The never-ending struggle to make it as a television writer in LA was starting to take a toll on me. I had been striking out on interviews left and right, and things were starting to feel pretty hopeless. Sure, I had made it to some final rounds, but learning that you were runner-up for a job isn’t a great consolation. You’re still back to where you started, unsure of what to do next. My colleagues encouraged me to remain positive, but I was finding that increasingly difficult. Fortunately for me, I found new perspective this past weekend, thanks to Camp Erin - LA.
 
Camp Erin is a children’s bereavement camp started by my family friends, designed to help children learn grief coping strategies and meet other people their age who have endured similar losses. Some people who only know my sarcastic, sharp-tongued persona don’t have any clue how much I adore kids, or how much it kills me when I see them struggling emotionally. As an aspiring comedy writer, I don’t often lead with that side of my personality. Instead, I’m focused on making people laugh which can be a daunting task considering that my everyday audience regularly interacts with successful comedy writers. So I wasn’t surprised by my coworkers’ dumbfounded reactions when I told them that I was volunteering at a children’s grief camp. Breaking news: This snarky tin man might have a heart after all.
 
The night before camp started, I reverted to my teenage self, nervous that the campers and other volunteers wouldn’t like me. I hadn’t been to camp since the fifth grade, and I wasn’t sure that I even had proper camping attire. My family and friends took turns sending me humorous texts conveying their skepticism about my ability to “rough it” in a cabin for 3 days. I responded with my own quips, insisting that the cabins likely had turndown service and a concierge. I mean, the camp was in Malibu. In all seriousness, I was extremely concerned that I would say the wrong thing or not know how to offer the proper support to the campers. The coordinators had done an excellent job training us and provided toolkits that included various talking points and scenarios, but I still worried about the unknown.
 
The fact that my Aunt Amy had agreed to volunteer with me helped calm my nerves. When I thought about asking someone to join me, Amy was the first person who came to mind. It’s not just Amy’s professional background that made her an ideal candidate (she was a nurse who worked in the NICU for several years and then with PEDS bone marrow transplants), but she also has a likability factor that’s unrivaled (except by me, of course). Everyone she encounters immediately wants to be her friend, and she’s truly one of the most fun people I’ve ever met.  Amy enthusiastically signed up, and after two training sessions, we were ready to go. 
 
As Amy and I set off in her car for Malibu on Friday morning, she looked me over and then remarked, “Boy those are some nice shoes for camping!” I glanced down at my Cole Hahn weekender shoes and began to worry. The coordinators had warned us that if they found our attire inappropriate for camp, they would ask us to change. I think that they had something else in mind when they said “inappropriate,” but I was starting to wonder if my Vineyard Vines polo shirt and J. Crew shorts were unsuitable for such an occasion. When we pulled into Camp Bloomfield an hour later and noticed that everyone else was wearing t-shirts and workout gear, Amy whispered out of the side of her mouth, “Put your sweatshirt on.” I broke into a laughing fit while I scrambled to find my Camp Erin t-shirt to change into. For the rest of the weekend, I stuck with sweatshirts, baseball caps, and tennis shoes.
 
By the time the campers arrived on Friday afternoon, my ensemble became the furthest thing from my mind. I had requested to be in Boys Cabin 1, which houses the youngest campers, aged 6 thru 8. To say that they were hyper is like saying that Oprah likes bread. My fellow Cabin Big Buddies and I did our best to wrangle them in for activities, but we were lucky if we got 7 out of the 9 kids to just sit in a circle. I was becoming more and more concerned with how we were going to get these energetic youngsters to go to bed at night. One plan was to try to tire them out throughout the day. Our cabin sat atop a steep, 200-foot hill, so every time we traveled to and from the cabin, I challenged the boys to a race. This didn’t seem to do much in terms of wearing the boys out, but I did manage to lose two pounds over the course of the weekend!
 
On Friday night, it took slightly less than two hours from the time that we had asked the campers to get ready for bed until they had actually fallen asleep. As soon as the last camper went down, I jumped into my bed and tried to get some much-needed rest. I had barely shut my eyes when a deafening racket filled our cabin and made me sit bolt upright. I initially thought that we were under attack, but it turned out to be one of our Cabin Big Buddies. He had warned us earlier in the day that he was a snorer, but I had never heard anything like it. For the next three excruciating hours, I tried to fall asleep, without much luck. Then, at around 2:30am, the snoring miraculously stopped. I wondered if I had perhaps gone deaf, but I ultimately didn’t care and I quickly fell asleep. Fortunately, nothing seems to wake up an 8-year-old boy, so most of our campers slept through the ruckus.  By 7:30am the next morning, the boys were wide-awake and ready for the new day! I was exhausted, so I snuck outside and chugged a Diet Coke that I had smuggled in my pillow case the night before. Joking aside, the boys’ energy eventually became contagious, and it made the fun activities like the Friday night dance party much more lively and exciting.
 
Throughout the weekend, I was blown away by the campers’ fortitude, especially amongst my Cabin 1 boys. Starting with the Memory Board Ceremony on Friday night, the campers were regularly asked to share with the rest of the group who had died and the cause of death. My boys made it through these activities without a hiccup. I’m 31 and I still get choked up talking about my 88-year-old grandmother who died three years ago. Her death hit me in waves, and I can’t believe that these kids have had to go through that process at such a young age. It was powerful listening to the campers share their stories, and several of my Cabin 1 boys tugged on my arm every time they heard someone else who had experienced a similar death in their family. This is a crucial component to the weekend, as it allows the campers to see, maybe for the first time, that they are not alone in their grief.
 
On Saturday afternoon, our cabin set out on a grief hike, in which the boys explored various emotions and were taught coping strategies to deal with those feelings. Several of my campers stated that they were angry that they didn’t get to say goodbye to their loved ones, and we discussed what they would say to them had they been given the chance. Their responses were thoughtful and articulate, and it provided the boys with an opportunity to share something that they might not have been given the chance to say anywhere else. 

My favorite activity of the entire weekend was on Saturday night. During the day, the campers colored lanterns in remembrance of their loved ones. After dinner, everyone gathered around the pool for the luminary ceremony. Our cabin went first, and the boys took turns saying something over the microphone to their person who had died before setting their luminaries into the water. When one of our campers struggled to talk about his person, the other campers rallied around him and comforted him. An 8-year-old boy who had barely interacted with the tearful camper sat next to him and patted him on the back until he calmed down. I was in awe. For the rest of the evening, my cabin respectfully listened to the other campers as they set their luminaries in the water and shared a message.  Once all of the lit luminaries were floating in the pool, 3 musicians serenaded us with a medley of songs, ranging from Carole King to Bill Withers. It was a very special moment and a great time for reflection.  
 
There’s a brilliant scene in the second BRIDGET JONES movie in which Renee Zellweger complains about her boyfriend’s bad behavior to a group of Thai prisoners. After listening to a couple of the other inmates’ horror stories about their boyfriends, Bridget gains some perspective and realizes that she’s been “the world’s biggest fool.” I came to the same understanding this past weekend. I had been fretting because my interviews these past two months had not yet landed me a new job and I was getting impatient. After 24 hours at Camp Erin, I realized that my work problems paled in comparison to the obstacles that these young campers have had to endure. They have all lost someone incredibly close to them far too early in life. Though I’ve had multiple friends die unexpectedly over the years, I’ve been lucky that I haven’t had a family member die unnaturally. While it’s impossible not to get caught up in our own problems, camp reminded me that I have much to be thankful for and that my problems are rather minuscule in the grand scheme of things.
 
Overall, I had more fun this weekend than I’ve had in years, which seems like an odd thing to say about three days at a bereavement camp. I threw Frisbees, played basketball, raced 6-year-olds down a massive hill (I won), attended a dance party, petted miniature horses, colored, played kickball, sang camp songs, and made awesome friends. But most importantly, I met amazing kids and helped them deal with their grief. Camp provided me with an opportunity to utilize some of my talents that I don’t often get to use in my day-to-day life. I’m not a big fan of self-flattery, but I will admit that I received my fair share of compliments over the weekend regarding my ability to interact with the kids and keep them engaged. I only share that because I’m more proud of the feedback that I received this past weekend than any other professional accolades received to date. I truly hope that I had a positive impact on the kids’ lives because they certainly had one on mine.
 
I plan on staying actively involved in Camp Erin, and I encourage others who are considering volunteering to act on those impulses. I had contemplated volunteering at Camp Erin for 3 years before I finally signed up, and I’m now beating myself up for not doing it sooner. I’m not suggesting that everyone go out and volunteer at a children’s grief camp, but rather explore opportunities that play to one’s own strengths. Camp Erin taught me a lot, and I humbly offer the following takeaways, which I strive to implement in my everyday life: 

• Disconnect from your phones and other electronic devices and reconnect with each other.
• Don’t take anything for granted, as life is a gift.
• Tell your family that you love them often.
• Talk openly about your loved ones who have died.
• Be there for each other. With the support of others, there aren’t any hurdles that we can’t overcome. 

To preview the documentary made about Camp Erin, click this link: ​https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTTpCmMCLLE

I haven’t posted a blog in almost a year, but I figured that the best way to cope with my recent professional struggles was through my writing. For the past two years, I have been working at the same television literary agency in Beverly Hills. I love my company, but ever since I ruled out being an agent last year, I’ve been itching to move on. I still wanted to be a television writer, so my colleagues encouraged me to pursue a job working for an established Showrunner (the person who has overall creative authority and management responsibility for a television program). My Master Plan centered around working for a Showrunner for one year and then charming said Showrunner into hiring me on his or her writing staff. But as I’ve learned these past two months, things never seem to go as planned. I’ve gone on eight interviews, but none of them has resulted in a job. I always try to find humor in my pain, so here are some highlights that shed some light on my recent interviews:  

• One of our clients told me that when sitting down with a Showrunner, I should try to act like a mirror, mimicking the body language and mood of the person interviewing me. This sounded like good advice, but my first Showrunner meeting was with someone who had recently undergone back surgery. When we sat down, he looked to be in terrible pain and was slumped over in his chair. I slouched a bit in my seat, but I ultimately decided that mimicking him wasn’t the way to go. Instead, I focused my efforts on making him laugh. I tried roughly 8 different personalities on him, none of which he found engaging. He checked his watch at least three times within the first ten minutes of our meeting, and the only time that he laughed was when I ran into the door on my way out. NEEEXT!
• My boss set me up to meet with a wildly successful comedy writer looking for a new assistant. Heading into the meeting, my boss advised me against using sarcasm because she didn’t think that the writer would respond. Well, that’s like telling Batman to leave his Batmobile at home – sarcasm is my armor.  I absolutely loved this woman, but to avoid sarcasm, I somehow began discussing the most serious and depressing topics. On more than one occasion, the writer remarked that she might cry. This isn’t exactly the emotion one is hoping to tap into when meeting with a comedy writer. To illustrate how uncomfortable the meeting turned out to be, here’s an excerpt from my “thank you” note to the writer: “I hope that I didn’t bum you out too much with my talk of autism, bereavement camps, suicides, and paraplegics. I didn’t realize that it was possible to work all of that into a 30-minute meeting with a comedy writer, but I somehow managed to!”
• A few weeks ago, I interviewed to assist a Showrunner and a Non-Writing Producer of a successful Young Adult show. When I walked into their office, it smelled awful. One of their dogs had crapped all over the carpet. The Showrunner playfully asked, “You like dogs, right?” Unwilling to lose a job over my aversion to pets, I smiled and lied, “Oh yeah! I love them.” It didn’t sound very convincing, but I hoped that they didn’t notice. As we walked toward the conference room, the dog responsible for the mess began growling at me from across the office. The snarl grew more aggressive the closer I got, as though my mere presence in the office were upsetting her. The bitch was getting so hostile that I started to feel like Damien during the zoo scene in THE OMEN. The Showrunner tried to justify the dog’s response by informing me that the dog had cancer and was out of it. I feigned compassion while I secretly surmised that I could put up with the dog’s accidents for a few months until the cancer put her out of her misery. However, as the interview progressed, I discovered that there were three more dogs that took turns coming to the office, and I would be responsible for walking and feeding them. A disheartened expression covered my face, and I knew that was the end of that interview.  
• Two weeks ago, I interviewed for a Showrunner whose new drama got a series order on a major network on Thursday nights. I was scheduled to meet with him at the studio at 9:00AM, but traffic was getting in the way. I arrived at 8:59, and by the time I found parking it was 9:03. I raced across the street and tried to enter through the studio doors when a guard started yelling at me. I was still discombobulated from my commute, and I could barely hear what the guard was saying. Without paying attention to my surroundings, I started to walk across the street to the guard’s booth. Just then, a car nearly PLOWED into me! He honked and I hustled out of the way. I caught a glimpse of the driver from my peripheral vision and prayed that it wasn’t the Showrunner. Sure enough, it was. I laughed and apologized when he greeted me in the lobby, but he didn’t seem to have a sense of humor about the incident. He just said, “Yeah I thought that was you.” Woof. The rest of the interview didn’t go much better. At that point I realized that I definitely needed to work for a comedy writer. 
• To shake things up, I accepted an interview at a major production company that didn’t really have much to do with writing. Still, it had creative elements and I figured it would be a nice change of pace. When I walked into the lobby, the entire television department from a studio that I've previously referred to as WDW was sitting in there waiting for a separate meeting with the production company. I hadn’t seen any of the WDW folks since I had backed out of a job offer two years before, which didn‘t resonate well with them. After exchanging awkward greetings, they asked me what I was doing at the production company, and I confessed that I was there for an interview. When my interviewer finally appeared and saved me from this terribly awkward encounter, the WDW crew wished me good luck. While walking to the conference room, the interviewer asked me how I knew WDW. I explained that I had previously accepted a job there, but that I ultimately turned it down to work for my current agency. Not a stellar way to begin an interview, and I had a feeling that it had ended the interview before it even began! 
• At my latest interview, the Executive started off by asking me about one of my old employers listed on my resume. He was strangely fascinated with her, and he wanted to “get the dirt.” I told him that I wasn’t big into gossiping about my previous bosses, which was sort of a fib but sounded like something future employers would want to hear. He pressed me a bit more and I finally caved. We proceeded to spend the majority of this interview dishing about a woman for whom I hadn’t worked in years. He laughed a lot, but when the meeting ended, he simply said, “You should take her off your resume,” and that was the end of it. I couldn’t tell if he ever even considered hiring me for the position or if he only brought me in to badmouth this woman. I took his suggestion about updating my resume as a sign that I wasn’t getting the job, since I wouldn’t need another resume if he were to hire me. 

So here I am, slightly defeated, but trying to take lessons from each of these failed meetings. There are still a few positions that I’m in the running for, but I’ve learned not to hold my breath. My current boss keeps telling me that the Showrunners who rejected me would have gotten in the way of whatever “amazing job” I will get next. It’s a nice sentiment, but she might be more full of shit than the cancer dog. Nonetheless, I’m going to persevere and hold out hope that some sucker will eventually take a shot on me!