Then earlier this week, on a water-stop along the Santa Monica beach bike path, I read my Twitter feed, and felt compelled to write something else entirely. An homage to my new writing community, if you will.

Let me explain. Last May, I closed my first Twitter account because I was following what I considered to be a cliquey bunch of show-offs. It’s all documented on this website here – my fit of pique.

But a few weeks later I had a re-branding frenzy: lisamarksmedia.com went live, and I recorded the first episode of my talk show, Podcast From America.

Suddenly, it seemed a good idea to get back on Twitter and spread the word. This time though, I made sure that I followed people who interested me, and with whom I shared similar goals.

Since then, I have loved it. I’ve even made new friends – yes, I’m talking about you @karlabry.

But there’s so much more. Often, I tune into #scriptchat which is organized to perfection every Sunday by the talented @jeannevb. To be able to hear @janeespenson‘s thoughts on writing was a dream come true.

I’m a journalist, so I write every day. I’m lucky to be commissioned by so many wonderful editors, but after deadlines have been met, I start on my own writing. Sometimes it seems that I never stop writing – and that can be hard. Really, bloody, stupidly hard.

Fortunately, the writing community on Twitter are supportive, and available in handy 140 character-long chunks. And while I realise that many people scorn the idea of tweeting, the truth is that their support has made all the difference.

Take this brief list of tweets that were posted on the first day of the New Year – all most helpful to the lonely writer. This is just a random cross-section. I haven’t even included the ones that read, ‘Need to get four more pages done by the time the kids get back from soccer!!!’

@UncompletedWork WTF!? 10 Lessons I Learned About the Entertainment Industry in 2010 http://bit.ly/fvqaf7 #scriptchat

@MarkGantt Therese great list here! Love it! RT @theresecator 60 Ideas To Let Your Creativity Bloom http://bit.ly/f0fkf3

@FictionChick Predictions for Authors, Publishers and Books for 2011: wp.me/p11R3N-70 @Bob_Mayer

@TheScriptLab Toy Story: How it All Began http://tsl.cm/hsgCo8 #screenwriting #filmmaking #moviereview #writenow

@Writersync Sales of bodice-ripping e-books soar as women use digital readers to hide their romantic novels http://goo.gl/7×4GL #why #hide

And because I love @Stephenfry, and The Archers (a BBC radio soap):

@BBCTheArchers Old romantic, @stephenfry on social class in The Archers > http://bit.ly/eIkpQp

Because of tweets like this, I don’t feel quite as lonely.

Sometimes alone but not lonely.

I had no idea how many other people were out there, pouring their thoughts onto the page.

Thank goodness, I know you now.

The trick is to thoroughly prepare yourself the week before the ginormo feast of turkey and thanks, by doing as much exercise as you can possibly can. It’s all about balance, you see.

Now, I’m no athlete, and working out is always a chore, so truth be told I managed only one measly hour at the gym, and a couple of short bike rides. But one of those bike rides was particularly eventful.

If you’re a movie or TV fan, then living in Hollywood is in some respects like being a kid in a candy story, because the sign above is pretty common. I was whizzing along Glendale Boulevard when three burly security men appeared out of the doorway of the parrot shop (yes, it’s a shop that sells parrots), to bar my way.

Law & Order were filming in an empty unit, next to one of the coffee bars that I frequent, and so I dismounted while whoever the hell is in Law & Order did their thing. I tried to chat to a make-up girl, who was sitting in a director’s chair, weighed down with brushes and clips, but she just seemed bored.

Or maybe, like me, she was just so over-run with work that she couldn’t wait for the holiday to start. But while I love Thanksgiving, I don’t much care for ‘Black Friday’ – the much-hyped start of the Christmas sales. I have no time for people who camp outside superstores looking for a few bucks off a new TV. I realise that the economy’s lousy but that kind of lust for shopping seems a tad grabby to me.

So this Thanksgiving I urged everyone I knew who was preparing to shop til they dropped – and even the ones who weren’t – to check out www.daughterscambodia.org. This incredible organisation helps young girls escape the sex industry, and was founded by a close friend of mine. She tells me that just a few pennies can transform their lives.

She enables girls who are living in brothels, and often working there to support their families, learn new skills such as reading, baking, waitressing and sewing, so that they can make a living in another way. It’s a fantastic charity that has seen genuine results, as hundreds of girls have already been re-educated and found new jobs.

Sales are part of every public holiday these days – a modern day lore if you will – but I would really appreciate it, if you would check out the Daughters Cambodia website, to make a contribution.

And that’s an order.

I was disappointed not to see as many Snooki’s and Situations but WeHo is all about high camp so the drag queens were out in full force and boy, do some of them have great legs. My friend Tanya was a slutty cow, so she gets a special mention.

The parade is an amazing spectacle. The cops close a large chunk of Santa Monica Boulevard, the organisers set up sound stages and the food wagons roll. I missed the personal appearance of America’s Got Talent’s Prince Poppycock but gave the Time Warp my all.

Because this is LA you can’t be seen to be drinking alcohol on the streets, so we’d decanted whiskey into a Coca Cola can and slugged it back in shop doorways like naughty kids. Oh, for the balmy summer nights of standing outside a pub in London openly drinking beer from the bottle. It seems odd that you can’t be seen to be doing that here. Stealth drinking, I call it.

The night before Halloween (for this was an ‘event’ weekend), my boyfriend and I decided to dress as either Bonnie and Clyde, French Detectives or G-Men, depending on your POV, and go to the Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) festival at the Hollywood Forever cemetery, which backs on to the Paramount lot.

Stepping over, and on headstones we stumbled through the graveyard gazing in wonder the elaborate costumes. The holiday is a celebration of the dead and people had set up shrines to their loved ones. Many people paint their faces white, adding intricate detail in black pen, such tiny flowers, hollow eyes and false teeth. The end result is pretty scary but stunning. It’s hard to describe but the Day of the Dead website says, ‘At the heart of this sacred event are the meticulously individually crafted altars and spiritual shrines. These dazzling private tributes and offerings which provide a linkage between ancient traditions and modern customs chronicle the perpetual relation between faith, family and history.’

Also providing a link between the past and the present, was an amazing interview I did last week with Dame Julie Andrews. Clumsy segway, yes but she was so adorable, friendly and frankly, exactly how you would want her to be that I was instantly transported back to my childhood.

I was interviewing her for an Australian newspaper, and due to embargo can’t spill any of the beans about what was said, but I will admit to this; I have never been as nervous as I was that day.

She’s a Dame, a true icon, a proper movie star – could I cut it? I needn’t have worried because she was charm personified and very sweet.

Meeting her took me back to the days when my grandmother was still alive, when at Christmas we’d all gather around the television to watch Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music together.

As I was waiting to go in to Dame Julie’s suite, I had this strong sense of my grandma being in the room with me. I found myself getting a little bit tearful but professional to the last, pulled myself together before the interview. But for a brief, soft moment, my lovely grandma, who died almost 20 years ago, was back in my life.

And so the following night, as I wandered around the colourful lantern-festooned Hollywood Forever cemetery, I was able to truly appreciate this marvellous spectacle of remembrance.

Should I tell you about my fluffy new Ikea rug, or the fact that I bought a red metallic electric kettle for the first time since moving here. Americans love their stove-top kettles but the slowness of the boil drives me mad. Why did I wait nearly four years?

Or should I tell you about that fact that it’s been raining for a week now, which is almost unheard of (coming two weeks after our record smashing 115 degree scorcher) but has made a welcome relief.

What about the fact that somewhere along the line I picked up a strep virus and have been on antibiotics. No wait, this is fun. Let me impart some valuable information about the US healthcare system. Two words. It’s crap. Come on ‘Obamacare’, what are you waiting for!

I went to see the doctor last week and my appointment lasted around 17 minutes. Fifteen of that was spent watching the GP searching online for my insurance records. It was ridiculous but that’s US healthcare. Their doctors are glorified receptionists. Only after she’d found my records, did I get an exam. Total cost: $79 appointment fee and $20 for the drugs.

Moving on. I should probably tell you about the fact that I saw a Bob Hope Halloween special double bill at the New Beverly cinema in Hollywood this weekend. The Ghost Breakers followed by The Cat and the Canary. The cinema is thoroughly old school – they charge about $7 for a ticket and sell freshly brewed coffee. I missed the Marx Brothers weekend but have got my eye on Lon Chaney’s The Wolf Man.

Which leads me to Halloween. I just don’t understand the fascination with getting dressed up and throwing fake cobwebs over everything. And pumpkin pie is the second worst pie in the universe after fish pie. It’s like an evil sprite mixed wallpaper paste with cinnamon and threw it into a pastry case. I really want to Tweet that but I’ll probably lose a few followers and I’m trying to get more (desperate plea).

But that’s too negative. I should tell you about the fact that I’m on a new weight-training regime and have lost two inches from my waist (watch out Dita), or that last week I interviewed an actress who I first met back on my teen mag days in London (12 years ago), and she remembered who I was.

Or that later this week I will be going to Soho House in West Hollywood for the first time (I used to frequent the club in London), and later, a Bafta screening of Chris Morris’ movie, Four Lions. Can’t wait for that little gem.

And that really what I should be doing now is getting on with some work. I have a new podcast episode to edit, and then a script to finish. And after that some laundry. And you know, the kitchen floor won’t mop itself.

Which begs the question, what the hell am I doing sitting in Starbucks?

Once I worked out that this was the closest I’d ever get to Barbra Streisand (she’s his step-mum), my excitement levels left Earth’s atmosphere, did three loops around Mars and are now probably hovering around Deep Space Nine, with no chance of getting home.

I haven’t been to New York in a while and although I love LA, there’s something to be said for being able to walk around a city and not be considered mentally ill.

After I’d checked into my hotel in Manhattan, I headed the three short blocks north to Central Park, near Essex House. It was dark by this time but still very warm so I skirted the perimeter, dodging the many pony and carts taking tourists on clippy-cloppy rides (for no less than $50).

Although I was in the city to attend the junket, I’d also arranged to do an interview for my show, ‘Podcast From America‘, and the timings were such that I need to find the shortest route from The London hotel to the Ritz Carlton, so that I didn’t miss my slot with Mr Brolin. The walk took seven minutes but I added on five to allow for the fact that I’d be wearing heels.

Sidebar: when I was a girl about town in London I used to wear heels but not the sky-scraping torture-bins that girls wear these days. I blame Carrie Bradshaw. While men gallop around town in brogues or sneakers, the women of New York teeter on six-inch Louboutins. It’s crazy. This is New York – it has steaming manholes, metal grills embedded into the pavement, abandoned pizza slices. What happened to wearing flats or trainers for the commute? Bueller? Anyone?

The next morning, my podcast guest turned up with a huge smile on her face. I can’t tell you who it is but clue: she became famous as a child star, is still working in the business and is very successful. She was an utter delight but my eye was on the clock and at noon, we flew out of the door and I hiked for 12 minutes to the Ritz.

Mr Brolin was handsome and charming. In fact, so taken was I by his good-nature and soulful eyes that when he complimented my shoes (a comfortable wedge) I left my tape-recorder behind. It had to be retrieved by the publicist later on. There’s a first.

I spent the rest of the week at the Independent Filmmaker Conference, which is about as far from the Hollywood machine of Wall Street 2 as you can get. I hung out with passionate (aka knackered), indie filmmakers, and also the head of Women in Film New York. She told me that budgets had been slashed all over but you can still get funding for a good documentary. Funny that – you can’t get a movie made for $40m but you can for $20,000 or $200m. Nothing in between.

After five days of pounding the streets my feet were numb, my ankles were weeping and the blister on my little toe had taken on the shape of Sicily.

As I sat tweeting and rubbing my feet at a well-deserved coffee-stop in Greenwich Village, a woman trotted past me in her cartoonishly high heels. She shot me a withering a look, and I felt like I’d let the side down. Then clarity: I realised that if wearing sensible shoes couldn’t save you from foot hell, you may as well go down in style in a pair of six inch f*** me stilettos.

Enlightened, I went to meet my friend Jennifer at an IFP outdoor screening in the east village. We drank free beer under the moonlight by the Hudson, while watching preview clips of low-budget, imaginative movies.

It was good to be back in New York.

‘Podcast From America’ with Lisa Marks (to give it the full title), is a lively talk show, and I’m big enough to admit that the first time I saw it up on iTunes, I burst into tears.

My mission statement for the show is simple. I want to interview the many creative people I meet in LA about their life, their work and their passions. And I didn’t want to have to wait to be commissioned to do it.

Frustrated with editors not having the budget or space to run my stories, I decided to create my own platform. There’s nothing quite like being in control of your own ship.

And the reality is that living so close to Hollywood, I have incredible access to many wonderful artists. The show is about getting to know them better, finding out what makes them tick and also having some fun along the way.

And it’s great. There’s lucid conversation (most of the time), researched questions and sponsorship. Thank you Brits in LA. (The title, by the way, is a modern-day homage to ‘Letter from America’, the show that ran on Radio 4 for many years, and was presented by the erudite Alistair Cooke).

Some of my guests are famous, some are almost famous and some are not famous at all but the one thing they have in common is that they’re all compelling interviewees.

Each episode comes in at just under an hour, which some people have said is too long, but my argument for a longer running time is this: on ‘Podcast from America’ you’ll get to learn new things about people, because they get the chance to tell their stories and share anecdotes you won’t have heard before.

Hard to believe I know but intelligent people with attention spans do exist. And the show’s length is perfect for listening to during your daily commute or gym session.

Wait. What? You don’t know what a podcast is?

A friend emailed today to tell me that she’d clicked on my link but couldn’t get the video to work. There is no video, it’s audio. Think of it as taking a slice of radio and putting it on your iPod or mp3 player. You can do that actually – that’s how I listen to The Archers every week.

The inaugural episode (the pilot was called ‘The Lisa Podcast’ so don’t be confused when you click on iTunes, that will change soon) was released September 1^st.

Episode one features amazing documentary photographer Janette Beckman (with me, above left), who made her name with her visceral images of the punk and hip-hop movements. Her photographs are classics. Just Google her and you’ll find wonderful images of Joe Strummer, The Sex Pistols or Run DMC. We met at the Project Space gallery in Hollywood where her exhibition, ‘Archive of Attitude’ was attracting all the right attention. I will be forever grateful to her for being my guinea pig (pod?).

My next guest is Craig Young, who found fame in the UK, in the mid-Nineties, in a pop group called Deuce. He’s now a successful actor in Hollywood and had some amazing stories to share. After that, the line up continues to be equally magnificent.

So go to iTunes or my website, download, listen, subscribe, share, tweet, comment and enjoy. Just don’t expect to watch the video.

Curious to know more, I tracked Andrew down on Twitter (fast becoming the most indispensable resource in the world today, after Google) to congratulate him on his success and find out more about his movie.

Turns out, he’s 26, a fellow Brit and lives in Milton Keynes. He is currently working through the final year of his PhD in Astrophysics at the Open University. His area of research is Extrasolar Planets but his passion is writing. If you go to his website you will be able to see his considerable body of work, including loglines.

He hasn’t had anything produced yet but thanks to his amazing win he’s now on the hunt for an agent. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he’s snapped up and put under lock and key, so I took the opportunity of asking him a few questions this week.

LM: Congratulations Andy, can you tell me what your winning script ‘Juice’ is about?

AC: Juice is a crime drama about a cynical hitman – known only as ‘Cane’ – who accepts five different contracts on the life of London crime-lord, Alastair King. However, as Cane puts together the pieces of his plan, he soon finds himself managing both his mission and his clients’ ignorance of each other. Inevitably, Cane’s balancing act starts to fall apart and he becomes hunted by both his target and his employers.

LM: Where did the idea for ‘Juice’ come from?

AC: Juice grew from a short-story I started writing during my undergraduate days at the University of Leicester. I never actually finished the story, but the plot stayed with me and eventually became part of the protagonist’s back story.

LM: Did you think you were in with a shot of winning Scriptapalooza?

AC: I was convinced I wouldn’t even make the finals – so much so that I didn’t even look for my name when the names were posted. I actually read two entries past my own name before my brain kicked into gear and I realised I was through. I only thought I might stand a chance of reaching 1st place once or twice in the week that followed but I refused to get my hopes up. With the time difference, I had to stay awake until 2am to find out that I’d won. I probably woke my neighbors.

LM: What happens now?

AC: At the moment I’m looking for representation with a view to getting ‘Juice’ optioned and, touch-wood, maybe even produced. My second feature is almost complete and I’ve got many ideas for features and pilots that are just waiting on the drawing board.

LM: And last but not least, what are you going to do with the $10,000?

AC: Well most of it will go on food and rent – glamorous, I know – but I’m also planning to get a new laptop and a large pin-board for story-boarding. I might even treat myself to a new pair of running shoes.

Andrew and I then nerded out over character arcs and writing technique, but I won’t bore you with that on these pages. If you want to hear more technical script-chat, discover Andrew’s writing influences, and read about the many changes ‘Juice’ underwent during the writing process, click here for the second part of the interview.

Anyone who’s ever seen the movie ‘Tales From the Script‘ will know that getting half a toe in the door is part of the key to film-making success. His win should at least guarantee that his script will be read – a tough battle if you don’t have the contacts. So watch this space – and good luck Andy!

I decided this weekend to indulge my inner gourmet as a ‘well done Lisa’ gift. I didn’t get through to the finals of Scriptapalooza but I’m proud that an early draft of ‘Best Woman’ made it to the semis.

This week was all about seeing the glass half full. I’m grateful that work is busy, my creative projects are flourishing, writers group is going great guns and the sunsets from my deck continue to be breath-taking on a daily basis.

Sunday morning I woke up around 9am, groggy from a late night at the local bowling alley – yes, my life in America is actually ‘Happy Days’ – and threw on some clothes.

With a precious day to myself, I grabbed one of my many reusable shopping bags (I’m the world’s worst recycler but I’m getting better) and headed up to the local farmer’s market in Atwater Village.

There, I tried every sample I could (the strawberries and navel oranges were particularly sweet), chatted to the locals and enjoyed the sunshine. I was determined to feed my soul as well as my belly.

The line for Big Mistas BBQ was as long as ever. The guys there serve pulled pork, ribs, smoked turkey and chicken and it all looks, and smells, utterly delicious.

In my head, I’d already pictured the perfect brunch for one. Scrambled eggs, sausages, freshly baked bread and a handful of mystery ingredients, to be decided by the harvest currently sitting in front of me on wooden tables in the car park of Wells Fargo bank.

An hour later, I left with half a loaf of olive bread ($4), a tray of Portobello mushrooms ($3.50), kale ($2) and eight tiny bright red cherry peppers ($1), a spicy and sweet relative of the bell pepper. They look particularly darling sitting in the fruit bowl next to my lemons and avocados.

I indulged myself further and bought a bunch of sunflowers ($5) for my kitchen table and headed home. Only brunch didn’t happen at brunch. It happened early evening, after the laundry was done, the apartment had been cleaned, the bills had been paid and the cat had been fed.

Then suddenly, the moment arrived. The sunflowers bowed their heads graciously in their vase, the fresh jug of pomegranate green tea waited patiently in the fridge and the sky turned burnt orange. My belly growled.

The solitary banquet sated my soul and my stomach, and was without doubt the most delicious, most nutritious meal I’d prepared in a long time. I felt I deserved it and every cell in my body devoured it.

If you want to see the result of my endeavours, visit my Twitter account and take a look at the photo I uploaded.

Feast with your eyes, and always remember to keep the glass half full.

My feature-length script, ‘Best Woman’ has been shortlisted in this year’s Scriptapalooza International Screenplay Competition.

Awesome, as they say on this side of the pond. Or ‘What does it mean?’ if you’re my mum.

I have no idea mother, but I can say this with authority – the news is very welcome indeed.

‘Best Woman’ is a script I’ve been working on for a long time and is a real labour of love. I literally bled all over every page – and you know what, it shows. It is without doubt the best film I’ve ever written (and that includes Maconie’s List) and has made me a better a writer in the process.

I decided to enter Scriptapalooza back in January as a way of getting through another rewrite. Without a deadline, like every writer on the planet, I will do anything else other than write.

I also cherry-picked this particular competition because it seems to reap real rewards. There are so many writing competitions and festivals, and you can spend a small fortune entering them, but only a handful are worth the trouble, or have a good reputation.

Scriptapalooza gets managers, agents and producers to read the scripts and if you make it to the semis, they promote you for a year.

Whatever happens, I’m happy to have made it onto the shortlist. Last year I looked at the names on the website and thought to myself, ‘I want to be on that list’. Well, I’ve done what I set out to do and I’m incredibly proud of my achievement.

I find out on Friday whether or not I’ve made the semis. In the meantime, I’m crossing everything crossable. And of course I’ve come over all reality TV contestant. Now I’m not only determined to go all the way, but I want to ‘take it to the next level’ and also ‘give it 110%’.

Follow me through the nail-biting days ahead on Twitter – this week I shall mostly be playing it cool, and pretending that I’m not waiting for the results. BUT I REALLY WANT TO WIN. Ahem.

Come on ‘Best Woman’, you can do it!

I was driving behind it a few days ago, as we approached the always busy intersection where Franklin meets Highland. Just around the corner is Hollywood Boulevard and the Kodak Theatre (home of the Oscars) and Grauman’s Chinese Theatre where the fake super-heroes used to perform for the tourists (they’ve sadly been banned but if you’re interested in seeing what you’ve missed, then check out this fascinating documentary, Confessions of a Superhero). A more Hollywood location you could not get.

And so the thought occurred to me as I crawled along in my PT Cruiser, enduring a brutal air-blasting from the a/c that I too, in terms of my script-writing career, am still riding the tourist bus.

These tours, which are hugely popular, take people around town to essentially stare at the exteriors of celebrity homes. This involves taking pictures of shrubbery, high stone walls, iron gates and the tops of roofs (“There’s Ellen Pompeo’s guttering!”). Sounds a bit sad but I remember getting really excited the day a friend pointed out Quentin Tarantino’s mansion (which once belonged to Errol Flynn, or was it Douglas Fairbanks?), so I’m the last person to judge.

Anyhoo, the point I’m making is that I am still on the outside looking in. Half the battle in this town is writing a great script. That’s hard enough but I think I’ve done it. Judging by the reviews I’m getting for my latest opus, this one’s a winner and bang on trend. The big problem now is how I get anyone who is anyone to read the bloody thing.

You can’t approach agents. Well you can but they don’t want to know unless you’ve been recommended by someone they trust or can prove your bankability (very difficult for newbies). Plus they already have a room the size of Wales full to the brim with unread screenplays.

And you can’t really approach producers with much success unless you go through an agent. And then in all honestly, you shouldn’t really approach a producer unless you have a lawyer, and then things start to get expensive. So how the hell does a person who hasn’t got the contacts, written Twilight or possesses the last names Cameron, Spielberg or Lucas get their work to anybody who might want to sign or back them?

In the documentary Tales From the Script, one of the screen-writers says that searching for a life-changing break in Hollywood is like looking for a crack in the wall. And he was talking about the Hollywood of a few years ago. Oh for those salad days! Since the recession hit, that proverbial crack is now down to a hairline fracture. We are reportedly living through the worst year for spec screenwriters in Hollywood’s history.

This is what you have to do. Network like you’ve never networked before. Do not underestimate the casual exchange over a canape, or the shared bench in a park. Meeting people is the only way to get your script to anyone who matters.

Of course you can chance your arm and hope that some Ari Gold-a-like is having a good day when your email lands in their inbox and thinks, “I just closed a $20million deal, I’m gonna give this starving kid a chance.” That mysterious thing where the stars aligned happened to one Diablo Cody, so I suppose it could happen to you.

Networking works but it takes creativity, planning and guile to be in the right place at the right time. Friends of mine have met producers and agents in coffee shops and supermarkets (the Malibu Ranch Market is a good place to start, and anywhere on Robertson or the West Hollywood end of Santa Monica Boulevard), and at parties, improv classes, writing classes, yoga classes, AA, therapy, you name it. In this town, you can literally be walking your dog and end up conversing with the guy who produced The Hangover or What Just Happened.

You can also attend a myriad of panels where people high up in the movie biz share their experiences or attend an open pitch. This is where hundreds of dreamers and wannabes file before a handful of bored looking execs, before stuttering out a premise line that may or may not make sense. I went to one of those a couple of years ago (bottled out of pitching) and saw the scary woman from HBO give her card to one of the pitchees afterwards. Who knows if that lead anywhere?

And in the meantime, you stay on the bus. Repeat. Stay on the bus.

Take a few pictures and enjoy the ride.