Christopher Ming's Blog

Timeliness has become such a rarity that arriving on time is the new gold standard.

We’re bombarded with people who don’t value their time or the time of others. So much so that just showing up for work, being physically present at the agreed upon time is a Gold Star worthy endeavor. Being on time is appreciated, but you’re supposed to come on time. It’s nothing to brag about. It’s expected.

With competition everywhere, and all the scalable, inexpensive and fast tools at our disposal to communicate, create, and affect our world, how long can hold ourselves to this low standard of physical presence?

What can we accomplish when we begin to expect more from ourselves and our peers than just “being on time?”  What can we build when our expectation isn’t just to come, but to come:

Mentally present — having considered (on your own time) the issues at hand. As prepared to propose solutions as you are prepared to raise issues.

Emotionally invested — having thoughts about the direction of the project, knowing full well you might look stupid voicing them and putting them out there anyway.

Willing to take risks — not prepared to accept a scenario because “that’s the way it is.” Challenging assumptions (e.g., it costs too much, you can’t do that, it’s too hard.) Pushing each other into discomfort zones because that’s where great things happen.

If that’s how we showed up, how much more could we accomplish?

Versus the (general) current approach: everyone arrives 15 minute late. Gab and BS for another 15 minutes. Finally, a rallying cry is heard, “let’s get started!” before everyone scrambles to remember why you were meeting in the first place.

There’s more to showing up than showing up.

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Categories: accountability,time,workflow
by Chris
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We were playing cards, and I busted out of the cash game with something or another. I moved to re-buy and started counting chips when Joe interrupted me.

“Wait, you’re buying in for double?” he asked.

The rule of thumb is: have as many chips in front of you as possible. You need ammunition to put a dent in someone’s stack, and after a few hours, the table’s initial buy-in (relative to the stacks) isn’t going to endanger anyone’s chip lead.

So yes, I was buying in for double. That’s how much I needed if I wanted my moves to have weight.

Joe didn’t voice any more concerns, but behind his massive tower of chips, he looked uncomfortable with the idea. He considered my action a faux pas, and perhaps it was. I just never saw it that way. Whenever someone reloaded at the table, my mentality has always been: “Good. I want my opponents buying in for as much as they want, as often as possible. The more money in the game, the more money I can win.” I can’t remember ever not thinking this way. Until that moment, I wasn’t aware of this other perspective:

“I don’t want my opponent buying back in, and certainly not for double. The more money he has in front of him, the less chance I’ll walk away with these chips at the end of the night.”

From a purely competitive standpoint, Joe’s perspective is the intelligent one. Limit your risk by restricting your opponent’s ammunition. Limit their ability to maneuver, and you’ll come out ahead. That’s a smart play.

But if that’s your default mentality, will you ever discover what you’re capable of? If you don’t put yourself in situations where you’re 99 percent sure you’re outclassed and outgunned, how will you find out if you’re wrong?

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Categories: risk
by Chris
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According to a statistic I thought sounded great and didn’t bother to verify, of the annual one million freshly minted Los Angeles transplants looking for entry into the entertainment business,  only 5,000 stick it out past year one. We’re talking about point-five-percent — only half a percent stay in Los Angeles past their first year.

The possibly made-up statistic arose after I tried reaching out to former co-interns who moved to Los Angeles at the same time as I did, only to discover via awkward text conversation they moved home weeks ago.

ME: Hey we’re playing poker this Friday if you’re avail.
FORMER CO-INTERN: I left LA like two months ago, bro.
ME: Oh.
ME: So you can’t make it?

Hearing about their departures and knowing full well every few months, word will trickle through the grapevine that so-and-so went back to Alabama or New Jersey churns a mixed bag of emotion. It’s not smugness, which I think is a repulsive behavior (and self-satisfaction is its distant, ugly cousin.) But to put my emotion in the vicinity of “sympathy” is giving myself too much credit. I think if you came out here with any other perceived notion than “this is going to be hard,” then you were ill-prepared, and that may have played into your departure.

The closest definition I can place on the emotion is “grim acceptance” — I’m neither thrilled nor disappointed to hear there’s one less angry, disgruntled entertainment employee choking up the 405. The only thing their departure brings is a validation to the struggle that is making it in entertainment in Los Angeles. So when my “mean-well-but-far-cry-from-helpful” relatives remind me I’ve been writing for a “really long time” and ask why I’m still unsuccessful and poor, I can say: “Look, this is hard. Most people do not make it. I read in the LA Times (note: I did not read this in the LA Times) that only .5 percent of LA transplants last longer than a year.”

They’ll listen and nod, as if digesting this information, before they recommend I write something like those “Twilight” books by that “Stephanie Meyer-girl.” They heard she was doing well.

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Categories: hustle,interns
by Chris
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Several months ago I decided the following mantra would define the next year:

“Work for anyone, on anything, for any amount of money.” I still was (am) new to Los Angeles and the entertainment business. I figured regardless of what I did, I’d learn something new. More importantly, a blanket “yes” without regard to my specific interests or career direction would stop the cost-benefit analysis that zips through my head every time it’s time to act. This analysis usually led to choice paralysis, which in turn led to no action at all.

Take away choice and the malady cleared right up.

It’s akin to the Jim Carey movie, YES MAN, only much more degrading, not nearly as funny, and no meeting Zooey Deschanel at some hipster dive bar. Which I suppose makes it nothing like YES MAN whatsoever.

The experiment led to a smattering of entertainment experiences dabbled from every inch of the palette, some great, some less so. But I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences for anything. Not that I loved my first day on set, a 16-hour PA shift for DESPERATE ACTS OF MAGIC — I was surly and miserable afterwards — but I learned a lot, watched some great people work, and popped my PA cherry.

The mantra (“anyone, anything, any amount of money”) led to my first script writing classes with Pilar Alessandra, my first Pitch Fest, my first casting gig, my first trip to the Film Market, and my first production coordinator job. Of course, not every something leads to something else, for a variety of reasons. Sometimes things just didn’t click, or I didn’t make the best first impression. Or I made choices that others didn’t appreciate, which can really hurt you if you get hung up on it.

Other times I did my best, for little or no money, and still no new opportunities came to fruition — another circumstance that’ll hurt you only if you dwell on it. I don’t like to think of this as getting burned (when you do free work, you kinda have to let go of the “getting burned” mentality as you’re working towards the intangible value of good will.) It doesn’t make it sting any less: for example, writing three free coverages for a producer who, after the fact, won’t take your calls or return e-mails. Or reading for a well-known independent film festival and your point person barely bothers to mutter a thank-you before walking away. None of these experiences leave you with the warm and fuzzies.

It’s discouraging if you let it be. If you’re not zoned for the proper mindset, which is: be completely ambivalent and unaffected by your results. Do your best work with zero expectations, and follow it by accepting whatever you get in return, whether it’s a thank-you, more work, or just the experience. Then nothing can hurt you.

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Categories: hustle,jobs,zero expectations
by Chris
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Contrary to the title, this post is not about writing.

Let’s start by talking about writing:

The fun of banging on the keyboard every day wanes. It becomes more about the afterglow than the work before it (“love having written, hate writing.”) There are times I enjoy the creating, capturing the moment perfectly in words as I imagined in my mind. These moments are far and few between, however. The majority of the time, writing is work. This isn’t a problem if you’re professional and treat the writing as such — you get up and get it done, regardless of how you “feel” or whether you’re “up to it.”

Recently, my writer’s group took on a unique challenge: our group of six would collaborate to write the first draft of a screenplay — in one night. One single all-night writing session to get from FADE IN to BLACK, dividing the labor equally amongst six people.

We held four meetings in the weeks prior to hash out an outline we could execute within the time frame. The outline was skeletal — we established only the main protagonist’s names, motivations, and back story, and agreed upon three or four settings. It did fulfill the single necessary requirement: get us from A to Z in 24 beats (a serendipitous coincidence, thanks to 24’s unique mathematical properties of being divisible by 3 (writing pairs) and 8 (hours to write.)

The remaining details were left up to the writers and created on the fly. This spontaneity led to moments throughout the night where one person would pose thoughtful questions like “wait, is Whitney impregnated by the demon before or after Adolfi is gored by the alligator?” and other pressing issues that affected theme, allegory, and continuity.

We met. We drank coffee. We conquered. Not in that order.

But we got our draft — a nonsensical, terribly violent yet wholly completed draft.

Take away lessons: this is a good way to get a draft written, but it’s not a good way to write a draft. I’d recommend everyone gives it a try.

Like I said: this post is not about writing.

Setting aside eight hours to stay up all night with a group of people with a single intention (“let’s make some s#%!”) was the most fun I had in this medium in a long time. Throwing down words that made zero sense logically or grammatically in a sleep-deprived state was a small reminder to enjoy the process of creating, not just the event of having created. I’m not talking about those 8-hours, either; I mean the whole process: surrounding yourself with people who want to make something, having the idea of the all-nighter, makingprogress with the outline week by week, anticipating the event as we moved closer and closer, and wondering if we’d manage to get everyone together for eight hours (a miracle in of itself.)

So now we got this draft, and what we’re going to do with it (revise it, revisit it, trash it?) is pretty unclear. I hoped it’d be a rough draft to add to the portfolio but I think even that may be a stretch. It may end up being nothing more than the only souvenir from a night where a group of people decided they were going to make something. And followed through.

That, and this blog post, that isn’t about writing.

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Categories: collaborations,story telling
by Chris
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