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Writers Strike - Day 65
a writer's perspective
Something is wrong with my car radio. There’s a short in the wiring or something, so every time I go over any kind of bump, the radio turns off and reboots. Sometimes it works okay. Sometimes, the slightest movement shuts down the stereo. If I try to change the station, or turn up the volume, the radio turns off. If I make a lane change, the radio turns off. It’s really, really annoying. I can’t come up with a logical explanation, but I decide to blame the AMPTP anyway. I remove the faceplate, and drive to the picket line in complete silence.
Today was one of those days that went so fast. Before I knew it, I’d accidentally stayed forty minutes over my scheduled “shift” time. The crowd seems a little thinner than yesterday, but the small victories of the last few days have everyone feeling enthusiastic.
Whether or not the WGA’s side deals with smaller companies is a good thing is debatable, but it’s hard to see the cancellation of the Golden Globes as anything but a triumph for the scribes. Well, actually, one writer I talk to is slightly upset, because he has a crush on Diablo Cody, and he feels bad that she won’t get to experience the award ceremony. (Look out Nikki Finke – you’ve got competition as a crush object of the writers.)
A couple of nice college-age television fans bring us a box of muffins and walk with us for a couple of hours. They mention that they had completely forgotten about the strike until they heard the news about the Golden Globes. They were worried that other people might have forgotten about the strike as well. They pictured us on the picket line, cold, neglected, and muffin-less, and rushed out to remedy the situation. Thank you fans!
I remembered to dress warm today. The only problem is it’s gotta be twenty degrees warmer than it was yesterday. I’m walking the 9-12 beat, and by 10:30, I’m sweating my ass off. I take off a few layers and leave them by the sign-in table. One day I’ll get this right.
I can tell that some of the other strikers are still rusty from the holiday break, because I get hit in the head with picket signs at least a dozen times. Occasionally I can react in time, and use my sign as a defensive shield. I’m more comfortable than I was yesterday, but I bang my sign into the Walk/Don’t Walk signal a few times, and have to be reminded repeatedly not to stand to close to the curb. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people almost nail cars speeding along Barham with their picket signs.
A lot of the writers I talk to say that they’ve made New Year’s resolutions to write more. Most people have been trying to write in the afternoons, but that they’re finding it hard to get motivated. I remember before the strike, there was a lot of talk about how there would be a glut of spec scripts flooding the market, but I think the truth is that there will be a surplus of half-finished scripts.
When the day ends, I get back in my car and turn on the radio. The news is saying something about the strike. I try to turn up the radio and it shuts off just long enough for me to miss the entire story. Then I realize that I’ve left my jacket and sweater back at the sign-in table. I can’t think of a logical explanation, but again, I blame the AMPTP anyway.
photo by Heath Biter for LAist