My T —

I got some bad news this week.

It fits this letter.

No worries, it will work out.

It always does.

+

A priest shared this metaphor once:

On a trip with her wife, she kept taking wrong turns.

After each wrong turn, their GPS said —Recalculating…

The destination didn’t change but the route did.

Like life.

Don’t mind the twists and turns. They make it more interesting.

+

I want to tell you about the glow.

In my first letter I talked about feeling “bathed in sunlight.”

In another about being a “great man” one day.

(Still embarrassed about that.)

It’s somewhere in between.

I will try to describe it.

Let me tell you when I felt it.

+

Once in high school.

I had been selected as a California Senate intern.

(I had wanted to be a diplomat back then…for like five minutes.)

The interns went to Sacramento and lived in college dorms.

I lived with eight others across a few rooms.

It was the farthest and longest I had ever been away from home.

Felt like I started college already.

Crazy shit happened:

One guy lost his virginity — to a uni girl.

Another guy snuck out to go clubbing — then got sent home.

I addressed the entire Senate — you could have heard a pin drop.

(Apparently I have a commanding voice.)

I felt safe but challenged and had no idea about the next day.

Or the next. Or the next.

I felt the glow.

+

Again in college.

I remember laying on the grass on a spring day.

The sunlight was a haze, a misty golden light, a bright warm fog.

They had a crab boil — the smell of shellfish, sausage, corn, and butter…

There were big, long tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths.

I had a girlfriend but no idea where she was.

It didn’t matter.

(Her grandfather, a 5th-gen Buddhist priest, always said

—What is life without possibility?

Except he had a thing for teenage girls.)

I felt entirely myself.

I remember thinking, I had no idea where life would take me.

None at all.

I felt the glow.

+

Years later an ex said to me:

—If you can see your entire path, it’s not your path.

(—The unanswered question carries you to The End.)

It is not knowing.

In a good way.

The glow feels…good.

+

My old boss said many stupid things, like

—Get comfortable being uncomfortable.

Yet I’ve given gifts to people who, for unknown reasons, felt overwhelmed or embarrassed.

(Eg, that Hermes Rocket typewriter.)

It’s too much, I don’t deserve this, they say.

Life gives us all the possibility, all the freedom.

Accept it.

This is the glow.

+

Buddhism describes the inner treasure.

It’s inside of us — is us — and no one can take it away.

The trouble is, we don’t notice it.

If we do notice it, we doubt it.

Even if we believe in it, we don’t live into it.

(People are impossible.)

You get it.

+

Where does my confidence come from?

Trust.

(Even if you don’t believe. Especially if you don’t.)

Where does trust come from?

Love.

+

As I said:

Science says bumblebees can’t fly, but they don’t know that.

So they fly.

+

—We can’t choose our genes but we can choose our jeans.

+

On my patio I asked the universe a big question.

In seconds a hummingbird flew straight at me.

We faced off, NOSE TO NOSE.

I got my answer.

(If you know what they stand for…)

It’s happened before.

You cannot make this up.

+

I feel the glow.

+

Happy Easter, my dear one.

— Your D

P.S. I started a list of things that foster wellbeing. Some obvious, some not. It’s handy!

P.P.S. Remind me to tell you why I think I’m living my life backwards. It’s a good thing.

Another day, my usual coffee shop, and just overhead a great story for a new script. Life is good.

— D

My T —

I had the day off and went to a diner.

A couple of old men, 80s, sat down at the booth in front of me.

They had a boyish charm, like the ushers at my church in Boston.

80 going on 8.

They seemed like retired aerospace engineers.

(There are plenty of companies like that in this neighborhood.)

They couldn’t stop talking about — their model train sets.

What would go where, how to build this, what they hoped to add.

I immediately thought of my dad.

My dad was blue collar, a mechanic — not a professional at all.

When I was a kid though, we built a model train set together.

(It’s completely destroyed now.)

As you can see, a story began to form:

An adult son returns home to take care of his aging dad.

Everyone thought the dad would die first but the mom did.

The dad and son have a rocky relationship.

The dad ignored the son during his childhood.

Instead the dad spent all his time building his model train set.

Without involving the son.

The dad ignored both the son and the mom.

So the bad blood runs deep.

(OK so you see who this story is really about now.)

The dad, now old, has a best friend also into model trains.

So the son feels like a third wheel — it’s a triangle:

DAD – FRIEND – SON

(MODEL TRAIN SET IN THE MIDDLE)

The son now has to compete with the model train and the friend for his dad’s attention.

Here’s the beautiful parallel:

The dad had a shitty childhood that he never talks about.

That’s why he’s obsessed with the model train set.

It’s his dad’s way of remaking his own childhood.

(The model is what his dad wanted his childhood to be like.)

Except in the process he’s ruined his son’s childhood.

His son is now trying to rebuild his childhood.

Or at least make peace with it.

I even have the ending. I think it’s perfect.

(I think you’ll think so too but I won’t spoil it.)

I even have the title:

The dad is fixated on building this one railroad crossing.

Exactly like the one he remembers from his childhood.

So the title would be “The Crossing.”

Where their lives, hopes, dreams, past, present, reality cross.

Crash, really.

(This has made me a little teary.)

It’s also fun just to make movies about things you love:

Trains — I loved my train set.

Subcultures — model railroad people are OBSESSIVE NUTS.

Like me!

I don’t think this story is big enough for Best Picture.

Best Original Screenplay, maybe…

I take a day off and before lunch I have a new 9-month project.

It’s L.A. — stories are in the air.

I will write this one.

I already have the Penpal one, the Perfumer one, the Anniversary one, the Sci-Fi one…

…the script I’m not telling you anything about because it’s a surprise one…

…I’m forgetting some.

I want to write a screwball one too — I love those.

My scripts will be different from your scripts.

It’s OK.

You’ll make mine edgier. I’ll make yours…I don’t know.

Yours will probably be better than mine anyway.

Let’s just not push each other off a roof or anything.

— Your D

I have no wit or wisdom for you tonight.

I just wanted to write you.

I hope that’s enough.

— D

My T —

I wrote you a long letter but I’ll send it next week. It feels like an Easter letter.

(It tries to answer a question you asked me.)

For now let me update you on my projects.

I told a coworker yesterday that I feel like I have two jobs: one that pays the bills and one that I love.

(Writing you letters I just love. What is the opposite of a job?)

In my first letter, I told you how hard it is to write your own story. 

(I’m curious if you’ve ever tried. I want to know everything!)

I think I also chose the hardest topic to write about — letters.

(How the @#^&* do you make a movie about letters?)

Lately I’ve watched a lot of movies about them.

I realized how thin mine was. I have a puddle. I need an ocean.

I’ve read a lot too.

I realized I didn’t know how to write this. I didn’t know what I was doing.

(This explains why my previous scripts were trash.)

I read this quote yesterday:

—Not knowing what you’re doing is the first step to making something new.

(Don’t you love this?)

I always find my way by getting lost.

Failure is key.

I realized everything my story was not then I saw what it could be:

I opened a blank document and wrote it all out beginning to end.

(I had tried this before and failed even though I lived it!)

Now it was all there. Almost…

When I had written it out I saw again what it still needed.

Then I began filling in those pieces.

Then again.

I kept digging deeper and deeper, to let more water in.

Then, again.

I had to learn to write, maybe for the first time.

Yes, even after writing for years, I had to learn. Relearn.

—Know what you don’t know, then learn each thing one by one.

(I don’t know a lot — so I have infinite potential!)

It feels good. I feel good. I feel happy.

I’m writing something I feel proud of. I have far to go, but I will get there.

Don’t worry, I will teach you all my tricks.

(You will find your own though.)

Something else I learned:

—The simpler your process, the more complex your work.

(I can explain why later.)

I started doing the same for other projects.

On my laptop I have eight “desktops” open, each its own project. When I get stuck on one, I switch to another.

I care most about my story — let’s call that one “Penpals” — and the new children’s story.

I don’t want to give too much away but the name of the new children’s story is — for now — “The Girl Who Slept.”

I care more about that one — one is about me 🤢, one is for someone 😌.

T, you make me a better writer.^*

You inspire me.

You motivate me.

I want to impress you, make you smile, even cry…

…in a good way.

— Your D

^*This means you make me a better person too.

My T —

You already have my letter.

You already have my everything.

— Your Fortune Cookie

This has happened at least twice already. Are you looking over my shoulder? Or reading my mind? Hmmmm… Maybe it’s what they mean when they say —being on the same frequency… D.

My T — 

Hello! 

As you know, I love quotes. 

Wisdom, in a few words. 

(All anyone has time for now.) 

I collect them. 

I’ll pause a movie to write one down if I hear a good one. 

(I’m annoying that way.) 

Good quotes can surprise. So can where they come from. 

After Casablanca, the most quotable movie I know stars Fred Astaire. A lyricist wrote the screenplay. 

—He who does not love the faults of his love does not love at all.

(Proof you learn to write from songs.) 

I have a magnificent quote file. Here is my favorite, ever: 

…it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one…  

—Henry David Thoreau 

I found it when my first life ran out, when I left home. 

It stayed with me likely for that reason. 

It makes a great excuse for quitting a job, or anything! 

(I also have a great song for quitting a job, if you need one.) 

I love this part most: 

—I had several more lives to live… 

I too have more. Maybe, one more. 

It takes time to find your true life — 

the one you will protect, 

the one you will give everything, 

the one you will never abandon 

— unless you’re lucky! Maybe some are… 

The sad or funny or joyous thing is, I’ve known what I’ve wanted and looked for it forever, only to find it by accident. 

(No no, it was no accident.) 

—Let’s start a new life… 

That quote was the answer. The question was: —If Walden was so great, why did you leave? 

I’ve been there. I know why. 

+ 

I’ve lived a few lives. 

(I won’t bore you with the details.) 

Lives can overlap. I’ve even relived one. 

How do you know the time has come? 

You know. 

It’s like missing a flight; you know you should be home, but you’re not. 

You know where you belong. 

Relationships differ from lives but they can define them. 

(Her for example, any marriage or betrothal, a career or vocation.) 

Take this girl I dated. 

Her hand snapped perfectly into mine, but it felt all wrong. 

Right hand, wrong soul. 

You know to whom you belong. 

…relationships are like shoes: no matter how beautiful they are or how much you love them, if they don’t fit there will be pain with every step… 

I’ve worn those. I know. 

+ 

When asked —How did you sculpt David? Michelangelo replied —I removed what wasn’t David. 

(Mamet says his answer means —Fuck off, and he’s right!) 

We must abandon what’s not us so what is us can shine. 

You know who you are. 

Thoreau describes reincarnation. Michelangelo, molting. 

Lately I’ve focused on shedding…distraction. 

We experience this world through one body. Perhaps we experience this life through one lens. 

Mine is writing. 

I want to write my way into eternity. 

(No no, I want to write my way into your heart.) 

My dad could die at any moment (heart trouble) so I have given much thought lately to what will make my days matter. 

It always comes down to writing well, loving well. 

(For me, writing is loving.) 

—I’m a storyteller, man, that’s all I am. 

(Loving is loving.) 

The opposite of that quote is also true: we must put on what is us; we must dress the part! 

—Clothes make the man — and woman. 

I know it… 

+ 

I might have a new favorite quote — one I read from a subtitle on an airplane movie. 

(Someone else’s movie, lol.) 

It would have fit perfectly in the first letter I wrote you: 

—Love is as simple as “Hello!”

— Your D 

My T —

Right now, my mind is completely blank. I’m enjoying it.

It’s as if a storm has just blown through.

The sky, the air inside, is clean.

I need to go to the desert soon, where I go to feel this way.

Now is the best time.

At night, the wind in the palms sounds like fire.

(I want you to tell me if I’m wrong.)

In the desert, it’s empty in the day and emptier at night.

(Oh but the stars — you can see all of them, like you’re in space!)

I used to go and write there, often.

It’s easier to create in emptiness, from emptiness.

(Hence the empty room, the open window.)

When things stop spinning, you can pick them up.

I should have bought a place out there when I could have.

The inspiration isn’t subtle.

There, things truly grow from nothing, out of nothing.

The ultimate affirmation.

I came from the desert. Literally. My ancestors are from Chihuahua.

(We can never have one! lol. Well, maybe…)

It explains a lot: proud, protective, pioneering people.

Though I grew up in a small, poor L.A. burb famous only for its auto dealership!

(A different kind of desert…)

The desert created me so I create in the desert.

I can hear my heartbeat there, my quietest thoughts.

I have a sedative effect on people, I’ve said: I’m told.

The desert does this for me, slows the breath, the pulse, soothes.

You’ll see.

The next time I go, wherever I go, I’ll have you with me.

Empty mind, full heart.

— Your D