So before moving on to other topics, I want to tell you the story of an evening in 2009 when I had a very odd to downright bizarre but relevant experience.

I’d been invited to be on a panel at the Paley Center for Media on 52nd Street. Midtown. Fancy. It was an event organized by the Writers Guild on the subject of writing in the then-new medium of web series with Fred Graver as the moderator. There was a conference call to prepare us all after which I’d memorized some bullet points so I wouldn’t ramble or drift off-topic.

We were each supposed to supply a short video to screen and so I’d spent hours preparing a hi-res version of the episode about Louise and The Hot Repairman and had delivered it to the technician at the Paley Center.

Everything was going as planned.

With my unique ability to delay leaving the house until the last possible second and still squeak through the door on time, I’d headed off to the subway, nervous and wishing I’d worn more comfortable shoes.

But then as I rode uptown on the E train, a lump rose in my throat and with it, that strange experience of anxiety, the extreme fascination with but detachment from my fellow straphangers, the acute awareness of every passing second as if I were actually headed to my own execution.

By the time I got off the train at 53rd Street, nervousness had ratcheted up to panic and I decided that I simply couldn’t go through with it. I was too frightened. I’d make a fool of myself. Everyone would be better off if I got back on the subway and rushed back home, calling to say that I’d been suddenly taken ill … as I sort of had. (to be continued)

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