Never Make A Decision Without This.

At LAX waiting for my flight to London I decided to take my pre-flight tradition of a glass of champagne to the next level.

2 glasses of champagne.

Empty stomach.

3 bottles of wine on the plane.

I was pissed.

Full disclosure: I spilt the last glass of wine all over myself. It was dark. There was (minor) turbulence.

I cut myself off.

And fell asleep for a short while.

To then wake up with a rip roaring headache.

Hungover on a plane is not the life lesson I want you to you learn here but if that's all you learn, I'll take it.

Luckily I had pain killers within reach, knocked them back with all the water I could get my hands on and watched a bunch of meh movies until I landed.

With zero sleep and a hangover, I arrived in London feeling like balls.

I got detained at the airport while border security investigated the visa I was on 10 years ago.
Newsflash: they let me through.

Fuck taking the tube, I got an uber all the way to my ex-husbands place and met his girlfriend.

Yep, we're a rare breed of divorced couple who are fucking cool, with even cooler partners.

Marilena welcomed me with open arms but I still felt like balls.

I started questioning everything.

I went from crazy excited pre-flight to secretly wishing border security put me on a plane to Melbourne.

I was dramatic as hell.

It wasn’t until I passed out that night and slept for 10 hours straight that I woke up and realised:

Never ever make a decision on empty sleep.

If you can’t seem to make business decisions to save your life...

If you’re overly dramatic...

If you’re questioning everything…

I would question this:

How’ve you been sleeping?

There’s nothing a good nights sleep can’t solve.

ZZZZzzzzzz

Good Work Always Gets Found

After getting off the plane in L.A., protecting my energy for despondent sad losers and realising there’s no 12 Step Fail Proof Plan That Someone Can Take To ‘Making It As A Screenwriter, the games began.

Tribute after tribute of thoughts came flooding into my mind as to how I was going to make this whole screenwriting thing work. 

Welcome to The How-ger Games.

How am I going to get my script read?

How am I going to get a manager?

How am I going to sell my show to Netflix?

How am I going to move my two dogs + my man to LA?

How? How? How?

The how will make you crazier than a coconut. Which I’ve been told by The Avalanches is psycho. 

And that’s what was slowly happening to me.

While I was busy trying to plot out my course, be in complete control of my destiny and ya know, find the undeniable path to selling my tv show and getting it into the home of millions, I forgot about one very important thing.

The craft.

The fucking writing.

Here I was trying to find the easiest path to making it, I hadn’t touched my script in 3 weeks.

I’d missed the fucking point.

Telling stories is the point, and here I was thinking it was the least of my priorities as I worked on my strategy.

Sounds insane to think that the thing I needed to do to get my tv shows made (the writing), I wasn’t fucking doing because I was too busy trying to figure out how I was going to do it.

What? I know. 

Here’s what I know to be true:

The easiest path (and the only path) is to become an amazing writer.

That’s it.

Because good work always gets found.

People want to work with amazing writers who write amazing stories.

People are always seeking the next undeniable story that’s going to resonate with millions of people.

So the only path is to become an amazing writer. 

The same goes for you, dear business owner.

The easiest path for you to run the business that gets all the clients + makes all the money?

It’s not in the fucking strategy or the how.

It’s you becoming undeniably amazing at what you do.

Because your people are looking to work with amazing businesses.

And good work always gets found.

Protect Your Energy

Getting off the plane the complete opposite of fresh faced and quietly shitting myself that after 14 hours I was going to have to drive 55 minutes on the opposite side of the road to my Airbnb, I’d arrived in L.A. and I was excited.

Fast forward 72 hours and that excitement turned into WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE!?

So, what happened from the time I got off the plane ready to hell yes all over L.A. to hell fucking no?

The energy. 

How To Find Your Voice

The phone rings. One time. Two times. The third time she picks up. I haven't spoken to her for a couple of days but that's cool. That's how we roll.

I ask how she's going.

I'm fine she says.

But there was hesitation. There was this weird intonation at the end like she was asking a question to herself... Am I fine? Like she was trying to convince herself she was fine. She was flat. Her voice usually bubbly was lower in pitch. Monotone almost. And there was a weird wobbly-anxious-edge to it.

I heard it. I felt it.

What's Your Olympics?

Meanwhile, back in 1988...

Meet Eddie.

A dude who got the thing he wanted more than anything in the world:

To compete in the Olympics.

And I'm not talking about one of the elite athletes who've been shipped off to the best training camps thanks to their parents, who've had the support of their country backing them, who've had access to the best.

I'm talking about the kid who wasn't good at any Olympic sport, but never gave up.

Giving All The Fucks In The World

Not giving a fuck.

It’s the phase that badass rap dreams are made of.

It’s the epitome of what society should be aiming for.

It’s a motto for how to live your life.

Apparently, it’s life changing to not give a fuck.

And it’s just been drawn to my attention that even though I’ve got a reputation for not giving fuck, I’m here to tell you this:

I give a fuck.

Why I Look Hotter With Make Up On

I want to look good.

But when it’s over 25 degree (celsius) I don’t want to wear make up or spend 20 minutes with my head under blasting hot air. 

I want to wear heels.

But fuck sore feet.

I want to have an office that costs $10,000 to deck out, thereby making me look like not only have I got my shit together but I'm totes inspiring. 

But I live in a rental house and my office is currently what used to be a 10 year old girls room with purple walls.

I want to shop at Chanel.

But every time I’m in the city I’m wearing a nike hoodie and sneakers and a top that has some sort of unidentifiable stain because I'm one of those eaters.

I want it all.

The make-up-free, and fancy-free life.

And I want all the fancy too.

Where The Boyband Obsession Began

It was 1997.

Having been a late adopter with Friends, I was rocking the Rachel do, except, because I was an awkward almost-teen, I didn’t know how to style the thing so it looked like more like shaggy than chic. 

It was a Saturday morning. I was at my friend’s house. TV Hits was playing in the background where pop hit after pop hit was played until there it was, the unmistakable guitar riff, the syncopated beats that to this day no one can seem to cover, and the sweet vocals of the one and only Taylor Hanson.

Mmmbop.