After a certain point there's this threshold that you hit, where if you don't have something made, something tangible to show for all your work, you begin to feel like you're shoveling smoke, money be damned. Granted, I was very grateful to be getting paid to do what I loved, and I never forgot how lucky I was, but after a while, that just wasn't the point anymore. What's the point of spending your life in front of a computer, writing stuff that everyone tells you is great, that no one is ever gonna see? I had a friend at the time who was a carpenter. At the end of my day, I knew I'd just written something no one was ever gonna see. At the end of his day, he'd built a wall-something solid, something tangible to show for his labor. I was kind of envious of him. I had this thought that if I didn't make a movie before I hit 40, I'd really start to rethink if this is what I wanted to do with my life.
... Sometimes the studios will send the writer for a week or two [to a set] as a sort of little perk, but generally they're not too thrilled with the idea of having the writer there, whereas the stars' trainer and personal assistants get carte blanche. They're doing the junkets for The International right now, and no one wants to talk to me. No one cares. They want to talk to the producers, the director and the stars. That's it. They could really care less about me. And one part of me wants to say "Hey, none of you guys would be here if it weren't for me!"