When you spend your day writing, all of a sudden something weird can happen: You watch fictional people lose babies, limbs or each other and you just shrug it off cynically.

You start to hate stories.

My last couple of weeks were riddled by another one of these phases. Quite honestly: They’re destructive towards your work. How can you enjoy your own stuff if you can’t enjoy anything at all?

Then, I watched Shameless. Like, all of it. In one weekend. I laughed, I cried, I realized there’s nothing quite like this quaint show about lower class people in Chicago trying to make something of their lives, featuring the magnificent William H. Macy and a dozen crazily gifted child actors. It’s deeply hilarious, truly sad and politically correct all over. I loved it. I adored it.

I wanted to make it.

Take a look at these two scenes. They are from the same show. How is that even possible!?

And, just like that, my phase was cured. By realizing that otherwise, I would never be able to make something as magnificent as Shameless.

So I urge you: Watch this show. It’s truly unique.


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