Going to try some visual aids. Don’t get used to it.
Sunday was an extremely busy day, involving a great deal of socializing far beyond anything I’ve done since college. Technically, the socializing was all business related but at my level of filmmaking, the notion of networking-by-hobnobbing makes it hard to tell the difference.
Let’s see… meet with a hip-hop artist/producer, check. Then meet with a fellow filmmaker/assistant director, check. Follow shortly after by birthday dinner at an upscale (by my standards, anyway) restaurant with people I’ve never met before, check. And wrap up with an impromptu pre-production meeting at a friend’s house. Oh, and there may have been falafel and nausea-inducing hookah somewhere in there.
Sunday was a twelve-hour day, chockfull of all sorts of interactions and project planning that I imagine a full-time filmmaker does when he’s not filming. It was exhausting and emotionally terrifying for an introvert like myself. And with the exception of a few social hiccups, I loved every minute of it.
It was a day of introductions like “I’m a musician,” “I’m an actress,” and “I’m a producer.” And while I’m 99.9% sure none of us actually do those things for a living, what we said is absolutely true because we were describing our true selves. It was the first time I ever found myself in such an environment, where everyone was so unafraid to reveal that much about who they really are. We spoke of ourselves as we saw ourselves. As creatives. As artists.
Maybe I’ve been a writer and a producer all along. Maybe I’ve just let society, internet trolls, and my own negativity tell me otherwise. That I’m an office temp, or a security guard, or an unemployed sad sack. It’s that old argument of when a writer can call himself a writer. Does he have to be published first? Does he have to be paid enough to support himself? Or is he a writer when he gives himself over to the craft–and writes?
I think… well, no, I want to believe that it’s a matter of belief. I am what I believe myself to be, not what I do to earn a paycheck. Of course, there are probably some exceptions (I’m not an astronaut, for example), there are some caveats. And, in the case of writing, elitists and jerks the world over will be quick to judge and strike down anyone who dares assume the mantle of “writer” in the name of professionalism and butthurt. You know what I’m talking about. Friends and family members who want you to be more practical, think more practical. Mortal enemies who say you haven’t jumped through the right hoops yet.
No, I’m not a paid writer, or a published writer, or even a professional writer. But I’m a writer, dammit. I remember a moment at that dinner when a young woman asked me what I did. Without even thinking about it, I told her I was a writer and producer. And I didn’t feel the least bit silly or phony.
Because that’s my true self.
Oh. And here’s some cheesecake from the dinner.