John Cassavetes was 5'7"

And some other things.

I wonder, like anyone else, what is worth my time and attention. What is the utility in mental effort? What justifies firing your brain cells more than you have to? For the last three years, I’ve been reporting on and writing a story amidst intense life changes¹ and at my lowest points, I found myself asking why I was toiling around a blank page for so long. Would an outlet still be around to publish it? Would anyone have the energy to read it? Funnily enough, those aren’t the questions that keep you writing or make it any better.

Nothing makes me dread the passage of time like a blinking cursor, waiting for me to type something. And I do. I spend most of my days typing out cover letters, interview transcripts, emails, copy, and anything else that isn’t self-directed. What I mean is that I spend my time doing everything but actually writing. Nothing sounds like me because it isn’t for me; it’s intended to make someone else look and sound good, and make them money. It isn’t ideal, but someone has to sustain the professional choices I’ve made.

The more I hear people talking about “too many newsletters,” the more I realize there are fewer outlets to write for — fewer places that let you write and sound like yourself, or even tackle something outside of a news cycle.² I think about the writing that never sees the light of day, how it gets lost when a publication folds, a story is killed, or an editor rejects a pitch. A lot of bad writing gets sifted out. A lot of good writing gets lost, too. A lot of what is given the green light feels hollow these days. There is always a glimmer of hope, though, that something good will break through. Sometimes a writer will not only know their subject, but know how to direct an audience (instead of simply building one or reading the room).

I have, for research and writing purposes, been looking into companies and projects that had a common theme: most of the people who built them knew that the right people would find it. And they eventually did. But how do you engage an audience you don’t yet know? Especially with so many things competing for our attention?

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It’s said that John Cassavetes was an “audience’s director.” According to Peter Falk, Cassavetes once directed an audience while he was arguing with someone at a Lakers game. The man was 6’2” and Cassavetes was 5’7”. Imagine hiding a hand like that: knowing the difference between being right and intuitive. That in the midst of a little chaos, you can trust your own instincts to sway a crowd. That you can think on your feet, but know when to step back and let things take care of themselves. That you can gamble like that. This was the same man who mortgaged his home (and borrowed $500,000 from Falk) to fund and distribute A Woman Under the Influence. A man desperate, in his own words, to fight against clarity.

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On March 1, I’m starting this newsletter again (and more regularly). Every week, you’ll either get an essay or an interview. And other weeks, a surprise, if time and day jobs permit. There is, increasingly, less room to write the way I’d like to online. And I’d like to do more than just obsess over things; I’d like to process the details and articulate them. Until then, I have edits to go over and tabs to start closing (thankfully). So see you next Wednesday. In the meantime, you can always tell me what to watch.

You also watch Peter Falk on Charlie Rose (1995), where he discusses his friendship with Cassavetes (starting at 16:25) and tells the PBS-friendly version of that Lakers spat.

Here are some things I’ve read. Also 🍸 for fun.

And a little hint of what’s to come.

1. I’m talking about top 5 stressors, and not, like, a hangnail.

2. I’m not saying everyone should write. Some people desperately need a diary.