I've been gone for too long. There is just too much of life to write random shit that no one reads, but I'm going to try. I'll try not to care if it's not shared, and I'll try not to cry. There's no guarantees in life except that we'll die, and that's just too depressing to hold on to. So, I'll share the ride even if I'm the only one to care.

SO MUCH FOR THAT

So much for writing every day. Life intervened, and I'm not even going to try and catch you up to date. Let's just start anew. Suffice it to say that I'm doing well, maybe better than that. I have a new job and a new outlook. I've been working on being positive more than negative. It's the 5 to 1 principle. This means that you give five positives for every negative comment or redirection. This is based on research that shows successful businesses and marriages are based on this principle. I learned this in research I was conducting to create and present information in a workshop for my new position. It changed my life. Well, I hope it changes my life. 

My son is a recluse at 16 years old. I don't know why. He's had a Beaver Cleaver childhood with the same home, parents, and rules. It's not that we are overly negative people. But the odds are that if you do something, our immediate family and extended family will tease, lecture, or give you advice. This is negative and we definitely don't overpower this with positive remarks or recognition. It comes from a good place; we want to help each other get better.However, it makes the odds of dealing with each other, and in the case of my son dealing with all people, a losing proposition. So, who's going to play those odds? It's a game my son has opted out of.

I have been trying to turn around the odds in favor of interaction by educating and emphasizing the importance of positive feedback. There has been some hurt feelings and arguments in this process too, but I assure them all that I'm also on a steep learning curve. It is important to note that positive feedback is most effective if the feedback is genuine and specific to an action that deserves positive attention and is beneficial in its repetition. In effect, we make our interactions an overall higher percentage of win to fail. THAT's a game  worth playing; one in which you have a great likelihood of winning. Therefore, the hope is that my son will get back in the game of personal interactions because the odds are in his favor to feel good when he interacts with people.

In the first week of my new 'smiley face' theory, my husband began kissing me good-bye in the morning again after ten years. I hadn't even thought how this would impact my relationship with my husband. We had a good relationship. We liked to spend time together. I feel more loving towards him too. WOW! I even began sending him nice loving text messages during the day.

By the second week, with a few renewed efforts, my son began to seek us out for interactions and conversations. He began to go places with us again like the store and the movies. He began initiating hugs and affection-he had never done this before. He began saying nice things to us! Yes, he's a teenager. He would call me 'Dumbo' before, and now he's telling me that I'm a great teacher. I am flabbergasted and elated.

I never thought that such a small change, though it does take concerted thought to continue, could impact my life so completely. Give it a try and share your stories with me. I hope they transform your life too.

FADE AWAY

My "Maybe" Song

If Only...

If only I had all day to write and dream up words and worlds that would last forever. If only I didn’t have a time job that sucks out most of my energy. If only I didn’t have a family that I love to spend time with. If only I didn’t have to bathe and eat and all those other things necessary to survive in society. If only I could prove and show the genius behind these bars to the world. If only I could let loose instead of tapping a tin cup against the steel cage in which my writer’s soul thrashes. If only I could deny the world my presence to create a present the world can unwrap their minds around for eternity.

Great American Pitch Fest 2014

I am still recuperating from an exhausting two days at the Great American Pitch Fest. It was held at the Marriott Hotel and Conference Center across from the Burbank Airport, California. How could I turn down two days jam-packed with seminars and like-minded screenwriters for $25? I couldn’t. After teaching summer school, I drove wildly through the Los Angeles freeways Friday madness and arrived in time to gobble down a sandwich that I packed that morning (thankfully since that was all I ate all day) and register. The classes lasted an hour and a half each. They ran from 1:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. on Friday and from 11:00 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. on Saturday. I didn't attend the pitch event on Sunday because I knew that I wasn't ready quite yet, and I couldn't stand all that rejection on my birthday. The speakers were varied: agents, authors, directors, managers, producers, and writing coaches. I left with more skill, but less hope of actually breaking into screenplay super stardom. I am exhausted, mentally and physically. My back and bum ache from the slightly padded conference seats. The best part was learning specific skill sets that I can apply to my art. The camaraderie was nice, but sparse. It is a competitive market. The worst parts were the statistics. Shane Black said, “93% of you have no talent. I can say that because you all think that you are the 7% that do have talent.” Is that me? A published author and paid screenwriter said that it took most people 10 years to practice writing before they were good enough to get sold. In spite of stark statistics, I rest and continue writing even if I’m too old, not talented, and inexperienced.

Ready the Blow

I tell myself over and over again, "Ready yourself for the blows." I have read about famous authors with staggering numbers of rejections or a now best-selling novel that was rejected numerous times. I think I'm ready for that first 'no' as sure as losing the lottery. BUT, it still stings. I will never be ready. Another person in California won the $425 million PowerBall, AND I got my first agent pass. It was a polite and inspiring rejection, but it doesn't matter how it's served. It hurts and emotional nerve-endings inflame. I must massage my ego back to work and continue to buy more lottery tickets. 

Friendly Edits

I begged some of my family, close friends and peers, who happen to be very intelligent educators, to read my children's short chapter book. They gave incredible feedback. At first I was elated because it unstuck me. I had finished and edited a few times already. I just didn't know where to go with it; I was stuck in a catatonic state. They gave me that little push to get rolling again down that hill, and the movement was exhilarating. But then I couldn't seem to stop and the feat seemed near impossible. I'm not the type of rider that likes to climb steep roller-coaster mountains and zoom down at break-neck speed.  So, I have to forcefully put the breaks on and slow down the revisions and the dizzying 180 degree turns. This is what it's all about: the elation, creation, sweat, tears, and lottery quest for publication. This is a ride that can dump me at the back of the line again and again, and why not? So many better before me have waited there too.

One More Notch on the Pencil

I finished a short children's chapter book last week, a very rough draft. This week, I finished a first reread and edit. Tomorrow, I will send out to friends for feedback.

I began this journey with an idea in mind and mulled it over for a few weeks. I created a quick outline for each chapter. Then, I jumped right in and wrote it. I had to tell myself constantly to just let it flow even though it might be runny diarrhea of ruminations. The real craft comes in the edits. It worked and I finished the whole process in about six weeks.

Now on to receiving criticism with grace and wit enough to stick to the original vision,yet be flexible enough to see the wisdom in their words. Maybe I'll even sell it and then won't that make my year?

On to the next project, bigger and better.

My Merry Mad Way

It’s been a while since I posted anything, and this may be nothing too. The concrete has taken over and weighed me down. I vacillate between wanting to write and filling the needs of my family. Can I write to help my family and fill both needs? It doesn’t work that way, at least for me. I have to be in a place mentally and physically in which I lose myself in the process, living upon a different level. But thoughts intrude on even the most secluded moments (though these are few). I think to myself about what will please the reader, the editor, grammar police…I get spun around by tornadoes of thought and strain against the winds to reach what? No one will want to read the pinnacle of my piece until everyone wants to read it. Therein lies the crux: to go along my merry mad way or to bow to an audience of finance?

Dreading Monday teaching in the 'hood. Here is one of many reasons:

 NO ONE CRIES

talking to another teacher

just outside my classroom

with an interruptive feature

boom, boom, boom, boom

we paused and wondered

and then continued to talk

something closely plundered

just around the corner walk

it was on the news that night

a man from another division

walking his sister on the right

on a street just west of Mission

kids were streaming home

walking by the local school

some groups, some lonesome

all ethnic types were cool

a car stopped on the street

the passenger jumped out

ran behind the man with heat

and popped him real neat

just one hurt in that crime

and the shooter got away

but many more were shot in time

many more were yet to pay

our students gathered round

the fallen man and distraught

when emergency crews found

and a war was randomly wrought

I was not there, but saw the news

and prepared for student trauma

the next day as we faced the bruise

but they shrugged and continued on

Research Rally

Pouring my minutes and moments into two new projects, a script and a book. I’m finishing research and brain storming for the script as I step lightly into the writing. Does research and idea generation ever REALLY stop? So excited that I’ve got to rein in my creative chaos to organize a written wallop of all those chimeras.


I am also planning for a book with possibilities of many volumes. This presents a huge amount of research and planning from settings, characters, and plots. Writers out there know how research can take over your life and time, sometimes a curse and at others a celebration.


All in all, loving it!

Film Writing Failure

So, a year ago I wrote my first script. It was 130 pages! I know, I know. I tried to trim it down but I couldn't part with any more after trimming 20 pages from that. I decided to write a family action film that my son and I had talked about because I figured it would be a throw away first film. When I finished, I immediately began to write another one as I submitted that one to a contest.

To my surprise and delight, I made it through the first round...but most everyone did. They also offered services to critique your film. AHA! They wanted me to pay for some extra services or a fee to resubmit with changes! I wasn't going to fall for that trick. I just let it ride through the next round, and it made it. Now, I was getting giddy with dreams of a big paycheck and stardom. This time, I did cut the pages down and paid an extra fee to resubmit with a rewrite. I made it through the next round too. My dreams exploded. I blazed through pages of Zillow to find my new dream home in Newport Beach.

Then, the final round results came after months of build up. I read the names five times, and mine was missing. Dashed! I had finished two more scripts in this time and a few more contests too. Nothing had gone well. How could I have let myself get carried away? I know it takes TIME to get good at a thing. Did I really think that I could make it big on my first script? YES!!!

Now, I have to bolster my esteem and keep writing. Ahhhh. It's so difficult, and I feel so guilty for licking my wounds and whining too long to myself. The plan: share the pain in my blog, get group feedback on my scripts, and settle for being a bad writer...till the next round.

Meetup.com is better than class warfare!

I did it. I joined a writer's group from meetup.com, and I love it. We get to hear other people read their projects and I get to read mine. Being that I already think mine is crap, I'm not shy to share. In the past two weeks, I was surprised that some of my poems were well received, and the comments were spectacular! Members gave me spot-on advice for crafting blog posts too. Best of all, I didn't have to pay anyone.

So yesterday, I read the twelve page beginning of a script that I wrote for a contest recently. Twelve pages that I toiled over for weeks and then submitted. To my utter surprise, I did not win and I didn't know why. My writing group said that the action did not happen soon enough (meaning=bored at the beginning). "Where do you think the action begins?" I asked. ALL the members said a point near the end of my twelve page well-crafted, and what I thought was exciting action. Basically, I spent weeks just crafting a back story. Hmmmm. I'm still deciding if I want to start all over. No, I'm just pulling your leg or my leg. I definitely don't want to give this project any more of my time. Why? I don't think that I have the background or knowledge to write about the region and historical period to give the story it's due. I still love the idea; I'm just not the person to research and write it.

I'm still overjoyed with the revelation. Chip, chip away at my ignorance.

DREAMER

Who am I if not a dreamer?

Not a writer or poet

not a teacher or mother

maybe before the age of steam

people worked too hard to dream

Who am I if not a dreamer?

not a sports enthusiast

not an actor or gardener

work is now compartmentalized

our extracurricular is super-sized

Who am I if not a dreamer?

not an adventurer or student

not  game player or changer

my mind is buzzing and blinking

multiplied by facts for thinking

Who am I if not a dreamer?

professor of possibilities

and a strategic schemer

I am not just a survivor

there is magic to fly for

Are there people without dreams? Who are they? What do they do?

INTERRUPTED

I am sitting at my desk looking towards the door because I have family that will sneak up on you and laugh as you clutch your chest, not to mention erase the one great thought that you were nurturing  for just the right moment to BOOM! So, I boot up the laptop and open the project that has been consuming me. I reread what has been written and get back into the story. Thoughts are whirling around so I close my eyes while I type to shut out any visual distractions. I capture the word marquis that moves through my mind with racing strokes and...the door squeaks open.  

I try to keep my eyes shut but the fear of being pranked is too great.  I open my eyes and try to pause the flow while glaring at the intruder. My husband stares until he realizes that I'm focusing the death ray vision at him.  He walks in like he has an invisibility cloak and riffles through the drawers for some papers. All the time I stare at him over the laptop screen. He thinks that by not looking at me that he hasn't actually 'bothered' me or the writing process, but the cinema of words so carefully crafted in brain vision is now gone...forever.  He walks out without looking at me and closes the door. He doesn't actually take anything except my  laser beam focus. He will suffer later, I promise.

I tell myself to let it go and move forward. If after forty-three years of obsessive reading I can't come up with another idea or some visionary phrases, I should call it quits anyway. I tap out another tune, and I'm getting a whole new groove on  in a new direction. Suddenly a tantalizing twist turns through my thoughts, I try to capture it like a bubbling floating upward when my daughter barges through the door.

She twirls around in the middle of the carpet, goes out, comes in, and then stands before me with her hands on her hips. "I'm bored," she says. I keep tap, tap, tapping. She gets closer and waves her hand in front of my face. "Hello?" she demands. My fingers freeze and I try to capture the twisting turning bubble as it slips away from conscientiousness.  "You're not even writing!" she screams.  "Go away," I say. "How rude!" she stomps out. I yell to close the door. I bellow two more times. I try to ignore the open door, drone of music, and incessant TV chatter.

I can't recapture any semblance of pace so I take a break from the aforementioned text and switch to editing a poem that is half begun. I read it through until the thoughts, rhymes, and connections zoom through my mind and my fingers, and SPLAT onto the screen. As I muster up the middling climax, my 'tween son pushes his body through the door and flops on the sofa (okay it's really a bed) with his arm dramatically flung over his face. I look at him...the screen...him. This too shall pass. He has to learn to figure out his own problems. Right?

Growing up among girls, I didn't know how dramatic boys could be until this past year. His storms are not episodic like my sisters or daughters, quick and explosive. His are epic with a beginning that builds to a massive middle and ends as a novella with a possible sequel. He quakes and boils, holding back tears. His voice cracks as he tries to man up and put his tragedy into words and grunts. Can empathy emanate from my pores while I continue to write? What was I writing? Will he notice? He will surge for hours, brew deeper injustices, and plot strategic solutions or revenge. It breaks my heart as he starts to gasp for air and his body trembles.  It's hopeless,  I must batten down the laptop hatches before I throw it through the window and weather the storm  to shelter my musings for calmer conditions , like maybe a class five rapids.

What distractions are disasters that keep you from capturing the fragile flight of ideas and drive you mad?

Chewing and Spewing

I want to spew forth my idea perfectly formed without obsessive life-altering revisions. Projectile verse would save me a lot of time and sanity. I understand how my sixth grade students feel when I tell  them that great writing is in the visions of their revisions. But I can barely bring myself to swallow this binge-purge of truth. The idea, the meal is so settled in my mind that it SHOULD burst forth as a perfectly orchestrated Disney firework display. Sadly, this is not the case. The words, the events, the organization, and the decisions are painstakingly slow processes. I'd rather write about it then actually do it. Ergo...this piece.

How do you structure your revisions so that you don't go bonkers?

The Journey

The journey continues as I joined a writer’s group that meets in San Dimas, California. We meet in a small taco restaurant. It was interesting to listen to other people’s writing and to gauge the reaction to my own. We meet weekly, and this gives me a goal to work towards every week so that I can possibly share a new something; be it a poem, short story, or snippet of something else.

What journeys have lead you to be a writer?

DISTRACTION

What is life without people?
Not much of any meaning.
But each new body of intrusion
takes up space in the churning psyche.
This leaves one with very little
time to age the line of creativity.

How do you overcome the guilt of spending more time writing than with the people you love?

Dating Advice

Choose to date someone who thinks you're hot
over those who think they're hot and you're not.

Do you have any dating advice?