Graham Gordy is a Little Rock writer and director, most recently known as the creator of the Showtime series "Quarry."

6:15 a.m. Alarm goes off. I get up and start making breakfast for our two kids, Lilla (8) and Ike (6). If the smell of bacon (one of the only things my daughter will consistently eat) or me banging around the kitchen doesn’t rouse them, I go and wake them up. It’s usually oatmeal with walnuts and raisins for me and coffee. I’ve tried every method and bought every device for good coffee. I actually think I’ve come to the limits of how good a cup of coffee can be, which makes me a little sad, but it’s still a pretty good cup.
7:20 a.m. The kids are fed, dressed, teeth brushed, pulling on their shoes as my wife holds out their lunches and they get in the car. On the drive, they take turns on music requests. I’ve brainwashed them into thinking some of my favorite bands are their favorites too, so if you see a dad and two kids having an in-car dance party at 7:30 a.m., it may be us.
8 a.m. Back home. My body feels terrible in the mornings and my mind is cluttered (and sometimes irritable) from the sprint of getting everyone fed and out the door. So I stretch for 20 minutes, meditate for 20, then read a few poems from three different poets. My wife got me some poetry books last Christmas (A Year with Rumi and A Year with Rilke) that have a poem for each calendar day. Then I usually read one or two from whatever more contemporary poet I’m reading (right now it’s Philip Larkin). It’s just a nice habit I’ve gotten into to acquaint myself with some beauty before I start the day. Poetry also turns out to be a nice sort of mind-hack for empathy.
9 a.m. Answer emails. Check in on the news (NYT and The Atlantic usually). While shaving and getting ready for the day and picking up the house, I listen to podcasts (Fresh Air or On Being or Marc Maron most frequently).
10 a.m. Research. In writing freelance there’s no guarantee of consistent employment. For every script I’ve written that’s been produced, there are two or three others that weren’t. I’m still, unfortunately, in the stage of my career where I have no idea if I’ll be able to pay my mortgage in 6 months unless things fall the right way, so I have to keep generating material.
2 p.m. Meet with Daniel Campbell and Gary Newton, my partners in the independent film start-up we created here in Little Rock, and talk about the movie we just wrapped. We discuss post-production and what our next project may be.
4 p.m. I come back home. I make a cup of coffee, my second and last of the day. This is a late-day ritual for me. Then more reading and notes.
5:30 p.m. Go to the Boys’ Club to watch my son’s first basketball practice with his new team. He finds out they’re the Warriors. Because of Steph Curry and Klay Thompson (and XBox’s NBA 2K), my son is a devotee of both Golden State and the three-pointer. I was raised in the era of Jordan, so this is foreign to me, but he couldn’t be more excited.
6:30 p.m. Because it’s two hours earlier in Los Angeles than Arkansas and because no one in Los Angeles seems to make their calls until the last few hours of their workday, I often spend my late afternoons and evenings on work calls.
7:20 p.m. My wife, bless her, has made dinner. We eat, work on homework with the kids, practice their spelling words. We tag-team baths for both and get them ready for bed.
8:15 p.m. I get a call from my manager. A half-hour comedy script I spent months on earlier this year went to networks this week. I’d gotten a call from him last night saying that a cable network that would be perfect for the show really wanted it. Tonight I find out that that boss read the script and loved it, but it’s “not the right world for them.” This is what’s devastating about this as a career, and these are the kinds of answers you get so often. You can put your heart and guts into something for months, cut yourself open and actually achieve what you wanted to creatively — and then it’s “not the right world.” There are other networks, and the project isn’t dead, but this is pretty dispiriting because their initial reaction was so positive and because it felt like the right home.
8:30 p.m. I lay down with my daughter as she’s reading before bed. Somebody smarter than me (I can’t find who) said that work is the edge between what the world needs of you and what you need to be. Work rarely goes the way you expect, and I have to remind myself that ideas, if they’re significant, will continue to work their way in. I hug her, and we talk about school and her friendships, and I remind her how much I love her as she falls off to sleep. I look at her and all the other stuff feels small.
9 p.m. I take a seat next to my wife as she watches a show, and I document my day. Then some reading. One of the perks of writing for a living is that your job is to hold a mirror up to life, and your subject matter can be whatever fascinates you about the world. This is to say that reading for pleasure and reading for work are often one and the same. Lights are out by 11 p.m.