Poetic Farts: How Amy Brenneman Became My Shero

10.21.2015



It's been so long since I've written anything resembling a coherent thought I kind of forgot if I could write at all...which is why it's ironic as hell that I ended up at a gathering for Hollywood writers.  

To be perfectly honest I didn't know it was a meeting for writers talking about writing. I thought it was a Hollywood screenwriter bringing in Amy Brenneman (an actor I LOVE) to talk all things Hollywood. 

Bit of background info: I've had this weird stalkerish relationship with my acting dreams for months now. I've loved my dream, but without knowing it...without being in it. I've just moped about; wondering if it'll ever happen; staring at it creepily from my couch. I have sucked at being an actor in pursuit. I hate going to auditions because I have to pump all the dang time and I have my kid to think about...I can't be away for long periods of time (like an hour and a half...otherwise my boobs explode. It's super fun.) I'm basically tied to my house and my neighborhood...I wear an invisible baby tracker that keeps me tethered to Z. I know it's worth it because I've chosen to take care of my kid via the boob, but I still get bummed that acting has taken such a considerable back seat. 

Which brings me back to Amy. So I'm just minding my business in my coffee shop when I see this flyer for a speaker series featuring her and since I've loved her work for years and years I signed up without even really reading what she'd be gabbing about. Blind love...it has its moments.

It would be in my neighborhood...it would expose me to some Hollywood magic hopefully. SIGN ME UP! 

Mark came home early from work. I fed the kid and off I went praying she'd sleep the whole time I was gone. 

I arrived at the coffee shop and the folks were running a half hour behind. I swear my knockers filled up with half a gallon of milk in just the seconds it took me to figure out I wouldn't be home by the time I specified. That is why my life is one big broken dream right now. I can't even focus or enjoy anything outside of feeding my kid. Not even Amy Brenneman. No one tells you this when you decide to start nursing. 

Luckily when Amy and Peter began talking they brought the awesome. She was plopping out so many inspirational nuggets my head starting spinning. She briefly discussed how writing took a backseat when she needed to raise her family...she spoke candidly about vultures who had screwed her in the business...she talked about her process. She shared the good good, y'all. 

I found myself forgetting all things boob and laughing at the great shit coming out of her mouth. Like for instance a team of writers took partial credit for her Judging Amy idea so she now "can't even fart without running to get it registered." (I snort laughed when she said that...and also when she said fuck over and over again. God! I love a woman who cusses! Homegirl went to Harvard. Smart women cuss.)

I left the coffee shop with a spark of hope that someday it could happen...I could actually make something of myself in Hollywood. This woman has enjoyed a rather idyllic career in the industry and she doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. I just have to remember the sage advice she shared: 

  • Collect with abandon and then prune
  • Be comfortable in your own bones
  • Register your damn work or leave a digital trail that proves your work
  • Write like a poet...(I asked her how she found brain power during the early years of motherhood. She said she wrote like a poet...bits and pieces of thoughts that years later would find their way into larger ideas. 
I may not be a writer, but I'm definitely a collaborator and frankly; the industry sucks ASS right now so if I'm not wiggling my way into the business based off of work I've created for myself I may never get in. 

So what now? Well, I go back to mama life...and commercial auditions... and I write like a mother fucking poet. We'll see where this newfound approach takes me. 





1 comments:

  1. Can I just say that I feel your pain with the fact that my little guy turned 11 months today and I've felt for the last 11 months that I'm strictly on his schedule for when he'll need the next boob fix... Luckily, I have been able to work with him in tow with me for the majority of the time, but it never fails, if I do leave him for what is supposed to be a quick trip, something or someone is always running late so I panic getting back to him thinking he might be starving away without me... Nursing is tough.. even tougher when the babe doesn't take a bottle...

    Glad you have a spark back and I look forward to your poetic writings :)

    ReplyDelete

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