NOTE FROM LB:
I’ve been getting emails from readers growing impatient because they haven’t yet met the Navajo Dog of this collection of poetry. Chill, gang. I’m setting it – and you – up.
One of the most obnoxious things about writing for, you know, money, is that those who do the paying always tell us who do the writing to “speed things up,” and “Forget the beginning. Start at Act Two.” But no one’s paying me now.
People always ask how I got started as a television writer, and I my best to give them the condensed, educational, “You-can-do-it-too” version. But the following poem doesn’t just state the facts, it faces how I felt at the time the beginning – um – began. And since the poem was written many years, there must might be a trace or two of how I felt while I was writing this as well:
Kid Hollywood Is Born: June, 1968;
I Want To Write About Dreams
I came to L.A. to write for television in the late ’60s, and with my first gig one of what was to be several love-hate relationships, both professional and personal, began. I did pretty well with the professional thing, at least – achieved every one of my goals as a TV writer, actually, although it feels immodest to say it. Many of my friends from that era did the same. And, professionally speaking, some achieved even more. The following is a true story of that time and place, reflecting bits and pieces of us all:
The moon taunts him.