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.

There are a few things in life that I am completely sure of: I am sure that the moon will shine at night, even if the clouds blanket the sky. I am sure that the sun will rise in the morning, even if the rain seems like it will never stop. And I am sure that I will always, always love the CBC.

There aren’t many corporations that I have committed my entire heart to for life. But the CBC is special to me in so many ways. It is partially what makes me a Canadian—literally. I wouldn’t have been born here if it weren’t for the CBC. My father, who’s an editor and filmmaker, had the opportunity to work in London, England on the film “Jesus Christ Superstar.” (It was also shot in his home country of Israel.) While working in London, he met a Canadian who immediately saw his talent and encouraged him to relocate to Canada, where he was assured, he would be hired with the national broadcaster. He did and he was. And he stayed, and then had me. So thanks CBC, without you, I probably wouldn’t have been born here.

My dad worked at the CBC for 35 years on programs like “The Journal”, “The National” and “The Fifth Estate”, winning two Gemini awards along the way (he retired last year). As a result of his commitment to his employer, his family became CBC junkies. CBC radio programming is as essential to my day as my three square meals. I am in love with our national broadcaster. That is my bias. It is in my blood as a Lev and as a Canadian.

If there’s one person I know who’s equally, if not more enthusiastic about the CBC, it’s my mentor and friend Steve Pratt. He’s the director of CBC Radio 3, and he is so very good at what he does. Also, talk to Steve about the CBC and he glows with pride. I decided to do just that, so I can see his eyes light up.

Me: What’s your first memory of the CBC?

Steve Pratt: It’s probably watching hockey as a kid. Howie Meeker doing his hockey tips. As a young boy I played a lot of hockey and there’s still quite a bit of hockey nostalgia in it for me.

Me: For you and a lot of other Canadians.

SP: I have a four-year-old son and he’s crazy for hockey. It’s neat, we’re both sitting down and watching “Hockey Night in Canada.” But I don’t think he associates the CBC that I work for with “Hockey Night.”

Me: I don’t know if people think about CBC’s mandate. Care to explain it?

SP: It’s supposed to reflect the country back at itself.

Me: What impresses me is how it unites the country. It’s a tie.

SP: I’m slightly embarrassed to admit this but I wasn’t a regular CBC listener before I started working there. And I regret what I missed. It’s like a national conversation that you can’t get anywhere else. It makes you feel Canadian just listening to it. On my end of it, when I came to Radio 3, I thought I knew about Canadian music, and I knew nothing about it. To find all this unbelievable talent from coast to coast in every style and form imaginable, and it’s probably not a commercially viable business to do it but thank God it exists. It feel good to go home at night and sleep knowing that we’re helping to celebrate this amazing Canadian culture and talent. And the feedback we get, people feel really connected. It makes them feel Canadian. It’s really cool.

Me: Was there a point when CBC became quote unquote cool? Because it’s in my blood, it’s part of me. But I don’t remember it being cool.

SP: The retro line of clothes and the retro logo are insanely popular with young people. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if this is Internet culture or a different generation getting tired of commercial culture but people really seem to value that it’s a public institution that isn’t beholden to commercial interests. It’s this amazing passionate loyalty to the concept of the CBC. In some ways the idea of the CBC is more powerful than the CBC itself.