Writer/Director Anne Lower
Writer/Director Anne Lower

Our gratitude to guest blogger Anne Lower, who serves as CEO of Apogee Entertainment, and was selected to create content for the Los Angeles Area Chamber of Commerce’s 125th Jubliee videos, which were streamed during the celebration to a standing room only audience at L.A. Live. Her short noir, Exit Plan, is pending distribution. She is preparing to shoot future episodes of her web series They Live Among Us. She is also Co-Founder of Hammer Down Productions and has two projects at network, represented by Steve Glick.

Anne has been a finalist for the PAGE awards, as well as the Sundance Table Read, and was named by Learnist “a filmmaker to watch in 2014.” Anne has led workshops for the Austin Film Festival, Women in Film Lost Angeles, the University Film and Video Association, and served as judge for the Hollywood VPype Contest, alongside Julie Richardson and Frank Darabont. She blogs about filmmaking at Princess Scribe, recently named “Top Screenwriting Web Site” by SCRIPT magazine and Screenwriting Spark.

When I was initially approached about contributing to this series last year, I immediately said “Yes!”… and went on my merry way. Approached again, months later, I jumped on the opportunity… and, once again, buried it.

It was not that the project did not interest me; it did. Face it – we writers love to hear our keyboards talk. It was not that I did not have the time; I did. It’s a single article, not a screenplay, not even a short film. I had enough time for this.

And so, I plopped down, with a bottle of water and cup of tea at hand, and opened up MSWord. I closed my eyes, and I traveled through the recesses of memory, and…

Squirrel!

I repeated this one-woman show, day in, and day out. I washed, rinsed, and repeated. Over and over, ad nauseum. I laughed, I cried, I pounded the desk with my fists. None of it helped. Why couldn’t I do this?

Because I was afraid.

This year will mark the fifth year since Blake died. I think, perhaps, my avoidance is that of claiming it. To name it is to claim it, and to fully disclose my memories of Blake is to accept the finality of his death. By writing this, I am, at last, acknowledging to myself that he is no more. And yet…

BEGIN FLASHBACK.

It was March of 2008. I was in Austin with Blake. He was quite enthused about the possibility of having Save the Cat! certified as a teaching tool, especially for developmentally disabled students. I had shared with him my experiences at Joey Travolta’s Inclusion Workshops. Blake loved the idea.

The night before, we had met with a group of locals, some in distribution, and a couple of filmmakers. All were total strangers to Blake, and yet, he managed to put them – and himself – at ease. It was a delightful meal, one of those unique get-togethers where people discover an abundance of common ground. I remember Blake had bison tartare as a starter; I was delighted that he shared my love of excellent cuisine.

The next morning, we visited an educational trade show at the Convention Center. I was surprised by Blake’s enthusiasm for the event; in secret, I had worried that he might think it lame. I was wrong – he was truly enjoying himself. He darted in and out of booths, he chatted up instructors. He picked up gadgets and played with them. I was curious – I asked him about it. Why was this – an educational trade show – so exciting?

“Did you ever see Big Blue Marble growing up?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” I answered. “Channel 13. Right after Electric Company.”

“Well,” he said, “my Dad created it!”

Suddenly, it all made sense – Blake’s penning of Blank Check, the creation of Save the Cat!, and his unabashedly exuberant nature.

“So, really,” I said, “you’re just a big kid,”

He cackled with glee. “Right!” he cried, and bounded off to the next display.

We both had flights out the following morning, so we decided to meet for a bite to eat later that night. Afterwards, we wandered down Sixth Street, soaking in the je ne c’est pas that was – and is – Austin.

We passed a nightclub. Its windows were papered with fliers; they proclaimed upcoming events: Improv Night, musical reviews, and stand-up smack-downs.

Blake stopped, hands in pockets, and read each and every one of the fliers. He was silent, thoughtful. He put his finger on the window, traced the outline of a particular flier, and tapped on it. On it was a picture of a group of actors holding outlandish props. Sketch comedy players.

“When I was in Georgetown, I was in a sketch comedy group,” he said. “There was a whole bunch of us. We’d get together and rehearse, and then we’d go out and do a show. The audiences were packed. We’d take suggestions from them. We never knew what they were going to throw at us.”

“You must have loved it,” I said.

Blake turned to me. “No,’ he replied. “I hated it.”

“Then why did you do it?” I asked.

Blake looked me straight in the eyes. “Because,” he answered, “it terrified me.”

END FLASHBACK.

FADE TO BLACK.

****

And there you have it. Blake continues to teach me – about writing, and about life. He took the improv challenge by the horns, because he knew he had to face that particular fear, in order to really live. I think about that a lot.

Save the Cat! lives on. Writers around the world continue to learn the significance of structure, and of transformation. Blake’s legacy is comprised of the new generations of writers, with voices that sing. Not a bad thing for a guy who grew up in the world of Big Blue Marble.