bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY
playwright in brooklyn, NY

IT’S OKAY.

September 30th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

INT. BEKAH’S BRAIN:

Self: Ughhhhhhhhhh I’m such a loserrrrrrrrrrrr

Other self: Yup!

Self: you’re supposed to ask why and also tell me I’m not.

Other self: You’re not. Also, why?

Self: I can’t figure out a how to begin to write a stupid pilot, and my 9 page word document with CHARACTER MOMENTS! does not count. Why can’t I do this? it’s sad.  I am currently employed as a TV writer and I can’t even write a pilot.  Also, I’ve been wasting time. I haven’t written anything new of any substance in weeks. Rewriting old things does not count.

Other Self: Remember that time that this year you’ve already written a new full length play and also a Movie and some 300 blog posts and some short plays and some poems that no one will ever see? So maybe like you should just relax?

Self: It’s not enough.

Other Self: that sounds like a personal problem.

Self: It’s NEVER ENOUGH.

Silence in the brain.

Other Self: We should probably eat some gummy / bears now

Self: YEAH OKAY.

Posted in Uncategorized, whining, words, working, worrying | No Comments »

more of the money = more of the problems

September 29th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

Today, on I am a grown up, I’ve decided to try a using a business manager, who is basically a person who you funnel all of your money through, like all of it, and they in turn pay all of your bills, give some to investors, pay your taxes, make sure you don’t get thrown in jail for tax fraud, and perhaps make you think twice about spending 900 dollars on pumpkin spice lattes because, you know, they’re watching. Said business manager takes a cut of my income, but what I’ve decided is this: the hours I’d spend keeping track and paying bills and taxes so as to ensure I don’t get thrown in prison for tax fraud, I can INSTEAD spend writing things that will hopefully bring in more of the Benjamins, for as you know, it is, in fact, all about the Benjamins. I mean, what would I like to do? Do I want to be a baller? A Shot caller? SURE!

Posted in a lot, i am a grown up | No Comments »

ladybooks.

September 28th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

I just ordered these two books and I’m going to eagerly await them and visualize them at my door when I get home from work like Christmas presents. I will then rabidly tear into them like toys  and eat / sleep / drink them,  wrap myself for a few days in smart lady feelings and thoughts. GET HERE NOW, BOOKS.

Posted in a lot, books | No Comments »

TERROR.

September 27th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

NAILING IT AND NOT PEEING MYSELF on the Tower of Terror at California adventure, or, Disneyland with beer. Also, the happiest of birthdays to my sweet man friend, Morrison! And a good day to those  very attractive Asian Americans, as well!

Posted in Uncategorized, awesome, i am a grown up | No Comments »

lunch haiku

September 26th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

Time, you are a po

em

that I don’t have time to write

you should stop moving

Posted in whining | No Comments »

I want to live in a Wigwam

September 25th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

I am newly re-obsessed with this Cat Stevens song, and have been singing it in my car and my head and my carhead, and suddenly was like: WAIT, WHAT IS A WIGWAM? What is this place that I keep declaring, in song form, that I would like to live in?

CONTEMPORARY WIGWAM OF SORTS:

I’ll take it, especially if albino demon dog comes with.

Song for your car head:

I’d like to live in a wigwam
Yes I’d like to live in a wigwam
I’d like to live in a wigwam and
Dance round the totem pole

I’d like to live in an igloo
Yes, I’d like to live in an igloo
I’d like to live in an igloo and
Fish from an icehole

I’d like to ride on a caravan
I’d like to take a ride on a caravan
Yes, I’d like to ride on a caravan and
Sing with the gypsies

I’d like to live on a commune
Yes, I’d like to live on a commune
I’d like to live on a commune and
People can call me a hippie

I don’t want to live in a palace
No, I don’t want to live in no palace
Oh I don’t want to live in no palace
There’s too many empty rooms

I don’t want to live in a barracks
I don’t want to live in a barracks
Oh I don’t want to live in a barracks
And wake up to the bugle tune

I’d just like to live in a treehut
Yes, I’d like to live in a treehut
Yes, I’d like to live in a treehut and
Listen to the sound of the birds

I don’t want to live in a jailhouse
Don’t wanna bide my time in no jailhouse
No I don’t want to live in no jailhouse and
Be fed bread through the bars

I’m glad I’m alive am I
I’m glad I’m alive am I
I’m glad I’m alive
I’m glad I’m alive
I’m glad I’m alive am I

We gotta get our heads up in the sky
We gotta get our heads up in the sky
We gotta get our heads up
Gotta give it time
We gotta get our heads up in the sky

Gotta get to heaven get a guide
We gotta get to heaven get a guide
We gotta have a guide
We gotta get to heaven get a guide

Posted in music, where i want to live | No Comments »

The closest I will get to Fame?

September 24th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

A poster for my play in my Grocery Store. STARS, THEY ARE JUST LIKE US. Except they have their own grocery stores.

Posted in Uncategorized, awesome, famous people stuff | No Comments »

PRIZE

September 23rd, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

IMG_1163.JPG

Today is a shitshow of feelings and stress and Ebola spreading? And email account totally broken down and really don’t know what to do about that that is not contacting soon to be married ex boyfriend of yesteryear, but hey, at least I have this VERY SOFT NEW SHIRT which I earned basically just by being alive (?), mostly paying my rent on time, trying to be a good daughter and writer and friend, though sometimes falling short, and showering most days. EARNED IT!

Posted in Uncategorized, what I'm wearing, whining | No Comments »

*69

September 22nd, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

I’m having quite the moment remembering various things about landlines like:

- Whenever Julien and I called the other with someone else secretly on the line, we would ask ARE YOU WATCHING TELEVISION? To alert the other of the spy

- dialing *69 to see who just called to see if it was the boy you liked

- waiting by the phone to see if the boy you liked calls

- oh wait he never did

- oh wait one time this kind of fat seventh grader did and professed his love and you kind of come around to the idea, like aw, he seems like a good guy, and you say yes! yes I will go out with you! and then the next day you get to school and it turns out he was DARED TO DO IT, AND NO, NOT EVEN THE KIND OF FAT SEVENTH GRADER HAS FEELINGS FOR YOU

- But everything’s so much better now

- EVERYTHING IS FINE!

Posted in love, memories | No Comments »

Today, on WHY DID I NOT THINK OF THIS?

September 21st, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

This smart and adorable woman, Jacqueline Suskin, sits at the Hollywood Farmer’s Market and writes poems on command for perfect strangers, for however much you want to pay her. You give her a topic, let’s say, love, and she asks you a question, what kind of love? and you say about how I feel about the girl in my Chemistry class or about how I love my child so much it makes me nauseous and then she goes to town on one of her many vintage typewriters, and hands the poem over, and never sees it again. It’s like my monologue business kind of but way more adorable and way more immediate. She doesn’t seem to ever have an unsatisfied customer, especially because she doesn’t demand a certain amount of $ for her work, but instead, just suggests, well, ‘whatever’ (oftentimes receiving 20 bucks for a poem that takes her a minute to write.) What I love about this woman is she’s taken her craft, poetry, and kept her life simple, but also, figured out a way to make a living while doing what it is she was born to do. (I could be wrong, she might not actually make a living, maybe she secretly Temps or like fills out online surveys a lot, but couldn’t find a mention of another job.)  She skipped grad school and opted to work as a vegetable farmer instead. To totally contradict my rage fest of early this week about playwrights being tossed under the bus for writing for TV: perhaps there is something to be said for the inspiration that comes from a simpler life?

Posted in a lot, poems, women, words | No Comments »

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