The Bloody Doors Off

I had a thought earlier.

“It’s too late to be having ideas.”

Who says?

I mean, okay. You’ve just built a ground level house, and decide, “you know what would be great? If I put in a basement.”

That’s too late.

But for a lot of things in life, it’s not too late.

I don’t know where the fuck I’m going with this.

I have absolutely no idea.

Too late now.

I’m committed.

Okay. I’m 55. It’s ridiculous of me to think about going back to school for a creative arts degree. No one’s gonna look at a 60 year old and think, “well now that he’s got his Bachelors let’s hire him to write movies!”.Nah, they’re either gonna think my stuff is dreck, or the second coming of Joss Whedon. (Without the misogyny.)

And that’s just roughing it out.

Oh who am I kidding.

I’ll never be famous.

And I’m fine with that.

If, every couple of years, I can put up a Fringe show or something, and get a good reception (unlike the now-defunct Eye Weekly review that tore my show to shreds because I came from -gasp- Scarborough), then I’m fulfilled.

Still.

It’d be fun to be part of a writer’s room, spritzing and pitching ideas for episodic television.

Which circles back to more education. Webinars, learn the tricks and whatnot.

My former dramaturg, Ron, was so impressed at how quickly I could turn around full edits in my play. He even said I’d be perfect in television.

Of course, this means I need an idea.

But it’s too late.