Have you ever watched a TV show – let’s use Two and a Half Men as a timely example – and found yourself thinking “How does this shit go from an idea into one of the most popular and lucrative shows presently on television?”

Well, dear reader, let me take you through this process of making entertainment programming happen, based on my recent and much smaller scale experiences.

This month, I’ve started working on a short pilot segment for CBC Radio 3. The point of the segment is to get into the unique mind of a musician, pluck precious insight and transmit it back, in plain terms, to the general population.  I originally pitched the segment as a “How To” for musicians, but was told that only a small percentage of CBC Radio 3 listeners are in bands. Fair enough.

My interest in musicians’ unique point of view started in my early  20s, when I dated a guy in Hot Hot Heat. It was fascinating to watch them go from hometown heroes to the cover of England’s NME. Oh, the insight those four crazy years gave me into the world of music and the characters (understatement) that it’s made up of. To put it plainly, musicians are not like you and I.

In the midst of it all, probably as a result of dating a musician and being a journalist, I was offered what turned out to be a regular gig with CBC Radio 3. I would profile Victoria and Vancouver bands, occasionally contribute magazine pieces for their groundbreaking website, and cover concerts. It was a part-time dream job that basically put me through two years of a broadcast journalism diploma. It also helped me establish a pretty solid relationship with local bands and the people behind the Radio 3 brand, some of whom have really helped shape the choices I’ve made in my career.

After my pitch was approved, I was randomly paired with R3 producer/host Dave Shumka, a incredibly talented comedian and podcaster who is also someone I consider to be a good friend. Instinctually, I worried that whatever I produce with him would be the first shitty thing he had been associated with, ever, since everything he touches is gold. But I’ve learned (read: forced myself) to quiet those demons down.

Every time my mind goes somewhere insecure (This is going to be a complete failure, to the point that it will set me back even further in my career. Don’t fuck it up), I try my therapist’s technique of bringing myself back to the present (Today, I am in a good place. My rent is paid, I can afford to eat and I’m producing a pilot for CBC Radio 3. I’m just going to do my thing.) It helps me focus on what I need to do.

But enough about my fears and dreams. The idea of the segment is to focus on an aspect of the music world – how to market yourself, how to dress – that can also be paralleled in real life.  I will then attempt to turn the insight I get into valuable nuggets of advice that will be relayed to the general listening audience.

Does that make sense? I hope so, because so far, any attempts at hyping my idea has been faced with blank stares.

I tried to start building some interest by posting on Facebook and Twitter questions that I genuinely wanted feedback for.

“Important question for you. If you got to get inside the head of a Canadian musician who’s known to have impeccable or intriguing or terrible fashion sense, who would it be? Please repost if you can.”

NO ONE responded. Well, when R3 director Steve Pratt reposted it for me, one guy replied “???” So I pleaded with my good friends to leave a comment, just so I didn’t feel so defeated. My hopes of captivating a nation were off to a shitty start.

It’s gotten better. I did my first interview this week. I chatted with Eric Solomon, one of the guys from that unintentionally comical MTV Canada show The Youth Electric. I thought it would be appropriate to talk to him about marketing. He was a great sport and spoke as a genuine artist. I actually learned a lot. The best part for me was when, after I turned off my mic, he looked at me, clearly impressed and said: “I’ve never been asked those questions before. You really made me think.”

“Well then,” I replied. “My work here is done.”

But hopefully not.

What I’ll need from you, dear reader, is this:  Insight and support.

1) What kind of stuff do you want a musicians’ perspective on?

2) So far, the working title is “Musicmorphasis,” a play on Kafka’s “Metamorphosis,” a novella about a man’s transformation into a beetle. I can’t tell if it’s a terrible title or next-level shit so please don’t hesitate to let me know. Please give me some insight and your suggestions.

And finally, this is me being vulnerable but completely sincere…

3) I’ll keep you posted on how things are going. In the meantime, will you please, please listen, give feedback, wish me luck and tell everyone you know?

This one is dedicated to Ms. Jill Borra and Mr. Kevin Siu of the Globe and Mail. I’ll be contacting you soon.

I was talking to my friend in New York last week about her husband whose career is on the verge of exploding. He’s the most driven, confident, and self-assured person I’ve ever met in my life. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Lately, he’s been working harder than almost anyone I know and apparently, it’s getting to him.

“It’s like he wants a gold star on his forehead,” his wife told me. “I think I should do that. I think I should go out and buy a roll of gold stars from Sandylion and stick them on his face, one by one until he looks like David Bowie.”

In short, this guy needs confirmation about everything.  Everything. Everything. Everything.

I totally get it.

Recently, a few of my girly girls and I have started playing a very healthy game where we’ll sit around on a bed and say at least one nice thing about each other before the end of our hang out session. (Reminiscent of this.)

You want to know why? Because most of the time, we’re all in our heads, telling ourselves we’re not good enough, our work isn’t good enough and everything we do isn’t good enough.

So it’s nice to have friends who can play along with this game where you not so gently stroke each other’s egos. You don’t even know how good it feels until you try it.

It’s a feeling you can get used to it.

This week I used Facebook to ask my followers to help me describe I’m a Good Story, partially for work reasons, but mostly for ego-stroking reasons. Here’s a few things people said:

“Elianna Lev doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but she does, usually by writing about the things that make her uncomfortable, of which there are very, very many.” – Sarah Steinberg, my editor at enRoute and my former editor at Vice

“Honest, heart-felt and at times poignant, I’m a Good Story tells of the journey to find truth, inspiration and personal insight amidst the beauty and schlock of post-postmodern life and relationships.” – Hilary Henegar, my editor at Granville magazine

“Personal, without sentiment, honest without being precious, always leaving the reader with a lesson or piece of useful insight” – Louise Burns, professional musician, formerly of the band Lillix

That felt great until my ex-boyfriend, professional improviser and certified jerkface Taz Van Rassel chimed in:

“Remember that girl in high school who told you every detail of her life regardless of whether you asked or not? That’s what I’m a Good Story is like, but less gothy.”

I’m in an interesting place in my career where I’m about to start taking more chances. I have to or else I won’t get where I want to be. It’s terrifying and thrilling and, really, all I can think about. I’m one of those driven types who won’t settle until they achieve what they want.  And what I want are big, big things.

I met with five of my mentors this week to ask for guidance as I enter this critical point in my life. Here’s the wise words I took away from each of them.

1)   You’re doing the right thing.
2)   Don’t think. Do.
3)   The world needs people who do what you do.
4)   You are good at what you do.
5)   When you write a story, write more than one side to it.

It helped a lot.

There are a lot of people like me. And many of us seem to be in the same place right now, all waiting for our big moment and working our asses off until it happens.

If I had one word to describe this weird place we’re in, I wouldn’t use the word “fulfilling.” Instead, I’d use ‘stressful.’ I’d even use all caps: ‘STRESSFUL.’

(As I’m writing this, I’m toggling between five different files and my web browser, working on two different contracts, one huge pitch and on the phone ordering some overpriced iPhone text plan for the US, as I’m taking a trip to LA with my writing partner later this week. STRESSFUL.)

We driven types work hard and often we’re rewarded. But equally as often, the reward doesn’t feel quite as good as we’d expect it to feel, considering the amount of energy (STRESSFUL energy) that was put in.

But whose fault is that?

I’ll think about that when I have a moment. But for now, I have way too much work to do.

——

My mentors, listed in order of how their advice appeared:

1. Terri Theodore, reporter and broadcaster extraordinaire for the Canadian Press

2. Marsha Lederman, Western arts correspondent for the Globe and Mail

3. Catherine Winckler, partner and creative director of Switch United

4. Steve Pratt, director of CBC Radio 3

5. My dad.