My goodness, it's just all that's on my mind when I show up to blog lately. And that's not to say that it's all that's on my mind in my daily life (HELLO--I received TWO feature film scripts within three hours of one another on Thursday. Time to write up more bids. Getting offers to cast films based on casts of previous films I've been able to bring together... and that's only gonna get more common, as these latest films hit the festival circuit or even *gulp* distribution). But even when I'm thinking about my potential and current casting gigs, I'm thinking about the strike because I'm thinking about the writers of this material... and how the hell do you cast anything, film anything, continue forward with anything when there are tens of thousands of people losing jobs right and left while the producers refuse to come back to the table and negotiate anything?

(And then of course I think about the concept that the producers don't want to negotiate anything right now because they're absolutely thrilled with the idea of letting the writers be the bad guys who shut down Hollywood right now, knowing that if the strike continues for months as it's predicted it will, they'll then come right up against DGA and SAG contract ends and, welp, let's let them strike too and make everyone living outside of Hollywood believe that creatives are a bunch of spoiled brats who don't care if you--the viewer--is subjected to an overdose of reruns and reality TV.)

*sigh*

Just hurts my heart.

And I feel worst for people like my friends on shows that are heavily improvised or at least punched up on the spot (which is anything comedic, basically) because even if they can continue to "honor their contract" as actors by showing up for work, they can't "do their jobs" because if they change a word, they've crossed a picket line for the part of themselves that wears the writer hat.

As a hyphenate, I feel bad for these friends.

And as an observer, I have to say I'm learning a fuckload about character. There are those who will say it's business as usual because dammit, they need to pay their rent, and then there are those who have enormous balls and get themselves fired from their non-union jobs because they want to stand alongside their writer coworkers. I'm a non-union worker from a union family (ask me about my grandfather's federal imprisonment for blowing up powerlines in protest of union busting activity in the copper mines of Tennessee someday--yes, I'm a descendant of a member of The Ducktown 8) and most of my friends in casting--most of them, Teamsters--have had to move away from their regular offices so that actors can come audition without crossing picket lines. I, of course, am married to a SAG member and was not accepted into the CSA when I applied two years ago. And I earn a good living as... a writer.

How conflicted can ya get, right?

But I'm not conflicted. I support this strike.

This strike cut into our showcase attendance (yet we still packed the house each of FOUR performance nights) because agents and managers can't really "shop" for new clients when they can't be sure there's anything on which to send out their current roster. Casting offices are closing up because there are no new scripts to shoot, but why would a CD want to go out and scout when she's trying to figure out how she's gonna meet her staff's payroll next week? Unsure of when she'll be hired to come back and cast the rest of the season?

Ah. I'm so over writing about this because it's all just so frustrating. And others say it so much better, elsewhere. Watch the videos. Read the posts. Read the least producer-funded strike coverage. Join the MySpace. Sign the petition (I'm number 1841, y'all). Walk the line with your fellow creatives and feel that powerful surge of solidarity intersecting with that desperate fear of "How long will this last?" to really get it.

The showcase was outstanding. I have a LOT to blog about the showcase (this whole year of showcasing) here before too long, but not tonight. I also need to blog about our nonaversary, the third edition of Self-Management for Actors, and the next half-dozen films I'm casting.

I can't believe it's November. I can't believe it's double-digits in November already. Good lord, this year... and thank god, y'know? Those of y'nz who follow numerology will enjoy knowing I'm in my "9 year" and that means endings, closing off things, weeding out what's not working to launch into the next nine year cycle with a new perspective and focus. Hell, these past nine years? Wow. Just wow. I had The Age 28 Epiphany, sold everything I owned on eBay, dropped out of my PhD program, and moved to LA to give acting "one last try." That "one last try" lasted 18 months and then Mom was dying and I was writing for a living. "My daughter, the writer," finally came true for her. And I never went back to acting, after having gone home to help her pass away in peace.

That's another blog post for another day.

Tonight, I'm sipping the Bailey's the wonderful showcase cast presented me with last night. It's sweet and warm as it goes down and I guess I need that hug from the inside right now.

When darkness turns to light
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Just a little insight won't make this right
It’s too late to fight
It ends tonight,
It ends when darkness turns to light
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Just a little insight won't make this right
It’s too late to fight
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Tonight,
When darkness turns to light,
It ends tonight.

PS--Not trying to be cryptic or deep, this is just the song that's on my mind right now.

Posted by bonnie at November 10, 2007 3:15 AM

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Posted by: communicatrix at November 10, 2007 10:00 AM

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