Mentors

I stumbled across this article in THR regarding mentors, specifically President and CEO of A&E Abbe Raven’s mentor, daytime producer and executive Mickey Dwyer-Dobbin.  Ironically, the article focuses more on those who were mentored than the mentors themselves.  The inspiration mentors such as Dwyer-Dobbin have imparted on young, wandering children of the industry such as myself, cannot possibly be measured.  Or repaid.

I’ve blogged before about the “connections” my Midwest childhood provided me -- a man who was arrested for climbing a local hotel wearing homemade Spider man shoes; a Christian recording artist who lived with my grandparents in my father’s old bedroom; a family friend who dated Melissa Etheridge back when she dated men…  Needless to say, I forced to pave my own way.

Throughout my childhood, my mother did daycare.  CBS soap operas ran in the background all day long because Mommy “needed to hear adult voices.”  She never actually watched the shows.  But I did, and the voices stuck with me.  (I still write every role for Kim Zimmer.  Even the male roles.  It’s my own version of Yentl or The Nutty Professor in my head.  I wig her and she plays all the parts.  And she’s fabulous!  But I digress…)

It was an English teacher at my high school who first encouraged me to write for television.  I was babysitting for her (because that’s what you do in small towns); a soap was on in the background and she said, “You should write these.  You’d be good at it.”  And that was the first time it ever occurred to me that people actually wrote television.   

I wrote my first spec (for Guiding Light) with my best friend Gina when I was a high school sophomore.  Sometime during our senior year, Gina found Mickey Dwyer-Dobbin’s email address on a university alumni page, noted her credits, and emailed her.  She told her we were aspiring writers from Kansas who hoped to someday write for daytime television and asked if she would be willing to meet with us while were in New York during spring break--

I have a confession, Mickey.  We weren’t coming to NYC for spring break.  Not until you invited us.

-- Mickey emailed us back and invited us to her office in Manhattan.  And then we went home and asked our parents if we could go to New York for spring break.  I would love to tell you how inspiring Mickey was during our first meeting, but I don’t remember anything she said.  I only remember her office and the pictures that hung behind her desk.  That’s what happens when you’re in awe. 

Mickey mentored Gina and me throughout high school and college, granting us an internship at Proctor and Gamble and its soap operas, As the World Turns and Guiding Light, after our freshman year of college. 

Every Friday she would call us into her office to discuss our weekend plans.  What plans?  We were 18.  We had no idea what to do with ourselves.  And every Friday she would hand us a map with a new location circled – a museum, a beach, etc.  On Mondays we were to report back on our new experience.  Mickey wasn’t just teaching us how to navigate the world of television; she was teaching us how to navigate the world.

Mickey gave me the greatest piece of writing advice I’ve ever heard.  I was pitching one of my many (most likely bad) story ideas when she looked at me and said, “Do you really wanna watch that?”

And that, friends, is the question you must ask yourselves.  When you’re creating a story or a scene, ask yourself, “Do you really want to watch that?”  And be honest.  Often times, the answer is no. 

Throughout our college years she checked in with our professors, read our specs, and gave us all the advice that mentors are supposed to give.  But most importantly, she gave a girl from the middle of the country the self-assurance to break into this industry.  And while I’ve thanked her many times while practicing my awards speech in the shower, it’s time I say it out loud.

Thank you, Mickey. This blog is dedicated to you. 

From Warren:

When I moved to Los Angeles, I was dating a girl whose father was an old-time TV writer.  And I mean "old-time" -- he had credits like "The Monkees,"  "Kung Fu," and "Adam-12."  He introduced me to his agent when I was a senior in college, a relationship that led years later to my first real job.  He worked with me on my scripts, talked writing with me endlessly, taught me writers' terms like "on the nose."  It's fair to argue that he smoked way too much weed to be considered a "mentor," but I could never begin to put a price on the experience he shared with me.

I broke up with his daughter before my career really got started, and I lost touch with him over the years since then, and so I never took the time to really thank him.  Then in November of 2008, he died.  RIP, Robert Schlitt.  Thanks, Bob -- consider this too little too late.