For the Love of Money (57 page)

Q
: “Did you find that your educational background made it easier for you to succeed, or was it something that had very little to do with the creative process?”

A
: “Oh, I like that question. Thank you for asking. A lot of people assume, particularly in the African-American community, that education and creativity don't necessarily mix. But the more you know, the more you have to be creative about. For instance, I write poetry, and I've written poetry since my senior year of high school. And as I received more education, my poetry became more complicated, and more inspiring. I look at screenplays the same way. You can't write what you don't know. That's why creative people tend to stand out, because they know more and they use what they know to their advantage. And I'm not saying that a person who never went to college cannot succeed in this business, I'm just saying that it was a straight arc of success for me because I did have that educational experience to know what work needs to be done to get there.”

Q
: “However, plenty of young people in Hollywood have education from various film schools, and their arc is still not as fast as your arc was. In your opinion, what made your talents stand out, or was it as simple as luck?”

A
: “Well, luck is never that simple, because you can luck up and destroy your career if you're not prepared for it. When I first arrived out here in California, every young writer I knew was talking about the famous Shane Black story of success too fast. And it can ruin you just like that. But I think that my special talent is just plain hard work. I'm always thinking about new ideas, and I follow my heart, just like with my poetry. So when other people say, ‘You can't do that' I ask, ‘Why not?' and do it anyway. I'm bold like that, and I've always been that way.”

Q
: “How different is the acting from the writing?”

A
: “It's very different, and very similar. The difference, of course, is the feeling. You have to feel the role and almost become possessed by it. In writing, you have to think the role. What would this person say? What would this person do? But then there's some feeling in the writing as well, feeling out the entire rhythm of the activities involved, and in acting there is some thinking involved, particularly when the feeling tells you that something is
wrong in the script. And you have to be confident enough to speak up about it. So with
Road Kill,
I made a lot of changes to the original screenplay as an actor and as a writer.”

Q
: “Will you write more of your own vehicles to star in in the future, or will you read other scripts and tailor them to fit your specific needs?”

A
: “Both. Because I know there will be stories, specifically as an African-American woman, that Hollywood will not write. So I will have to write those stories myself. Then there will be roles like this one in
Road Kill,
where an African-American woman will not be a consideration for the part, and I'll have to force my way in, but it will not always be about tailoring the script, because if someone writes a strong generic role that does not need to be touched, then I will feel the honesty in that and play the role as it was originally written.”

On the last question for the
Fade In:
Q&A, Pascha asked me to give any final words of advice or encouragement to aspiring writers and actresses of color.

I said, “I wrote a poem while teaching in the Philadelphia public school system called ‘Ignorance Is Bliss' to explain the commonality of people who don't seek out information. And it's a short poem where I wrote: ‘Ignorance is bliss / because real knowledge / is painful. And who really wants to wake up / and do nine to five / when lazy dreams can be so / pleasant?' And it basically means that answers make you work. So as long as you can say, ‘I didn't know,' you have an excuse not to do anything. And in the business of Hollywood, of course, many people would love to be stars, but then when you tell them that they have to take step one, two, and three, a, b, and c, dot your i's, cross your t's, and remember your commas, they say, ‘Well, what's the other way to become a star?' And there is no other way. Because pure luck, like I said earlier, will lead you astray and have you strung out for the Hollywood fame with no real skills to survive in it. So I would say to always seek out information and be prepared to accept the workload involved.”

$   $   $

I felt uplifted after the
Fade In:
interview. I must have thanked Pascha four or five times for her great questions, and I apologized to her for my ignorance from when she had first walked in. However, once I sat down and thought about it, I asked myself, “Now how many black people are going to even read
Fade In:?
I need to have a great interview like that in a black magazine.” Problem was, many black magazines seemed more concerned with
the entertainment value or the money aspect and not the educational value. The
Fade In:
Q&A spoiled me to the possibilities of my own voice. So I nodded to myself and made a decision. “From now on, if it's not a Q&A, then I'm not doing the interview. Because I have no time to waste for other people's editorials determining who I am and what I stand for.”

You step up.
I step up.
You choose your number,
and I choose mine.
Then we both become
blind
as our numbers
bounce, bounce, bounce,
smack, slap, POP
in the box.

Then
SSSOUP!
My number shoots up,
and I win the prize
that you still
hope for.

Sistah,
my life,
and yours
should be much more
secure
than a
damn
lottery!

Educate
yourself
and your number,
like mine,
shall rise
regardless!

Copyright © 1999 by Tracy Ellison Grant

W
hen Black Hollywood found out that I had a movie deal on the frying pan, and that I was about to take acting classes to prepare for the lead role, the shit hit the fan again. I guess that I was just the girl who everyone loved to hate out there.

Reba Combs called me up first, and we weren't even on speaking terms anymore. I had heard through the grapevine that our Southern pilot show idea had turned into something called
Peaches and Cream,
about a black girl and her white friend who ends up moving in after her parents are killed in an airplane crash. That was exactly the kind of
transformation
that I was afraid of. They had turned a realistic, Southern perspective into something wholly unimaginable. You mean to tell me that a Southern white girl wouldn't have any other family members to take her in. Child,
please!
However, that was Hollywood for you, banking on a fish-out-of-water story.

Reba asked me, “You wrote a role for yourself? You can't even act. Are you even a member of the Actors Guild? Why would you do something like that? You are really a
trip,
”she huffed at me.

I said, “Reba, I don't have the part yet, but they asked me to try it, so I'm going to try it. It's as simple as that.” The girl went ahead and hung up on me again. I couldn't believe it!

I called her ass right back, and she either wouldn't answer the phone, or she hadn't called me from her apartment, the apartment that
I
helped her to get. In fact, she was still working off and on for the smaller network shows because of
me.
Even the new pilot show that she was still in development for
was all because of
me
trying to help her ass out! Boy, she had something
coming
when I finally caught up with her! She had gotten on my last damn nerve!

I called Coe's apartment to see if she was over there.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Is Reba over there with you?”

“Yup.”

“Let me speak to her.”

“Hold on.”

I waited for only Coe to return to the line. “She doesn't want to talk right now.”

“Well, tell her to grow the hell up!” I snapped. “And I plan to be out here making movies in Hollywood for a while, so she should be
very
careful about making enemies on account of pettiness.”

Coe said, “All right, I'll tell her.”

I was tempted to ask him how
he
felt about it, because I knew she had told him. However, I was too pissed off to stay on the phone, and that was just the beginning of it. The bad buzz about me was even beginning to travel to family and friends back at home.

My mother called me up and said, “Tracy, what's going on out there? We've heard that you've been in fights over shows and carrying on.”

“I wasn't fighting over no damn show, Mom,” I responded rather tartly. “People need to get the facts straight.”

“Well, what
are
the facts?”

“The fact is, we got a lot of
petty-ass
people out here!”

I heard that people were saying I would continue to set everyone back if I played a role that was damaging to “professional black actresses.” They hadn't even given me a chance. They
all
needed to grow the hell up! Of course, there
were
some sisters who called me up and said, “Go for it!” It wasn't
all
bad. Nevertheless, you had others who were only trying to stay close to me in case I didn't work out in the role. Jonathan Abner must have received thirty-something phone calls with sisters trying to sabotage me and push their way into the role, which was highly embarrassing. We looked like a bunch of slaves
begging
to be sold at the auction.

You would think that I would be at one of the happiest points in my life, but that wasn't the case. I was only human, so I was getting tired of fighting all of the nonsense out there. So I called my girl Raheema, long distance in New Jersey, with tears in my eyes, tears of anger, hurt, and disappointment in my people. All I had tried to do was push ahead with my creativity, and I hadn't stepped on any toes to do so. I had done nothing but try to help people, yet I
was being called a traitor because I had an
opportunity
to play a lead. That's all that it was, an opportunity. I thought that opportunity was supposed to be the American way and the American dream, but I guess it was not, because quotas were in full effect, and they were driving my people crazy!

I asked, “Raheema, are you busy? You're not, umm, breast-feeding or anything right now are you?” She had just had her daughter, Lauryn. Time was really flying by on me.

She paused. “No, I'm not breast-feeeding. What's going on? Is everything all right?”

I guess she could hear the instability in my voice.

I said, “I haven't told anyone at home about it because nothing has been finalized yet, but I completed a screenplay called
Led Astray
that we have on the table, and they're giving me an opportunity to play the lead role.”

“So what's the problem?” Raheema asked me calmly. She knew that there was one from reading my solemn tone of voice.

“Well, I have to take some acting classes this month, and in the meantime, a lot of the sister actresses out here are stirring up the bullcrap about me being selfish, and ruining things for all of them.”

Raheema chuckled. “Stick to the writing, right?” she asked me.

“I guess
so.
”

“Do you remember how many girls couldn't stand you when we were younger?” she asked me.

I smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”

“‘That cat-eyed so-and-so thinks she's all that,'” Raheema mocked.

I smiled and wiped my tears.

She said, “But you know what, Tracy? They never stopped you from being you, no matter what they said.”

I said, “I remember when I used to give
you
advice, but now it seems like
I'm
always the one looking for strength.”

Raheema laughed. “That's the way of the world; things go around and keep turning. In the next ten years, I may be calling on
you
again.”

“So, I guess I just go ahead with my plans to take acting classes and get this role then.”

Raheema paused for a second time. “I know you don't need
me
to tell you.”

I laughed while loosening up.

She said, “I knew this day would come. You're revolutionary, Tracy, and you don't even know it. I keep telling you that you're doing
exactly
what you're supposed to be doing. And when you're finished, you'll have another story to tell.”

I asked Raheema how her family was doing with the new baby girl and everything, and when I hung up with her, I thought for the first time about writing a sequel to
Flyy Girl.
However, first I had to take care of business and succeed at what I was doing in Hollywood. Because if I did not succeed, there was no way in the world that I would write a book about my failure. Who wants to read that? We had
enough
sob stories in our history.