This journal documents the author's experiences as a television writer. To read the story from its inception, go to the beginning.

September 9, 2001

The cider house rules
I feel paper-thin. Two-dimensional. As if I was thrown into a cider press and had all the liquid extracted from my body. For the last two days we have been rewriting our Becker and Will & Grace scripts. But my sitcom muscles have atrophied, the last five months dedicated to searching for representation. And like the body of a proverbial 98-pound weakling on the morning after his first workout, every part of my brain aches.

Comedy is often held together by gossamer. Altering a single word or rearranging a phrase can cause the funny to disintegrate between keystrokes. As such, every change we make has the potential to disturb the delicate ecosystem that is each script. But these changes may be the most important we ever make.

As soon as we finish these rewrites, our agents will start trying to convince television producers to give two unproven talents -- namely me and my partner -- a chance to write for their shows based on two half-hour sitcom writing samples. We will need them to not only sell our talents, but to sell their belief in us. And if these revisions can get us that, they are worth a trip or two through the cider press.

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