The restaurant was almost empty Saturday afternoon. It was storming outside, so business had slowed to a trickle. I was the only customer at the moment. The teen-age employees were killing time by talking with me.
One of them knows I write a lot, so he asked how I started writing. I explained my background in newspapers and politics. As an afterthought, I mentioned that I really wanted to write and direct films. It turned out that two of the guys had an interest in filmmaking, so they ended up asking for advice.
Both of them have focused on epic scripts they’ve written for science fiction/fantasy movies that would cost a hundred million dollars to make. I explained about making short films and getting far simpler work online for people to see. I explained about my one short film about 12 years ago and how it got into 20 smaller film festivals. I told them they needed to be making anything — absolutely anything — to learn how to put stories together.
It was good advice. But after we were finished, I felt like a real hypocrite — because I’m not following the simple advice I’d given them.
Society needs storytellers to help make sense of a changing world
How could a stranger at sunset possibly know what I had to say?
Getting better at all I do is only way to fight ‘imposter syndrome’
We’re neither friends nor enemies, just strangers who share the past
‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
When love finally dies, it’s like a fever breaks and the pain is gone
My love of ‘fur friends’ stems from the callousness I saw in my father
Fear of intimacy causes confused people to run from love they need
Why does anyone else care what Elon Musk does with his money?