Quote, Unquote

"If I knew where I was going, I'd already be there."

Pardon me, but what exactly does that mean?  It sounds like a country western lyric, probably because it is, but honestly, I thought I'd made it up until I Googled and found out, others before me have said it.  Damn.  I could've sworn it was an original SJG.  Still, I love it so.  It could apply to anything, anytime.  It would look nice on a bumper sticker, or the side of a bus.  Yes, especially a bus.  But then it might frighten the passengers, who need to believe the driver will get them wherever they're going.  Only, here's the thing.  Sometimes the driver gets lost.  Sometimes the driver has no clue where the eff he's going.

Am I right?  Of course, I am.  I'm always right when I'm speaking metaphorically.  This is the story of life's twisty turns.  Let's take me, for example.  We could take you, but then, this blog is about my favorite neurotic.  Me.  Get your own blog.  I've always been driven.  I've always wanted to be a writer.  Why?  Because I'm a glutton for punishment.  God forbid, I should pick a simple career, like archery.  I would've made a great archer.  Thanks to all that time at summer camp, I'm something else with a bow and arrow.  I'm all about the bull's eye, people, or a close approximation.  Which means I'm probably pretty good at darts, too, not that I've tried it.  I invite you to name one short Jewish person who picked archery for a career, or, while we're at it, darts, and get back to me.

Not that you asked, but here's the zig-zaggy trajectory of my humble writerly life:  At 15, I started writing bad poetry, an elongated Sylvia Path/Anne Sexton stage that lasted more years than I care to admit.  When I wasn't contemplating my pipek, I was reporting on other people's pipeks for the high school paper, and then in college, the Daily Bruin.  (Meanwhile, what a great title for a novel:  "Other People's Pipeks."  Maybe if I ever finish the novel I've been writing for longer than I care to admit, I'll write it.)  Then I worked for a magazine and made up the horoscope column for teenage pipek-gazers.  Then I worked in fabulous show biz for two seconds.  (See yesterday's blog.)  Then I went back to journalism.  Then I wanted to write sitcoms, like my daddy Ben Starr.  I got one assignment.  One.  That was it.  Then I started writing after school specials. Then I wrote TV movies.  Then I couldn't get arrested.  The tale goes on and on.  I tried this, I tried that.  I had many dry spells.  Did I say many?  I meant:  many, many.  And now I'm back writing a TV movie.  A miracle.  I'm living proof of the above quote.  I've never really known where I was going, career-wise.  I've always just been along for the ride.