all the time” and Dick Wolf knowing who I am, to the point his publicist asked me if we wanted to take a picture together.
It’s been a busy couple of months, and odd ones at that.
I consider myself very lucky to be in the position I’m in. To be able to share experiences with so many good people, and watch them go on to do great things knowing that our paths crossed however briefly. Not to mention to do this for 18 years, and be able to support myself doing it, though it hasn’t always been easy. It still isn’t.
In those four months, I’ve been working 8:30 a.m. to 2:30 a.m. shifts, stopping only in the afternoon to grab a Lean Cuisine and a two-hour nap. I had to work on my vacation because there was no one to cover for me. Yesterday was the first full day off I’ve had in a couple of weeks. I turn out about 200 articles a month, and last week I found out that number is going up to 340 if I want to keep breaking even.
That’s 12.14 articles a day, every day. The number goes up to 17 if I don’t want to work weekends. Pretty much an article an hour, once you subtract time out of each day for sleep. I make just enough money to get by, and the older I get, the more it physically hurts.
Sometimes, it really kind of sucks.
But then some days I remember that I get to hang out with Colin Donnell, and that I just got to write an interview with Scott Dixon a few months before he won his fifth IndyCar championship, and that Dominic Cooper has met me now (even if it was embarrassing), and it really is awesome. You find the days, the moments, that make it worth the pain.
And then you sit down, get back to work, and prepare for the next adventure. New York, I can’t wait to see you.
I want to apologize to my readers for largely falling off the planet for the last 18 months. I disappeared into my work for awhile, while I was trying to earn a full-time position with FanSided. Unfortunately I didn’t get a full-time offer, so I’m still working freelance, which for me equates to more than full-time hours anyway. As you can imagine, you forget you have a blog when you’re working 70 hours a week.
Even if I’d remembered I had a blog, though, I wouldn’t have had much interesting to tell you. There hasn’t been much going on here except work, sleep, and that third time I blew up my microwave a couple of weeks ago.
I’m still here, still grinding it out, and hoping there will be more to tell you in the coming months. I have a couple of major trips planned (mostly for work, but they’ll be fun anyway), and I’m using my free time to catch up on a lot of things. Still hoping to get that Masters Degree, and watching an awful lot of HGTV and Live PD. (Hey, those rhymed.)
Watch this space. If you want more timely updates, follow me on Twitter, but this story’s not over yet—just a bit delayed.
It’s been one hell of a month, from celebrating my birthday to pointing a laser rifle at a coworker, and so it seems like a good time to blog.
San Diego Comic-Con
I always look at Comic-Con as an opportunity to see people that I don’t get to see the rest of the year. This year was a bit of a bust, coverage speaking, as we didn’t have the big crazy moments that have punctuated most years (unless you count the photo here of me being twins with Rick and Morty co-creator Dan Harmon, or the one I sent my boss of me pretending to threaten my coworker).
As I continue to struggle with my self-esteem, though, it was nice to see several of the people who got me to where I am today. I was reunited with my friend Coby Bell in The Gifted for the first time in at least five years. It’s been so long that neither of us can remember, but Coby was one of the first friends I made in this business and for years was in my corner both professionally and personally. One of my favorite moments of con was overhearing him tell the reporter after me, “Good luck following the great Brittany over there.” He had no idea how much those words meant to me.
There’s my big brother from another mother Michael Trucco, without whom I’d have half of a career and got to see at the Battlestar Galactica reunion. I can never say enough good things about Michael, or about Tricia Helfer, or my childhood hero Linden Ashby, or my favorite Twitter friend Ben Daniels as thank heaven we have another season of The Exorcist. These are people who have shaped me no matter how infrequently our paths cross and I love them.
But what really surprised me at Comic-Con was being recognized and remembered by people I never expected to. When I first met Maggie Lawson I was on my second novel and at the relative start of my career, and more than a decade later she still knew who I was. It reminded me how far I’ve come and that I do leave an impression. And it also brings me to…
The Return of Suits (and the Return of Good Ideas)
The new season of Suits is here, which means I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to talk myself out of writing another novel inspired by Gabriel Macht.
Gabriel is an acting genius, and a few years ago watching his performance as Harvey Specter directly inspired me to create the character of Kevin Creighton, a Los Angeles-based corporate attorney who winds up being involved in several high-profile criminal cases. Ben Daniels played his opposite number, which is probably not a coincidence, and I had an incredible amount of fun writing for the two of them.
So naturally, now that Gabriel is back on my TV screen, I’m wondering what Kevin would be doing now and telling myself I can’t start a sixth novel to find out.
Firstly, let me just give a shoutout to Gabriel Macht and say he’s one of my favorite actors to watch because I’m constantly inspired by what he does. I love watching him work and the choices he makes, and just appreciate his process. He’s also a great person off-screen and someone I always love getting to talk to, even if I usually say something dorky along the way.
But he’s also the reason I wrote my last novel, after we had an offhand conversation at Hotel Cafe that made the lightbulb go on over my head. And that happens a lot. I have the incredible gift of being able to learn from so much talent and turn that into my next idea. When you put me in front of an actor of his caliber, especially with the level of writing that we get on Suits, my brain just runs off with itself. It doesn’t care if I have eight other things to do. It just constantly is inspired to create.
So don’t be surprised if a short story turns up next week detailing the return of Kevin Creighton.
How Many Times Can I Attempt To Kill Him?
I’ve spent what little free time I’ve had this month (all three days of it) continuing to work on my new TV series. Which as I’ve mentioned on this blog before is a pretty dark and intense place to live in. One of my requirements is that every episode must put at least one main character into legitimate peril, which means that people are getting kicked around a lot.
Namely, a certain friend of mine, whose character has now almost died three times over the span of 18 episodes.
This was not on purpose. This was sheer coincidence, as this week I broke the story for an episode in which one of my two lead characters is exposed to a lethal street drug and spends the 42 minutes hospitalized while half the episode takes place in his own head. The one it makes the most sense for is the character who has internal demons to work out—which happens to be the guy I’ve already tried to kill twice.
It almost makes me laugh, because I don’t mean to be so cruel to the same actor. He happens to be one of my best friends, and somebody I’d want to keep on the show for as long as he could stand it. But I’m just torturing him, really, and I feel terrible about it.
Even as it’s added another layer to my understanding of the character, asking myself why he’d keep putting himself in life-threatening situations. I have a whole character arc now that I wouldn’t have had before if I wasn’t trying to justify this.
But still. I’m not that mean.
So I’m sorry, Jeff. I’m not actively trying to kill you. It just keeps happening that way, and at least I’m getting some great material out of it.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I’ve spent my July. Debating how many times is the socially acceptable number to try and kill a fictional character, plotting a novel I don’t have time to write, and going to Comic-Con. What’s next?
Friday was my last day at Americans Undercover. It was also the last day for a lot of things.
First, the big news: I resigned from my position running Americans Undercover. There were a few reasons why, but the primary one was that I just don’t want to do everything on my own anymore. I’m tired of going to bed at 6 AM. Tired of carrying 150 articles on my back. Tired of feeling like everyone was depending on me. Maybe this is because of all the hell I’ve been through this year, but I’m kind of over that.
I’ll qualify that by saying I love my job, and I appreciate everyone I get to work with, and I even still love The Americans. I’m still going to cover the show next year for FanSided.com, and I’m still running the show over at One Chicago Center. But as of July 1, that’s all I’m doing for the company and against every bone in my body, I like the way that feels.
It’s been a hard and uncomfortable process. I don’t like to quit. I’d rather be shot in the face than quit on something I’ve put my name to. But over the last few months, my world has changed a lot, and things don’t look the way that they used to. I can’t be the same person I’ve been for the last 16 years. I have to change, and that change has meant it’s time to move on from a lot of things.
Leaving the site cut my workload down by at least 25 percent. I’ve also scrapped any idea of getting that Lifetime movie made; I haven’t heard a word and with the person I wrote it for on to so much better, best to admit it was a lost two months than keep hanging onto it. Honestly, I’m tabling the thought of getting any script produced for now, because it’s just not there and all I’m doing to myself is getting my hopes up.
In six days, I’m going to be 32 years old. It’s a good time to take a breath.
What I want to do is find something to get excited about. I’ve done a lot of writing over the last six months, but rarely has it been something I’m madly in love with. There was this Chicago Justice editorial I wrote while kind of drunk on Mountain Dew and idealism. And my last interview with Colin Donnell. But I want to get back to doing things that I can’t shut up about.
I miss that girl. I miss the girl who seemed to have a story for everything, because she was doing crazy stuff like running off to Los Angeles just to have a drink with an old friend or flying to New York to crash an autograph signing just to make someone smile. I haven’t been that girl since New Year’s, and I want to be that girl again. Maybe San Diego Comic-Con will bring her back. Who knows? But she needs to get back here.
One of the best things about last year was that I did so much for myself. I wasn’t writing 36 episodes of a sitcom to get it made; I was doing it to make Jeff laugh. I wanted to fly all the way to Chicago just to spend a night with him, and Philip, and Monica? Then I flew to Chicago. I went to the All-Star Game not to work, but to hang out with my dad. And we made so many memories, from the bruise I still have from Whirlyball to front row seats to Maroon 5 on New Year’s Eve, to just being with people I care so much about.
In retrospect, with the exception of my sabbatical to New York in March, I lost all that. Some of it was taken away from me. Other parts got swallowed up by work. Others just drifted apart. But I haven’t been fun anymore, and it’s time to fix that. I’m still going to work hard and put in my time, but darn it, if I want to take a day off or sing off-key karaoke at the top of my lungs I’m going to do that, too. I still have another six months to even the score.
And six days to find something to do with my birthday other than sit alone and eat cake by myself AGAIN, so I’m currently taking suggestions. Let’s go have some fun again.
I’m going to leave you with one of my favorite classic songs, which I’ve been playing a lot recently:
A couple of people have asked me how I feel about the Chicago Justice news, and the truth is I’m only now climbing out of my hole.
I’m not going to go into the details, because I’m not here to start an argument and I think I’ve made my position very clear. But what I think about is how much it sucks to lose.
I absolutely hate losing. I’m competitive, but more than that, I’m dedicated. As we’ve talked about in the past I don’t hold back, and so when I don’t get a result I take that as a personal failure on my part. And I most definitely am keeping score.
This particular one really upsets me for a number of reasons. We should have had this. It was a quality series inside and out. It was part of a massive franchise. I was working with the best actor I’ve ever known. And it was right in my wheelhouse. The wheelhouse I’ve been building since I was in sixth grade studying criminal law for fun. (No, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but I could quote Ben Stone.)
Plus I can’t shake the feeling that this is a painful case of deja vu. Philip and I just went through this two years ago with The Player. That was another show we threw everything at and it never got the respect it deserved. And I will freely admit that when it went down, I lost my shit.
I was so upset over The Player that I fled to Canada. All I could think was that I had let Phil down, and let Damon down, and I hated that feeling. So when I got offered a chance to visit the set of Suits, I got on the plane just to get away and to decide if I even wanted to do this anymore. Because I’d convinced myself that I obviously wasn’t any good at it.
That was until the late-night note from Suits creator Aaron Korsh, telling me that he is a fan of my work. And staring at my phone, realizing that the writer of my favorite show on TV is a fan of mine, I realized I obviously couldn’t suck. So I got back at it.
I’m having those same feelings now. I’ve apologized to Phil at least twice. I definitely cried for a bit. And I’m kind of wondering what I have to do to get this right.
But as the last two weeks have gone on, maybe because I can’t run away this time, I’ve found myself thinking about all the memories we made in the last seven months. It just hit me that during One Chicago Day I unintentionally was sitting in Phil’s chair. Which would make perfect sense since I was sitting there rehashing my old opening statements in my head.
I’m thinking about that one fantastic night at Whirlyball, where we all just got to hang out and have a good time together, and I was never so excited to fail at anything in my life. Monica and Lindsey laid down perfect commentary for my complete ineptitude that still makes me laugh every time I watch it. I’m very lucky that I impulsively decided to fly across the country for that, because now we may not ever get to do that again.
I’m thinking about how Carl Weathers thought I had an invisible baby, and stupid bathroom fixtures, and all these little things that happened over the last eight months that I will never forget, no matter how short the journey.
I feel incredibly uncertain about myself right now. I committed myself to this career path in January based on the idea of getting to work with so many of my dearest friends. Six months later, most of them are gone. It’s just me, Colin Donnell, and the folks I know on Chicago Fire, and I get choked up realizing Phil and Monica won’t be there when I fly back to Chicago, and that Jeff and I won’t be able to tease each other, at least not in person. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, at all.
But I’m here for the long haul. I don’t have the option to run this time. And having spoken to some of those same people, they think I can still make a difference here, and I trust them even if I don’t trust myself.
So what am I doing this time? I’m throwing myself into my writing. This is a normal reflex for me, because it’s an exercise in control. A friend of mine gets written out of a show? Well, I can still write for him on my show. Something is done wrong? I can do it better. And I can take all those negative emotions – the hurt, the anger, the fear and the total confusion – and put them to constructive use.
It helps that my current project is the most intense thing I’ve ever done. The series I’m working on now is a very serious drama about a number of important issues, not unlike Chicago Justice. I have to go to some dark places for it to work. And I’m ready for that now because I have all these emotions swirling around in my head. So rather than run away, I’m asking myself which of my two best friends I can ask to jump off a third-floor railing. (They both have kids. This is a legitimate question that goes through my head.)
I’ve spent two weeks writing some serious stuff, and writing lines for several people who are very much still on my mind. Getting it all out, and trying to make up for it in my own strange way. Reminding myself that no matter how short all of this was we still were able to share something unbelievable together, and I’m still lucky as hell to have these people in my life.
So how do I feel right now? I’m hurt, I’m scared, and I probably need a hug. But I’m also grateful and working through this the only way I know how. And that will have to be enough until it’s time for the next fight.
It’s been another long while since I’ve blogged, so I’m going to cover a variety of things this time around.
One Chicago Center hit its 500th post this week. That’s a big milestone, and it cramps my brain to realize I’ve accomplished it in less than five months. The site is already within the Top 100 of the entire FanSided network. I heard that and breathed a major sigh of relief, because most of you probably have no idea how much I’ve stressed over getting it to work.
I put my reputation on the line when I asked FanSided to launch the site in the first place. I’ve spent the last seven months (five plus the two I spent in development) with most of my life invested into the site. I do the majority of the work and I’ve given up quite a bit to do it. So to reach 500 is something I’m proud of.
Thanks to all of you who’ve been a part of that, and supported the site through everything. A particular shoutout to my TV doctor Jeff Hephner, who was the first person to get behind me on this, and who’s done more than his fair share of tweeting and retweeting, and reminding me that I am not a crazy person.
Thanks as well to my actor friends who graciously took time out of their days so I could interview them, to the network social media reps who supported my content and my bad jokes, and to the fans who keep clicking to make sure the lights stay on. I literally couldn’t do it without you. (I think my favorite compliment I’ve gotten was Colin Donnell telling me he’s enjoyed seeing my work grow into this. When one of your favorite actors tells you something like that, it makes all the sleepless nights worth it.)
Speaking of sleepless nights, let’s talk about the upfronts.
I hate the upfronts every year. They are the only point in the year during which I am driven actively to drink. Luckily for me, drinking consists of two venti frappucinos and three bottles of Mountain Dew, because otherwise I’d be on the floor. There’s just so much stress that I can’t take it.
For me it’s not just about whether or not a favorite show is renewed. I’m thinking about the people I know who are involved in said shows, and the hundreds of crew members, all of whom may or may not still be employed. And selfishly, I’m thinking about whether or not I’m going to see them again.
One of the cool things about working in television is that you form ongoing relationships with people. Every time a show is picked up for another season, that’s another year of press events that I get to see someone at, or another chance I can get them on the phone for an interview. It keeps them in my life. When that show goes away, I don’t know how long it may be until we cross paths again.
I was elated over the renewal of Chicago Med because it means I get to hopefully spend more time with Colin and Patti; I’ve really enjoyed becoming friends with them and being inspired by them. At the same time, Jeff got written out in the finale, so I’m really sad that he won’t be there if and when I come back to Chicago.
And I’m getting more and more upset over the lack of news on Chicago Justice. Everyone there has been so welcoming to me, and such a pleasure to work with, and I don’t want to think of them not being there. One of the best things about being involved in this franchise has been how much time Philip and I have gotten to spend together over the past year, and I don’t want to wonder when the next time we see each other is going to be. I’ve got a Whirlyball team to field again in December, and suddenly I could be going back there without him, or Monica, or Connor, or Lindsey, or Jeff. It’ll just be me and Colin standing next to each other while I get progressively drunker on Mountain Dew.
So I’m literally sitting up all night, writing every freaking column I can think of just to do one more thing to hopefully help, waiting for the second we all hear.
This is why I hate the upfronts.
While all this madness is going on, I’m also working non-stop at my second job as FanSided’s IndyCar beat reporter. The month of May is the biggest month in IndyCar, and by the time you read this I’ll be up watching qualifying for next weekend’s Indianapolis 500.
I had the honor of going to the 100th Indianapolis 500 last year and it nearly killed me. The race was great, but I had to walk six miles in triple-digit heat, got heatstroke, and then got stranded in Atlanta coming home. If you look very closely in the above photo of me with Indy 500 winner Alexander Rossi (I’m near the rear wing of the car), you can already see how my skin has been unfathomably nuked by the sun.
Part of me feels strange not being there, considering it’s the biggest race in IndyCar and I’m supposed to be on top of all things IndyCar. But then I think about how I nearly wound up in an ER and I realize, probably best to watch this one from the couch.
Although I do find it cool that Marcus Lemonis, someone I think is awesome, has his company sponsoring my favorite car.
If you need me, I’ll be working on the 12 articles I owe today, while yelling something about Scott Dixon and trying not to lean too heavily on the Dew.
I haven’t blogged since my mental break, and that’s because I’ve been picking up the pieces. But something truly mind-blowing happened to me the other night, and I want to tell you about it.
I’ve spent the last month getting back to the start. Reconnecting with the things that got me excited about being a writer and the people that I do it for. I binge-watched both seasons of Sports Night and realized I still want to hug Josh Charles. I finished that Chris Ryan novel I hadn’t had time to start. I discovered Human Target is back on cable TV and then went and thanked Mark Valley for putting up with me.
Then I wrote a random feature at about 4AM Tuesday morning. It’s one I’ve had in my head for a couple of months, but kept delaying because I was sure nobody would care how passionate I am about a character, an actor and their confluence. But I finally published it because I had to say it, like I was going to turn blue in the face if I didn’t. Okay, there’s me being weird again, we can all ignore it and move on.
But in the middle of me having the most loner moment ever (sitting at home, eating my TV dinner, binge-watching CNBC) my cell phone goes off. That would be the person I’d written about, who also happens to be one of my good friends, texting me because he’s seen the feature. He tells me how much it meant to him. He also says that he got it from his boss, who no less than five minutes later is tweeting me to thank me for writing it.
And I can’t tell you what happened in The Deed: Chicago because I spent the next 45 minutes texting with my friend, just enjoying catching up with him and being overjoyed to know I’d done something that mattered.
I spent too long getting caught up in the business. I was busy trying to make my optimum number of posts (all 100 of them per month just on One Chicago Center alone), hitting all of my deadlines, checking my site traffic to ensure I was making money off all my 16-hour days. As my friend Patti Murin once pointed out, we all have bills to pay, and even with all the work I do, I once did the math and realized I’m just a few hundred over the poverty line. That plus the fact that I still look like a 96-pound shell of my former self, and you can see why I had a breakdown.
But I never got into this for the money. I got into it because I’m hardwired to be a storyteller. Seriously, I think it’s built into me, because my daydreams are of having conversations with actors on set, going over my script. I once burned my hand in the oven because I was also having an argument with myself over who was the best lawyer on Law & Order (that would be Linus Roache).
And I stayed in it because I have had the pleasure of working with some exemplary people. I can’t tell you how it feels to watch one of my favorite shows and recognize that I know the person I’m watching. I’m still confused that Linus Roache knows my name, let alone talked to me twice and said he missed me at that Vikings party History forgot to invite me to. Every time Jeff Hephner turns up in something I literally squeal in delight (sorry, Jeff). There’s my pal Damon Gupton, who’s both an actor and a fantastic orchestra conductor, because obviously. How does Colin Donnell even care who I am? And I’m watching Philip Winchester give a career-redefining performance every Sunday, while remembering that I’m friends with Philip Winchester.
But I’m finding myself becoming more and more jealous. Thinking about how much I wanted that random cameo on Chicago Justice. Thinking that they’re off doing these awesome things every week, and what am I doing? Most likely I’m home, alone, talking to myself with an Excel spreadsheet of deadlines.
I turn 32 in a couple of months, and I don’t want that to be my life. I want to have something more to show for it. I’m incredibly passionate about telling good stories that are hopefully going to change the world, and I love doing that with great people. I want to be at the next party and not hear about it later. I want to spend more time with the people I care about and not stuck in my own head. I want more of what they’re doing, and not to have the magic all reduced to lines and numbers.
I play my part in everyone else’s story, but what’s my part, exactly? What are the stories they tell about me? (I’m seriously asking. I have no idea if anyone even tells any stories about me. I hope they’re good.)
So that’s what I’m focused on now (that and still fighting this respiratory illness, fuck you whatever you are). I’ve changed my cell phone wallpaper to that one good picture of me with Adam Levine so I have to look at it every day and remind myself that I’m friends with Adam Levine. So that somebody I care about stares me in the face every day and that’s what I’m constantly reminded of.
And I’m going to do a better job of keeping in regular contact with the people I love, whether it’s sending a text or a Twitter DM. Keep those people in my life, and be there for them, and allow them to be there for me. Because there’s no way I can be upset when I’m talking with the likes of Philip and Jeff and Damon and Colin and Patti.
But I’m probably still going to have the above expression on my face. Because I don’t think I’ll ever understand why.
On Monday morning, I was thinking about killing myself.
It’s a feeling I’ve only had once before and I’m not proud of it. But after three months of every conceivable failure, I sat in the terminal on my way to New York and told myself that if I couldn’t come up with a good reason otherwise in the next four days, I would end the losing battle.
It wasn’t a decision that I made lightly. Far from it. Let me explain to you the full extent of what my life has looked like since January:
You wake up every morning literally choking as your throat has filled with mucus from the infection you can’t beat.
It makes it impossible for you to sleep more than two hours at a time (because you can’t breathe) or to eat most food (because you lapse into painful coughing fits that leave you gasping for air).
Which has caused you to lose four pounds as your body is destroying itself.
Plus you still have a broken heart from the fact that you were denied the opportunity of your dreams because of your job. Which wasn’t really a choice since you have doctor visits to pay for, but you don’t tell anyone that you considered quitting because that’s how badly you wanted what you’ll now never have.
You eventually drag yourself out of bed to work, which has become a struggle because you owe a minimum of twelve articles every day, and so you’re working until 4 a.m. just to make sure everything gets done. Never mind liking it; it’s about getting the job done and having to ice your hands afterward because of the strain.
Despite the fact that you’re working harder than you’ve ever worked in your life, you aren’t hearing a whole lot of positive feedback.
In fact, the biggest thing you hear is that you get fired via e-mail in the middle of the night because your now ex-boss doesn’t think you’re doing enough.
Okay, you think, maybe work isn’t going so great for me right now. That’s okay, I’ll take some time to focus on my writing career. You spend 29 days writing a movie that you didn’t think you could pull off, only to realize that it’s going to sit unread on your desk.
So you make the decision to bail out. Everything’s going to be okay, you tell yourself, because I’m going on vacation and I’m going to get to meet someone who’s inspired me and it’ll all turn around.
Except just as you’ve convinced yourself of this, that person tells you that they won’t have time to see you. And while they have awesome and perfectly understandable reasons for that, it’s hard not to feel rejected again.
Because there’s always a reason. There’s always a bad break. These things happen and they make sense. But that doesn’t change that the end result is that you’re the one who gets left behind, looking at the pieces of what was supposed to be your year.
So I resolved that I was going to give myself four days to either save my life or end it.
And I got on the plane to New York.
I did so knowing I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’ve been skirting around the edges of just how much pain I’m in, because it’s always been my way to not cause a problem for someone else and handle my business myself. So as I sat there in that terminal wondering why very few people in my life had said anything to me over the last three months, I realized that maybe it’s because I hadn’t told them the full extent of my issues. They didn’t know that I needed them.
The truth is I don’t mind suffering. My whole life has been about overcoming adversity. As we talked about in my last blog, I’ll take a bullet for anyone in my life. All I ask is that I have something worth fighting for. Someone who will be there.
I’ve spent my career as an advocate for other people, but I didn’t feel like I had anyone on my team.
I have to thank those of you who reached out over Twitter and text in the last couple of days. I heard from some people that I never expected to, and it helped to hear that you heard my pain and that you were there. There were some people I didn’t hear from that I thought I would, too, but those who took the time I sincerely appreciate.
I let those words roll around in my head as I wandered the streets of New York. I was quite honestly looking for a sign. That sounds so cliche to say, but I needed tangible proof that I still ought to be on this planet anymore.
Then I stumbled onto a very large sign. Literally. I took a picture.
I’m not ashamed to admit I squealed when I saw that sign. I was so proud to be able to stand there and say there’s a giant display featuring three of my friends. I brag about this stuff all the time. I don’t need kids with how proud I am of my friends.
Particularly Philip, who’s somebody that I look up to immensely besides being able to call him one of my closest friends. He’s an amazing person in every respect, and this is a massive opportunity for him. I stood there and I thought to myself, do I really want to not be here to see what happens for him next? I thought back to the long conversation we had in October, and knew I’d miss getting to hang out with him again.
Unbeknownst to me, he was texting me at the same time. So when I sat down for dinner I looked at my phone and found his message thanking me for the interview we did last week. You know, the one I spent seven hours worrying over. He was so sweet in complimenting me for it. And I was reminded again, he genuinely likes me. Likes me enough that his number’s in my phone and we can text each other in the middle of a Tuesday and he actually cares what I have to say.
I ripped the phone off the charger, unplugged my laptop, and spent a few days hashing things out with a number of people who let me vent about my bullshit more than is probably healthy. Friends that I hardly ever see who took me to lunch, to dinner, and to a museum where we played German death metal over the big scene from Independence Day. (Don’t ask.) I disappeared into New York and just got to be an average tourist, and it felt amazing to get up in the morning without a care in the world.
Then on Wednesday I took a trip to the New York branch of The Paley Center for Media, and I finally saw the PaleyFest panel that was held for Sports Night back in 1999. I sat there for an hour and a half watching the show that gave me a writing career, and the people who continue to inspire me to this day. I’m watching Josh Charles talking, thinking about how he was the first person who ever served as any kind of a muse for me, and now almost 20 years later we’re friends on social media. The high school kid who watched Sports Night could never have fathomed that, but the adult me can claim it.
I needed to be reminded of why I first became passionate about television, about writing, about life. Why I do what I do, and who I do it for.
We went to a show at 54 Below that featured all the songs from musicals that never made it to Broadway. I sat there and listened to every story of how financing fell through and people’s dreams got crushed. Yet all of them had gone on to other shows, and other success stories. They kept going ostensibly because they couldn’t imagine doing anything else, and that’s me, too. At my heart, I could never imagine being anything other than a writer. I certainly don’t want to leave this planet without at least bringing something to life.
I’m still not completely sure what’s going on in my life. I am not entirely okay. There’s still a lot that I need to work through, and I have to make sure that I don’t go back to work on Monday and promptly re-bury myself. I also have to get re-evaluated by a doctor and heaven knows what that will bring. So if I’m being honest, please don’t think that all is well with me now, because chances are I might need some help again.
But now I’m no longer afraid to ask. To admit that I’ve been really messed up for awhile, and I needed to make a drastic change.
To peel away all the pressure, and the post quotas and the mindless emails (like the person who decided to use my tweets as an excuse to pitch me a story – I wish I was kidding).
To get back to what I love, why I love it, and who I love most of all.
Tomorrow is a new week, and so here’s to new beginnings. With old friends and old dreams that never died.
The one word that means the most to me is loyalty.
Loyalty is what I’ve built my whole life on. It’s something that I seriously mean to the complete extent of the word. If I’m friends with you, or I’m on your team, there’s literally nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. Maybe it’s a small thing like just emailing you to say thank you. Most of the time it’s a big thing like taking on extra work that means I give up sleep, or flying across the country to be there for you like when I turned up for the Blindspot press room at New York Comic Con. When I let people into my life I make a commitment.
To me loyalty is part of being a friend and a colleague, and loyalty is doing everything I can within reason to support the people I am loyal to.
Recently I’ve become more and more aware that many people don’t think that way. I’ve gotten my heart broken, gotten pissed off, and been taken advantage of because of my loyalty. It sucks, and it makes me want to throw my hands up and walk away. But I can’t because that’s not the person I am.
Instead I end up putting myself into what I’ve termed my “invisible box.” That’s when my loyalty pressures me into making myself absolutely crazy. By the time you read this I’ll have been stuck in the box for almost a week. Wednesday was the massive Chicago Crossover event that was also the series premiere of Chicago Justice, as well as the season finale of Suits, and today is the formal premiere of Justice. Since Tuesday I’ve been scared to death about getting everything exactly right because of the people I care about.
Chicago Justice stars one of my best friends, Philip Winchester, and co-stars two other friends of mine, Joelle Carter and Monica Barbaro. On top of that as I mentioned in a previous blog it’s a project I truly believe in. So I’ve been on the verge of throwing up for the last couple of days because I had to make this happen. I wanted Philip to have my best, even if it meant I wasn’t sleeping right and tripled up my workload. Our friendship means that much to me that I was willing to sacrifice myself; in fact I felt like I had to or I’d be letting him down.
Finally on Thursday I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. If you were watching Chicago Med you’ll have seen the new Justice promo that features not one but two quotes from me in it:
After I spit my soda across the table in surprise I can’t tell you how much weight was lifted off my shoulders. Seeing that was like saying, I got mine. Maybe I’ll never get to walk behind Philip holding a file, but all that work I’ve been doing and all those late nights made a difference.
That’s what I think a lot of people don’t get about me. They don’t understand exactly how much I give up when I say that I’m loyal. I am loyal to a fault, where it is physically and emotionally taxing, and I’m staring at the TV after days of getting hardly no sleep on the verge of tears because I now know it’s all been worth it. Do you know that scene in The Cutting Edge when Doug tells Kate he throws up before every game? That’s me, except I can’t ice skate.
But when it’s worth it, man, there’s no greater feeling in the world. I actually talked to Philip on Friday morning and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to have him in my life and to know I’ve played some small part in his success. I heard from someone in New York that he was looking for me at NBC’s press day even though I wasn’t there. And as we sat on the phone together, and he asked me how I was and reminded me that Dick Wolf has actually quoted my words back to him, I was reminded again that this is why I do what I do.
As he said to me this is an industry full of some great people. I may never get to be on screen with any of them but I do get to stand by their side and help them reach their heights. I can look at these quotes and the ones that were used for The Player last year and say I’ve done something that helped Philip. I look at the newly bronzed ball from the WhirlyCruz Cup on my desk and I know it was worth flying all the way to Chicago to play with him, and share some genuine time with Colin Donnell, and have at least five different people snag me because they remembered who I was.
Make no mistake about it there are times when loyalty kills me. I cried my eyes out in January and I spent about four days in absolute depression wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I don’t enjoy the panic attacks and the constant second-guessing. And I’m wise now to the fact that sometimes you shouldn’t go out on that limb.
I’m packing my bags for New York in two weeks in which I’m going to spend four days as far away from work as possible and make some big decisions about what my life needs to look like. I’ve been beaten up physically and emotionally and it’s time to make a change. It’s not going to be pretty, but it’s time.
But I also know that I’m probably never going to get away from that invisible box entirely. That’s just who I am. I believe too much in what I’m doing, and there are too many people I enjoy doing it with, for me not to get worked up when they need me. For me not to put something on the line. I freak myself out because it matters. Maybe I can choose who to be loyal to but I can’t choose not to be this loyal. That’s not how this works.
This is a picture of my cat. This is also a picture of how I feel this weekend.
In the continual quest to not go crazy and make myself any sicker, I’m making an effort to step back from work and find other pursuits. Recently a good friend of mine read one of my scripts and asked me if I could come up with something for him. And so, I am now in the process of writing a Hallmark Channel movie. Which is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Anyone who knows me knows this isn’t my style. I was in the middle of writing the third episode of my next drama series and now I’m pushing aside books on the NYPD for a stack of romance movies and I’ve got the Celine Dion station tuned in on Pandora. If I have to hear “My Heart Will Go On” one more time I think I’m just going to start laughing. But I’m trying, darn it. I just don’t know what the heck I’m doing.
The good news is I’ve got a wonderful inspiration. When I said I’d do this it was with the motivation that I could pay it forward and write the lead for one of the strong women in my life. I can think of no one better in that respect than Patti Murin, who graciously let me use her as my muse for this project. Patti is exactly the strong, positive woman that would be perfect for a Hallmark movie. And since I know who I’m aiming for then I also know what I need to write.
But so far it’s been a comedy of errors trying to get it down on paper. My sense of humor and the kinds of tricks in my bag are, well, not Hallmark. I keep having to catch myself and write alternative lines because I realize I’m not getting certain things past the network. I actually had to tell myself, “I don’t think he can say that she tried to set him on fire.” As funny as that is and as much as Patti’s husband Colin would have nailed it.
Here’s the original exchange:
We’re not allowed to work together anymore. Not after the coffee incident.
During which, if I remember, you said that if you had to share anything with me again you’d set me on fire.
And then you tried to set me on fire.
Here’s the revised version:
We’re not allowed to work together anymore. Not after the coffee incident.
During which, if I remember, you said that if you had to share anything with me again you’d move to Canada.
Other things that have gotten cut so far: a line where Jordan says she wants to strangle her rival Marcus (now she wants to leave him in Missouri) and a moment where Jeff Hephner’s character Kevin admits he left town because his brother died (while that’s actually based on a true story, it’s still too tragic).
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to work in a scene about fostering puppies and an excuse for a musical number. Because if I’m lucky enough to get this movie made with musical theatre people in it there needs to be a song.
But this is what I’m working with and it’s one heck of a gear change for the girl whose pet project is a crime drama slash conspiracy thriller where there’s an action sequence every episode and Jeff Hephner gets to slam people up against walls.
Meanwhile if you didn’t get to see it, I wrote a very personal piece for One Chicago Center this week. I’m also not in the habit of making myself the story. Especially not when I was expected to be writing something else. But one thing I have learned from my recent exploits is that it’s easier to open up. So when I got moved by this week’s Chicago Med and couldn’t shake it I put that feeling out there instead of ignoring it. The few people who noticed have had some very nice things to say, and it always feels good to take a little weight off my shoulders.
I’m also taking a cooking class. I’m taking Gordon Ramsay’s MasterClass, to be specific. I had the pleasure of working with Chef Ramsay a few times for Kitchen Nightmares and the early seasons of Hell’s Kitchen and I’ve always liked him. I’ve also always wanted to learn how to cook. So when I’m not listening to Celine Dion and watching Hallmark movies I’m taking online lessons on poaching eggs.
This is all very weird to me. It’s all stuff I wouldn’t normally do. But part of me wonders if that’s the point of all this. If maybe my career going south is an opportunity to establish a new direction in my life. I guess we’ll find out.
If nothing else I’m getting to see a lot of romantic comedies. And finally taking some catnaps. (I had to.)