He’s Just A Lil’ Guy

A few drawings of Magnus archives quotes in a children’s book format because it wasn’t scary enough the first time

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The Boy in There

Short, fluffy, tousled hair. A deep, velvet voice that could make anyone swoon. A wide smile that just screams comfort and confidence, others would smile just because he was. He would play football with the other lads, scoring that winning goal; he would deliver a soliloquy so moving that everyone would be reaching for some tissues to wipe away the tears. He would be a shoulder to cry on, a friend to everyone, he would always say the right thing and make everything better- his hugs would bring anyone back down to earth. He wouldn’t be afraid of dancing and singing, he is comfortable in himself. He isn’t afraid of the sound of his own voice, he wouldn’t be afraid of his voice sounding fifty pitches higher than it should be. Flat chested, lean. He works out at the local gym, where everyone can see him and no one judges him. I see him in there sometimes, just out of reach, a blurry outline through a piece of glass as I walk past. I know he’s in there.

He’s the life of the party, scouring the walls for the waiting flowers, he knows what it's like to try and bloom without enough light. He is the one to go to for a walk along the beach as the sun sets on the horizon. Wearing a loose t-shirt that somehow hides nothing, his hands taking shelter against the cold in his trouser pockets as the wind blows aggressively, tensing his arms and flexing his muscles. He stands with a straight posture, unafraid of his chest. He isn’t afraid to clear his throat, his Adam’s apple flexing as he does so. I’m jealous of him. No matter how much I think of him, or how I think I see him in the glass, he isn’t out here. I know he’s in there.

He knows how to make his way in the world, he breathes confidence. He doesn’t need to feel meek when asking someone for help, he just knows they’ll answer. He doesn’t always excel at what he does but he greets failure as a friend and takes them on a walk, building the paths to somewhere better than before. He greets everyday in life with a flourish of grace and a smile warm enough to let you know it's okay, the world is better because he is here. He knows the way to sincerity and treats you with it, no matter the circumstances because he doesn’t want you to feel unwanted. I know he’s in there.

I know he’s in there because he is me. I am the boy in there.

I was on a plane this weekend, and I was chatting with the woman sitting next to me about an upcoming writer’s strike. “Do you really think you’re mistreated?” she asked me.

That’s not the issue at stake here. Let me tell you a little something about “minirooms.”

Minirooms are a way of television writing that is becoming more common. Basically, the studio will hire a small group of writers, 3-6 or so, and employ them for just a few weeks. In those few weeks (six weeks seem to be common), they have to hurriedly figure out as much about the show as they can – characters, plots, outlines for episodes. Then at the end of the six weeks, all the writers are fired except for the showrunner, who has to write the entire series themselves based on the outlines.

This is not a widespread practice, but it has become more common over the past couple of years. Studios like it because instead of paying for a full room for the full length of the show, they just pay a handful of writers for a fraction of the show. It’s not a huge problem now, but the WGA only gets the chance to make rules every three years – if we let this go for another three years and it becomes the norm? That would be DEVASTATING for the tv writing profession.

Do I feel like I’m mistreated? No. I LOVE my job! But in a world of minirooms, there is no place for someone like me – a mid-level writer who makes a decent living working on someone else’s show (I’d like to be a showrunner someday, but for now I feel like I still have a lot to learn, and my husband and I are trying to start a family so I like not being support rather than the leader for now). In a miniroom, there are only two levels – the handful of glorified idea people who are already scrambling to find their next show because you can’t make a decent living off of one six-week job (and since there are fewer people per room, there are fewer jobs overall, even at the six-week amount), and the overworked, stressed as fuck showrunner who is going to have to write the entire thing themselves. Besides being bad for me making a living, I also just think it’s plain bad for television as an art form – what I like about TV is how adaptable it is, how a whole group of people come together to tell a story better than what any of them could do on their own. Plus the showrunner can’t do their best work under all of that pressure, episode after episode, back to back. Minirooms just…fucking suck.

The WGA is proposing two things to fix this – a rule that writers have to be employed for the entire show, and a rule tying the number of writers in the room to the number of episodes you have per season. I don’t think it’s unreasonable. It’s the way shows have run since the advent of television. It’s only in the last couple of years that this has become a new thing. It’s exploitative. It squeezes out everyone except showrunners and people who have the financial means to work only a few months a year. It makes television worse. And that is the issue in this strike that means everything to me, and that is why I voted yes on the strike authorization vote.

Someone marry me and co-own this place with me please

This bookshop

Deep in the night we are waiting / holding our breath, letting go

John used all his simussy in that line

Sunflowers, c. 1982. Andrew Wyeth. Watercolor and pencil on paper