Ellyn Oaksmith's Blog - Posts Tagged "travel"
Adios Montana
After circling the parking lot in Logan's Pass in Glacier National Park for a half an hour with 4 bikes sticking off the back of my car, I spotted a man fooling around with a cooler in the back of his truck. He filled sippy cups, water bottles and all but took an ice bath in the parking lot. No one believed that he would ever leave but I sat there with my turn indicator on for 10 minutes, waiting.
Then, a miracle. He got in his car and pulled out. (Seemingly without his family.)A small truck with Oregon plates decided to test me. He pulled toward the parking spot to see what I'd do. I moved my SUV and 4 bikes as close as possible to to the parking spot, ready to slam it into park, run out and tell Oregon in no uncertain terms that I earned that parking spot. I sucked exhaust while everyone restlessly circled. He back off. I got the spot.
I refilled my water bottles, found my family on the slopes over looking the Continental Divide. We were all stunned by the view (not to mention the long windy Going-to-the-Sun Road Drive) and reluctant to hike to the snow fields. My husband and I set off -- telling the kids it was up to them. Come with us or turn around. After about 15 minutes of hiking a 300-ish pound mountain goat sauntered out of nowhere. He walked right up to the wooden boardwalk path, climbed on top and headed towards us.
A man with 2 and 4 year old boys let them run directly to the large horned wild animal. I suggested he might want to stop them. He finally did. I was free to enjoy the sight of this enormously muscled animal stepping delicately through the wildflowers. His feet seemed too small to support that massive frame. Soundlessly he stepped off the boardwalk, wandering off to nibble something in the distance, 2 dozen tourists snapping his photo.
We continued to the snow field, taking pictures of our kids playing in the snow in the 90 degree heat. On the way out we saw a mountain goat, then a bear. We spent that night in East Glacier, watched horses being herded down main street as we ate breakfast, donated money to help the large local population of much loved stray dogs. We'd heard them the night before barking happily. One of them, we learned, had been elected Mayor.
Adios Montana. Hello Seattle. Back to writing. (Except for Chelan. Thank you Tia M.)
Then, a miracle. He got in his car and pulled out. (Seemingly without his family.)A small truck with Oregon plates decided to test me. He pulled toward the parking spot to see what I'd do. I moved my SUV and 4 bikes as close as possible to to the parking spot, ready to slam it into park, run out and tell Oregon in no uncertain terms that I earned that parking spot. I sucked exhaust while everyone restlessly circled. He back off. I got the spot.
I refilled my water bottles, found my family on the slopes over looking the Continental Divide. We were all stunned by the view (not to mention the long windy Going-to-the-Sun Road Drive) and reluctant to hike to the snow fields. My husband and I set off -- telling the kids it was up to them. Come with us or turn around. After about 15 minutes of hiking a 300-ish pound mountain goat sauntered out of nowhere. He walked right up to the wooden boardwalk path, climbed on top and headed towards us.
A man with 2 and 4 year old boys let them run directly to the large horned wild animal. I suggested he might want to stop them. He finally did. I was free to enjoy the sight of this enormously muscled animal stepping delicately through the wildflowers. His feet seemed too small to support that massive frame. Soundlessly he stepped off the boardwalk, wandering off to nibble something in the distance, 2 dozen tourists snapping his photo.
We continued to the snow field, taking pictures of our kids playing in the snow in the 90 degree heat. On the way out we saw a mountain goat, then a bear. We spent that night in East Glacier, watched horses being herded down main street as we ate breakfast, donated money to help the large local population of much loved stray dogs. We'd heard them the night before barking happily. One of them, we learned, had been elected Mayor.
Adios Montana. Hello Seattle. Back to writing. (Except for Chelan. Thank you Tia M.)
What I Did Wrong in Hollywood
Disclaimer: This isn't about old boyfriends. My Hollywood boyfriends deserve their own blog because there were a couple decent artists types and a lot of stock Hollywood characters. Bad guys who cared more about their wallets than the cat they'd just run over while checking their teeth in the mirror. So what is this about?
What I did wrong Career Wise in Hollywood. Number one: I believed my hot shot Hollywood agent. Agent X, (last I heard he's the president of one of the top 3 agencies. I won't say which one,) was sending me on so many meetings, with so many famous producers and their underlings that I complained I didn't have time to write and was running out of money. Agent X implied, very strongly that his big agency had a slush fund for struggling writers. Ha! Let me say that again: Ha! I was the dumbest cowboy-boot wearing hick from Seattle (okay, not Montana but it was the late 90's and that was part of the uniform: levi's, navy blazer, white shirt and the boots.)
When I did run out of money (my apartment manager, the former, possibly current Heroin addict who never left his room had his wife who couldn't pronounce my name yell up the hall in her South American accent: "E-leeen, come talk to my husbeeend") and called Agent X, I was mysteriously passed on to Agent Y, who said she'd never heard of any money for struggling writers. And no, I couldn't talk to Agent X. He'd gone onto bigger and better things.
I can't blame Agent Y because she was probably nursing knife wounds from Agent X, who clearly had a brilliant career in Hollywood ahead of him. When asked if he'd read my script, a touching story called "Secret Lives" about a family dealing with the death of their oldest son based on my own father's large Catholic family, he said yes, looking me right in the eyes. A second later he averted his slightly reptilian eyes and said "I can get you in to meet Sherry Lansing." And he did.
There was nothing wrong with Agent X not reading my script. He was fresh out of the gate and didn't have time to read everything. He relied on reader's notes, just like everyone else in Hollywood does. But what Agent X probably knows now is that it's better to be honest with writers because they know your name and can blog, tweet and tell your clients, the Famous Movies Stars what a dirt bag you are. His clients probably already know that but they don't know the body count from his past. Writers keep track of that kind of thing. We take notes and have long memories.
The other things I did wrong in Hollywood was not believe in my own story. When I tried to write for Hollywood -- I stunk up the place. No surprise there. I knew it would happen but I was running out of money. Almost everyone outside the Kardashian family knows what that feels like. A sex tape just wasn't in the cards for me. I high-tailed it for home, fired bewildered agent Y who said "We're always here for you." HA again.
My dad got me a job as a cook on a fishing boat where I could work 2 months on like a crazed weasel and take 6 months off to write, work out, travel a little and then ---- drum roll please -- attend a cocktail party where I met my future husband. Said future husband said "You work on a fishing boat?" I said no, I am a writer. He asked, "You work on a fishing boat?" I said "I'm leaving in 2 months for another contract."
Very early into my contract on said fishing boat Future Husband called on the ship to shore radio. I was called, bleary eyed from the galley to take said call. In front of the Skipper, the first Mate coming on duty, a deck hand covered in snow/rain/fish guts standing at the open wheelhouse door, my future husband said via satellite radio, "If you quit your job and fly home I'll take you to Hawaii."
I put the radio to my shoulder, and looked at the grizzled, possibly drug-addicted captain of the fishing vessel and said "Can I quit?"
He laughed, took another drag off his cigarette and said, "For a dude?"
I said, "No, this is serious."
He coughed and I thought about how much money this phone call was costing my budget conscious future husband. After a flem-filled moment the Skipper nodded. "If we can get someone into Dutch to take over your contract."
I just managed not to burst into tears. Just.
36 hours of galley-scrubbing, eager-packing, setting the ship's stores in order and saying goodbye to the crew whom I either adored or hated with a passion, I was on an Alaska flight to Anchorage, then Sea-Tac to spent the rest of my life with the man waiting, in those pre 9-11 days, at the gate.
Final lesson: Everything works out but leaving Hollywood earlier would have probably been a good idea. I could avoided at least 2 or 3 excruciatingly bad dates.
What I did wrong Career Wise in Hollywood. Number one: I believed my hot shot Hollywood agent. Agent X, (last I heard he's the president of one of the top 3 agencies. I won't say which one,) was sending me on so many meetings, with so many famous producers and their underlings that I complained I didn't have time to write and was running out of money. Agent X implied, very strongly that his big agency had a slush fund for struggling writers. Ha! Let me say that again: Ha! I was the dumbest cowboy-boot wearing hick from Seattle (okay, not Montana but it was the late 90's and that was part of the uniform: levi's, navy blazer, white shirt and the boots.)
When I did run out of money (my apartment manager, the former, possibly current Heroin addict who never left his room had his wife who couldn't pronounce my name yell up the hall in her South American accent: "E-leeen, come talk to my husbeeend") and called Agent X, I was mysteriously passed on to Agent Y, who said she'd never heard of any money for struggling writers. And no, I couldn't talk to Agent X. He'd gone onto bigger and better things.
I can't blame Agent Y because she was probably nursing knife wounds from Agent X, who clearly had a brilliant career in Hollywood ahead of him. When asked if he'd read my script, a touching story called "Secret Lives" about a family dealing with the death of their oldest son based on my own father's large Catholic family, he said yes, looking me right in the eyes. A second later he averted his slightly reptilian eyes and said "I can get you in to meet Sherry Lansing." And he did.
There was nothing wrong with Agent X not reading my script. He was fresh out of the gate and didn't have time to read everything. He relied on reader's notes, just like everyone else in Hollywood does. But what Agent X probably knows now is that it's better to be honest with writers because they know your name and can blog, tweet and tell your clients, the Famous Movies Stars what a dirt bag you are. His clients probably already know that but they don't know the body count from his past. Writers keep track of that kind of thing. We take notes and have long memories.
The other things I did wrong in Hollywood was not believe in my own story. When I tried to write for Hollywood -- I stunk up the place. No surprise there. I knew it would happen but I was running out of money. Almost everyone outside the Kardashian family knows what that feels like. A sex tape just wasn't in the cards for me. I high-tailed it for home, fired bewildered agent Y who said "We're always here for you." HA again.
My dad got me a job as a cook on a fishing boat where I could work 2 months on like a crazed weasel and take 6 months off to write, work out, travel a little and then ---- drum roll please -- attend a cocktail party where I met my future husband. Said future husband said "You work on a fishing boat?" I said no, I am a writer. He asked, "You work on a fishing boat?" I said "I'm leaving in 2 months for another contract."
Very early into my contract on said fishing boat Future Husband called on the ship to shore radio. I was called, bleary eyed from the galley to take said call. In front of the Skipper, the first Mate coming on duty, a deck hand covered in snow/rain/fish guts standing at the open wheelhouse door, my future husband said via satellite radio, "If you quit your job and fly home I'll take you to Hawaii."
I put the radio to my shoulder, and looked at the grizzled, possibly drug-addicted captain of the fishing vessel and said "Can I quit?"
He laughed, took another drag off his cigarette and said, "For a dude?"
I said, "No, this is serious."
He coughed and I thought about how much money this phone call was costing my budget conscious future husband. After a flem-filled moment the Skipper nodded. "If we can get someone into Dutch to take over your contract."
I just managed not to burst into tears. Just.
36 hours of galley-scrubbing, eager-packing, setting the ship's stores in order and saying goodbye to the crew whom I either adored or hated with a passion, I was on an Alaska flight to Anchorage, then Sea-Tac to spent the rest of my life with the man waiting, in those pre 9-11 days, at the gate.
Final lesson: Everything works out but leaving Hollywood earlier would have probably been a good idea. I could avoided at least 2 or 3 excruciatingly bad dates.
