Hard Day's Night

When you're in a pitch session conference call, you're just talking your fool head off. All the precious notes you've meticulously set up sort of fly out the window when you're getting about the business of pitching your ideas, responding to the questions that arise.

Tuesday night's call went well enough. It helps when the producer interjects queries, or even just mutters some small semblance of affirmation as you're talking yourself blue.

I hate pitching in general. It's a pain over the phone but I'm sure it's uniquely nerve-wracking to do it in person. (Like regular screenwriters do.) I can't read their body language over the phone -- and it's even harder when it's a bunch of people in a room on speaker phone, with you playing the spectral voice, trying to figure out which voice is talking to you -- but at least I can spread my notes all over the place. I don't have to worry about dressing up and putting on a physical performance. Don't have to worry about getting there on time and sitting on needles in the waiting room. When I hang up the phone, I'm instantly back in my room.

But these pitching calls and these "open dialogues" can just go on for months with inches of progress.

I'm thankful for all the opportunities but it becomes a challenge to muster up the enthusiasm for each new project that comes my way. (It'd be easier to have enthusiasm if there were some actually MONEY involved with the "early development" stages of these projects.)

Walked over two more bags of donated stuff to the Salvation Army on Tuesday. Trying to sell off my guitar. Still working on the challenge of shoehorning the Fortress of Solitude 2.0 into the new space. ("The Chamber of Solitude"?) I like the idea of getting rid of extra baggage. Things inherited from other times and other lives. I'm attracted to the idea of living a sparer existence.

It's just a matter of making that happen.