Nobody's Walking in L.A. . . .

. . . they're at home in their beachfront chalets reading the En Route script packets. At least, six producers from various productions are this evening.

In fact, the script packets are printed on paper of such high quality and durable workmanship, they could even be used to smother flames should anyone's home, unfortunately -- knock wood, gawd forbid -- be on fire. The script packets could also be used as an effective fire blanket for anyone who happens to be eight-and-a-half by eleven inches in size. It's California -- you never know.

So now, the waiting game. And what a game it is. No game board. No game pieces. No rule book. No play money. No limits on the number of players. But it's a game that can be played in the living room, by the fire with the television on MUTE. It's a game that I know well. In fact, I practice playing it every time I go to the doctor's office. Except, now it's for real. It's "game on", except there is no waiting-game-court, field, pitch, lane, green, diamond or grid-iron. It's more like a psychological game in which the normal attributes of a game are absent, such as fun, entertainment value, socializing, problem-solving. But there are "winners" and "losers." That's where the game part comes into the "waiting game." Joel and I are now waiting to see if we are winners or losers. Winners -- someone shows interest in our idea/script. Losers -- well, that's harder to determine because we could actually still think the waiting game is being played by the readers of our scripts long after those readers have converted the script packets into doorway hammocks for their schnauzer-doodles.

Part of the waiting game is telling people about it -- like I am right now. Earlier, my wife told my mother that we are now playing the waiting game with the script packets, and my mother reacted as she usually does regarding my creative work: sounds as though I've missed parole -- again. "Oh? That's nice." Joel's family is the same. On the surface this may not appear encouraging, but you have look beneath the shiny veneer of "Oh? That's nice" to see that it's actually a cannon blast of support. You see, if you want to truly encourage something, you should discourage it. In Ireland, for instance, a hundred years ago, speaking Gaelic aloud was not only outlawed, teachers were paid by the British not to teach Gaelic. The result? Gaelic flourishes through Ireland today. There's even an all-Gaelic TV channel. How about religion? Tell a group of people they cannot worship and you'll see that order give birth to an unstoppable tide of underground services and prayer sessions. If educators today were truly interested in promoting reading, they would ban books. Tell kids they can't have them and kids would sneak out at night to congregate in alleys and parks to trade books among themselves.

So, it's clear that our families are behind us 100 percent and want nothing more than to see us continue working on En Route, and do whatever it takes to sell the script. It's so obvious, I'm embarrassed telling you right out like that.

Now for the part of the waiting game where I go and get more green tea . . .