In 2012 & 2014, I had two pivotal conversations that would alter my plans for Hollywood adaptations of the first novel in the Pillars of Dawn series, Murder of Crows.
I met a guest speaker and film director at the Willamette Writer’s Conference who asked if I’d be willing to mockup the first ten pages of adaptation materials for him to shop my work around. He was so kind, thoughtful and willing to put up with my weird reclusiveness that I said, sure, why not?
I’d done some scripting before and still had a program on my old computer, so I did the first ten pages of script and sent it over. It followed the book closely for the opening sequence. We stayed in touch. He was super friendly. Then about three months later he let me know that he hadn’t really been able to make headway. He liked my writing and asked me to come on board to write a vampire script for him—for free.
If I had been in a different position in my life, I might have taken him up on it just for the practice—but as things were, I couldn’t afford to sideline myself at that time and so I passed. We fell out of touch right about the time a producer from a television channel got in touch with a request for extra copies of Murder of Crows and a meeting to discuss adaptation.
It was mid-2014 and I was excited about the idea of a professional adaptation rather than my patchy attempt. I loved the channel, and the show the producer was known for, so I happily agreed to talk.
When he laid out his vision for the adaptation, my heart sank. WTF!??
The entire show was centered on Liam. Fable, the Muse of Story, first person point of view of the books was a side character. The NaNas were gone. Several male characters not originally in the works were injected into the storyline that had nothing at all to do with the Muses or their vessels, or the story I’d written.
When I asked where all the female characters were, he replied, “We took them out. Also, we need to re-arrange the dialog you had given all the best lines to the female characters and the women were talking too much. The gender balance was off.” He replied.
“Actually, the characters in MOC are split right down the middle. It wasn’t on purpose, it was an accident, of course. Just by luck it came out to 50/50 on the gender split.” I said.
“Right, well that’s not how it works in Hollywood. If a woman is on screen or speaking the same amount as her male counterparts, then the audience perceives that they are talking too much or taking up too much screen. For it to be balanced in the Hollywood way, it needs to be 70/30 or better yet, 80/20 and then it feels more balanced to the audience.” His tone was irritated, as though explaining something stupidly obvious to a toddler.
I don’t recall exactly what I said—but I do remember that it wasn’t polite.
I pulled the option off the table and closed the door on Hollywood. Whatever steaming pile of horseshit advice or perspective that was, it was not meant for me or for a world of female Muses who were the focal point of the story. I got it in my head that my books just weren’t adaptable and moved on.
Cut to a decade later….
So here I am, a decade later, selling my house and moving to LA to finish the adaptations with new collaborators. Life is funny, yo. It’s a weird ol’ world.
In 2021, I had reached my breaking point with the dual life of the writing and indie publishing struggle while also supporting myself with full-time work. Something had to give. It was mid-Covid, and I needed to draw a line in the sand. The books weren’t selling, and I was on the cusp of accepting a job that would mean I probably wouldn’t have the bandwidth to write or continue my craft if I accepted this new corporate position.
As a last resort before quitting all together, I reached out to three producers in LA and asked if I could hire them for an analysis of The Pillars of Dawn novels to identify any flaws that might be able to be corrected for a refurbish, and if it was worth it to bother. I looked for producers with story structure understanding and character development work—at the very least, people who spoke fluent story. Additionally, I asked if there was any real adaptation potential with the work without stripping its core.
The first producer hit on me. So- that was a fuck no.
The second producer sent a dodgy, predatory contract that my attorney shut down immediately.
The third producer was like finding a unicorn. I’d seen a video of Mark Heidelberger on Film Courage talking about story. He spoke fluent story language. That was so immediately comforting that I told myself I’d reach out to him and if he was a no, I would be done with Hollywood and publishing, and with the series, and I’d go ahead and take the corporate management banking job in California.
To my surprise, Mark replied to my email, and agreed to do an analysis. He was professional. His contract was professional. He was also very kind to a flinchy, weird recluse.
Long story short, Mark’s analysis helped me see The Pillars of Dawn from a whole new point of view—from the audience POV. Unexpectedly, I fell in love with the stories all over again. I’d been grinding so hard for so long by myself to try and reach discoverability that I had fallen out of love with the characters and world. I lost the thread in my own passion.
Mark set aside three years to help me adapt The Pillars of Dawn and The Life Erotic as well as boost my writing passion and confidence in the process enough to launch a new label (EGP) and keep blazing forward. His mantra was always, “Don’t make any changes you can’t live with as the creator.”
This style of support was completely new to me. It was hard to trust… at first. Then, once I began to lean into it, the POD and TLE worlds burst open and I was able to build them out bigger and with more complexity than ever before.
As we worked, he continuously brought up the need for me to move to LA to continue meetings and be present for events and talks. I repeatedly refused. My creative safety and freedom had been anchored in this safe space so long that I feared being in LA would put me into survival mode—and drop me out of my creative gear. I didn’t want to lose this beautiful new momentum.
But life has a way of making its own plans, and through a series of unforeseen events I’m not able to talk about just yet, my life in the woods destabilized, pushing me into survival mode anyway. Fuck the luck.
So, partly by necessity, and partly because it’s just time to shift—the moment to jump is now, while I’m still comfortably able to do so. The consolation is that by doing it now, on my terms, I’ll have a chance to get to LA and find my seat, settle in a bit and orient before the building starts.
While it might seem insane to go from eight years of isolation in the woods to being in a collaboration plan in downtown LA—I‘m not actually worried about the culture shock. I’ve been citified before. It’s doable for short durations. Additionally, I’ve been to LA frequently enough the last couple decades that I know what I’m walking into. Honestly, I’m excited to get to work with creatives and storytellers in person. Much of this build has been done remotely, which is wonderful, but doing some in-person development sounds utterly brilliant.
When I went to Los Angeles last year for meetings, I ended up having a delightful trip. Granted, I was able to come and go freely and explore on my own. That said, I already marked out several places I’d be happy to land for a while and tinker about.
Excitement? Yes, it’s growing on me. Sadness and loss of leaving behind my peaceful little life in the wildwood? Yes, so much ache in this transition.
But despite all that, it somehow feels inevitable. It was always going to be this way. I knew it deep down, I just wanted to stay in bed a little longer… enjoy my dreams of peace for five more minutes.
As many times as I tried to quit, as many times as I wanted to walk away—someone always came in and bumped me back onto the path. A nudge, a statement, a push. In Mark’s case, the guy practically yeeted me back into my own work.
“Get your ass in there and build.” But like, in a way more professional tone, because he’s top notch like that. “Who cares if you don’t know how to properly script, I’ll show you how. The adaptation will be more powerful if you’re helming it, because you believe in it. Don’t compromise anything in the story that will leave you feeling cheated as the creator—then the audience will feel cheated as well.”
The process feels a bit like a steam engine building up pressure. I can feel the vibration in the steel tracks under my feet. The big metal wheels are starting to shift.
Once the house sells, I’ll be on my way. I don’t know exactly what to expect from the work and the industry, so I’ve decided to focus my expectations on things I have more control over, building community, finding fellow creatives, discovering neato little spots for adventures, exploring the food, and finding new tribe.
Whatever happens in the industry discussions and builds will happen around LIFE, new relationships, and adventure. After eight years of being a hairy troll under a bridge in the wilderness… I’m really looking forward to what’s next.
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