By Shannon Muir
Currently
exclusive to this site
***
I'm not supposed to be in the location where I am when I'm writing this. If the
world had gone on as scheduled, I would have been home in my Los Angeles
apartment.
But I'm not.
Thanks to an airline mechanical problem that cancelled my flight, my portable
computer and I are on the living room floor of my parents' house in Cheney,
Washington, in the same house I grew up in most of my teenage years.
The street's name is Scenic Heights. I've always taken a bit of symbolic
license to that. This house was where it all began, the desire to chase a dream
that is now real. I used to sit here on the floor close to the TV and absorb
80s cartoons like a sponge. Then I said, "I want to write for
animation." I was 13 then; at 30, it happened.
Talk about a test of patience.
I sit here and can't help but wonder what that teenage girl would say if she
could see me now, and know that all her hard work, few friendships, and a
nearly missed social life were not in vain. Personally, I'm not sure she would
fathom it. And if I could go back and save her from any of the missteps in the
life to come, I'd turn away the chance. I firmly believe that people are built
by what they endure.
I still remember when we had a creative writing assignment that came due not
long after I heard from my second professional writer giving me feedback on my
attempts to pitch for a show (which had since ended). In one of the most
prideful displays I can think of, I serialized my adventures in hearing from
both of those professional writers and then read it out loud in class, complete
with soundtrack from the show. Given my shyness, I'm amazed I succeed at all.
Vaguely, I remember two classmates talking as we left for the hour. One said
something about how arrogant I was; it was the remark of the other that caught
me off guard. "Well, she's done more in her life than you have,"
responded the fairly popular girl.
That, I guess, is when I created a reputation for myself. I thought everyone would
forget over time, though, considering I never moved quite as fast as I thought
I would. Ten years later, at my high school reunion, I would be mis-identified
as a successful childrens' book writer. And no, at this point, I still hadn't
sold my first script.
It's only been since about 2000 that I've really become comfortable with my
gifts and who I am. I know I toot my own horn a lot, and I try not to
excessively, because I know how old that gets. Yet I love teaching people as I
go and grow, not after I've been there for years and my glory days are behind
me. That however certaintly does not stop me from augmenting what I do by
sharing the wisdom of others. I think there needs to be balance.
My sister and I sat in this room vowing to be writers. We created several
animated series here -- bibles and more than a few scripts. She's doing some
journalistic work but mainly has been a mother these last five years. If I get
a chance to take her along for the ride in the future, I will.
But even just to know that I've been an animation writer once (to a foreign
company) makes every minute spent in this room richer and more vibrant. To
quote the line of a song from one animated series that influenced me: "You
ought to see the view from here."
I hope someday you find your own personal view to treasure and remember as the
place where you began, no matter your passion.
Shannon Muir
Cheney, Washington
April 5, 2003
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