Hey, baby.

I've decided to start pretending this webpage is my girlfriend, as it is the only source of lovin' I get in big bad Los Angeles.

Send help.

I wish I had more time to write here.

It's not that I stopped loving you, it's just that daddy is very busy at the office these days.

To say that I have no time is a joke. Yesterday, I worked and wrote and read and learned from 8:30am to 12:30am. 16 hours. That was the toughest day here yet.

I may have managed to eat a sandwich somewhere in there.

So, we're all working on our scripts now. We're supposed to be at 20 pages today. I'm at 8.

Yikes.

Some days it's like that.

I went with my most commercial idea. I know, I know. Before you all start crying "Sell out!" think about this:

What you want is for me to be happy and have money so I can sit back and relax and concentrate on really good material. You don't want me to struggle too long and have great, thought provoking and entertaining films go unwritten because I have to get to my shift at the San Fernando Valley Porn Hut, do you?

Me neither.

My script is a mystery. That was a surprise, as I didn't realize I liked mysteries or knew how to write them. From my script outline, I seem to know, though. It's a tricky mystery. You'll see.

Yes, I am optimistic. C'est la me.

Yesterday, I was walking around, and I had one of those "Holy fuck! I moved 2200 miles away from home and now I'm in Los Angeles!" moments.

That moment was triggered by smog.

Well, that was my short break, and I spent it with you. I can't wait to spend more time with you. Tell me all about your day.

Would you like a massage?

Page 8 of 120 awaits.