Monthly Archives: October 2013

Jesus Saves…

… but Writing Helps.

I’m reading this tonight:

Gordy Hoffman, founder of the Bluecat Screenplay contest, wrote this a long time ago.  I’m not sure of the date, but I know it’s old.  I stumbled upon it several years ago.  Every now and again I read it.  I read it slowly, savoring it.  Shoot, I probably cry a little each time I read it, too.  Like a child hearing the retelling of the Night Before Christmas.  It makes me that kind of happy, that kind of hopeful.   I read this one particular post, especially on a night like tonight when I feel like my goals are so friggin’ far away.  I know I have a long way to go.

Thanks, Gordy.  It helps.  Every time.

And now, I’m going to sleep and saying my prayers. I’m a believer.  I’d have to be or else I’d given up a long time ago.


Artist Statement

My daughter sent me some of her ideas for her written “artist’s statement.” She needs to include them in her graduate student applications.  In her rough draft, she illustrated one of our conversations from the time her dad and I separated.

I did not know how painful this time was for her.  How did I miss that?  I remember, myself, being in complete agony.  I guess I was so consumed by it all that I failed to see what it did to her.  There are levels of selfishness.

Could I have changed it?  Should I have stopped it?

He left to find better employment.  He wanted a job that would allow him to grow,  that would use his degrees — Journalism and film making.  The plan was that he would finally be financially secure.  He thought we’d be back together soon.  We assumed that the money, the opportunities were better where he was going.  He left for the right reasons — or so we thought.

He said, “Give me one year.”  I have given him eight.

In my heart, I knew he wouldn’t be back, not any time soon.  For visits, yes, but I knew.  And yet….

I could have said, “Don’t go.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

I think about this daily.  I call it “our situation.”  We’ve grown so old and weary since that day he left.  Our children: two have graduated from high school, and two have graduated from elementary school and are now in middle school.   Our youngest, in diapers when he left, is now in third grade.

And our oldest — the one our decision probably hurt the most — is a senior in college.  This is an excerpt from her rough draft: “She slides her fourth cup of coffee across the table to her hands. ‘Well kid, tomorrow’s your first day of High School, you have to decide what you’re doing with your life soon because before you know it, it will be too late.'”

I should listen to my advice.

Better yet, I should obey it.


I just now finished another 10 page short.  Already, I have ideas regarding production, folks I want to call for a table read and other hungry actor/friends who might want to play.

Feels so good to type THE END. It never ceases to amaze me how the tiniest bit of WORK (that is WRITING, not laundry, not dishes, not vacuuming) makes me feel beautiful.

I am still stuck behind THREE unfinished feature specs, but at least for TODAY I have something that I can work with, clean up and see if it’s worth producing.

I’ll take it.

Thank you Muses (God).


md-snowglobe1Middle of the Night. I had thoughts that told me to keep fighting. ( I am only fighting myself.  There is no other fight.)

This morning, I have a headache and wait for my coffee to finish brewing. Need it now…

The TV is on and a Congressional hearing discusses the debacle of the “Affordable Care Act.”  No doubt the hearing will result in bluster and posturing, but solutions? Ha — only if one side can blame and ruin the other side.

I have a three-hour block of time before I have to leave my lair.   After those three hours, all the other stuff will resume,  But at this moment I remind myself that everyone has to fight.  And I cannot allow myself to give in to my doubts. I cannot allow despair to enter.  The circumstances don’t matter.

If I twist my life around as if I were looking at it through a snow globe, it looks pretty good.  It’s a good life. Exciting?  No.  Lonely?  Sometimes — whose isn’t?  But I’m still here.  I’m still going for what I’ve always wanted.  I haven’t quit — despite appearances.  Sometimes I wish I could.  It’s at those times I become sad.  Today I cannot allow it.

If I could pick a driving emotion today I would pick anger over sadness.  Sadness signals that I’m weakened.  Anger means I won’t go down without a fight.  Is there an option that is neither of those that will propel me forward?

Joy?  Thinking…

But not for too long. I’ve got some things to finish and need to put my thoughts there instead.

Status Update

I just added my blog address to my Twitter page.


I hide.  I hide a lot.

But every few months or so — I attempt posting my blog for people ( who? Could be very creepy, icky people) to read the stuff I write.

As soon as I know my posts are available, I become afraid.

What am I afraid of?  Easy question, easy answers:

  • YOU might be a sick son-of-a-bitch and reading my blog to hurt me in some sick, twisted way that I will have ZERO control over.
  • I will find a way more sick and twisted to retaliate.
  • YOU will think my writing sucks.
  • I will readily admit my writing sucks.
  • YOU will read all my posts
  • I become aware that within my posts I’ve made endless promises to myself and that I have broken them all.
  • You note that I am full of shit and that all my proclamations and affirmations are more bogus than your own.
  • I will have to go into hiding again.

and I will.

I give my attempt at going public to last for less than one month.  That’s probably all I will be able to stand. I am hoping that if you bothered to click on my link at all, you will be merciful and at the worst, bored.  If you’re bored — Move on.  That makes two of us attempting to do the same thing.

In the meantime,  after posting this dribble I am going to work on my other stories.

Ciao.  See you in the virtual funny papers.


P.S.  My writing doesn’t suck.

A Little Better

“…A dense fog fills our valley this morning.  I drove the kids to school despite my truck lights that work some days, but not all.”

Something like that rolled around in my head.  I can’t quite remember, but I intended to write something that started with the fog (it was an analogy to my heart and soul’s confusion and sadness) as an early morning warm-up post.

But the day pushed on before I had a chance to write.  I looked up screenplay contests.  Shorts.  Right now I am looking for contests that specialize in shorts.  I found one or two on the WITHOUTABOX website.

I have one new short.  I want to clean it up this week and enter it somewhere.  And I have another short I started, but couldn’t remember the punch line.  I had a dream the night before: Someone knocks on a door and drives this guy (the lead) nuts and then it ends up to be…. I couldn’t remember the end.   And what I did remember wasn’t funny after I woke up.  I wrote it anyway.   Two days later, I think I have an idea that will work, but wasn’t part of the dream.  I meant to write it today.

But I didn’t.

Here’s what I did.

  • looked up contests ( as I said)
  • took my youngest daughter to the doctor for an annual check up and to get her flu and HEP A shots. (She was none too thrilled).
  • wrote out bills.
  • Laundry, straightening, urged and cajoled for Nick to do his homework.
  • Found out I owe a HUGE medical bill that I was not aware of before today. (Where’s that dough gonna come from — ?  crap.
  • Emailed J to let him know the bad news.
  • Picked up my daughter from school.
  • More laundry
  • Went to my 11-year-old son’s orchestra concert with my buddy, my youngest daughter.
  • Warmed up leftovers for dinner.
  • Cleaned up.
  • Cleaned litter box.
  • poured my second glass of cheap vodka and Welch’s grape juice

and here I am.


p.s.  the fog cleared and as usual, it became a sunny, glorious autumn day.  So — Where’s the story, morning glory?  Tomorrow, I will finish the other short and then…  rip into the feature.

Pissy Mood

I spent six hours today working toward what ended up being 2 hours of actual solid writing.  Writing a SPEC screenplay – for whatever that is worth at this moment.

I am sure I have ADD.  Or maybe I just want the excuse.   Right now — I just need to say, I hate Autism.  I hate what it has done to my son.  I hate what it has done to our family.

I hate that I have nowhere to turn for help. There is nothing anyone can say.  Nothing anyone can do.  One more sympathetic look from outsiders just doesn’t cut it.

An outsider is anyone who is not part of this family — including my betrothed.  This long distance marriage is just… not.

Nothing helps.

Not even beer, not wine.




And to top it off — WORDPRESS has started to include these STINKING ADS ( see below).  Ridiculous.  I may have to join BLOGGER instead.