As creative people, we often seek out people who can give us feedback on our work. We can't work in a vacuum, nor should we. We create for the world, not to shut everything in a dark room or a drawer or somewhere else where it won't ever be seen.

So that's what I did recently. I've been working on a script with a couple of collaborators for about four months, and now that it was finished and we'd read through it for what seemed like the millionth time, we were ready to share it with people that we trusted. We shared it with people we knew in the film industry, friends, roommates, and loved ones. You know, for feedback. What ended up really happening is that I experienced a series of highs and lows and mehs that ended up being more than feedback. It also ended up being a huge learning experience, and that you should always remember when looking for someone's opinions on your baby.

1. Know what you're looking for
What kind of feedback do you want? If you're looking for someone to tell you what a genius you are, give it to your mom. Give it to your significant other and let them fawn over it and reassure you that you are the best thing since sliced bread and your work will forever live on as a beacon of light and hope or brilliance for the rest of the world forevermore.

However, if you're looking for honest feedback, give it to other artists. They can be people who do what you do, or they can just be creative people. Whomever they are, make sure they are people you trust enough to a) tell you the truth and b) tell you in the most diplomatic way possible.

2. Don't Panic
One of the first things we all do when people start attacking our baby is to defend it. We don't want to hear that our baby talks funny, or has a deformity on its head, or is just plain dumb. We want to tell everyone that our baby has beautiful eyes and a lovely soul and that deformity is just part of its charm and makes it that much more endearing. Don't give in to that temptation. Just listen. (Listening is a whole other skill to work on in general, but for now, I'm going to assume you already know how to do that.) Listen to everything a person says about your work. Write it down. Record what they say. Make notes of your own. Take everything in and try to keep you ego quiet. Why? Because defending your work makes you sound…well…defensive. There's a good chance that what could be a productive discussion could devolve into an argument or worse. At best, the person who is trying to help you will simply give up and walk away, resolving to never give you feedback again. Just take it all in, listen, and let them give it to you until they're all out. Then thank them. Thank them for real.

3. Accept that you aren't perfect, and neither is anyone else
There's an old saying that opinions are like…well, you know, because it's an old saying. But yes, everyone has one, and everyone who gives you feedback will have many of them. Everyone comes to your work with a different background and will bring their own baggage with them, which will color their opinions. Remember that. And remember that some people are very good at giving feedback. Sometimes it's precise, and you know exactly what to do. Other times, it's more general, and you have to figure it out. Whatever kind of feedback you get, just keep in mind that not everyone is going to have the same opinion. That's okay. No one is perfect, including you and your work.

4. Use the rule of three
This is where getting multiple opinions from many different sources is key. Since not everyone has the same ones, keep an eye out for the ones that keep coming back. If the same note is given at least three times, you should take it very seriously. It means there is something that many people see, and you need to start seeing it too, and figure out how to fix it. Outside of that, take each piece of feedback on its own. You don't want to be throwing the baby out with the bathwater, so just take a second and consider each point on its own, rather than as a whole. It's less scary that way, and you can consider each point on its own.

5. Breathe
Once you get the feedback, you may start taking each thing and twisting your work to fit into what you think everyone else wants. Before you do that, take a step back. Reconsider your work with this new information, and don't do anything. Don't touch it. Not yet. After the recent feedback we got, I had to talk one of my writing partners down from killing a character on page one. I'll give the same advice to you. Before you go killing hot Brazilians, just breathe and let your emotions subside. When you regain your calm, take another look. Wait a little longer, then think (just think!) about making changes.

6. Sometimes potential goes unrecognized
Remember tip number three. It also means that people also don't know something amazing when they see it. Now, don't go assuming this is the case for you, but just remember. After crying to a friend about my bruised ego, the response was, "Don't take bad feedback too hard. Someone could read Citizen Kane, and then say "That Rosebud thing is stupid." The point is, sometimes potential doesn't look great at first. It's up to you to figure out what you think is worth keeping, and what you can let go of. Be honest with yourself, and move to number seven.

7. Kill your darlings
Be okay with letting things go. Yes, you poured yourself into your work and you love every bit of it. But not everything can be used. You have to let things go. Just take a deep breath, use your delete key, take it out, and move on. Just remember to save the earlier draft in case you change your mind later.

8. Remember: You asked.
You may come out of a feedback session feeling angry, frustrated, hurt, sad, defeated, enthused, inspired, ecstatic, pumped, or euphoric. Whether you ended up high or low, remember this: you asked. You wanted feedback, and someone took the time to give it to you. They were (hopefully) honest, and they want to help you. They don't have ulterior motives, they don't have it in for you, and they could have said no. If you get all emotional and crazy, they won't want to give you feedback anymore, or they won't be honest anymore. Either way, you're screwed. Their feedback comes from the heart, and you should be grateful that they are willing to help you. Thank them.

9. Keep going
No matter how things went, don't give up. Don't give up on this piece, or the next piece, or your goals of making many more pieces. Half of being successful is never giving up, especially when things get tough. If being creative were easy, everyone would do it. But they don't. You do. So keep doing it. Work on editing your work, then move on to the next things and the next and the next. And keep getting feedback. Trust me: it will make your work better, will help you give better feedback (because you'll have to return the favor), and will make you a better person.

I have a confession to make. I am not an actor. I do not, nor have I ever, claimed to have any skill in acting, nor a desire to be an actor of any kind. Despite this, I often find myself on various stages, doing various things in front of people I don't know, aka "the public". When I was younger, I did a lot of singing, which put me on the stage often. I was in musical theater classes, performed in one musical theater production (which left a somewhat sour taste in my mouth, since typecasting was apparently all the rage, and geeky girls wearing glasses don't really get the flush parts, no matter their vocal abilities). I sung the National Anthem. At conferences, minor league baseball games, etc. I performed in a couple of bands (one jazz, one pop) and a few choirs.

I also danced. I loved ballet, and being on the stage never bothered me. I danced in college as one of those girls wearing the sparkly figure skating outfit with the gold pom-pons, counting and marching during halftime twenty feet in front of the University of Colorado drumline, hoping our beloved Buffs would win (they were actually pretty good back then).

I played sports. Gymnastics. It's not exactly a stage, but if you fuck up, you do it all by yourself in front of a lot of people while wearing a leotard. How's that for scary? I even did it through my teenage years, until I was 19, so I confronted fear on a national level while feeling extremely self-conscious about pretty much everything, but mostly my awkward and un-curvy body.

Then somewhere along the line, I got myself behind the curtain, writing and directing films in school, which was surprisingly comfortable. I loved being able to show up and tell people what do to and not have to worry about how I looked, because no one was going to remember and no one was looking at me anyway. They would only remember what was on the screen after everything was said and done, and most of the time (save for a couple of small films), I was nowhere to be found, except in the stories we could regale one another with afterwards over a few beers. And that, my friends, has been lovely.

And yet, it seems as though the stage has found me again. I have gone a bit of a foray into writing comedy for film and television, as practice, on spec. I do it for fun at this point, and I cross all my fingers and toes, hoping that someday soon I'll be able to do it for money as well. So I work to improve my craft. And part of improving that craft has been improv. I recklessly decided to sign up for a seven week improv class here in San Diego at a place not far from my house. So far, I've had two classes, and while I'm not going to say it's easy, I feel a certain comfort with just making things up. It's so much easier than having to memorize something and then pray you don't forget it at the exact moment you are supposed to show it to the world, which has definitely happened to me more than once.

Until this class, I had no idea what improv was, other than a shortened version of the word improvisation. I had never seen improv, or heard stories from people who do improv. It was something that was vaguely related to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler and there was something called Upright Citizens Brigade and another thing called Second City. And something called Groundlings. But other than that, I've been clueless. But I'm learning. I don't have a choice. They don't mess around up there at Finest City Improv. They get you on the stage and get you out there. 

So the other night was my first time on stage, doing improv. If I could think of something to liken it to, it would be for someone to ask you if you knew how to train a Whing-ding-a-saurus, and you looked them straight in the eye and said, "Why yes, I know exactly how to do that." But in the back of your mind, you are thinking: Train a what? Even my dog doesn't listen to me.

But that's something you should know about me. I never back down from a challenge. So I grilled my teacher on what was going to happen, which of course, he can only answer so much. I love rules and knowing there's a plan. And improv doesn't really have a plan. Or rules. So, I show up the other night, and Amy, one of the other instructors, gives us the rundown for the evening. We're going to start out with a game where you have to name things in a category until you either repeat one or can't think of one. Okay, I can do that. I love brain games. Then, little scenes. 

Me: How long is a scene?
Them: However long it needs to be.
Me: How will I know it's over?
Them: You'll know.

Hmm. These guidelines are a bit fuzzy. But oh well. I'm going to roll with it anyway. The music starts, and we all go out on the stage. Somehow I'm bringing up the rear, with just one other person behind me. We start the brain game. Cars. I got this. Dictators. Easy. Candy bars. Fine, but I didn't hear one person say Snickers, so I've got a hit against me. On to the next one. Swear words. US Cities. Come on, people, how about a challenge. Beers. Puh-leese. (all those years in bars are finally paying off). Cartoon cats. At least three pop into my head, but it's over before it gets to me. And before I know it, I'm the winner. So far, improv is working out.

On to the scenes. I'm not sure what the hell is going on, so I just watch. But before too long, Amy pulls me out and we are eating fudge. Lots of fudge. And I don't know what I say, I just go with it. Keep going until they say stop. Then another scene. And another. And so on and so on and so on. It just keeps going, rolling through one after the other. And I still feel like I have no idea what's going on, and sometimes I'm just watching as if I'm also in the audience, and other times an idea pops into my head and I jump out there, full force. Thank god I'm not wearing a leotard. And I catch a glimpse of a couple friends who came out, and a couple of guys in my class. And I feel supported, which gives me a boost of confidence. And then it's over, and I'm left to over analyze everything I did or didn't say or do. Which of course, will take days or even weeks to thoroughly pick over.

But the funny thing is, it wasn't uncomfortable. I wasn't all that nervous. I spent most of my energy just trying to figure out what was going on, and trying to keep up. I can't wait to go back.

So today I thought I would take it out and see what it can do, and I'm sharing some of the photos I like best here with you, so you can see what this lens can do. Yes, it's somewhat limited, because it has a very specific purpose. It is only the second lens I have, as the first lens I have pretty much does everything from wide angle to telephoto. And I'm not a professional photographer, so my need for lenses is somewhat limited. But this lens produces such beautiful and lyrical images, that I feel I have a use for it. Maybe I could even make a movie with it. Or maybe just part of a movie. Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure I can find some lovely things to photograph along the way, and if not, I still have a beautiful brass lens. And if you think you need one too, you can always get one from Lomography for your very own. 

Below are the photos I took, in about a twenty minute time span this morning at the rose and succulent gardens at Balboa Park. If you're wondering why so many of them have stars in the background, it's because I experimented mostly with an aperture plate that had a star cutout in it. I plan to experiment with some of the others, but for the sake of time, I mostly stuck with the star because it's the most pronounced shape, so I know when I'm really getting the effect. It's kind of magical and weird, and even unpredictable. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the photos, or what else you think I should try taking some pictures of next time I go out and test the lens. Maybe a test somewhere in Los Angeles should be in the works.

Here's an interesting story. The other day I happened to mention to someone that I curate a cinema. Their response? "Where do I sign up?"

It made me laugh, and I had to resist the urge that I always seem to have where I give all sorts of reasons why it's not as cool as you think it is. But then I stopped myself for a moment of reflection.

It is cool. I get to watch movies. A lot of movies. Some are definitely better than others, but there are definitely a lot of them. Movies about everything you can imagine, in every language there is. In a strange way, movies have provided me an education I would never have gotten otherwise. I've learned a lot about a variety of historical events (particularly revolutions of Latin American and Spain), about a variety of cultures, and even about filmmaking. I see a variety of styles and strategies filmmakers use to tell their stories, and I even get to see careers of filmmakers and actors as they develop and grow. It's pretty fantastic.

But the truth is, the movie business is like the Mississippi: It runs far and wide, can be incredibly shallow, and always seems to be kind of muddy. What I do is just a teensy-weensy part of the industry. If it were on a pie chart of the whole business, it would be the half of a half sliver that annoying girl on a diet always asks for. There are so many components of the movie industry (many of them for accountants and lawyers, naturally), that it seems impossible to fathom how people find their way into it. I actually got in by accident. And truth be told, I only have the tip of my toe in the industry.

Sometimes I wonder what diving in would look like. What kid of jobs in the industry would be the coolest?

Well, of course I'd love to be a director. That would be pretty sweet, foisting my opinions on everyone. Being the boss (if only for a little while). I'd also love to be a screenwriter. Obviously, I enjoy writing. I also like to think I have a talent for it. Also, working on sets is pretty freaking cool. It's like a magician telling you the secret to all the tricks, then doing them right before your eyes, and it's still magical. Plus, there's some kind of collective agreement within crews to generally not be jerks to each other and help each other with whatever needs to be done. It's an atmosphere of teamwork that is often a missing in the world these days.

If you get into the more business-y side of things, I think it would be awesome to work in acquisitions or development. One of them is finding awesome movies and buying them for distribution, and the other is working with screenwriters and producers and so forth to help them make the best movie possible. In a way, they're very similar, since they both involve being able to recognize talent.

Don't get me wrong. I love what I do. I don't plan on making a leap to another tributary anytime soon. But really, can't we just dream about stuff sometimes? What would you do if you worked in the movie biz?

Today I participated in a fundraiser for a great non-profit in San Diego called San Diego Writers, Ink. It's peopled with writers who help other writers become better writers, and whenever I participate in something they put on, I'm not disappointed.

But somewhere, deep down, is a nagging little voice asking me why I'm working to raise money for another non-profit besides my own. But that voice really needs to pipe down. Why? Because I'm working to raise money for the non-profit I work for every day. Yes, EVERY day. In case you didn't know, Media Arts Center San Diego has been around for quite a while, spreading the gospel of digital media and storytelling since its inception. That gospel has grown to include camps for kids, documentary classes for teenagers, partner programs with California libraries, and workshops for adults. Everything from how to take pictures with your fancy new DSLR to how to build your own steadicam.

Oh, and we also show movies.

That's my job. I often get an odd reaction from people when they find out what I do. "You mean you get to watch movies? All the time?"

Yes, all the time. I'm lucky enough to have a job that includes something most people (including myself) enjoy. I get to watch movies, meet filmmakers, and sometimes visit film festivals. I'm not going to tell you that it's not as glamorous as it sounds, because you wouldn't believe me anyway, and that's like complaining that your Maserati doesn't purr at 20 mph like it does at 80. Small potatoes.

So yes, I do love what I do. I love watching movies. But I also feel like I'm participating in something that matters. Yes, the education programs that are provided by Media Arts Center are wonderful. There is a wonderful staff of people that attend to all the details and ensure that they are enriching for kids young and old. The video production programs are also wonderful. Media Arts has managed to help a plethora of organizations that don't have access to the digital media tools and knowledge that we have in order to help them send their message around the internet and back again. Because that's what we do: provide access.

So now we have this Digital Gym, where you can get training on all things digital, like the YMCA, but for your brain and creativity instead of your body. And we also have a movie theater, which is where I come in.


But how does that fit in? Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough, not contributing enough, or not do-gooding enough. And then I reflect.

I've been at the organization for six years, programming films for the San Diego Latino Film Festival, Que Viva! Cine Latino, Cinema en tu Idioma, and a number of other community screenings. We've partnered with the SD Asian Film Festival, the Jewish Film Festival, Horrible Imaginings Film Festival, and countless other community groups to get messages out and spur cross-cultural dialogue within the San Diego community. Now I program the Digital Gym Cinema, and I'm constantly asking myself, what is this film for?

It's simple, really. Film is for people. It's for ideas. It's for creativity and sharing. There is not one single filmmaker on the planet who makes a film to watch alone in their own living room. Films are made to be seen, by groups of people, to share something that filmmaker thinks is important. It's just up to me, as the curator of the Digital Gym Cinema, to try to figure out what the community most wants, or what the community most needs.

So if I may, I'd like to reflect on what's come along so far. A film about the danger of greed (The Brass Teapot). A film about a family dealing with the separation of living on both sides of the border (Aqui y Alla). A film about zero-emissions motorcycle racing (Charge). A film about French capitulation to the Nazis during WWII (La Rafle). A film about women in India as the country develops (The World Before Her). A film about the pollution of our land and oceans (Trashed). These aren't all of them, but they all have a story to tell that I think is worth telling. Some films were more well attended than others. I take no offense.

What I am always looking for is the movie that is simply a beautiful work of art. Something about it reaches down deep and pulls at you, whether it's the music, the visuals, the story, or a combination of all of those that keeps you in your seat for a couple of hours (or longer!) because you can't take your eyes and ears away from the screen. And sometimes I hear, "How is that helping people?"

I despise that kind of response. Movies are art. They contain art. They blend art. And I still believe in art for art's sake. Many years ago, I found myself in Paris at the Louvre. I went through the galleries and found myself in front of the Mona Lisa. I didn't stand there and wonder how that was helping people. I admired it, and the other works, as something that makes our lives a little less dull. An expression of something someone wanted to share.

Let me be clear: artists (and filmmakers) are not required to change the world. If Iron Man has taught us anything, it's that audiences don't expect movies to change the world. They expect something to be shared. A story, an idea, a thought. Some artists are activists, and I think that's great. Some are not, and that's great, too. But what all of them are doing is engaging. 

This is what I strive to program at the Digital Gym Cinema. So as we look forward, I'm excited about the variety of shares coming our way. A film about the coming-of-age of a teenager from the Dagreb tribe (The Lesser Blessed). A transgender story of impossible, unextinguishable love and romance (Laurence Anyways). A film about the complicated world of Somali pirates (Stolen Seas). A poetic journey from schoolbus to public transportation in Guatemala (La Camioneta). A film about two musicians who tragically died before their time, but not before their genius rooted (Greetings From Tim Buckley).

I sincerely hope to create engagement. What engages you?

Today we’re talking about music and film, two of my very favorite things in the whole wide world. Music is a form of expression that goes back to the beginning of time, where we created rhythm that somehow turned into a ticking clock that helped us measure the journey of the sun through the sky (Think about THAT next time the tic-tic-tic of a clock is annoying the crap out of you!).

Music infiltrates our worlds, our lives, our thoughts, in such ways that we don’t fully understand, but we know that it does. It can calm us down, pump us up, and research has shown that it can be used to improve your health. Some people even think it can make us smarter. Check out this article from CNN for the science.

In other words, music speaks to a primitive part of our being that we can never separate ourselves from. It is powerful, whether we like it or not.

And then there’s film. Film is a unique artform in that it combines all other forms of art: theater, visual art, performance art, dance, and yes, music too. It is a synergistic combination of different forms of expression that somehow amount to something greater than the sum of its parts. Film is, in short, magic.

Like music, movies affect us in ways we don’t fully comprehend.  There’s a great book by Colin McGinn called The Power of Movies that delves into how our minds meld with screens, in terms that even a non-scientist like myself can find engaging and understand.

Because of our close connection to music and film, it’s surprising that not every film is about music. However, there are several out in theaters, or coming soon that can vie for your attention, whether you love opera, folk, jazz, punk, or some other form of music.

Here are a few:
Violeta Went to Heaven
Greetings from Tim Buckley
Becoming Traviata
20 Feet From Stardom
A Band Called Death

So go ahead. Sing along. We’ll turn the volume up.

People often wonder why I pick the films I do. It seems like a simple process, and in some ways, it is. Basically, I watch a film, then decide if it's good. But therein lies the complication. What is good? Is it a familiar face? Is it stunning photography? Is it a story with a message? The answer is yes. This is the starting point to a labyrinthian series of decisions and possibilities that determine whether we end up showing a particular film.

Let's start with the famous faces. We all know that when we see an actor that we like in one of those alluring 'Coming Soon' trailers, our stomachs do a little flip of joy and our brains make a little note to put that date on our calendars. But who do we like? Well, there's definitely some debate about that, but filmmakers generally pay more to people they think we like. So according to that notion, these ladies that would seem to carry huge cache for us. Kristen Stewart is at the very top of that list. One of my personal favorites, Nicole Kidman, didn't even break into the top ten. Neither did 2012's Best Actress Oscar Winner (whose work I also enjoy), Jennifer Lawrence. As for leading men? We have the top ten list for them, too. Tom Cruise, anyone? Yep, the action hero still is at the top of the list. So does that mean those are really the faces you want to see? Would you flock to see a film starring Tom and Kristen?

I'm also wondering if you noticed anything funny about those lists. Anyone? In 2012, Tom brought down over twice as much Kristen. Maybe I'll write about that another time. But I digress. 

Then we move on to the photography. This is particularly sticky, in that there are so many ways to shoot a film. It can be ultra-saturated images that include every color of the rainbow, or something drained of color down to a nearly monochromatic visual that sets a particular kind of mood. It could be a carefully composed series of shots on tripods and smoothly moving dolly shots, or a jerky, hand-held film that infuses the visuals with a sense of spontaneity and immediacy. People definitely have preferences for either (I tend to prefer the use of a tripod), but the way a film is photographed can bring great depth to a story that might not have otherwise been there.

And the story? Always key. Some people have an innate desire to see something they can learn from, or something that will lift their spirits from the depths, or share a message of hope, action, or humanity. Some people just want some good explosions. Some people want to see something that has won an Oscar, or other awards that speak to its pedigree. This article has collected all the data you need for the perfect movie. But did it really?

What I'm trying to say is that when I choose movies, I generally pick things that I enjoy watching, which actually includes a wide range of stuff. I know there are people who enjoy movies I don't care for, and I try to keep that in mind as I watch. Things like "Would my mom like this movie?" often run through my head, as well as "How many people on average would fall asleep watching this?"

So tell me. What kind of movies do you like? Do famous actors really matter to you? What's the weirdest movie you thought you would hate but ended up liking?

Seriously, is Kickstarter busted? And yes, that's a double meaning. Kickstarter has been around for only 4 years, but has significantly changed the way we look at funding art, music, movies, and even inventions. But in the last couple of weeks, Kickstarter has changed to such a degree that many are questioning the model. So, did people finally figure out how to really exploit what Kickstarter is about, or did they just break it altogether?

When the whole thing started, it seemed so innocent. Artists who had no money were finally able to find funding for their projects, either through their friends, or a network of strangers that truly believed in what they were doing. People were inventing things, and since they didn't necessarily have the means to put up cash for manufacturing their doo-dads, they found people willing to buy their products and basically front the cash in order to get them made. It was a fantasyland of ideas and wonder. I even found a project recently that was just some guy who wanted to draw cats for people. His enthusiasm was undeniable (who doesn't want a cute drawing of a cat?), but alas, the artistry wasn't quite there, and his project wasn't funded.

So, Kickstarter became a place to find ideas, inventions, and all manner of emerging artists in all sorts of media. And then came Veronica Mars. Veronica Mars the television show lasted for three seasons, then vanished suddenly with very little warning and no fanfare. The series didn't even get the normal series finale that is afforded to most shows. It simply went away. Many fans were outraged. Mind you, this is a rabid bunch. They really can't get enough of their spunky gumshoe (actually, the show was pretty good), and wanted to see her move on to the FBI and 'big time' crimes. They wanted to see Veronica get her guy-- both the criminal and the love interest. But sadly, that never came. For years, there was chatter about a movie, but every time the gossip got off the ground, it quickly got shot down. 

Then Rob Marshall (the creator of Veronica Mars) got an idea. He would go straight to the fans. Warner Brothers gave their blessing that if he could raise $2 million, they would support the marketing of the film (which is actually very expensive). So he opened up a Kickstarter campaign, and lo and behold, within 2 days (2 DAYS!) fans had pledged the minimum amount necessary. By the time the campaign ended 30 days later, many Kickstarter records had been broken, Marshall ended up with over $5 million, and it looks like the Veronica Mars movie is a go. But the story doesn't end there.

Then comes Zach Braff. Many people know and love him from the TV show Scrubs. Some remember his film Garden State. And still others revile him for "ruining" Oz. Whatever the case, he decided to jump into the Kickstarter ring. And yet again, we saw a well-known celebrity manage to raise a large amount of money ($2.2 million as of this writing) in a short amount of time (6 days). However, there is a noticeable difference. In Braff's project, no amount of money can buy you a copy of the film on DVD. Or Blu-Ray. For $100 you can see the film in certain cities. For $150 you can even get a copy of Garden State (I guarantee Target has it for much less). So what's the deal?

Normally, when people fund a project, one of the incentives is that they will get a copy of the finished product. Not so in this case. Why? Because Braff wants to sell that, too. You see, big studios pay big money for the rights to distribute movies on DVD and Blu-Ray. So, in effect, Braff gets paid twice. You pay him to make the movie, then you pay to see the movie, then you pay for a copy of the movie. Are you starting to see how this is broken?

On a side note, it is interesting to note that both the Veronica Mars project and Zach Braff's project list being an 'actor' with a spoken line as one of the perks. Meaning, you pay $10,000, they let you say something on camera. Seems legit, right? Except when you realize that they are supposed to pay you for that. There are hundreds, no, thousands of actors out there trying to make a living, and somehow you are supposed to pay for the privilege to say "Here's your check, sir."? Seems like a complete negation of the craft of acting, but this is somewhat debatable (Keanu Reeves, anyone?). Anyway..

So, here's the deal. Has Kickstarter "gone Hollywood"? Is there any room left for regular people who have spectacular ideas? Is fundraising really just like being the prom king or queen, where the person who gets the most money is the one that's also the most popular? Is this how we're going to fund art?

I say this: don't forget about the world of grants. Yes, it is tough. You have to do a lot of writing. But you also have to have a project worth funding. Most grant committees care more about the merit of the work than how many Facebook friends or Twitter followers you have. Or how long you've been in syndication. Maybe we should start a fund for art that is blind to names, that looks at the work instead. Who's with me? Maybe I'll start a Kickstarter campaign to fund a grant that's for real artists. Who will give me $10?

I'd love to hear your take on this.