The day I received an offer to join the New York law firm Skadden Arps was one of the most exciting moments of my life. It was 1988, I was fresh out of law school, and already I was taking my first step on the journey to corporate greatness. I would become a Skadden partner, or join an elite investment bank, or maybe end up a senior executive at
And most of it came true. I did make partner--not at Skadden but at Manatt Phelps, a law firm in Los Angeles that I joined in 1991. Then in 1995, I took a job in the Los Angeles office of NatWest, a British investment bank. A year later I quit at age 33 to become an unemployed writer.
I'm not sure how or when this reckless idea popped into my middle-class, risk-averse brain. But once it did, it wouldn't disappear, no matter how hard I tried to squash it. Mock it. Ignore it. Which in retrospect explains why I eventually ended up pursuing it. I had tried my hand at writing in my spare time and really enjoyed it. My oeuvre consisted of several self-indulgent, half-finished screenplays and novellas. But dabbling is one thing; quitting the day job is quite another.
I still remember the moment when I finally made up my mind to leave practical and stable Corporate America for absurd and random Show Business. It was Labor Day weekend 1996. I was playing golf, alone, on a beautiful course in Ojai, Calif., after breaking up with my girlfriend. She apparently had moved out on me three weeks earlier, but I hadn't noticed. Traveling too much, I suppose.
Anyway, after slicing a ball out of bounds deep into the Topa Topa foothills, it became painfully clear that my professional malaise had engulfed my entire life--not to mention ruining my ability to hit a golf ball straight. I needed to make a change. Immediately. This wasn't the world's most profound epiphany, I admit, but it was effective. A day or two later, back in the office, I made the announcement: "I'm leaving to become a screenwriter." My boss just looked at me and said, "No, seriously. What are you going to do?"
The decision to take the leap was thrilling for about a day. Then it was terrifying. I had no daily obligations to fill my time, no foreseeable cash flow to pay my bills. I was suddenly alone with my laptop and my imagination. Just another of those grandiose fantasy-chasers so frequently encountered in L.A. coffee shops, pecking away at scripts that never sell. Even your friends assume that you won't succeed. They congratulate you for your courage and nobility, while whispering behind your back that you've lost your mind. And when you're just starting out, and haven't sold anything yet, it's hard to avoid that conclusion yourself.
Finally, after the terror subsided, I actually began writing. I woke up around 6 a.m. every day and wrote for as long as I could. I worked longer hours than I had when I was a junior law associate drafting merger agreements. The fear of ruining your life is a terrific motivator.
One day, about 14 months after quitting my "real job," I sold a screenplay to Fox and became a working writer. Joined the Writers Guild. Got a card and everything. Had a real agent too. He didn't call me very often, but that hardly mattered. At the time, it seemed like my career-miracle had come true and that my life had changed forever. Until I realized I was just another guy who sold a script that would probably never be produced (and hasn't been and won't be), and that this was simply the beginning of my new career.
I was essentially a first-year associate all over again. But that was just fine with me. I was doing what I loved and actually getting paid for it. Not a lot, but enough to keep me going.
Ironically, when I eventually hit the "big time" as a writer-producer for Law & Order, it was due in part to my earlier experiences at Skadden and Manatt. I hated practicing law, but I love writing about it. The culture, the competition, the egos--it all makes for great drama. In fact, my very first Law & Order episode was about a lawyer at a big firm who murders a junior associate who threatened to destroy his partnership dreams.
More recently, I wrote and directed a comedic Web series called "Living the Dream" (featured on the aptly named BitterLawyer.com), which is about a clueless first-year associate trying to make it big at an unusually cruel and prestigious law firm. As they say, write what you know.
My career transition sounds simple and obvious today. But I promise you, it wasn't. I spent eight long, confusing years as a lawyer and investment banker before I finally bailed out to become a writer. It took me another three or four years to actually become a "legitimate working writer." My heart still races when I relive the moment I took the plunge--even though it was 12 years ago, and my career and financial viability are no longer in doubt.
My heart thumps much faster, however, when I imagine what my life would be like today had I stayed in the corporate world and pursued someone else's idea of what my life was meant to be. Chasing dreams is stupid. But not chasing them is even more stupid.
Rick Eid is executive producer and show runner of the new CBS series The Ex List. Previously he was a co-executive producer of Law & Order and executive producer of Conviction. He lives in Los Angeles.
Full Coverage--Special Report: Dream Life