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A wise man once told me, “Don't make grand statements you can't back up”. This wise man is my editor. The same editor who doesn’t return emails. Or get back to me in time for competition deadlines. Or remember my scripts. 

He likes to keep me living on the edge. 

He also happens to be the co-writer/creator AND main character of Break a Leg (BaL), the sitcom. I could not name a more ridiculous show.   

After reading some of the previous BaL columns, I’m ashamed to disclose that I cannot match the vocabulary, let along intellect, of a tempered 17-year-old girl. So don’t expect any fancy wordsmith-ing or some mountainous revelation.  

Even if my editor is David Penn. 

I prefer to call him David. “Yuri Baranovsky” sounds terribly Russian*.  

Stop trying to pronounce it. 

Editors... I burn through ‘em like fat off a racehorse. In under a year, I had managed to impress, repulse and reduce several highly proficient editors (not something you want to include in your résumé). 

Then, David was sent.  

Almost as entertaining as oil-wrestling in Turkey, David somehow managed to lighten the editing process. Perhaps it was his delayed replies, or his never-ending corrections cunningly concealed by compliments... whatever it was, it worked. 

A little. 

So some of you may wonder what lead me to write a column. David. David Penn.  

David approached me (in an internet sort-of-way) a while back, and pretty much had a noose prepared if I rejected his invitation to write a piece. After repeatedly convincing myself it was the right thing to do, I wrote “Let’s Talk Cyber”. It was basically praising internet shows and ostracizing “the box”. 

Yes. That’s right. I was in favor of the medium BaL was using. But seeing as though a small speck of David’s inspiration comes from television, you can see how he wouldn’t quite see eye-to-eye with me. To say the least. Now, “Let’s Talk Cyber” sits in a safe buried under compost in the south of France. 

Thank you, David. 

And now I write you this, simultaneously gulping down a juice box and trying to block out my neighbors’ torturous “Its Britney, B***h” remix. 

Not like its 2 in the morning or anything. Oh, would you look at that! 

This brings me to the title, “Never share your juice box. It’s small for a reason.” Recently, I rediscovered the wonders of the juice box. For you leaf-clad folk - it’s like a sweet, punishing mixture of an inverted all-day sucker on steroids. It’s pretty badass.  

The other day I took a couple into work. As I was imbibing this somewhat holy creation, a coworker approached me and asked for a drop.  

My reply to this absurd request? I simply raised my hand, asking for silence, and finished the damn juice box.  

She’ll know not to mess with me. 

Now David hasn’t asked to share my juice box, but he has dabbed in ignoring work-related emails, confusing my script with another – and if you know his other clients, you’ll understand my frustration.  

As much as it kills me to admit this, his show isn’t half bad. In fact, there’s been times when he’s paid me enough to even praise it. But I can’t say it doesn’t get in the way of his editing. To all deluded BaL fans who believe it’s exciting to have David Penn as your editor, think again: cocky, impulsive, obnoxious, his advice rarely works, and his knowledge of screenwriting is suspect.  

I know that’s hard to digest. But please, try to keep up. 

I understand why you would be interested in knowing what its like to work with one of the creators of BaL. And to bring you justified peace, I could tell you David is the air that we breathe. But that would be a lie.  

And lying is a horrible, horrible thing.  

Working with David is like playing the glockenspiel - more fun to say than play. Or like rewinding a scene of flying geese, simply to see them fly backwards.  

For crying out loud… Britney Spears, meet Led Zeppelin.  

With this, one might conclude that David is a phenomenally poor editor. I wouldn’t say phenomenally. His empty praise is entertaining, his optimistic views are uplifting, and his conceptual ideas are... inimitable.  

Now I’d love to go on about how inappropriate his conduct is, his vulgarity and lack of decency, his over exaggerated jokes/puns, and his tardy response to everything I send him, but I have to get back to work. 

He’s expecting an outline in the morning.  
 

*No explanation needed.

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Thanks for reading!

-Yuri