When I reminisce, I tend to question the choices I made, especially since my first choice ended up taking me on a path beyond my comfort zone.  For the sane, changing majors is an improvement.  For me, the game is a silent scoreboard where I’ve just spent a decade not doing what I am supposed to do.  I did not know when I was three that I wanted to be a writer.  There were no clear cut signs.  So, we’re left with a sense of lost time.  Psychology, piano and writing.  As much as they interest me they are different paths which require different training.

However, a curious thing happens when you start taking in your experiences and figuring out a bottom line.  You see patterns.  As I began to summarize my choices, I realized that even with exploration there is an underlying sense of self brimming beneath the doubt.

You see, whether I am a pianist, therapist or writer, I need a good ear.  My training comes from active listening, from hearing the details.  A note, a thought or a word, the process begins with a good ear.

What does this mean?  It means I can rest knowing that my previous life as a muscian also comes into contact with my current life as a writer.  Nothing goes to waste and nothing is a wrong turn, it’s basic discovery.  Therapeutically, I can begin to solidify my identity and refrain from fragmenting the good choices from the bad ones.

My point is–and I do have one– is this.  We cage ourselves based on what we do.  Somehow, we expect the writer self to be better than the student self, and the muscian self is erased because we determine it is so.  What I sometimes forget is that the self comes in one package.  There is a connection between all our choices; remembering that is one way to improve the writer self without neglecting everything we’ve accomplished along the way.

I call this self-listening.

The Internal Compass

Developing our inner voice is a constant work-in-progress.  Our instincts and interpretations are ultimately our judge in getting feedback or criticism.  Let’s face it, we all want our work to be well-received, but as much as we like to put the weight on others, it is the receiver that determines the outcome.

And that is the challenge with our line of work.  The ultimate reward for our work is to present it to the public, but we have to live with the tenant that no matter how much we try, we cannot please everyone.  So, feedback becomes a touchy territory where we can thrive or be thrown away.  Still, our internal compass is what tells us the next step, so no matter what others say, listening to yourself is first.

The Self-Improvement Section

Feedback gives us an idea of where we are in our craft, but the advise we take away always means change (a.k.a. improvement).  It’s a tough pill to swallow, and until it makes a clear entrance in the end product, feedback remains unaccommodating and stale.

So, with our inner compass, we start to dissect the billion-and-one opinions and solidify them into possible suggestions.  With all the advise being thrown at you, it’s hard to remember that your are not a hunk of clay, but the molder.  Shaping yourself can be greatly influenced by others, but that is the start of the transformation and only we can follow and monitor our progress to the very end.

Criticism

Whoever invented the term constructive criticism wanted to have some leniency, but criticism remains the act of passing judgment on the merit of what we do.  Truly, do we really need to be reminded of the fact that we are not perfect?

But here’s what I’ve learned from criticism: humility.  It may not directly affect our craft, but it can begin to soften our pass/fail worldview into something that is–indeed–constructive.  Criticism mostly serves to bolster the accuser’s ego, but the aftermath is something artists need to experience.  It teaches us to reboot and begin again, and every time we feel like giving up, what we eventually come back to feels more meaningful.

The Test

In the end, feedback and criticism is more a test of our will then our craft.  By confronting our fear of criticism, we receive a better understanding of ourselves and our motivation.  Ultimately, our hope is to receive feedback that aligns with our own sense of self, and only through experiencing the ups and downs of criticism can we get there.

With all my focus on pilots, premieres and cliffhangers, I have unconsciously suffered a disease that should be remedied right away.  I cannot write endings.  Sure, with TV pilots that is probably the last thing writers worry about (let’s face it, it is all about getting the show to go on so you can get paid), but with every other form, it is of the utmost importance.  So, as my brain jitters to trying new things, I realized I have not remotely exercised my brain to have closure. Freud would have a field day with that sentence.

Since my current project is to tackle the feature-length script world, the planning stages–and basically my entire thought pattern–have to shift gears.  It would not surprise me if all television writers suffered commitment issues with their craft.  When a day’s work involves taking a portion of the greater whole and lengthening it, the one part you are left out of is ending the damn thing.  In an era where networks are constantly ending things for you, it’s no wonder pulling off a good series finale seems impossible.  The upside to this is learning to be flexible, but really, who cares about that when you are still starting out as a writer?

So, I go into my next project with a very difficult task on my hands: pulling in my focus and planning an entire story.  I am aware of how juvenile this sounds, but much like life, it takes guts to willingly change what you know as a writer.  Completing a story and letting it go…

Emphasis on the completion part.

It also took some heavy duty evolution, and not just on a internal level.  Every writer has their own space.  A nook where writers can feel uninhibited and have their ideas run free.  For me, it’s a tiny desk that sits in my bedroom.

I admit, I get distracted very easily.  If I don’t have music or the television going then I can’t concentrate.  So, on my very tiny work desk sits my iPod stereo as well as a mini-DVD player.  Depending on what I’m writing, my taste in music and DVD’s change with it.  I also suffer from the classic writer syndrome of keeping piles of paper everywhere, so I have a small shelf next to my desk where my collection of random stuff can rest.  I’m also a big fan of scented candles so one usually sits next to my lamp.  Essentially, this is where I call home.

Earlier in the week, I struggled with something that I’ve never encountered before.  Normally, I have one big idea and work on it over a long period of time.  During my recent writer’s block, I sat with five or six ideas at once, but didn’t feel the motivation to really sit down and invest in any of them.

Luckily, this streak ended when I tore my desk arrangement apart and put it back together again.  As usual, my inspiration came from somewhere unexpected.  Unpredictable, yes, but what I can control is what I need to be myself, to be a writer.

I know nothing about feng shui, but it’s definitely gone up on my list of things-to-look-into.

I’ve written dramas, science fiction, horror and even a dash of romance.  Nevertheless, I have always enjoyed comedy in all its glory.  I’ve even written spec scripts based on reputable sitcoms.  Still, when it comes to my own creation, something about comedy seems to slip my mind.

I can’t find the balance between the jokes and the emotional connection to the characters.  A sitcom doesn’t work if one doesn’t care about the characters, but comedy rarely gives room for character development.  Thus, a story either becomes too light or too serious.  In a perfect world, the writing can have equal shares of comedic moments and depth.

As a writer, this is actually the first real obstacle that I can’t get my mind around.  So, I seek the wisdom of fellow writers.  From your personal experience, what is the key to writing a comedy?

Anybody a fan of The Office?  Of course you are, or if not, I highly recommend it.

At the beginning of season 5, Pam spends 12 weeks in New York in order to take graphic design classes and see what New York has to offer for her passion.  After 12 weeks, she discovers that she’s failing and has to retake a course, in other words, spending another 3 months away from her fiance.  Upon this fateful day, the disappointed Jim leaves work only to discover Pam waiting for him in the parking lot.

“I’m coming back the wrong way,” she says with a wholesome smile.

Despite the sentiment behind the action, my love for Jim and Pam wavered at this crossroad.  She chose Jim over New York and a real chance at making it as an artist.  Is this the kind of sacrifice the show is advocating?

The sacrifice part is where everyone differs.  People, especially artists have to constantly weigh their options.  The very nature of juggling finances, careers, family and education means the battle is to keep them all in sync.  When they’re not, we often have to choose our luxuries.  As a writer, it can mean choosing a menial job to pay bills over dedicating your time with your true passion or, choosing to pursue your dream but having to suffer the backlash of financial obstacles.  People will tell you time and again how difficult it is to be a writer.  The rejections, the writer’s blocks and the sacrifices we have to make in order to write the thing that could make us a success.  The question becomes why?  Why should we put ourselves through heartbreak and misery for a probability?

In the Beginning…

Whenever I have my doubts, I go back to the beginning.  Sometimes, to figure out the future you have to look at the past.  Why did I start writing?

My story–like anyone else’s–is a long one.  The bottom line is that I wanted to take a chance.  I didn’t want to wonder anymore, and truly, my thought was that writing would make my life better.  Happier, more complete.  This seems naive in hindsight, but I thought an external factor would make me better, not the other way around.

I look back and realized that despite the many, many tough decisions and the life-changing alterations to my life, I remained in the middle.  My life didn’t drastically get better or worse, I just realized it had been here all along and expressed what I saw with words.

The Business Model

Should a writer write so they could be famous or rich?  Well, there are certainly successful writers who are rich (J. K. Rowling, now there’s a success story).  While these ideas may seem shallow, the alternative is to write because it makes you happy.  Here’s an alluring thought…

Over the years of pursuing a career as a writer, the spite, the anger and the jaded persona tend to grow out like vines.  Suddenly, you wonder where the happiness has gone.  After all, you made a commitment.  Where’s the reward?  Did you not try hard enough?  Are you just not that talented?

No matter how metaphysical writers get, the underlying desire to be happy cannot escape them no matter how much they try to scribble the feelings out.  Comparing this to the Hollywood industry or the publishing world is like comparing a warm, red sweater and the washing machine.  After so many cycles, it’s hard to remember how red the sweater used to be.

On the other hand, I look at the many showrunners and television writers I admire and I think: there’s no way in hell their life is perfect.  I don’t write to be happy, and the reason for writing is different for everyone.  If you’re looking for a good mood elevator in the writing field, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

The Equation

So, to Professor Beej and anyone else who might be reading this rambling, I offer my personal, inexperienced perspective.  Rather than looking at all the reasons you can’t write, look at all the reasons you do or should write.  Compare that to the other thing you’re doing or could be doing.  Well?  How badly do you want these two things to fit together?  Which one do you prefer?  The trick is convincing your neurotic brain that the choice you make is OK.  No matter how tough, no matter how stressful, I believe there is a way to see that prize that is your overly worded life and not some far-reaching dream is that somebody else’s imperfect journey at the moment.

Hey, it’s what Jim and Pam did.

When you figure out that life is more than a series of random events, you’re left with one option: life happens for a reason–or at the very least–you have control of your future.  But, when you become aware of the fact, there’s no turning back.  Every decision you make and every action you take, it’s you.  That means you alone are responsible for the consequences as well.

If I had the aptitude to be an accountant or some type of office worker, perhaps the system will guide me as I go.  Unfortunately, it just so happens that everything I’ve ever had a passion for remains firmly in the arts.  So you take every opportunity with a grain of salt and continue to take chances wherever it seems fit.

But that’s just it.  Reality all too often sinks in before you have time to rejoice.  Every opportunity you find becomes the thing that could potentially get you in the door.  For me, a healthy college student, life just seems like one big opportunity, shifting and moving everyday.  It’s not just writing or academics; everything becomes the thing that could take you to the next level.

And so you set yourself up for disappointment.  The more you aspire, the farther your goals become.  How else do you stay driven?  But, with great expectation also comes the problem of self-fulfillment.  You forget to stop and smell the roses.  You forget about parties and slacking off and having fun.  Suddenly, everything is a test that you have to pass in order to get somewhere better.  Every script becomes the masterpiece, and when they’re not, you’re crestfallen just long enough to start all over.

It’s not easy (I would know), but finding a balance between striving to be great and appreciating all the small steps in between definitely equates to your happiness.  Otherwise, great expectations will be the only thing you’ll ever know and the feeling of accomplishment can forever escape your grasp.  Sometimes the greatest accomplishment is to remember why you began the journey in the first place.

Evil, Pure and Simple

This is why Lord Voldemort dominates!  Like a plain and simple hero, sometimes a villain works best if that character is just evil, no further explanations needed.  Drama stories often use this archetype to clink out dispensable characters for bullet fodder.  But, let’s face it, we love evil because 99% of reality gives us the gray area.  There’s a reason and it’s realistic, but sometimes realism is not synonymous with entertainment.

My appreciation for this type of villain comes from my fascination with abnormal psychology.  Sociopaths are truly very rare, but they are almost the bridge between fantasy and reality for me because they don’t behave like normal human beings.  So, when a baddie comes along with this untainted background of malicious enjoyment, it’s juicy to watch because we never, ever want that in real life.

The Tragic Villain

Self-aware, intelligent, and dark, the villain with a history often gets our sympathy because their story hits closer to home.  They are not villainous be nature, but through a series of unfortunate events, they end up on the wrong side of the bench.  Benjamin Linus from Lost and Alex Karex from Grey’s Anatomy are good examples of why this type of antagonist works.  It’s not that you’re rooting for the bad guy.  Very much a reflection for our own desires, you’re rooting for others to understand why they are a bad guy.  If done just right, the villain can grab our attention and make us feel all the complications of life and its circumstances.

Not everyone sits well with paradoxes like these characters, but they also ensure an interesting journey for viewers.  After all, with villains often come the good ol’ redemption story, and suddenly the bad guy becomes something else altogether.

What do you think?  Why are villains so darn interesting?

While a writer should be a professional at gaining thick skin, the anxiety of exposing your baby, your writing, your words.  Well, it’s a risk that can make you feel like you’ve been kicked in the groin.

Yesterday, I gave two of my professors and a classmate a pilot that I recently finished.  It’s been a while since I’ve polished a work enough to get second opinions, but the rush of anxiety hit me like an anvil.  On one hand, positive reactions can reaffirm my direction as a writer.  On the other, well…it could suck.

That’s the gamble that writers will always face.  The trick is to want the positive outcome enough to keep going and never give up when someone gives you a thumbs down.  So, do you love it?

The Bright Spot

This exists when both you and outside observers have the same ideology regarding your aptitude.  For example, if you are talkative and vivacious in public, others will see you as a just that.  If you are aware of this regarding yourself, then this is a bright spot.

The Dark Spot

Neither you nor another party is aware of this.  Dark spots usually refer to deep, unconscious motivations that drive your behaviors.

The Personal Spot

Things known only to you and not to others.  So, while others may observe what you’re doing, they don’t always know why you’re doing it.

The Blind Spot

Things others may know about you that you are unaware of, like defensiveness or hostility.

Why is this important?  Well, not only is it beneficial to be aware of how mixed signals originate, but this points out a very helpful tip for writers.  We create our characters with a purpose in mind and a preconceived notion of who they are.  In essence, we hold the truth to our creations.  So, Hank, the portly recovering alcoholic becomes that on the page.

However, when you look at the complexities of human interaction and the many interpretations of an individual, it becomes clear that true characters never stay static from person to person.  The trick (and the challenge) is to create a multidimensional human being with believable actions and the possibility of open interpretations.  Characters, like real people, fluctuate and contradict.  Realizing this is the first step to getting away from creating shallow, stereotypical and two-dimensional characters.