Me Me Me

Coming Home

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I spent my last day in NY sitting around the table with the writing staff of MONK, going over each scene in the story, looking for the humor and the heart, the little moments that will add texture to the script. I left with very detailed notes and will start writing the script on Monday.

On the flight back to LA, I sat next to David Strathairn, the star of GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK.  He was a very nice guy. He was on his way out for the SAG Awards this weekend. We talked a bit about movies and TV, but mostly we chatted about other things…the sort of stuff you might talk about with any passenger you meet on a flight. I was really struck by what a pleasant, polite, regular guy he was.

I Love L.A.

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I just got back home to LA an hour ago… I’m too tired to post anything of substance. But I’ve scanned through the 87 emails waiting for me and a couple look blog-worthy. I also had an interesting experience on the flight to share.  More tomorrow. Good night, all.

A Jew in the Big Apple

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I’m in NY.  I’m staying at the Hudson Hotel, a supposedly hip spot, judging by all the young, beautiful people in the lobby and bars. I’m sure the bars are great. It’s the rooms that suck. From what I understand, this was a women’s dormitory or something before the Morgans Hotel Group turned it into a hotel. They didn’t put a lot of effort into renovating the dorms into hotel rooms.

Stdqueenfloor
The rooms are smaller than a typical train compartment (the hotel prefers to say they’re "reminiscent of a private cabin on an upscale yacht." More like a fishing trawler). The wobbly steel writing desk, which is about the width of a Time Magazine, and matching steel chair, harder on the ass than a bus bench, appear to have been stripped from a prison cell.  Actually, a prison cell is  more sensibly designed than this room.  No amount of dark woods, mirrors, and pin-point halogens can hide the fact that this room is the size of a Camry.

The room is slightly wider than the low, Queen-size bed that dominates the space. The space can barely accomodate one average-sized person. The bathroom has plexiglass walls, which are covered with a thin, transparent curtain. So if you like privacy while you’re on the toilet, forget about it. If you do sit on the toilet, your knees will hit the wall and you’ll think back fondly on the spacious lavatory on the plane.

There isn’t a single drawer in the room, just an open "closet" in front of the door that isn’t large enough to fit a suitcase and that only has three hangers. There are no ice bucket in the room because there’s no space for one. The tiny TV set is in a narrow cupboard, gets no reception, and makes my laptop screen seem huge. The heater gurgles and whines (even when its off), has two settings (freezing cold and blisteringly hot) and is conveniently located behind the headboard. The walls are so thin, when the guy next door called his wife on the phone, I was able to say hello to her.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is an upscale place.  With luck, this will be my first — and last — night in this hotel.

I’m Outta Here

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It’s dark outside, and the limo that’s taking me to the airport is pulling into my driveway, so I’m outta here.  My next dispatch will be from NY later tonight. 

Leaving on a Jet Plane

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I’m probably going to be scarce around here for the next week or so…

Tomorrow, my writing partner Bill Rabkin and I are meeting in the morning with representatives of a European TV network  and then I’m doing an afternoon panel discussion and signing at Mysteries to Die For in Thousand Oaks.

On Sunday morning, Bill and I are heading head off to New York to spend a week  in the writing offices of MONK, where we’ll be working on our next script for the show. I’ll also be meeting with my publishers and my agent and, if time allows, visiting a few local bookstores.

My absense may also mean that I may be slow to post your comments — but I hope that won’t discourage you from actively participating in the "back blog" discussions while I am away.

Where We Write

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Myoffice
One of my favorite little coffee table book is Jill Krementz’s THE WRITER’S DESK, which is filled with photos of authors at work in their offices. It’s fascinating and reveals a lot about each author’s personality. John Updike wrote in his introduction:

I look at these photographs with a prurient interest, the way that I might look at the beds of notorious courtesans. Except that the beds would tell me less than the desks do. Here, the intimacy of the literary act is caught in flagrante delicto: at these desks characters are spawned, plots are spun, imaginative distances are spanned.

Today, novelist Brenda Coulter posted pictures on her blog of where she does her writing, so I thought I’d follow her example and share with you where I do mine. This is my home office.  It overlooks our front yard and is adjacent to my daughter’s bedroom. What you don’t see in this picture are more bookshelves, a TV set/DVD/VCR set-up and a walk-in closet full of books, DVDs, CDs, videos and office supplies.  There’s also the original artist’s painting for the unpublished, fourth .357 VIGILANTE book on my wall.

To avoid throwing out my back, I also do a lot of writing laying on top of my bed, using my laptop, with my legs elevated on a couch cushion.

I showed you mine so now you show me yours.  Think of it as a photo "meme." All of you authors and screenwriters out there with blogs, please post pictures of your writing spaces…and provide linkbacks to this post so we can see them (or offer a link to those posts in the comments below).

Hot Sex, Gory Violence

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Newsweek published this My Turn essay of mine back in mid-1980s, while I was still a college student and writing books as "Ian Ludlow."  I stumbled across the essay again today and thought you might enjoy it:

HOT
SEX, GORY VIOLENCE

How
One Student Earns Course Credit and Pays Tuition

My name is Ian Ludlow. Well, not really. But that’s the name on my four ".357 Vigilante" adventures that Pinnacle Books will publish this spring. Most of
the time I’m Lee Goldberg, a mild mannered UCLA senior majoring in mass communications and trying to spark a writing career at the same time. It’s hard work. I haven’t quite achieved a balance between my dual identities of college student and hack novelist.

The adventures of Mr. Jury, a vigilante into doing the LAPD’s dirty work,  are often created in the wee hours of the night, when I should be studying, meeting my freelance-article deadlines or, better yet, sleeping. More often than not, my nocturnal writing spills over into my classes the next morning. Brutal fistfights, hot sexual encounters and gory violence are frequently scrawled
across my anthropology notes or written amid my professor’s insights on Whorf’s hypothesis. Students sitting next to me who glance at my lecture notes are shocked to see notations like "Don’t move, scumbag, or I’ll wallpaper the room with your brains.

Vigilante1
I once wrote a pivotal rape scene during one of my legal-communications classes, and I’m sure the girl who sat next to me thought I was a psychopath. During the first half of the lecture, she kept looking with wide eyes from my notes to my face as if my nose were melting onto my binder or something. At the break she disappeared, and I didn’t see her again the rest of the quarter. My professors,  though, seem pleased to see me sitting in the back of the classroom writing furiously. I guess they think I’m hanging on their every word. They’re wrong.

I’ve tried to lessen the strain between my conflicting identities by marrying the
two. Through the English department, I’m getting academic credit for the books. That amazes my Grandpa Cy, who can’t believe there’s a university crazy enough to reward me for writing "lots of filth." The truth is, it’s writing and it’s learning, and it’s getting me somewhere. Just where, I’m not
sure. My Grandpa Cy thinks it’s going to get me the realization I should join him in the furniture
business.

Read more

The Writing Fool

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Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working on a few writing projects.

I finished up a script based on my book MY GUN HAS BULLETS and sent it to some friends.

I wrote my outline for MR. MONK AND THE BLUE FLU and sent it off to the powers-that-be…now I am waiting for approval so I can start writing the book.

I wrote an article for an MWA chapter newsletter in the mid-west on writing the MONK books.

I wrote two more entries for my "Natalie" blog, which will be going live on the USA Network website in a couple of weeks.

Last night, I finished the first draft of a script based on my book THE WALK…now I am going to set it aside for a week or two and read it fresh before attempting the rewrite.

What’s ahead?

Today I’m trying to come up with an idea for my short story for Robert Randisi’s latest crime anthology, which is due in March, and once I’ve done that, maybe I’ll have an inspiration and figure out what my eighth DIAGNOSIS MURDER book is going to be about. And I’ve got a couple of more "Natalie" blogs to write…

Later next month, Bill and I start work on our spec pilot and will probably be tackling another MONK episode, this one based on my book MR. MONK GOES TO THE FIRE HOUSE.

Speculating

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I’ve been a television writer for about 20 years now.  In that time, I haven’t written many scripts on spec.  Bill Rabkin and I wrote a spec episode of  "Spenser: For Hire" as a writing sample to get our first TV job (on "Spenser For Hire," oddly enough).  Since then, we’ve written a spec pilot and a couple of spec features, all of which went nowhere… so we never had much incentive to do more non-paying work.

But a few years back, I wrote a spec script on my own based on my then-unpublished novel THE MAN WITH THE IRON-ON BADGE. I did it more out of frustration with the book biz than anything else. The script didn’t sell (at least not yet) but it led to a very lucrative gig writing the so-far-unproduced Dame Edna movie, so it paid off for me. Even so, the big payday didn’t motivate me to spec something else. I’ve stayed away from writing spec scripts, using whatever free time I have to write my books…maybe because it’s paying contract work as opposed to speculation.

But lately I’ve begun to rethink that strategy, especially since scripts are potentially a lot more lucrative than books (so is working at Burger King, but that’s another topic). Bill and I have a spec pilot we’re going to start writing after the holidays and I’ve begun re-reading some of my novels  with an eye towards reworking them as spec features.

I recently adapted my book  MY GUN HAS BULLETS into a script. I had a lot of fun doing it and was surprised how easily it lent itself to the screenplay format.  Of course I had to change a lot of things and streamline the plot, but I think it worked. Well, at least I hope it did. I’ve e-mailed the script to a couple of trusted friends in the biz who haven’t read the book to get their opinions.  Meanwhile,  I’ve started adapting THE WALK into a screenplay.  This one isn’t going as smoothly as MY GUN HAS BULLETS did, but I figure the exercise can’t hurt.

I don’t know why I’ve always been more comfortable writing books on spec than scripts. I guess I feel like scripts are something somebody should be paying me to write (as opposed to books, which you hardly get paid for even when you sell them). That makes no sense, of course.  I blame that twisted thinking on all my years working in episodic television, where you get paid for every script you write and there’s very little spec work that ever sells. But the attitude towards specs in TV is changing now in the wake of the success Marc Cherry had with his spec DESEPERATE HOUSEWIVES pilot.  NBC recently went public asking for spec pilots, though I don’t know if they actually picked up any of them.

I guess I just need to get into the spec frame of mind. I’m not quite there yet, because I’m sort of  cheating by adapting my books instead of coming up with original film ideas.  But I suppose baby steps still count as steps…

When Did You Know?

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When did you know you wanted to be a writer? Joe Konrath poses that question on his blog today. I’ve known almost all my life what I wanted to be.  Not too long ago, my Mom found a paper I wrote in fourth grade where I said I loved writing stories and that I wanted to be a writer.  I posted one of those early stories here on my blog…along with one of my daughter’s  written at the same age.

When I was ten or eleven, I was already pecking novels out on my Mom’s old typewriters. The first one was a futuristic tale about a cop born in an underwater sperm bank. I don’t know why the bank was underwater, or how deposits were made, but I thought it was very cool. I followed that up with a series of books about  gentleman thief Brian Lockwood,  aka "The Perfect Sinner,’ a thinly disguised rip-off of Simon Templar, aka "The Saint." I sold these stories for a dime to my friends and even managed to make a dollar or two. In fact, I think my royalties per book were better then than they are now.

I continued writing novels all through my teenage years.  Some of my other unpublished masterpieces featured hapless detective named Kevin Dangler. I remember my Uncle Burl being quite amused by that one. He even wrote a story about Kevin Dangler one summer when we were fishing at Loon Lake. Only Dangler wasn’t a detective in his tale. He was the lead singer of a rock group called Kevin Dangler & The Scrotums. Being a packrat, I still have most of those novels today in boxes in my garage (some were destroyed in flooding a few years back).

By the time I was 17, I was writing articles for The Contra Costa Times and other Bay Area newspapers and applying to colleges.  I didn’t get a book published, but my detective stories got me into UCLA’s School of Communications. My grades weren’t wonderful, so I knew I had to kick ass on my application essay. I wrote it first person as a hard-boiled detective story in Kevin Dangler’s voice. The committee, at first, had doubts that I actually wrote it myself — until they reviewed articles I’d written for the Times, including one that used the same device as my essay.

I sold my first non-fiction book, UNSOLD TELEVISION PILOTS, while I was a freshman in college and my first novel, .357 VIGILANTE, shortly thereafter (thanks to Lew Perdue).  And so here I am, at 43, doing exactly what I was doing when I was seven or eight. I haven’t really changed. It’s cool…and kind of weird, too.