May 10, 2006
good stories only happen to those who can tell them
5/10/06
We saw a wonderful little play tonight in the Village (The Mistakes Madeline Made) and it served as an unrelated clarion call to me and Tessa about what kind of writers we want to be, and what kind of life we want to have.
Moreover, it reminded me that I have not answered the question that has been asked in the comments section for six months now: what the hell is going on with our TV deal? First, I should say that there are two reasons I've been so stupidly coy about it - first, T and I are writing partners and since she doesn't really have a say on this blog, it wouldn't be fair to represent her on here. Secondly, you have to play your cards extremely close to your chest in the business for your own survival's sake.
There are other people who keep blogs about being in the entertainment industry, but many of them do it anonymously, and I'm sure several are in producerial positions where a blog can only help. I think we're in a position where any gossip, story updates or... anything on here has the possibility of getting in our way. As you might have guessed, keeping this blog alive despite any ability to talk about our current livelihood has been fairly excruciating at times.
However, most of the networks will be announcing their new shows for the fall this week, and though our particular show won't be on it, I have to say that we got farther in the process than any first-timer dared dream. Just getting a script deal - meaning that a major network paid us handsomely to write a pilot - still raises hairs on the back of my neck. You can go decades without getting that far, and we did it in our second season of being in LA (and our first season when we knew, sorta, what we were doing).
It was a script that was loosely autobiographical on Tessa's behalf, and we'll definitely revisit it over the next few years as other projects take shape. Having this under our belt also greases a few wheels, and we've committed to giving television our full attention for the foreseeable future. I mean, it's fun, right? As I constantly say, we're in the midst of a mini-Golden Age, and the electricity going around the television studios these days is pretty thrilling.
In the meantime, we are in New York City, filling up with the stunning humor and intellect of our friends, saturating ourselves with amazing stories acted in front of us by fearless artists, and watching Lucy awaken to the world with wonder. When we work, we are tucking away unheard-of ideas, snippets of dialogue and bizarre plot twists for the next season, beginning in a few short weeks.
Oh, and I didn't answer another question: the secret in the barn wasn't a huge deal or anything, but I found a note left in pencil fifteen feet up on one wall, on the second floor:
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Altered in Photoshop for clarity, it says "Henry Haywood, Aug. 9, 1891." It took me months to find out he was an eighteen-year-old carpenter's apprentice who no doubt climbed an old ladder and signed his name while nobody was looking, just so a piece of him could live on into the future. 113 years later, I found it.
But what if it had been a clue to something else? A message meant for a future owner? A treasure, a warning, a story? Stow that thought away, and use it for another project.
Posted by Ian Williams at May 10, 2006 11:38 PMI'm disappointed that things didn't work out this time, but I'm really excited for you guys getting as far as you did. It sounds weird to say that I'm proud of people I don't really even know, but I am. You and Tessa (and Lucy!) are amazing.
And as for the barn secret... I was hoping for a hidden passageway or something, but a 113 year old "I was here!" is still pretty cool. When my family moved from Wisconsin to North Carolina 15 years ago, my sister and I did something similar inside every closet of our old house, just above the doorframe. We wrote our names and the years we'd lived there. When I left home for college, I did the same thing. And I've done it in my dorm in Hinton James, and both apartment I've lived in. I don't know if anyone has ever found one of my scribbled signatures, but who knows? If no one has yet, maybe someone will in 113 years!
Congrats on making it that far!!!! To be asked to write a pilot IS amazing. You two are very talented. And yeah, don't ever tell us anything that stands to get in your way.
I *love* the Henry Haywood secret - that's such an 18th century name. And the fact that he was a young apprentice is so cool. I wonder how you found that out...and if he's buried around there.
I wish more people would leave little notes, and pieces of themselves.
Hey, what if Henry fell off that ladder and...didn't get up....and is still trapped there for all eternity...MWAH HAH HAH HAH.
the concept of posterity is a pretty amazing one. hats off to henry haywood, whoever he was. to NYC graffiti artists from the 1970's. and kate from the DTH front desk, who must sign her name like that once (somewhere besides this blog), whatever DTH means (daily tar heel? just a guess.)
anyway, I'm sorry to hear this news, but glad you two seem to be taking it in stride, with such characteristic insight and grace. despite only being familiar with you and your writing from here, from what little I know about you guys, I have no doubt you fall into the category of the good ones, the ones who keep the bar raised, both in terms of product and presence. for whatever it's worth, I'm rooting for you. here's hoping you're back in the mix very soon.
in conclusion, something I've been doing lately while I procrastinate is going on wikipedia and looking up random years in the future, starting with 2007 and ending at the 11th millennium and beyond. it's awesome. (think of henry haywood not being able to fathom that 115 years in the future his signature would end up on something called the internet. think of everything we can't yet fathom. that aaron sorkin might 2500 years from now be regarded like sophocles or mitch hurwitz like aristophanes. that the technology we use to read this blog/tell our stories might one day be as primitive as cave drawings or as far as humanity ever gets.)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2007
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/11th_millennium_and_beyond
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Super_kool_223shit is deep, yo.
Yep, DTH = Daily Tar Heel. Last February, there was all this buzz in the office about a screening of "The Pink House" on campus and the fact that the director was a DTH alum. Someone mentioned Ian having a blog, and when I realized that he was the same guy who wrote the brilliant editorial about hating Dook, I knew I had to bookmark this site.
And CP, I think that I'll write "kate from the DTH front desk" above one of the doorframes at the DTH on my last day of work.
Congratulations on your success! And, thanks for sharing as much as you do with us.
The message from past .... it's part of the Da Vinci code? It's material for a play that you and Tessa will coauthor? Grist for a well-done children's historical novel? It's just plain cool, at any rate.
let me out
go the distance
Ian's hating Dook editorial is still bringing people in...talk about posterity!
Oh, and I am not the one who posted above as Henry, despite the closeness of posting times...but I thought about it earlier!
I'm betting it's Caveman.
Elvis needs boats
Speaking of TV, Ian - did you see Bryan Tucker during the opening monologue of Saturday Night Live this past weekend? He played the role of "guy in the audience asking Tom Hanks a question about albino monks".
I saw Bryan during a repeat of a Chapelle show skit. he was a game show contestant but I forget the exact skit.Plus this give me a chance to repeat my favorite Chapelle phrase...."White boy, what's the square root of this room."
Wooo! Secret in the barn revealed. Very cool, indeed. I love standing in the street of a historic place and imagining what it would look like if time turned back 100 years. It's sort of like nostalgia without knowing the original version.
Anyway, thanks for sharing!
Congratulations on making it so far! It's clearly the result of lots of hard work and dedication--ideas only get you so far, as I am rapidly learning.
VERY cool about the barn.
congrats on taking the next step in tv land. will be looking forward to the day your stories are on the tube.
DTH kate, rock on.
DTH Kate - I DID THE SAME THING! Same place, everything: over the door moulding on the inside of the closet. The last place anybody would ever paint.
The one I did at the Pink House in '96 is still there, and the girl who lives in that room wrote to me saying she found it!
procrastination nation...
political/historical accuracy aside, I just love how disrespectful and anti-authority that is. that is some patriotic dogshit.
back to work.
I can picture Henry in his denim overalls, taking his pencil out of his back pocket or behind his ear, through his straw-colored straight hair, and writing on the wall.
Then he leaves to go pick up Sally Thatcher and take her on a picnic, because everyone in these parts knows that he is sweet on Sally Thatcher.
So they go out to the middle of the field and they "hook up", and then they invite some friends over via MySpace and have a Rainbow Party inside Henry's pants.
You can use that.
Getting paid for writing anything in film or TV is huge. I really wanted to see the pilot, at least. I have enjoyed guessing what you kind of show you were writing. I didn't even think of the Tessa bio angle, but having seen her documentary it makes sense. I am sure it was great.
It turns out my imagination was totally skewed by this blog. I envisioned a sort of 'Everybody Hates Ian' wherein a slight, sensitive redheaded boy and his assortment of symphonic musical instruments suffer abuse from slack-jawed, overall-sporting yokels. The kindly grandfather would be played by Ned Beatty. After cleverly outwitting their dim antagonists, each week young Ian would end the show by saying, "Gee grandpa, you sure gotta perty mouth." Obviously no one will ever pay me to write for TV.
Ian,
I don't think I've ever read someone write about what must've been a crushing disappointment with such humility and positive attitude.
Congratulations to you both on this achievement; I'm sure you'll have a show on the air before you know it.
Eric
Eric is right on! You have the right attitude, Ian! Are you still taking Celexa? I will need to switch from Lexapro if this is the result. I still have a problem with perspective. Although, it may not be so much the Celexa as being a parent and appreciating all the blessings that you have -- parenthood certainly puts everything into the proper perspective, don't you think?
To give you an idea of what I mean about perspective, today at the Insurance Job, I drafted some contract language to comply with a recently enacted health insurance statute. I worked on it for DAYS, and then I published it to my co-workers for "review and comment." They review and commented alright. . . I got some feedback that added a whole new dimension of work to my plate, and I responded in kind with a scathing email, telling them all that I did not agree with their interpretation and I was not making the changes, blah blah blah. I was a complete loose cannon. . . kind of like the Crazed Rabid Squirrel thing that you talk about. At the end of the day, I was mortified that I had lost control like that. I let the stress of the Insurance Job get the best of me. It would have been nice to have the kind of grace and perspective that you show in this entry. I mean, I am not curing cancer at the Insurance Job. . . why go berserk? What is the BFD? Now I know why people go postal. Ugh.
Sorry to ramble. I just REALLY admire the tone of this entry. . . I want to be well-adjusted when I grow up!
"we've committed to giving television our full attention for the foreseeable future"
I'm sure your brilliant wife has already thought of this, but when you get back to SoCal you should get Lucy's name on some preschool waiting lists in the Venice area. Especially if you are interested in Montessori schools. They fill up quickly!
That would be an admission that he's gonna get stuck in LA. Shhh!
LFMD, I got tired just reading that!
I forgot that at the end of my sweet Henry story, Henry and Sally have a baby girl and she marries a nice boy named Jablome and she chooses to hyphenate her name, resulting in endless off-color jokes.