Monthly Archives: July 2013

Back Again

Hey — I am RIGHT in the middle of a good writing day — but I felt the urge to pop on over here. Hmmm..



Back tracking my thoughts… WHY would I break away from my script to write here right now?

Oh yeah. Now I remember.

I put some Tito’s vodka in my Diet Rite, read the first pages of JURASSIC PARK to my eleven-year-old son as a means to entice him to keep reading (It worked — that book reads GREAT out loud), and then I went back to my desk. This is where I am supposed to be, cranking out pages.

I slapped on a pair of headphones and turned on some tunes, (Vampire Weekend, specifically) and what happened?

I became distracted by my wistful, romantic side. Don’t laugh. I have one. Anyway… I started thinking the kind of thoughts that turn me into my sad, lost, fifteen-year-old self. The part of me who showed up at keggers hoping for magic instead of a bunch of drunk redneck cowboys burning down trees and yelling, “WHOAAAAAAAAAFUCKKK” while their drunk cheerleader girlfriends giggled in the back of Chevys and Fords. It’s the me who remembers river-rock beaches, midwestern lakes, Seal Beach and Malibu, beer — more beer, the green-eyed boy with long hair and tight abs — and the hope that he would be in love with me instead of her. It’s the same me who now goes to church thinking that the people gathered for coffee hour would like to talk about God and His power instead of quilting, veiled politics or a new brownie recipe.

I don’t quilt. I’m a celiac and always on a diet. I’m sick of policy and politics — it only seem to get worse. WHERE IS GOD? Let’s talk about God and the promises. Let’s discuss movies, the paranormal, ghosts, myths and where they come from, where we come from — and how is it that we’re still here? Let’s talk about all the magical things I can’t touch. The moon, space aliens, Jodie Foster in CONTACT and how did she not totally fall in love with Matthew McConaughey? I marvel and crave the emotion that makes me feel so — beautiful and young. Real love — the stuff that makes us invincible, stunning and supernatural and gorgeous.

I suppose it is love. Whatever the hell LOVE is. I feel it, sense it. It makes me dance to Vampire Weekend’s percussion, melt at the The Shins lyrics and rock out to anything Freddie* sings. It makes me write foolish, affectionate letters to people I no longer know and who no longer want to remember me. Sometimes I write those letters anyway. It feels so good as I write — but feels so horrible the moment I hit “send.”

Bah. Reality. Shit, shit, shit and shut up — would you?

It’s just childish nostalgia, the spirit of youth long past. It is my Super-hero Magical Self who has a Super Hot body and reminisces about times of passion, love and magic that only existed within me and … Blink. Who? It had to be someone. There had to be, because I was sure that someone loved me back.

It must have been my imaginary friend. Yes, I suppose it was you.


The break is over. Back to writing the script. Back to my heroine’s struggle to defeat evil and prevent the end of the world. Yes. The feet are firmly back on squishy, wishy, oozy ground. 🙂

*Freddie Mercury of Queen.