Are you free?

To talk? For like a second?

The strike is over, HEEEYYY, it’s over and it was very hard and progress was made and I think it’s finally sinking in that it is really and truly over. But while it wasn’t, I made some fitness content to help people stay healthy on the picket line and to keep myself sane and occupied. The vids can be used in a non-picketing capacity too, if you want. And no, I’m not monetized. I like giving out free shit. Also I have a ton of niche knowledge from my side gig and nowhere to dump it.

In other news… I spent the afternoon updating the Tripwire website (different side gig). In the middle of trying to untangle some tricky code I got clobbered by a cannonball of gratitude. Like, how lucky I am to be in the same field as the people who made those books with me? Not to be a dork, but theater is fucking cool. It’s intense and nerdy and awkward and psychotic and a little evil and I love it.

And if you make theater, you’re evil too and I love you and thank you for not stopping, ever.


Corporate greed made me do it.

And by “it” I mean, dive naked head-first into an Olympic-sized pool of razor blades. Which is how it feels to be dealing with the logistical, financial, and emotional fallout of the colossal WGA work shut-down. In case you’re curious.

Week three.

In addition to having one’s career be snuffed out overnight for the foreseeable future AGAIN (ok, 2020 theater), nothing could have prepared me for the physical labor of pacing non-stop for four hours daily while battling near constant coastal winds with a giant poster board. Not to mention the writerly shame of failing to invent a witty sign slogan.

Unshockingly, we’re not the only labor organization willing to risk everything for better working conditions and fair pay. People are tired of feeling broken and used. And yes, the process of resisting harmful structures is grueling and time consuming and terrifying. But in my experience, unified action CAN AND WILL create change.

And of course, we could use help. Allyship works. I did math to prove it:

• one voice = sound

• two voices = harmony

• three voices = noise

• 100 voices = thunder

I realize I sound like a Facebook post about climate change or a Gofundme page for a no-kill shelter. But I’m too goddamn tired to make it sexy. I have ideas. You could donate bulk snacks to the picket lines. Or give $$ to the WGA relief fund. Or walk with your striking friends at a designated picket site. Or post solidarity messages on social media. Or (big one) re-consider your relationship to the subscription services you patronize. Even the tiniest gesture could be the morale boost that gets us all through the long summer ahead. ‘Cause bro, we’re gonna need it.

With gratitude and determination,

PS: If you literally have no idea what I’m talking about, start here.


I was going to tell you about the meeting I had a month ago with a personage who got known for doing one thing and then had a second career doing another thing (both equally successful, both equally lucrative). I was going to tell you how excited I was to meet this person, and how I did a ton of reading about them the week before, and how they showed up 20 minutes late, and how I felt all bottled up and explodey when they sat down, and how I talked nonstop for maybe 40 minutes straight, and how at some point they asked if I had ADHD, and I said I did, and then they told me I should be medicated, and I said I was, and they said it’s a good thing I have help with my work or I wouldn’t be successful, and I said I was successful before I had help, and then it went downhill from there.

But I won’t tell you that story because there is no story. It’s just information. A lot of people like me have trouble containing themselves in high pressure situations. I do understand it’s not easy to hire someone with explosive manic energy like mine, especially when they (aka, “I”) don’t seem to have much control over it. What’s so annoying is that this is actually the controlled version of me. They should see me off my meds! (No they shouldn’t. No one should.)

But also, I spent plenty of years feeling bad that I couldn’t make myself behave normal in front of the right people. Now I try to find fewer reasons to be bummed about things I can’t change. Instead (and this is advice you hear all the time), I imagine all the other people like me who might feel a little bit better knowing they aren’t alone. And then I talk to them in my head: “It’s gonna be ok, guys. I’m writing about it.”

I have two projects I’m working on now that portray a woman with some of my aforementioned quirks. One of them is a movie that is very close to my heart for many reasons, and I hope someday I’ll be able to share it with you. The other is a pilot. Neither may ever see the light of day, but it is really fun (and also really harrowing) to graft your most exaggerated features onto a character who you want an audience to enjoy, cringe at, feel bad for, have a crush on, etc….


College classroom. The students chat with one other, sleep, text. After a bit. CJ, 35, bursts in to the room wearing a bike helmet. She is petite, not unattractive, smiley, with a lot of nervous energy. Nerd glasses, unwashed hair, cute thrifted outfit. She has pit-stains and is sweating. Her hands are covered in black grease. The students are amused. Weird prof.

CJ removes her messenger bag and her helmet. She digs for some tissues. She finds notebook paper instead. Rips a few sheets out, wipes her hands on them, then wipes them on the back of a chair. She grabs some chalk. Writes the following words on the board: