How did it begin?
Did it come to you after pressing snooze, turning over and letting the subconscious play a little longer?
Did it hit you while spooning sugar into your coffee one morning?
Or was it during The Grind of sitting down to your usual writing ritual, when an image of the city, the kid, the circumstance, hit you?
How did it happen?
Sometimes this industry is like walking through a museum and there’s this show and that movie, and as you peruse the art, every once in a while, there’s an artist that hits home, that not only invades personal space but reaches in and gropes the heart. Fondles it. The art is breathtaking. The story behind the story is deep, specific, desired, and “of course”.
When that happens I stand in awe. I’ve always done that. The same feeling I got as a teenager watching Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet. I cried with awe and saluted mastery.
Mastery that cannot be bought or sold. It is a “lifer” thing. It is a journey of failed attempts upon failed attempts. It is practice. It is zooming into one very specific concentration, and then accepting and embracing failure.
Failure becomes the co-creator, co-writer, executive producer, the network, God.
Failure is the unconditional friend that shows up every time. Every. Time.
She is relentless but like a coach offering nothing but tough love, she reminds us to keep going. And to go deeper.
Well done, Mr. Richard Price.
“An expert is a person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field.”