(Jason Miller)
On Tuesday night I e-mailed the link to Siobhan Hunter?s review of Last Summer at the Marmont to the author of Q, knowing he would particularly enjoy it since he lived at the Chateau Marmont for a spell during the 1970s when he was a Hollywood screenwriter and script doctor. In the e-mail I also apologized for not meeting the self-imposed deadline of June 16 for the new draft of the screenplay adaptation of his novel. He wrote back Wednesday morning:
What a perceptive, well written review. I look forward to reading the play.
Don?t worry about ["Q"]. Take your time. I?m in my own delays as well with this weird deconstructed fiction-memoir or whatever it is.
The most important things are your health and putting coin on the table.
I was glad he told me not to worry because I?ve been doing a lot of that lately. In the last few weeks severe arthritic pain in my hands has prevented me from getting much writing done but it has resulted in a lot of thinking about writing, One thing I had been kicking my ass over a lot lately is why I have not been as productive in the short fiction market as I was between 2004-2010, starting with work for L.A. Stories. And what I?ve come to realize is that, as a writer, short fiction and flash fiction was a growing ?phase? I was going through and I burned through it, having met all of the challenges that I set for myself and, seeing no further challenges to the form, I moved on. Much as I did with my Martin Brimmer phase, and the time I spent penning personal ruminative essays for the likes of Dead Drunk Dublin and Strike the Root.
Last week an organization ? I hate to be vague there but the situation calls for it ? conducted a conference call with many of its members to consider bringing me into their circle of secrecy for an investigative journalism piece; one member warned that the group did not have a good track record with journalists, at which point another chimed in and said, ?I?ve done some research on this guy. He?s not just a journalist. He?s a writer.?
Which is what I am. An all-purpose writer. I go where the money and my interest is. This time last year my interest was in radio plays ? an antiquated form, I know, but also one I know that I can master so I?m going to meet the challenge ? and I will get back to that as soon as I am able to finish the screenplay for ?Q?, not only another personal challenge but a pet project of mine for, literally, decades.
And, in the interim, there?s the journalism project to pursue, the type of project that often falls into my lap unsolicited as a result of being an ?all-purpose writer? and not one who easily fits into a niche. My protagonist from Last Summer at the Marmont, Lewis Grizzard, explains some of the exhaustive wheeling and dealing that goes into the business during a phone call early in the first act:
LEWIS (INTO PHONE)
Jack? Lew Hogue here, buddy. How the hell are ya? ? Yeah? ? Yeah? ? You?re shitting me. I haven?t seen Bobby in a coon?s age. How is he? ? Yeah ? Yeah?? ? ? (laughs)
That?s the old Bobby I know and love. Send my regards next time you talk to him. Listen, I?ve got something here that might be up your alley. I just bought the life story rights of a certain fringe celebrity who?s been?in the limelight a bit recently ? Who? Well, he?s the former gay lover of a big time movie star who shall remain nameless ?
(It?s impossible for LEWIS to stand still now. He is circling the room like a buzzard, cell phone glued to his ear, as he talks.)
LEWIS (INTO PHONE) (CONT?D)
Yeah, that?s him. I didn?t know you read the Enquirer.?(laughs) Listen, this is no joke. The guy has led an interesting life and it would make a great TV movie. He?s more than just a peter puffer to Mr. Boffo Box Office. For one thing, he used to run drugs for Eddie Nash back in the Eighties, turned state?s evidence against Nash, went into the Witness Protection Program and ? Huh? ? What? ? Yeah, I engineered an exclusive to the Enquirer, which netted me five grand, I don?t mind saying, and I managed to get an eight week embargo on the story down to four so I want to strike while the fire?s hot, so to speak. Or is that anvil? ? Huh? ? No, I was just wondering out loud. Is it strike while the fire is hot or while the anvil is hot? Anvil would make more sense, I think.
(LEWIS reacts to a demure knock at the door.)
LEWIS (INTO PHONE) (CONT?D)?When? ? Hold on, let me check my schedule ?
(He retrieves a Day Runner from the bed, paws through the pages)
LEWIS (INTO PHONE) (CONT?D)?Tuesday at one at The Ivy. Yeah, I think I can swing that.
(He closes the Day Runner without making a notation.)
LEWIS (INTO PHONE) (CONT?D) I?ll see you then. And I?ll bring along the contract so you can see it?s all on the level. This could really be something.
(Another knock at the door. A visibly annoyed LEWIS walks to the door while still talking on the cell.
LEWIS (INTO PHONE) (CONT?D) ?No, it was a dollar option?just to keep it all legal, you understand?but this guy can?t sneeze without me owning the snot that comes out of his nose. I?m not gonna make the same mistake I did with Jason Miller. If I?d had the rights to that goddamn play sewn up, Sorvino wouldn?t have beaten me to the punch.
**********
Less than three months after writing that moment I penned the first draft of the play Go Irish: The Purgatory Diaries of Jason Miller, in 2004. I guess you can say that was my ?playwright phase?.
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