...this little "essay" seems to be punishment for those of us who so enjoyed Ms. Traister's essay on her feelings about Alice Trillin.

I thought this article was fascinating. In a sense, you aren't "real" in this society until you've been on television. I always have wondered what it is like to be someone who was "on tv" and yet never became anointed as "real" by society.

Damn straight. Acting in L.A. is one of those "dream jobs" that everyone thinks they'd love to have, but the truth is it's a job. If you're passionate about acting, and really, really REALLY lucky, it can be paradise. But for the vast majority of actors, as Peter says, it's bread and butter, not caviar and champagne. Those spells of limitless possibility are ringed and padded and surrounded by plain ol' ordinary time, just like downtime at any job. And also like he says, not even particularly interesting or pleasant time, either. And there's only so long that most people can keep going at something so uncertain, that brings only a modicum of reward.

Back in '95, I moved back to Los Angeles (my childhood home) with dreams of acting. I figured if I didn't at least give it a rousing try, I'd regret it the rest of my life. It only took about a year before my starry-eyed-ness began to wear off, and I realized that if I wanted to make a living acting in Hollywood, I would be required to do things I simply am not willing to do. And I'm not even talking about the casting couch. Since I'm not a skinny blonde with fake boobs and the mind of a turnip, getting work was very difficult. I got the "you're great" crap too, but the truth was they really didn't see me at all. And you know, the work may be wonderful, but I've yet to come across a job that was worth making myself physically ill, distorting every positive thought I might have about myself, and kissing all kinds of ass just to get a few lines. As Whoopi would say, Hell, no!

The beautiful unreality of films is lovely; I've been a film fan all my life, and my experiences in Hollywood won't change that. But as for the reality...well, as Abraham Lincoln once said, For those that like that sort of thing, I think it is just the sort of thing that they would like.

Not normally the kind of thing I'm interested in, but I was anyway.

Unfortunately, the career of a writer can be as tenuous and long-suffering as that of an actor.

I really enjoy articles that give me an unvarnished look into other peoples' lives. Too often they're overlaid with an unpleasant sheen of bitterness, but Mr. Birkenhead strikes just the right note of rueful good humor. Thanks for being candid and funny, Mr. Birkenhead, and I hope you get The Call, whether for writing or acting.

I almost passed this one up. I'm glad I didn't. A close friend of mine took the leap by moving to L.A to take acting lessons and try her hand. After 6 months she moved back home. Not a biggie, she did a brave thing. Just like the writer of this article.

Not everyone is cut out to chase their dream, and win the prize. But they at least are owed the chance to try. Good luck with your writing. You may very well be on to something else to make your name bigger. Very good.

That was fascinating, a look into a part of acting the non-actors amongst don't know about.

Easy & informative reading as well - good luck with the writing career, it looks good.

'Nuff said. Ironic that the side of my screen seems to

be filled with ads for acting auditions.

Johnalive, true. And you might have added, "being a writer... is like being an actor, but without the sex and respect."

I also came away from this article liking the guy. Wish him well.

Excellent article. This is writing at it best, an article which allowed me to learn something of part of the human experience which is totally outside of my own daily life. Peter, please continue to write.

After all this disappointment and frustration, he wants to be a writer ?

I can't imagine a worse transition. He's just setting himself up for years of struggle. I've published 17 books in many genres, seen my essays and fiction become homework at colleges across the country, spoken in half a dozen countries outside the U.S. on tour, and won some prizes, but the writing life is worse than acting and filled with constant ego blows.

At least acting offers you a community in a show of whatever kind, but writing is very solitary, which makes the downs harder to take. And for everyone thinking "If only I can sell a book, everything will change," here's the epigram of my mystery The Edith Wharton Murders, quoted from novelist Daniel Magida:

The only thing worse than not being published is being published.

It's true, it's true, it's true.

He doesn't sound like someone who feels compelled, so I'd warn him to try something safer.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Los Angeles Television Industry: I know Peter Birkenhead; I've worked with Peter Birkenhead; I've grieved for Peter Birkenhead. You have no right to accuse Peter Birkenhead of being "a great actor" when you bespeak hostility for the words "great" and "actor" in your product roll-outs everyday, whereas Birkenhead actually is--or dare we say, was--until succumbing to the great maw and the muck of Nielsen Country--a great actor, but more pointedly, for the stage, whether it be the 99-seat variety or the 1500- seat touring house. In TV-Land (so hostile to the stage, to the printed page, to the aging process in general), language, talent, meaning, and value are inverted; Quality is the contaminated commodity; complements kill; the rarefied is ratings poison. Birkenhead, the smart writer, reveals the insiduousness of our time and how it's permeated our way of receiving the world--and sadly, how it's dictated the course of his life and artistic choices. Can we spell "Captiluation?" Can we say "Squandering our great gifts?" Sure, we live it everyday. Can we all, members of the American theatrical community, both in the audience and on (and behind) the boards, scream in unison: "What the hell are you still doing in L.A., Peter Birkenhead, when good works await you where you were raised and where you belong? Who bit you in the butt and made you drink at the celebrity fount? Stop watching so much TV! Oil up your rusty chops. You're a great teacher. You'll support yourself the same way you do now but you'll be sharing and exercising your talents with a population that will challenge and reward you, not yawn and ingore you and your artistic essence." Unspoken in his brilliantly effacing, confessional article, is Birkenhead's own betrayal of the artform upon which he was raised; on which he cut his teeth. Another New Yorker adrift in L.A., as the country sinks and the nation's spirit falters, and the artists abdicate their calling. Somebody should kiss this guy and kick his ass and send him packing back home where he might finally--with new wisdom and prowess at his fingertips--at last seize the moment and transform the dark into light. It's called the Actor's Job.