My friends are awesome. Might be the best viral marketing campaign I’ve seen yet. #ifc
Last time I went to my beloved River House to write, my friend Laura said “I wish you strength and stamina!” I thought that odd - shouldn’t she have said something like, “Have fun! and Good luck!”? But Laura is a no fool, in fact, she is a professional writer. Stamina is right. Stamina is write.
Now I’m writing draft…oh, 20? 300? Probably more like 17, but it feels like I’m rowing across the ocean in a paddleboat. Writing a feature that’s any good ain’t easy. But I’m gonna keep on rowing and probably invest in wine stock. Or scotch. Hemingway-style.
Wish me stamina!
House guest cooked this for me. Uh, yeah you can stay as long as you’d like, Julian… (Taken with Instagram)
I’ll never forget my time in New York. The city held my every ambition, hope, and dream in it’s slippery hands and for two full years, plus the ones leading up to it, the skyline called my name and nothing could get me permanently down.
Four years later and every time I watch a show featuring my city I want to cry. Is it because I miss it so? Romanticize its harsh realities? Or maybe it’s an acknowledgment that part of me gave up on that dream.
My stomach hurts from writing that.
I think the truth is that my dreams changed - that being on stage has an indelible mark on a person for better or worse, but that it’s not everything like I was once led to believe. I’ve learned that I can express myself alone, writing, playing music, or having deep, boozy conversations. It doesn’t have to be public in front of hundreds of vocal fans (though who I am kidding, nothing is more gratifying than that). But each moving image and chorus swell reminds me of a time when I just knew I was going to make it. When I practiced every range of emotion at Stella Adler and walked the halls of my NYU dorm in a creative haze. When my toes bled from dancing too hard and my mind ached from memorization and my ego lifted and rose each day like the tides at sea.
But the tides have changed for me creatively.
My process now is much more lonely, mostly less gratifying. Making films takes an army. Moreover it takes time. Time where you question yourself or your “vision” (I hate that word) and pray that people enjoy the result because you sure as hell spent a good chunk of your life making it.
I’ll never forget my time in New York. And I still know that I’m going to make it – the definition’s just changed.
Taken with Instagram at MediaMind
Hammock time (Taken with Instagram at Wimberley, TX)