Scott at 2011-11-17 14:22:24:

In case the subtext of the OP is a little too... you know... subtexty, allow me to be on the nose. Did I actually think I caused the '94 earthquake? No, of course not. Nor any of the other calamities, big or small, that occur during those times I write Act Twos. Rather it's a matter of feeling that way, a sort of pseudo-narcissism that derives from spending weeks, even months writing a second act, the combination of the Protagonist's struggles in the story and the writer's struggles in writing the story. It's like when you and your spouse are expecting a child for the first time. It's like everywhere you go, suddenly you see all these pregnant women. And babies. And children. Similar thing when writing Act Two: Your sensitivities are heightened so your perception of reality is skewed. Or at least mine. So as I suggested in the OP, it's not logical to think all these things are happening as a result of the writing experience... but one feels that they are. Me cause the '94 earthquake? Pshaw! We all know the reason that earthquake happened is because Cabin Boy was released that January.

Ferdinand at 2011-11-17 17:58:53:

My friend's apt was condemned. She lived in Northridge at the time and had to shower up at a nearby 24hr fitness for a few days after the quake. I know who was the root cause of all your problems. It was your cat Mr Whiskers. The evidence: The unleashed dog was chasing after your cat causing you to fall off your bike. Raccoons entering through the "Cat" door. '94 earthquake. Cabin Boy. It makes sense now. Damn Cats.

MARK at 2011-11-17 22:59:59:

Love it Scott...I'll make mine brief. End of grad film school; not only meeting my 1 spec script per quarter, but writing 2 other new specs as well as editing and directing my short film in that same quarter; living as cheap as possible; ready to take Hollywood by storm. Hook up with fellow co-worker one weekend, and 2 months later she dumps me...I tail spin into a 6 month hell of drugs and booze; rtrying to ignore this same, but now former co-worker gal who's in my apartment building and making sure I'm aware of her numerous one night stands now; writing and rewriting on mushrooms and Cali Ganja, and somehow making it work. But, but not to my landlord, who evicts me and I wake up for the next year and a half in the doorways of downtown LA, learning dumpster diving while going cold sober, never knowing I had a problem. Until a full year later. After spending 8 months in a shelter; pushing rooms; digging ditches; trying to get by just getting by; doing whatever it takes not to drink and use, let alone robbing and dealing. I stay clean; but I'm back on the streets again, where a good day is finding a rooftop or another doorway for the night. I try and write...but it just gets silly after awhile. 3 years later after leaving LA; throwing it all away and finding salvation rebuilding old houses up in a small sierra mountain town; and slowly...very slowly...starting to write again. A Hallmark TV movie is being filmed there, and in some strange way, a job lead comes to me for dragging cable and putting up lights as an electric for a few weeks. 3 years later; new contacts have come my way without having an agent or a manager or even being close to LA. Writing more and more; shooting a trailer for a feature for some investors and have just finished my first on set rewrite for a prodco as a hired gun. No..there was no earthquake; but then I never had the chance for a career to take off either. Still wonder how a few months with a CO-WORKER, turned into almost 3 years of hell on the streets of LA. Yeah, other factors are there...mostly me and my choices...and now, I'm coming back to LA. What a weird trip this has been.

Richard Doetsch at 2011-11-18 01:38:38:

Just found your site, read this. It so resonates... While finishing my latest novel for Simon & Schuster, hurricane Irene hit, blew out the trees, electric, and most of the minds of the people here in Westchester, NY. For me it was magic; five days, no power, no light wash to obscure the stars. Wrote by candlelight under the milkway without distraction, without internet, phones, or the background noise of modern life. Reminded me of why I love to write. Then, just before halloween, freak snowstorm. Snow laden trees fell, lights out again, the minds of the townsfolk pushed to the limit. I was just wrapping a screenplay. The magic was back, this time with not only candles but a glowing fireplace. Stars were brilliant, most people threw their hands up and left town, and I was once again in my element. My wife is convinced I've got some kind of hold on the atmosphere. So bring on the weather, bring on nature at it's best and worst, and lets see what kind of amazing stories we can conjure under a blanket of stars the way they did it in the stone age. Great site!