There’s not much for me to say about this one. At 12:45 p.m. yesterday afternoon, I sent out my Always Sunny… spec to the powers that be in Los Angeles. Next week, I’m including the script in another application. Now, all I can do is wait and see.
But, damn: I actually did it, kids.
Well, it took me long enough, but I finished my original pilot script for The New York Television Festival. It got intense at the end: as the June 15th deadline approached, I was juggling a volunteer stint at Sketchfest NYC 09 (which was awesome) and a four-day visit from my mom. It finally came down to four drafts of the script, and making the finishing touches to it at 4:00 in the morning on the final day of submission. By then, I wanted to just get the thing registered and to the NYTVF. By 4:30 a.m., Six Month Grace Period by Matt Fried was done and submitted. I sent off the final draft to the friends who’d help me out with a reading of the script the weekend before, and then I collapsed into bed.
Now, the next assignment: finishing my Always Sunny… spec by July 1st.
It’s funny – in the past, I always felt I could juggle everything. I thought being an actor, doing improv, and writing were full-time gigs that were interchangeable. But, it wasn’t until I made the firm decision to solely focus on writing this month, that I saw what I had missed by being all over the place. Now understand that writing is what I’d rather be doing. That’s not to say, “I’m done with performing.” However, in order to give these scripts a full focus, I left my improv group, and have limited my stage time to The Matt Fried Hour – a once-a-month commitment. By taking the time off, I’ve realized that performing is more of a release; an escape. It’s the most fun for me when it’s not the end-all, be-all. With writing, however, it was different. Opportunities to get my stuff read by actors, in front of an audience, seemed to just fall into my lap.
So it hit me: when a trend like that starts so early on, you have to follow it. But I’m cool with being a writer. I like writing. It’s easy work that doesn’t require pants. There will always be a part of me still wanting to perform full-time. Still wanting to be the center of attention. But I think I’m ready now to be the quiet guy standing in the back. Which is a weird thing to consider, but it’s true. Rather than demand attention through exhibition, I’d like to enjoy the quiet satisfaction of hearing my words said by someone else. And then, go to bed, wake up, and do it all over again. And – once again for dramatic emphasis – while not wearing pants.
In some weird alternate universe – 10 years from now – I imagine I’ll be playing bass in a Replacements cover band. Occasionally, we’ll stretch our set list to Husker Du and Guided By Voices. I’ll have a longtime girlfriend with whom I’ve talked seriously about marrying and starting a family. Maybe I’ll still be in Brooklyn, in some big fancy brownstone. Or, maybe I’ll have moved to Chicago, and I’ll be living in Wicker Park, in some awesome townhouse, for which I’ll only be paying $950 a month. Oh, and for no reason whatsoever, I’ll be a web designer. As I said, it’s an alternate universe.
But before you start the countdown to “Sexy thirtysomething Matt Fried”, ladies, let’s at least step this back to the first part. Recently, I’ve been asking myself if there was anything else I wish I could do, outside of writing. That answer is simple: I wish I could actually rock out in band. Nothing too over-the-top. As I mentioned, we wouldn’t be looking to be the next Journey. Maybe a five-piece outfit (including a keyboardist) that focused mostly on indie pop, post-punk, and flirted with alterna-country. Something modest that we all do on the side while we’re out actually making a paycheck. Maybe my girlfriend is the keyboardist (is it sexist too assume the keyboardist would be a woman?). Also, with shows where we’d get a huge turn-out, we would definitiely wow ‘em with a encore of a quadruple Get Up Kids set: “In Her Sea”, “Ten Minutes”, “Campfire Kansas”, and “The Company Dime”. None of this is meant to be done for fame. We’re just a couple of people who like to rock out on the weekends.
All of this would happen if I could, in fact, play a bass. Or guitar. I remember that, as a kid, I spent a year trying to learn, but ultimately gave up. At the time I thought “I guess music just isn’t my thing.” These days though, I’m looking for an excuse to get out of the house of an hour, away from writing so that my brain doesn’t COMPLETELY implode on itself. I still have the guitar. The Brooklyn Guitar School is up the street from me. Hmmm…
I need to give big ups to The Matt Fried Hour’s new publicist, Emily Owens. Thanks to her hard work, we got a great profile piece on BroadwayWorld.com this week. Emily Owens PR. Hardest working publicist in New York City. Thanks Emily – it looks great!
“Her Morning Elegance” by Oren Lavie. It kind of reminds me of one of my female characters, Jessi, in my pilot script.
So, consider this post me coming up for air after being submerged in a sea of writing and rewriting. Some days, you feel like you’re riding a tall wave – just you and what God gave you. Other days, it feels like straight-up waterboarding, and Dick Cheney is holding the bucket.
In the last week, I’ve plowed through work on an original pilot script and I’m still working on my Sunny script. During those same days, I’ve found myself inside my apartment for hours staring at a computer; rarely leaving except for the gym, grocery shopping, and maybe – just maybe – the occasional night off. This kind of cabin fever does something to your head. You find yourself going one-on-one with your talent and your ego. Your talent is always assuring you to press ahead; don’t be too hard on yourself if it isn’t perfect. Your ego is screaming at you “STOP. NOW. It’ll never be as good on paper as it is in your head.” Suddenly, you begin to wonder how long it’ll be before you start collecting your own piss in jars. Though (now that I think about it), I wouldn’t mind a stained glass window in my place.
I’m beginning to see that sometimes, the creative process is not easy. I mean: it’s easy in the respect that an idea comes to you, you think through it, and then you write it out. For a few hours, you feel brilliant. However, the hard part comes after: you need discipline to sit back down again and let yourself change a few things around. Worst of all, you need to let go of some great stuff that isn’t meant to work, and allow yourself to replace them with some new ideas that kind of fit, but they sound nowhere near as good as your first ideas. The big hope is that time, massive rewrites, and maybe a reading or two will ultimately take you to a newer, better idea that’ll knock you on your ass and make you say “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before!”
And that, kids, is supposed to be how perfect comedy scripts are written.
All of this writing has taken a toll on my performance life. In fact, I’ve recently decided to take a break from improv until I get these scripts done. On any free nights I have, I’m trying to go out to open mikes and work on written solo material I have (known in some cultures as “stand-up comedy”). And of course, there’s still The Matt Fried Hour. It has occurred to me in the last week that perhaps part of the reason why I stuck by improv for so long – and found excuses to not go after other comedic pursuits – was simply because I knew the work involved would be big. There is something way easier about showing up somewhere, making shit up, and then a little later getting all the praise and a girl’s phone number. Since I decided to pursue writing these scripts, there have been many things I’ve done that my ego demands I avoid. Because it moves me away from a place of total security and artistic self-assurance. But, truth be told, I’m learning that when I do hear that voice in my head, it means I need to move toward what it wants me to avoid. Even if it means staying up until 3:00 a.m. trying to figure out how to make a joke about Samuel Beckett funny. If I don’t, then I wonder, “If not now, then when?”
Just in case you didn’t know. Have an awesome Memorial Day everybody!
This is some of the stuff that I’ve been listening to heavily while I churn out the funny.
1. “Lazy Eye” by The Silversun Pickups
2. “In A Big Country” by Big Country
3. “Rockway Beach” by The Ramones
4. “Feelin’ Good” by Nina Simone
5. “La Maree Haute” by Lhasa de Sela
6. “The Beast And Dragon, Adored” by Spoon
7. The entire Wild Style soundtrack
8. “Sing Me Spanish Techno” by The New Pornographers
9. “Can You Tell” by Ra Ra Riot
10. “Sinnerman” by Nina Simone
11. “Red House” (Live at Woodstock) by Jimi Hendrix
12. “Timorous Me” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
1. If I can’t tell if it’s funny, but sounds funny, there’s a 98% chance someone else will find it funny.
2. Writing is not the hardest thing in the world. SITTING DOWN to write way harder.
3. Good ideas are like girlfriends: you’re excited when you two first meet; over time you find out that not everything is perfect; if it’s not meant to work out, you can always look it up again one night at 3:00 in the morning.
5. Don’t worry; Chaplin didn’t even know what he was doing until he was 36.
6. If you’re spending all day writing comedy, watch a drama at night, or go to an art gallery. It helps balance you out.
7. It is possible to take a joke and beat a dead horse. Especially when you’re trying to be some intellectual schmuck who writes a scene where Jackie Gleason is beating a dead horse.
8. If you’re tired and still trying to write, you’re not helping yourself. Very few people can write anything decent while exhausted. That is, unless you are Chaplin.
9. If you’re too tired from writing to get laid, you’re working too much.
10. Tell a story. Don’t worry about the jokes. Figure out the story you’re trying to tell, and then lose sleep over the comedy.
Since 2008, I've been a contributing writer for the social networking site, Guidespot.com. Presently, I serve as a community manager and a junior editor.
Please feel free to check out my guides. I write about New York City, dating, and geek stuff.
