More submissions. More Rejections. More waiting to hear back from festivals. Rehearsals, film festivals, and performances.
It’s been a banner week for rejections.
I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I was not accepted into the cable writer’s program to which I applied. The good news is that I won’t be writing for free three states away during my son’s birthday next month. I was legitimately conflicted about the possibility of being accepted to this program, and though I’m mildly disappointed, I am ready to move on. I will definitely be trying again next year. Submitting to this was a good exercise. I learned a great deal and I now know I can do better down the road.
I have a folder filled with half completed blogs.
Some of these blogs are thoughtful, some of them sad, some are simple updates, but all are incomplete.
The past three months have seen me chained to my computer. Whenever I get a spare moment, I am writing scripts, working on pitch bibles and gathering paperwork for submissions. While there is a lot of work coming from me, there hasn’t been a whole lot of “viewable content” from me which feels weird but probably shouldn’t.
"I didn't spend 8 hours in that damn medical seminar to have people call me ‘Mister'! Now hand me that electric turkey carver.” This is from a joke I pitched in my dream two nights ago. It may seem kind of hokey in the cold light of day, but believe me when I tell you that the writing staff of Cracked.com was eating it up. I think I got the job before I woke up.
I used to write a weekly blog about what projects I was working on and what was going on in my everyday life. These blogs were punctuated by essays and lists and after I went to write for Nerd Reactor in 2013, I kind of got the essays and lists out of my system for a while. It also should be said that most of my life isn’t very interesting and short of turning this site into a parenting blog, there’s not a whole lot to write about on that front.
As I write this, my son is not napping. He is supposed to be but instead he is lying in his bed hollering to himself and shouting out song lyrics. He has a taste for modern pop music so it is a lot of Taylor Swift and Uptown Funk. He has also been eating like a Mogwai that has plans to enter the “pupa stage”, which is to say, a lot.
by Rob Walker
Everyone knows of the man who brings toys
For good girls and boys
But few think about the angrier one
The things he hands out aren't very much fun.
He doesn't give presents or treasures or sweets
He hands out entirely different treats
To those who are naughty and ugly and mean
Painful punishment is what is foreseen
He carries no sack made of velveteen red
As I write this, my wife and I are preparing for a short trip to Los Angeles to attend the Guillermo del Toro At Home With Monsters exhibit at LACMA. I couldn’t be more excited and nervous to board an airplane and see some beautiful, magical and macabre art. I am also looking forward to seeing old friends eating at boutique food trucks and talking about life, pop culture and the election. Although, many of my friends may not want to talk about that last thing.
By Rob Walker
My mother and father are likely vampires,
Of this, I am reasonably sure.
They dress themselves in the darkest attires,
And the sunlight makes them demure
Their pallor's are fair,
Their eyes are both dark,
And they dance exceedingly well
They can glide across floors with the air of two cats,
It can put you under a spell
Their accents are thick,
Yet their countenance warm,
They will charm everyone whom they meet