Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Daddy drinks because you cry.

And I yell because I love you.

Last night I spent an hour or two yelling at one of my dearest friends. He may or may not be speaking to me. I think he is, but I'm not sure why.

I am a fairly creative person with decent ideas, and an excellent writer (most of the drivel on this blog notwithstanding). I spent several years not doing anything about it. Now I am writing freelance for, working on a screenplay with my husband, and developing several other projects, most of them also with my husband. I have an idea that we're going to open a production company one of these days, even though it seems a bit premature to plan it.

Will is an incredibly creative person. I don't know how he can think straight with all the juices (JEWS? SWURGIN!) flowing at such rapid rates through his brain, which is only average sized. Will is a good writer, though the rapidity of thought tends to make him get ahead of himself. He requires editing, but most people do. Luckily, I understand him and can help in that respect. Will reads other people's creative attempts for a living, and is working on the above-mentioned projects with me. He has also created an expanded Deadlands universe that rivals most comic book universes - and I'm talking about the books that have been in publication for 40 years. I am just waiting for him to create a universe from scratch. That day, the universe we live in may collapse.

Then there is Darren, who was Best Man at our wedding. We met him because he was a bartender at a bar Will liked going to, and I liked being brought to. I was only 20, but that isn't Darren's fault. I didn't tell him my age until he came to my 21st birthday party. I won't mention the name of the bar, because they didn't know either. Anyway, that part's irrelevant, and I only mention it because it is interesting how you can meet people and not realize how important they will be in your life.

Darren's brain works at about triple the speed of Will's. It is a miracle, in my opinion, that he doesn't require a straightjacket and heavy medication. This is not hyperbole. I do not understand how anyone can have that many ideas in their head and not go insane. He's amazing. Brilliant. A good writer, an excellent artist. Also good in bed, but that's hearsay.

It is now necessary for me to quote one of my favorite movies, Sullivan's Travels:

John L. Sullivan: Aw, what do they know in Pittsburgh...
Hadrian: They know what they like.
John L. Sullivan: If they knew what they liked, they wouldn't live in Pittsburgh.
Because, you see, there is the problem. Darren lives in Pittsburgh. I've lived there, and it's a pretty nice town, but a guy like Darren is only going to get so far there. He has a couple of good reasons to be there. One is his daughter, but she's 14 now and it seems to me that, since she's an artist too (Darren says she can draw circles around him), it would actually be beneficial to her if he were out here. The other is his girlfriend, Bethany, who reads this blog. (Hi, Bethany!) I've spoken to her on the phone, but never met her. She seems really nice, but she also seems to want to stay in Pittsburgh. So Darren's got this dilemma. And I sympathize and I don't him to do anything dumb like break up with a girl he loves, and anyway I couldn't make him even if I did want to, but he needs to get his ass to Los Angeles. And I'm not just being selfish here - I know he wants to be out here. And, OK, I want him here, and Will does too - we do great work together, us three, and it's much easier to have a brainstorming session if you live less than 2432.6 miles apart.

So, to sum up. I want Darren in Los Angeles. Will wants Darren in Los Angeles. Darren wants Darren in Los Angeles. Darren is in Pittsburgh.

So I took the inadvisable tactic of yelling at him for wasting his creativity and talent and potential. But what else could I do? It seems to me that he's trying to talk himself out of doing what he wants to do, of following his dreams, and I can't just watch that happen and not say anything.

What would you have done?