The 3rd Annual Writer Mafia party was a big hit on Monday night, with tipsy writers jamming the upstairs and rooftop of Czehoski, along with writer-friendly producers, actors and directors, and even one glam journalist interviewing away.
I'll post pictures as soon as I can download them off my camera.
The refrain of the night was, "Seen anything at the festival?" "Nah." I'm not sure why, but I'd guess that writers come in at the beginning of a movie; by the end of the movie they're on to something else. So why pay $20 (or whatever) to watch movies that don't have distribution yet? If they're good, they'll probably come out in theatres or DVD. And with four hundred movies at the festival (I'm told), there's a lot that don't necessarily deserve distribution.
Line of the evening was Jenn Cowan's, remarking on the plethora of cute young writer guys: "If I'm not in bed by eleven, I'm going home!"
Anyway, no one except my agents had seen any movies. My schedule is packed too full of meetings and parties; I'm here to sell my wares, reconnect with friends and colleagues, move my projects along, remind people I'm alive, and occasionally put friends together. Nothing very high profile, just "you don't schmooze, you lose."
Another day of this and I'm happily boarding a train home. I love visiting Toronto, Toronto really shows me the love, but Montreal is the best city in the world to live in, as far as I'm concerned.
Word is biz seems to be picking up. Thank goodness.
Labels: this little piggy went to market