effects of marination

After I've had time to marinate on what the agent said, I've decided that he is full of shit. If he was so keen to work with me and my project, then last week I would've been signing contracts and toasting bubbly instead of taking more useless notes. That being said, I've decided to continue marketing "Mixtape" as I had in the past. Don't get me wrong- I'm still massaging that new draft but not specifically for that prodco. Cards on the table: I'm gonna be thirty-three next year, so I don't have time to sit around and play "who dat say who dat when I say who dat" with some gaggle of third tier wannabes.

notes from an L.A. producer's waiting room part deux

10 Dec 2008- Later.

Okay, so it's after the meeting and the agent guy said that he's keen to work with me, but that I should do another draft of the script and hopefully, it'll be (A-list actress) ready. This draft has to be perfect, man! totally perfect. I really want a movie theatre premiere. Even what's-his-nuts talked about how he could totally see my movie in the theaters. I can't start thinking about long red carpets and little gold statues. Gotta churn out that draft.

notes from an L.A. producer's waiting room

10 Dec. 2008 (written while in the waiting room)

Wow! I cannot believe this dude is yelling at his secretary in front of me! How unprofessional. Plus, their offices are in the freaking barrio. Hey, I dunno how to even spell "barrio", but hopefully I won't have to spell it again.

There's one guy that seems like he's pretty cool. He's brown, sort of a Ramses-type, but nice enough. But that other joker? Sheesh almighty! Never wanna run into him on a bad day.

What's-his-nuts is running late, so I'm cold chillin' in their waiting room. A REAL LIVE MOVIE PRODUCER'S waiting room!!! I know I'm sounding mad goober, but it's just too exciting for words. Hopefully, this'll all be over soon and I can get back to the business at hand- writing.

Side note: I bought this notebook because I didn't bring a small, purse-sized one for the meeting. I dunno if I'm supposed to be taking notes or not but I figure showing up with pen and paper is always a plus.

Okay, so home skillet is now a good twenty minutes late. I'm starting to have my doubts. I mean, really? With the barrio digs and the angry "bosses" running around? You'd think with all the loot they made from (really popular movie franchise), they'd have a clock up in this piece. Still, I am digging the exposed brick, Ikea furniture of it all.

Ramses just poked his head out and offered me water, Oreo snacks and/or trail mix. What a considerate pharaoh! I took the water (just like the "taking a meeting" chapter of the book said to), but truth be told, I'm not all that thirsty.

Dude is SO not respecting my time. Katmandu has somewhere to go- I can't be sitting here jacking around. This just shows me that there's probably no money for me today *sigh*. Twenty more minutes and then my chocolate ass is bouncing.

hotel california

Fast forward a few days (and more than a few missing blogs): I'm writing this from my hotel room in Los Angeles waiting for Katmandu to finish with school so she can drive my nervous ass down to give my spiel. I wonder what's gonna happen? I have a sneaking suspicion that they're not going to just buy the script, but it'll be awesome practice for me to pitch. I wonder how many people will be in the room? There's no point thinking about those things, though. I mean, I can't very well call ahead and be like "Yeah, you better not have a whole lot of punk suckers in the room trying to intimidate me and shit. Mama don't play that", can I? There's not much else for me to do but finish this blog and dance along to the "Thriller" video. Do you know how hard it is to pull off a zombie-shuffle/ overhead-combo while typing?

Anyway, I've gotta go to Ralphs for some foodstuffs. Catch you on the flip side.

full steam ahead

I received an email from the production company- they're all for meeting on 10 December at 1:00pm. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it, but I've got to try. I mean, this could be my first and last chance to make that impression! Gotta get to practicing my pitch, man. It's all about the pitch.

Unfortunately, all is not as it seems. I've fallen off the wagon and am now 112 pounds and swelling. I need a new fat blocker, but I'm so over the whole "better living through Hydroxycut", you know? I'm 32 years old and in need of measures more drastic. For instance, I was looking in the mirror today before my shower and noticed that my tuchas has taken to sliding down the backs of my thighs. That's right- deflated, pancake booty and trust me when I say that it is not cute. I asked my husband if he could see what was happening and he was all "Yeah. Do you want a gym membership"? What??? That's the last time I ask his yellow ass anything. Resolved: when I start making serious writing money, it's all about the butt lift. And a boob job. And maybe a nose job...

OMG! OMG! OMG!

Here's the minor news- the producer is moving full steam ahead with Holiday Plans, with shooting set to begin on 6 December. I can't believe that these guys are so serious. I mean, after being burned by the "Pusherman" (i.e, rewrites of rewrites of rewrites only to end up as a big fat MAYBE), I figured this one wouldn't go anywhere, either. But here I am smack in the middle of a no-shit production schedule. The character's audition videos really got me hyped, though. The kids they cast are too cute.

And the major news is...I have a meeting!!! That's right! I got an email from a prodco today asking me if I was in the Los Angeles area and, if so, they'd like to set up a meeting with me. This was based on a script they'd read several months ago. Meetings are second only to two picture deals and paydays when it comes to the Holy Grail of writing. Meetings are the stuff nocturnal emissions are made of. Well, that and random proteins but you see my point. So, anyway, after I finished jumping around and screaming, I emailed them back and told them that I wasn't in the area, but I could be there by Tuesday and did they still want to meet? When I get an answer, I'll let you know...

the fastest pre-production in the history of mankind

So, I spoke with the director of my Christmas short. Although it was difficult to tell, what with all the ego coming through the phone and all, I believe he liked the script. I'm not 100% because he was careful not to say that he liked it, only that my script was "the one that stuck out the most out of all we read". Whatever, Slick. I'll take my compliments when I can get 'em. Anyway, he also said that they have been location scouting and-get this!- they already have the main house and the other locations! They have also started accepting applications for the main characters (three kids- Jordan, Gracie and Theo). All in all, the director made it clear that he and his crew plan to have a finished product between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Wow. And to think I just finished the script yesterday!

got me a horse, got me a script

It's a quarter to eight at night and I just sent off the infamous Christmas script. It's called "Holiday Plans". Ya'll, that was the quickest script I'd ever written. Fifteen pages in three days doesn't seem like all that much, but you want it to be as perfect as it can be, so it takes a lot of mental energy to turn in something that you're proud of. That being said, I can honestly say that "Holiday Plans" turned out better than I thought it would. Yay, me!

I also signed up to judge screenwriting contest entries. I have five to read and score within two weeks. I'm about halfway through the first one. It's fun to read this one because this is obviously a beginning screenwriter and, although there are massive chunks of exposition and nary a correctly formatted page, I can tell that this person is a storyteller. It reminds me of my first couple of scripts- I knew what I wanted to say, but just didn't know how I wanted to say it. Trust me, this writer will get by with a little help from her friends.

As for me, I'll get by with a little help from my ends. I start working at T.R.U this weekend and stand to make some serious holiday duckets. After the holidays, they want me to stay on in an HR capacity. If the honey is sweet enough, I just may, but first let's see how this weekend goes.

putting the script before the horse

I made a stupid mistake last Friday. I responded to an add from an amateur filmmaker who was looking for short Christmas scripts. Usually, that wouldn't have been a problem except I hadn't actually written the script. That's right, kiddos. Yours truly had forgotten that all that existed of this "script" was a detailed outline and basic character arcs- light years away from a finished product. So anyway, the filmmaker writes me back on Friday and is all "Yeah, I'm loving your concept. Can you send me the script"? I'm all "Sure, no prob" and start searching my hard drive like mad for this script. After an hour or so of searching, it dawned on me that I had NOTHING! So instead of writing them back and telling them that I'd make a mistake, I did what any self-respecting writer would do: set about the business of shitting out a 15 page script by Monday. I mean, we can always do rewriters; that's expected. But to turn in nothing would be unacceptable.

That being said, I just finished my first draft. Excuse me while I put red pen to paper. I'll let you know how it all turns out.

the myth of Bernard Cliff

Yesterday, I got a seasonal job as an overnight stocker at a toy store. This way, I can make an extra $200 a week and get a nice discount on my son's toys for Christmas. Yay, me. But that's not the best news. This morning, I got an email from the Shoestring Radio Theatre. As luck would have it, they liked my radio play called "Back from the Brink" and are going to record it next month with a broadcast date of late May 09. SRT is an Internet radio station dedicated to streaming radio drama, which is funny because my script was a comedy. At least, it was supposed to be. I dunno. Maybe they thought I was serious...

"Back from the Brink" (working title: Axl Staxx) is a mock NPR-type radio show between a mild-mannered commentator and aging rocker Axl Staxx. He's on the show to promote his memoir "Back from the Brink". The memoir has been plugged as a harrowing account of his descent into addiction and how he clawed his way back to sobriety. Instead, as the interview progresses, the commentator realizes that Axl's "addiction" amounts three weeks of a YooHoo binge culminating in piles from sitting bare-assed on cold concrete. Not to mention that Axl's real name is Bernard Cliff and he has never done anything remotely rock star-ish beyond smoking a joint once seventeen years ago.

I got the idea from listening to Motley Crue's Nikki Sixx on NPR last year. Nikki was there to promote his memoir "The Heroin Diaries". As I'm listening to him, I'm thinking, "Wow. What a colossal douchebag". Does he think he's the only person with a heroin problem? The only celebrity with a heroin problem? The only celebrity from L.A. with a heroin problem? The only celebrity from Motley Crue with a heroin problem? Back in the day, rock was synonymous with H. Hey, here's another H for ya, Sixx: HACK. Anyhoo, listening to that and the famous Aerosmith Toxic Twin stories just got me thinking about how the addiction song remains the same and wouldn't it be funny if, when all is said and done, none of these kumquats actually DID anything?

no job bob

That's me! No Job Bob. Unemploy Joy. But that's neither here nor there. My husband's gone for the next week or so, so I've got a lot of time to write and reflect. I'm working on a ten minute play for a contest right now. The theme is "Playing God". So far, I have about three pages done. I know where I want to go with the story, but whether or not the audience wants to go there with me remains to be seen.

gonna fly now

Today I have one mission and one mission alone: to find the sheet music to Rocky. I rented a trumpet yesterday morning and have been playing ever since. It's so much fun to play a musical instrument again! Next, I want to learn the guitar. I have an electronic learning guitar, but the neck is too wide (or my hands are too midgety- whatever), so I'll save my pennies and buy myself one someday.

I have things I wanted to do today, but in truth- I don't feel like doing a damned thing. My son's teacher called me yesterday and, in short, his behavior is terrible. He talks all the time, makes noises and generally disrupts the class. It makes me angry because I'm trying to raise him the best I can, but something just isn't clicking. On top of that, my husband is leaving again on some kind of business trip, so I'm left to mop up this crap. It's not his fault; it's just the way things are. I've gotta get a specialist referral today so we can get him tested for ADHD. *sigh*

Depression is a word that I tend to throw out there every other day, but this overwhelming feeling of being, well...overwhelmed isn't going away. I've felt anxiety since we moved here. Granted, there's no other place on our list of choices I would have wanted to live, but I never knew it would be this hard here. The no job/ misbehaving kid thing has really got me down.

the end is nigh

Listening to commentary on the election has got me thinking. A lot of evangelicals talk about how Obama is the anti-Christ and his election will signal the beginning of the End Times. I know that the Anti-Christ is supposed to be loved by all and eventually will require people to worship him, but I just can't see that with Barack Obama. Still, it makes me nervous that I might be alive when the end of the world happens. Are these the ramblings of misguided racists or gospel truth?

If you listen to Jews, the temple on the mount has to be rebuilt a third time before the Tribulation. But I'm not Jewish, so I'm going with the Anti-Christ story. For me, this election was about much more than keeping Roe v. Wade in tact or raising the minimum wage. It was about giving myself and my son a few more years on Earth before Judgement Day.

That's what's been weighing on my mind as of late. Am I being the Christian that I was called to be? I just don't want to be caught short on the day of reckoning, you know what I mean?

thinner

It was a terrible and forgettable book by Stephen King, but describes my current situation. In the past two days, I've lost about six pounds and I'm not even trying! I know, I know-I'm on a perpetual quest to lose as much weight as possible and increase my "fly in a bikini" quotient, but this is different. I feel light headed, but I'm not hungry. I eat at about 10:30am (two JIB tacos) and again at dinner.

At first, I thought that maybe I was sick (diabetes, thyroid issue), but I don't feel sick. I just feel exhausted. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was stressing myself over this whole post-Slamdance letdown mess. You know, as I type it out, I do believe that's precisely what's wrong. Life is passing me by, the world may very well end tomorrow and I wouldn't have completed what I believe is my life's work. I'm going to take a nap.

breathe again

Whew!

I finally received my rejection letter from Nickelodeon Studios. I've been waiting months for it and they didn't disappoint. My "I'm sorry, but you still suck" letter arrived on cute orange paper and a really neat envelope. Oh well. There's always next year. Next month, I find out if I got into the Disney Fellowship. With this one, I might have a chance in hell because the sample I submitted was the Slamdance script. I submitted my ill-fated "Cavemen" spec to Nickelodeon. *sigh* Live and learn.

Right now, I'm supposed to be reworking a play called "Slow Burn" for a contest. This contest is open to one act plays that deal with peace in some way. I would normally balk at such a wack concept, but there's no entry fee and the prize is $500. Guess I better get on my grind, huh? The play is about three naive Ohioans who move to San Francisco at the tail end of the Age of Aquarius (each for different reasons, all searching for peace). Instead of finding the peace they wanted, they each find the peace that they needed. One ends up dead, one ends up swallowed by what's left of the "movement" and one reinvents herself by joining the Establishment. Now all I need is a better title than "Slow Burn" and I'm all set. I was thinking of taking part of song title, but that's lazy (i.e, "Mighty Real"). Hmm. I'll get back to you on the title situation. It'll be a lot easier to think of one now that I'm not holding my breath for Nickelodeon.

the stall remains the same

Two weeks after the competition and nothing has changed. I'm still lounging around in our outdoor living area (which is quickly becoming my second office), listening to Jim Croce and shooting off queries to agents. I've sent five so far via email and contacted three by phone. Score: Agents-3, Literary Genius-0. Whether or not email queries bear fruit remains to be seen. I should be calling more, but it's lunchtime on a Friday in Los Angeles. In truth, I may send off five more queries before days end. On the other hand, I may continue to lay here and listen to the wind rustle through the trees.

mediate, appreciate, defecate...

Quick updates:

1) I didn't spontaneously defecate when I made the Slamdance Top 50 nor did I die when I made the Top 25. I guess those really are just figures of speech, huh? For the record, I have spontaneously defecated before and it was not fun. I lost a big hunk of dignity, not to mention a great pair of footless tights.

2) "Potty Mouth" made it to the semifinals of a playwriting competition in North Carolina, but didn't win. What is wrong with this play?? It is my favorite of them all, but I can't BUY a production! "Mighty Real" hits the stage next month- my convoluted, period melodrama featuring a drag queen. I didn't think MR was all that great, but I'm not looking a gift horse in his play producing mouth.

3) Kat made her roommate cry. That's what I'm talking about.

4) I'm totally stressing over this LD thing. My greatest wish? LD gets made, I get an agent, they ask what else I've got and I push out the wheelbarrow o' stuff. What I'm afraid will happen? LD will fizzle out, I get disillusioned and never win that Oscar. Well, that's my second biggest fear. My first biggest fear is that Popeyes will go out of business and I'll never get my two piece (mild) with a biscuit (2 honey packets and cajun rice- wot, wot!) again.

5) Popeyes was the reason I spontaneously defecated in the first place. Wow! How's that for circular? :-)

woe is L.D.

So this afternoon, I get an email from Slamdance and attached is an email from a production company I contacted yesterday. It said that they do not accept unsolicited material. What?! I called these ass phantoms yesterday and got the go-ahead to send the script via Slamdance. The Slamdance coordinator girl was all "Don't worry about these people. There will be plenty more who want to read your script".

Or will there?

Later on, I get another email sent to me along with the rest of the Slamdancers. The gist of it was that the inquires about our scripts are slowing down and she highly recommends that we do some personal marketing of our own and try to seek representation. This makes me anxious. I've contacted almost every agent in the Hollywood Representation Directory and gotten the same response: no. I emailed CB's manager's assistant yesterday to see if she received the script and still haven't gotten an answer. Why is this happening? Is my script not good enough? Is the moon not yet full? Am I too short- what's the dealy?

Okay- I've gotta get back on the phones. I'll let you know if something wonderful happens.

showCASE I didn't tell you

So a while back, I alluded to my husband winning a bunch of stuff on the Price is Right. That statement is a little misleading; he won the entire show! Showcase and all, ya'll. We're talking a fly-ass scooter, a car, two carat diamond ring, an HD tv, oh, and a trip to Fiji. Under normal circumstances, I would have been happy for him, but the timing couldn't have been more awful. See, while I was in Los Angeles, skipping around like a freaking wood sprite, high off Slamdance- he had already won and didn't tell me. I'm thinking I'm the shit and he's all- "Oh, yeah. I won a car". I was so angry, I burst out crying. He outdid me again! He does this all the time! Not on purpose, mind. He just has this gift for unintentionally making me feel like crap. But I am thankful that he's not a selfish loser. If he were, I wouldn't be getting a scooter for Christmas! :-)

The past two weeks have been pretty writing/ editing intensive. Since Slamdance, I've been on the phone with prodco's (production companies- forgive the lazy fingers this morning) and agents, trying desperately to drum up some heat for Lucas Donovan. Quite a few people have risen to the bait, but whether or not I can hook 'em remains to be seen.

Speaking of big fish (that's my last angling metaphor), guess who I spoke to two days ago? None other than young Mr. Corbin Bleu's manager! That's right! Your girl was perusing imdb and noticed that CB had new "people"- one of the newbies was this manager. According to imdb, he doesn't have any other clients except CB (score!). Next step- cross reference him with the Hollywood Creative Directory. He's in there and on the up and up. So, I give him a call and talk the gatekeeper. She's really sweet and I use my newfound schmooze tactics to get the manager himself on the phone. I talk up my script like it was handed down to me from the mountain top and he agrees to read it. That was two days ago. Is that awesome or what???!!! If he likes it and passes it to CB, then I will officially be verklempt. *sigh* Luck be a curly haired Disney boy today...

depressed

I'm watching Saving Silverman and am growing increasingly upset. This movie has the thinnest plot in the universe. It's barely entertaining and yet here I sit on my film scripts...I'm also searching for another job and it's just not working. Why doesn't anybody want to hire me? Maybe Stacie was right. Maybe my people skills do suck. But that can't be it. I freaking ROCK in interviews! I just don't understand. I'm so glad I'm not due at my crap job until Tuesday. This gives me plenty of time to mope. *sigh* I'm going to bed.

still stalling

I've summarized (or "treated") up to page 71 of this 90 page script, but it's slow going. I think this thing is supposed to be about five pages long, but I'm still on the first page! Maybe I'm missing stuff. I know I left out a lot of the subplots and all of the minor characters. How much of that crap am I supposed to leave in?

For those of you who care, a treatment isn't just a dry summary. It's supposed to be written as entertaining and intense as me sitting in front of an exec and talking about it. Still, I think I'll have to find better ways to say "grab-ass" and "slapped the shit out of".

Okay. No more games. I'm getting back to work.

treatment

I told you things were gonna get better!

Post-Slamdance, the ol' adrenaline levels lowered and I danced danger close to depression territory. But all was not lost. The folks from the contest wrote me yesterday with two pieces of good news. Number one- my script has been requested by/ sent to two new production companies above and beyond the original sponsors. Number two- everyone has been requesting information on the winning scripts, so they need a treatment of our works no later than Monday. Grr! I don't have a script treatment on hand, so after I finish this blog, I have to try and make one up. I'm worried that everybody else has treatments already made up and I don't. If that's the case, then I'll be behind the power curve. But I shouldn't worry about what everybody else has, right? I just need to make sure I bring my "A" game.

I don't know how to write a treatment, so I called my mentor to get some help. True to form, he said "You're over-thinking this, kid. Just write it and read it to me over the phone".

Last night, my sister called me upset about her roommate who is an idiot from Arizona. I already don't like Arizona people because they were one of the last ones to recognize Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. day. ANYway, she's having issues with this cow and it made me angry. Not because I don't think my sister can handle her business, but because I wasn't there to "fix" it. Back in the day, I wouldn't hesitate to jump in somebody's shit on her behalf (a crazy JROTC kid comes to mind) and I SO wanted to rock that little girl's world last night. But I know she put it down on that girl so advanced kudos to Kat!

Okay, I'm gonna stop stalling and get back to this treatment. Wish me luck.

dat n*gga in the alley

Man, has it been a weekend or what? On Friday, I went to the Slamdance awards ceremony. My stomach was in knots the entire way there. I couldn't concentrate on anything all day. All I kept thinking was- what if I came all the way out here, my husband paid all this money, and I don't win anything? What if I'm not even an honorable mention? So, I got there and it was crawling with stereotypical literary types: all tweed, elbow patches and black framed eyeglasses. You could spit and hit a peasant skirt. Naturally, I thought: how am I supposed to schmooze in here? Fast forward to the awards: the honorable mentions were announced: no "Lucas Donovan". Then she started from the bottom: "Number 10...Number 9 is...". Still no me. Then she called number five and it was "Lucas Donovan"!!! I was top 5 at Slamdance, yo! I scurried up to the front to get my bag and damned if I couldn't stop smiling. I didn't want to make anyone else feel bad, but your girl was relieved.

The next morning, I caught a plane back home and the family and I drove to my "Pusherman" play in San Antonio. It was wonderful! My play was first, so the lights went down, there was a pause and then the first bars of "Pusherman" started playing. Everyone's head started bobbing and right when the song was getting good, the lights came up on Steffi and Wanda. It's incredible to watch characters that you've created in your head come to life on stage. Kind of like the Tommyknockers, but without staking and ax murders. Anyway, after the play was over there was a question and answer period with the directors, writers and audience. Well, my director said that my play had a "stupid" premise and it was quirky and that's why he wanted to direct it. Stupid? Hmm. That audience almost got to get a bonus show because I wanted to choke him. Afterward, folks said what he meant was a "simple" premise, but I tell you what: he never came up to me to apologize, so if I EVER see his narrow ass in the street (in the words of the late Bernie Mac), there's gonna be a misunderstanding. At the end of the night, though, I'm pretty sure he knew where I stood.

All in all, it was a bang-up weekend and it's only going to get better. Don't believe me? Watch this space.

the prodigal blogger

Ya'll, there is a really good explanation for me not blogging since Moses was in diapers. Some idiot in my neighborhood was using my IP address to send out spam, so what does Time Warner Cable do? They cut off MY service instead of punishing him. That's right. Products of the Texas school system. You gotta love it.

Anyway, the last time I was here, I was talking about how stoked I was to be top 50. Well, sweet Moses on a rope, I've made it to the top 25! That's right, kiddos. Yours truly is getting on a plane tomorrow morning for Los Angeles and by tomorrow night- 7:30pm to be exact- I will know if I've won the freaking SLAMDANCE! You cannot possibly know how excited I am about this. I've had a headache ever since Monday when I found out that I had advanced. But it'll be over soon enough.

In the meantime, I've been writing away in Responsibility Camp. In all honesty, I think I have two main stories going on at once. I need to take a step back and figure out which story is the main one. I mean, in my inappropriate romantic comedy, I could have spent half the time talking about why Will wasn't allowed to be alone with Ally, but in the final analysis, it just wasn't that important.

Even though it's only October, I've been thinking about my writing goals for the next year. This year has been WONDERFUL as far as writing goes. My stage plays- which kinda started out as a hobby- have been well received, so next year I plan on completing my full length play tentatively called "Socially Relevant Bollocks". I want to finish it, have it critiqued to death and submitted to an off-off Broadway or off Broadway theatre. That's the playwriting goal. The screenwriting goal is to 1) get an agent, 2) sell a script. Look familiar? Those have been my writing goals since 2003.

Man! I have wicked gas. Not like you needed to know, but I felt like sharing. Jack in the Box tacos always tear me up. I'll write more tomorrow from the city of Angeles. Fingers crossed and rosaries out, people! I'm tryin' to win!!!

OMG! I can't believe I didn't tell you...

I didn't blog here on 30 September, so ya'll don't know the good news. My script "Lucas Donovan Forever" was chosen as one of the top 50 scripts in this year's Slamdance Feature Script Competition! That's right, kiddies. My self-described sellout script is working its mojo in Hollywood, baby. I visited the website today (again) just to see the title of my script (again). Does that make me a loser? If it does, so what? I'm moving on up to the East Side...

The funny thing about this competition is that it receives thousands of scripts a year from all over the world. Scripts that are culturally relevant and involve rape victims and one legged babies and whatnot. Really heady stuff. I honestly didn't think that my 90 minute Corbin n' me fantasy was going to fare well against work like that, so you can see why I'm stoked. The top 25 scripts will be announced on October 13th and I'm praying I make it just a little bit farther. But even if I don't, it's been a great ride.

So, I started my new job yesterday. Yeah, I don't know if I'm feeling it or not. Granted, I'm only working every other day for three hours a day, but still. We get paid every Friday (my first check is on the 10th) and the discount is downright criminal. I bought a hundred and sixty dollar dress yesterday for fifty bucks. It brought a tear to my eye, it did.

While I'm working part time, trying to sustain my writing momentum and all that, I've also been volunteering at my son's school. Right now, I'm signed up as a Destination Imagination coach, a judge for the literary portions of the "Reflections" program, and Room Mother for my son's class. It sounds like a lot, but those of you who know me know that I'm not fully satisfied unless I've got fifty million things going on at once. It keeps me from thinking too hard.

Slamdance, volunteering, and work...oh my!

updates, no chaser

1. The producer I was working with in L.A. has informed me that, for reasons known only to him, he may not be able to produce my short. No production, no payday. Could he have told me this sooner without me asking? Grr. Did I mention the way I'm feeling toward L.A. people nowadays?

2. Another small company I was working with told me last Friday that they, too, wouldn't be able to produce another short of mine. Seems a member of their team departed, leaving them without the means to produce any more stuff. So, contrary to popular belief, one monkey does indeed stop the show.

3. I'm becoming more of a hermit everyday. I've found that when I take a good, hard look at who I call my "friends" I must face facts that they aren't my friends at all. Friends listen when you talk to them, offer advice (or shut the hell up, but instinctively know which one at any given moment), and are there for you. I have a "friend" whom I've known forever that does none of these things. She calls me, talks at me and hangs up. I call her, she talks at me and hangs up. I don't need this shit.

4. Writing News! The top 50 Slamdance competition entries will be announced on Tuesday, 30 September. I'm really excited because mine made it to the second round already. If I make it to the Top 50, I will probably spontaneously defecate. You're digging that visual, I can tell.

5. Great strides have been made in the Responsibility Camp script. I'm on page 60ish and counting. Right now, I'm in the idea diarrhea stage; that is, anything and everything that I think might work in this story goes on the page. I've way more subplots than are needed and scenes are WAY out of order, but I have a feeling this is all gonna come out beautifully.

6. I'm putting off reworking "Kelly's Haven", but it must be done if I want Jeff Goldblum to play the villain. He's still a hottie, but aging like it's going out of style. Have you seen him lately? The faces on money look younger...

bad sandwiches aside...

In my myspace blog, I mostly talked about the negative that happened on the coast. What I forgot to tell you were the hilarious moments- and there were quite a few! First of all, the "According to Jim" taping. The show itself is pretty run-of-the-mill, but the comedian they had warming up the crowd? He was the real star! His name is Ron Pearson and he had me ROLLING! I wish I could see his act again. This fool told funny ass jokes, made fun of the foreigners in the crowd and, get this, juggled ping pong balls with his mouth! I know, I know. I'm missing a prime opportunity for a balls-in-the-mouth joke, but there's oh so much more.

At the taping, there was a woman without a bra on. However, she didn't have Baywatch breasts; the wild puppies were laying down flat against her flippin' stomach National Geographic style! I can't remember when I laughed so hard at somebody else's expense! To be fair, my own chocolate tube socks don't sit where they used to, but I also wear bras that have been superbly engineered. This woman, not only had her jungle boobies swinging in the wind, but she WOULD NOT SIT DOWN! Dude, she strutted up and down the audience area throughout the taping. Everytime I looked up, she was up, talking to somebody, laughing loud and just plain calling attention to herself. I'm still laughing...

Food-wise, it was almost as interesting. I ate an "alley dog"- a hot dog wrapped in freaking BACON- and it was wonderful going down. Tore my stomach up, but man! Was it worth it! By the time I got to the show taping, I was tired and a little peckish. So when the sandwiches and cookies were announced, my spirits lifted. Ha! That sandwich can best be described as "Misery with Mayonnaise". Terrible! The lettuce was so black it looked like kelp and the cheese was absolute shit. I would have been angry, had I not been laughing so hard.

When the cookies were passed down the row (I was sitting near the end), there were only two white chocolate macadamia nut cookies left (my very favorite cookie). Well, everybody was taking one cookie each until it got to this Middle Eastern bastard. He's not a bastard because he's from the Middle East, but because he took two cookies. And not just ANY two cookies- MY two cookies! The white chocos went straight from the tray into his greedy gob. After I didn't eat my bullshit sandwich, I was looking forward to my cookie. So, when Bastard McMannus stole my dessert, I was ready to fuck him up right.

Despite not being able to meet with folks, I had a wonderful time. Next time when I go back, I'll go for a week. Gotta go and work on my script. Did I tell you that I'm gonna win the 2010 Oscar for Best Original Screenplay? ;-)

not so normal, he says

I received my results back. Normal blood work, not so normal other stuff. I'm being referred to a gyno specialist. Do I have cooties? Cancer? Who knows?

Tomorrow I leave for Los Angeles. I'm happy to be going, but at the same time, unsure of what's going to happen. I know I have to see Boris and Warren, but what else? What if I don't like it? It also didn't help that I watched a special on 9/11 about a week ago. Watching the planes crash into the twin towers is an image that will stick with me long after I board for departure. Terrorist threats aside, I'm still packing and took a break to go to the ATM for travel money.

I talked to a friend earlier today. Lately, she's had this overwhelming sense of brokenness and she's not sure of the source. She's driving and all of a sudden starts to cry. So, she's bawling until about halfway home when a calm overtakes her. She eventually drives up into the garage and close the door and sits. Motor running, she sits until she become sleepy. Then she calmly turns off the car, opens the door and walks into the house. This isn't the first time she's done this. She has kids, a husband, a nice house, but she is so miserable within herself that she's not sure that she'll ever be whole again. What do you tell somebody like that? Is there anything you can say to make them feel better?

The next time I blog, I'll be blogging from sunny Los Angeles. I'll be sure to let you know how everything goes.

normal, he says

I went to the doctor today for the whole "Well Woman" appointment thing. The doctor claims I'm normal; I'm not so sure. I've gained two pounds, require Xanax for functioning and don't have diabetes or breast cancer. Still skeptical, but buoyed by that information, I headed to the mall to see what was up. I ended up stopping into Sephora where the very nice lady transformed my face into the visage of a drag queen. I also bought $70 worth of bullshit (including a generous sample of Chanel No. 5). I would have given in to guilt if it wasn't for a follow up interview with a company I'd previously interviewed with. After it was all said and done, the HR coordinator said she would call me within the next couple of days to let me know the scoop. I'm cautiously optimistic. After all, that's the same thing the bastard pole smokers at Raytheon and Titan told me.

Oh, yeah. I also discovered another reason this town freaks me out. Lesbians. There are none. There aren't any fat people, either. When I saw a fat lesbian at Walgreens, I almost kissed her, I was so happy. Of course, that may not have gone over well (her plaid wearing, mullet-rocking chick was standing dangerously close), but then again you never know. I'm cute and my haircut is mighty fierce.

Gotta go and feign normalcy...

more of the same

Such a shit day.

Received 747th job rejection this morning.

Not getting dressed. What the fuck's the point?

i hate this place

I hate this place. I hate the fact that I can't seem to find a freaking job. I hate my neighbors for being happy housewives, void of any goals in life other than procreation. I hate getting up in the morning. I hate the fact that my husband's resume and career continues to blossom as mine stalls. I hate the blondes, I hate the redheads. I hate flipflops. I hate the skinny minnies with the inflatable boobs and I especially hate fat women in workout clothes(if I wear a habit, does that make me a nun?). I hate that I have been turned down for at least FOUR jobs. I hate Raytheon. I hate white potatoes. I hate that my mother-in-law is a mean old crow and my husband refuses to see it. I hate that her husband doesn't punch her in the flippin' face. I hate that I'm a FREAKING HOUSEWIFE- the thing that I DESPISE. I freaking hate my life. I hate the lives of everyone around me for being better than mine. I hate my enormous sasquatch feet. I hate my back teeth. I hate the fact that I'm unintentionally slipping into verse...I hate the fact that I'm here and the newspaper people refuse to acknowledge my existence. I hate that I'm BORED AS SHIT. I hate the fact that I cry every doggone day. I hate that the most interesting thing that's happened in a while was the return of the McRib. I hate whining about stuff I hate.

I'm going to bed. I wonder what fun is in store for me tomorrow. Illness? Famine? Death? Five extra pounds. I'd rather have the death.

jive diarrhea

I began another project a couple of days ago. This one is a ten minute (or so) jobby that is a cross between The Twilight Zone and any Tyler Perry movie. I personally think it's gonna be the funniest thing I've ever written- totally over the top with no subtext whatsoever. Sometimes I just need to be silly. I've also almost finished my second "Mixtape" draft. All the extra scenes have been plugged in, now all I have to do is re-read to make none of them are dangling in mid-air. You know that old stage adage, "If you show a gun in Act One, make sure someone uses it by Act Three"? That's what I'm checking for- unused guns.

For the past few days, I've thankfully experienced a burst of creativity that resulted in "Mixtape" being completed, "Potty Mouth" submitted to half a dozen new festivals and my Twilight Zone play bearing fruit. I plan to finish my first draft of Twilight today and send it to one of my trusted readers for feedback. Can't remember if I told you this or not, but I've also started jotting down ideas for a sketch comedy show. Kinda an edgier version of "All That" or "The Roundhouse" (for those of you old enough to remember); that is, written for the tween/ teen market. I don't know what exactly I'll do with the idea. If nothing, I'll have a collection of shorts to sell, right? Man! This is what diarrhea of the brain must feel like.

It hasn't all been go-go-go. Yesterday I took a break from writing. Well, physical writing. I went to the library and checked out some books about southern womanhood for research. I spent a good part of the day taking notes on their phrases, speech patterns and customs. Don't laugh! I firmly believe that it breathes much more life into your characters when you do this vice peppering their speech with "ya'll" and calling it a day. Case in point: a character in "Mixtape" (a minor character, at that) is an old black man who speaks jive. Obscure, 60s-70s jive. I wrote his character in the first draft, then downloaded a jive dictionary and began substituting words. In my humble opinion, this made him- in all his minor character glory- jump off the page and make him memorable.

Talk about diarrhea! I've gotta stop typing or I'm gonna be burned out for later. Be easy.

how shady can a schadenfreunde get?

So, writer-friend du jour finished up at the writer's conference and called me last night at midnight to give me the skinny. As fate would have it, it's skinny, lean and all things in between. As it turns out, she did talk to the exec at Columbia Pictures. She even got his contact information, but he told her that he doesn't deal with people that a) don't have agents and b) he hasn't met face to face. This is totally understandable and the expected party line. What was NOT expected was schadenfreundin's response to me: "So I have his information and when you get an agent, I'll give it to you".

I know, huh? That's exactly what I thought.

Why didn't she just give me the info with that age-old girlfriend caveat, "But you didn't get/hear it from me". That is, if she has his contact information at all. She could be bluffing. What she doesn't know is that Mama has an imdb pro account where I can (who am I kidding? already have...) look up said exec's info and contact him myself. And I won't invoke the name of the schadenfreunde, as it will probably harm my cause.

The thing that really gets my goat is this: as trifling as she can be, I am genuinely excited for her success. I WANT her to finish her book, make a million dollars and embark on a worldwide book tour. I wish nothing but the best for her, because I know that, in some small part, I've helped along the way. Why can't she be the same? Why can't she just be happy for me or anybody else, for that matter? When I mentioned my upcoming L.A. trip, she said (real high falutin' like) "And who are you meeting with again"? I said, "Such-and-such management. The ones that provided the script notes. You know, the producers of the 'Halloween' franchise". Ya'll know me. I'm usually not into horn-tooting, but damn if the haters can argue with THAT shit.

Another nugget: while we were on the phone, she read the email I'd sent to my "Street Team" saying how my latest play will be onstage next month. The first thing out of her mouth was: "You let Elayne read it"?

Let's just break this down: Elayne reads in a timely manner; SF doesn't. I send Elayne 2-10 pages to read and she does so while on the phone with me and provides instant feedback, so I can get on with my revisions and my life. Once, I sent SF a ten minute jobby to critique and it took her a month to get back to me! Thirty doggone days and she wasn't even writing during that time!! Can you imagine how many contests/ entry opportunities I would have missed had I relied solely on her feedback? This is one of the reasons I use multiple readers.

In closing, I thought I was over the whole "I'm not giving you his contact info" thing, but I'm clearly not. However, "Mixtape" edits call. Side note: I've edited the script, noted where extra scenes are to be plugged and written said extra scenes. I anticipate sitting here until the wee hours knocking this baby out. And that I can do, with or without an executive's phone number.

hollywood rewrites

So, I've been reading and re-reading "Mixtape" to see where I can add, cut or clarify the story. After reading it until my eyes bled, I realized it comes down to three missing scenes and a couple of dialogue tweaks. I've since written one of the three missing scenes and my goal today is to finish the other two. Sure, they'll be in draft form, but it's difficult to edit something that isn't on the page.

My play was accepted to the Act One Series in San Antonio again! :-) If you remember, they were the ones that produced "Cleaver" in May. Anyway, I'm so excited! My parents and my brother-in-law went last time, but this will be the first play that my husband will see of mine. He did watch "Suburban Psycho" when I received the DVD, but there's nothing like watching your work live, you know? I used to wonder if he was just humoring me whenever I had something published or a movie made, but I don't think so anymore. He's footing the bill for my Los Angeles trip in two weeks (two *&^%ing weeks!!!) and when I found out about the whole "Dustpan" thing yesterday, he was right there with me, excited (well, as excited as he gets).

Gotta stop stalling and knock out these scenes.

look familiar?

irst of all, let me say that I rarely recognize holidays. Except for Christmas and Easter, they all seem like excuses to get out of work or stuff your face with barbeque. So, Labor Day finds me where I usually am- in the office, banging away at the keyboard hoping like heck that the inspiration fairies see fit to sprinkle a little magic on me.

In my last blog, I talked about how I didn't think I made it into this playwriting contest because I hadn't heard anything and casting was supposed to start in a couple of weeks. Well, scratch that. Yesterday, I received an email from the theatre saying that I had made it in, after all!!! Yay!!! I'm super stoked about this because it'll be the first time my husband gets to see my work on stage. He's seen the short film, but never a play.

Also, the five pounds I've gained have since gone away. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Back on the pharmaceuticals and looking swell! I also levied a back-handed accusation at an acquaintance last time around saying that she probably won't come through for me at the writing conference. I was wrong again! She called yesterday and said that she ran into a Development Executive from Columbia Pictures and she told him about me and got his information for me. If she actually sends me the information, this could be big. Columbia and Sony are like Lucy and Ethel, Remus and Romulus, Deniro and Pachino- historically significant heavy hitters. She was in the middle of telling me about her cool experiences, but I saw a really cute purple dress in the window of Max Mara and had to cut the convo short. Does that make me a bad person?

As if yesterday couldn't get any more productive, I received an email from a theatre troupe based in Los Angeles. Seems they want to put on my short (and I mean short- 3 pages, yo) called "Dustpan". Okay, I know it sounds cheesy and there's a good reason for that: it is!!! But I'm excited to see it on stage anyway.

BYOB- be your own best bud

After I received the notes from the manager yesterday about Mixtape, I was on cloud 9. My husband was there when I received the comments and he was excited for me. I also wanted to share my wonderful news with my friends, so I called the usual suspects.

Answering machines all around.

jealous punks can't stop my dunks

AWESOME DAY!!!

The only way I can describe the way I feel now is FLOATING! I just got an email from a manager in Los Angeles who has read my script and asked me if I wanted to receive notes on it. This is big! Why? Because it flies in the face of everything I have been told up to this point about screenwriting. First, I have been told that nobody reads query letters and/or agents and managers don't want to talk to anybody who doesn't have big time production credits. I got in touch with this manager via query letter and phone. Not only did he respond to my emails, but he has actually read the script and is offering notes. Woo-hoo!

Next, I was told to move out to Los Angeles to get anything done. Wrong again. With the Internet, I've been able to form and maintain relationships with producers and directors. These relationships have resulted in work being published, produced, and filmed. It may not mean a lot to some people, but to me, it's important.

I just received an email from the manager. He said that, although he's going to have to "pass" on the script (Hollywood speak for "no, thanks"), he'll provide the notes. He did say that he liked the script and, with rewrites, he'd gladly take a look at it as his contacts will be more likely to buy off on another draft. Does this let a little of the wind out of my sails? Sure, but even receiving PROFESSIONAL STUDIO NOTES is awesome!

Also, I talked to my mentor today. I told him about the whole "notes" situation and he was happy for me. He looks like Evan Handler (actor who played Charlotte's Jewish husband on SATC), but is extremely talented and giving of his time. Anyway, he offered his congrats on moving a step closer to the goal and more of his time once I get on the ground in L.A. next month. I feel unstoppable.

Side note: I saw Tropic Thunder today. Go see it. Like now.

Just when I thought the day couldn't get any better, I just received a phone call from a company for a phone interview next Wednesday. Promising because I applied for the job YESTERDAY. Is this a good sign?

In short, the day has been fantastic and, for the first time in months, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

these is black problems

Today is just like the day before and the day before that. I woke up, got the Kid ready for school, walked him to the front doors and now I'm back home again.

I went on an interview last Friday. I'm confident that I got the job, but I have to wait two weeks to find anything out. In the meantime, my neighbor called me yesterday and I'm trying to figure out if I should be offended or not. Here's the deal: she asked me if I had found a job yet. I said no, but I'm applying everywhere that has something open for my qualifications. THEN, she started telling me about headhunters and that I need to call the places and all this other shit. Needless to say, I was like: hold the phone, turbo! You don't think I'm calling these bastards everyday? You don't think I know to apply in the morning so they see my resume first? I was more than a little angry. I mean, does she think I'm some slacker? Because I'm not. She doesn't know me or my plight or my situation. These are my problems! Black problems! Besides, I'm at home writing. But you can't say that in public unless your last name is Spielberg or something equally recognizable.

Practically speaking, being offended takes too much energy, so I'll just let that one go. I need my energy. My husband just returned from his trip early this morning and I'll be tending to my "wifely duties". Ha ha! Love the visual? Yeah, you're welcome.

Yesterday, I hit up the local library for a book on Southern Womanhood for research for "The Catch" (my newest romantic comedy). I hit a block when I realized that I was writing all this snazzy dialogue, but had no idea who the women were that were speaking. So, I thought about the setting and the characters and what would make it believable. What I came up with is a small town outside of Louisville, Kentucky and a woman named Miss Margaret Wolcott. Miss Margaret fancies herself a real Southern Belle (complete with a healthy addiction to prescription painkillers and gin) and will tell anyone who will listen that she's directly related to an original signer of the Declaration of Independence. The script is moving along quite nicely, I must say. This is the first screenplay I've tried to outline before laying it out in Final Draft.

Anyway, gotta go and apply for more jobs. Wish me luck!

listen closely 'cuz I don't say this too often

I miss my husband. That's right, I said it. I miss him. He's been gone for almost three weeks. I miss having somebody to talk to. There's no point in whining about it, though- he'll be home whenever he gets home, but I'm just saying.

Enough of that. Here's what's been going on for the past three days: I got a message from Raytheon saying that I wasn't hired for any of the positions that I interviewed for. Bastards. They waited three months to tell me that shit. I had an interview with another government contractor last Friday. I wasn't too excited about it simply because of what happened with Raytheon. If I do get this other job, it'll be nice, but the commute will be brutal (1 hour both ways). Oh well. Yesterday, I spent most of the day watching The Twilight Zone. Years and years ago, my husband bought me a Twilight Zone box set (Collection 3- about 40 episodes). I've watched all but about twelve of them, so I got stuck in yesterday afternoon. Every time I watch an episode of The Twilight Zone (or in later years, Night Gallery), I'm struck by the crispness of the writing. To be fair, a lot of the episodes echo the same themes but with the execution, you rarely notice. Earlier this year, I entered the Rod Serling Night Gallery playwriting contest. I didn't get in, but I'm thinking about entering again next year.

Have I told you how excited I am about L.A. next month? My sister and I are signed up for a tour of the Los Angeles Film School (free) and a taping of the sitcom "According to Jim" (also free). That's poetic justice for you. I can't STAND that freaking show, but it would be an invaluable experience to watch a sitcom being shot, what's considered funny enough to be on television, what can or cannot be done blocking wise, and how many sets are used per episode.

I'm watching Bobby Flay's cooking show and it's putting me in the mood to revisit "Cooking with Bixby and Kenzo". I loved that script, but the execution could have been better. I'm gonna go and take a look at it right now...

swingset epiphany

Several weeks ago, my husband I took our son to the playground for some quality family time. My son headed for the swingset while my husband and I headed for the soccer fields. After a few minutes, my eight year old son cried out that he couldn't swing himself and he needed "help" (code for too lazy to do it myself. Honestly, how do you "help" someone swing without actually pushing them? Anyway...), so I threw the bullshit flag and kept practicing my corners. When I looked over at the Kid, he was swinging himself. That's when I thought "Hmm. This must be what God feels like when I'm complaining about not being able to do something when I am, in fact, doing it."

I may not be as high as I want to be, but my legs are swinging and that's enough.

Hero Coalition production today

I've gotta hand it to my sister- she might know how to pick 'em. When I asked her to read "Mixtape", I braced myself for the questions: What's going on? Why is his name Romo? et. al. but none of that came. Instead, it was a hysterical laughter and the proclamation that this was my best screenplay yet. Hmm. I didn't necessarily agree, but as I write this, I have received a second request to read the whole script. I'm mailing it off as soon as I finish this blog. When in L.A., I'm meeting with the "Damn Tracy" readers, but if I can generate some "heat" (loving that word, can you tell?) for "Mixtape" that would be fantastic. I just have this overarching feeling that my time is running short. Don't ask me why. I may just be losing my mind.

A short of mine is being produced by a company L.A. this morning and uploaded onto their website. This local show's premise is a la "Who's Line Is It Anyway" where actors show up that morning, get the script and act it out without prior rehearsal. Usually, the writers are in the studio to answer questions and generally participate, but since I live in Texas- get this!- they are hiring an actor to play me! I'll get credit, of course, but this person will sit in using my name and everything. It's a small production and viewable only from their website. The larger question is: will they know how to pronounce "their" last name?? But, how's that for "reality" and "live" television? The producer called me this morning at 2:00am to discuss the premise. He was extremely gracious and promised to send me the DVD copy of the production. How exciting!

The short I sent them was a piece of a never-to-be-finished screenplay about superheroes. The scene is five pages long, has roles for six actors (five male, one female) and takes place in one room. They're all over-the-hill superheroes renegotiating their contract with their agent. It's one of those pieces that was amusing to me, but probably not all that marketable. There are quite a few of those that I keep around to cannibalize when opportunities like this arise. "Suburban Psycho" was the same way- part of a larger, unfinished project.

Gotta run to the post office and mail this script. Wish me luck!

a day in the life of a "working" writer

7:30am- Wake up with St. Olaf story on tap. Hmm. Am I insane? Open one eye. No, not crazy, just fallen asleep watching Golden Girls again. Close one eye.

8:00am- Kid shoving a spaceship made of LEGOs up my nose. Open both eyes, tell him it's fantastic and promise to upload it to his LEGO club website. He leaves. Check email via Palm. Sister wrote me a message last night, saying that "Juno" was totally overwritten. Grow misty-eyed, hop in the shower, totally validated.

8:15- Real world intrudes. Receive screening questions for a job (what are my salary requirements? when can I start?). Write back answers, try not to get hopes up.

8:15 to 10:00- Talk to sister about her designs. She sends me sketches, they rock and I tell her so. Get an email from a fellow writer I met in San Diego two years ago. His book is doing well and he's gonna be on "Inside Edition" tonight. Set the DVR, then write him a congratulatory email. Kick myself: How come I'm not on Inside Edition, damn it?

10:00 to 11:30ish- Check mandy.com, craigslist, nycplaywrights.com, et. al. for writing opportunities. Nothing new in the states, but a producer in the UK is looking for short scripts. Email producer, ask if he's accepting scripts from the U.S. and what specific genre he's looking for. Eat trail mix. So delicious. Receive email from a writing contest: I made the entry fee check out to the wrong person and can I resend? Write back: Sure.

11:30ish to 3:00- Take the Kid bowling. Watch the George Lopez show. Run two miles. Do some elevated pushups. Upload LEGO pics to Kid's website. Eat more trail mix. Heavenly. Notice that it's almost one o'clock Los Angeles time. Tie on imaginary Kung Fu headband, squint determined into imaginary sunset. Time to boogie, grasshoppa.

3:00 to 5:00-Crack open the Representation Directory, call. Get blown off. L.A. Jerk tells me that nobody will EVER buy my pilot until I've got real credits, then hangs up. Eat a spoonful of cookie dough and call sister for moral support. Get back on the phone to Los Angeles. Talk to two assistants who give me hope. Send three email queries. Receive an email from a playhouse in Los Angeles: Can you resend your play as .pdf? Email her back: I can only .rtf word docs and is this okay? She writes back: That's fine, thanxx! :-) Get excited because Steven Spielberg is on the board of directors for the theatre. Is he reading my play?

That's it. Of course, I left out all the boring stuff (drinking three bottles of water a day, peeing like a diabetic racehorse and random sets of bicep curls), but those are the main points. Tomorrow will be church, script rewrites and more trail mix.

script request

One more thing...this morning, I woke up and had a request for my old-ladies-fighting-the-city-over-eminent-domain script! I just answered the call for scripts yesterday, so this is pretty sweet. The company was seeking "urban themed feature film scripts that are romantic comedy or comedy/drama". They've got the funding, crew and funding (it bears repeating) in place and are waiting for the perfect script. They're going to start preproduction before the end of this year/ early 2009. Great news, eh? I'll keep you posted.

the fable- revisited

I've got it! My personal fable is going to look something like this: Delafantastika has always wanted to be a writer, but was never in the right place at the right time. Splitting her childhood between Europe and Texas, she never quite made it out to California. When she married a man whose job takes the family from state to state, she thought she'd never make it to L.A. Still, she kept writing thinking that she didn't have "a reason to go yet". One day, she made up her mind and, with $1000 dollars and her MacBook, she descended on Los Angeles in September of 2008.

So, it's cheesy and I left out a whole gaggle of stuff, but that's what personal fables are, right? The honest truth with all the honest trimmed off?

Yesterday was a BOSS writing day! I called twelve agents and managers to see who was reading T.V. pilots and would you know that I wasn't hung up on once? In fact, only two people were abrupt (meaning they hung up before I did). I've got quite a few more agents and managers to call today, but I wanted to take time this morning to record what happened next! I called a manager and he said that he's reading specs. I told him that I was moving to Los Angeles on the 19th (not quite a lie; I'll just be moving right back on the 21st), so if he'd like to meet or something then I'd be available. There was the world's longest pause and then he said, "The 19th? What's your name?" I told him I was The Delafantastika and he said "thanks" and hung up. So, do we have a meeting? I dunno, but I'm gonna call him as soon as I hit the ground in Los Angeles. My goal is to have two "meetings" during my trip.

www.tvtickets.com has free audience tickets for folks wanting to watch the taping of a television show. I'm gonna see if I can catch a taping while I'm in town. I think it would be great to watch how it's put together. It would at least give me some insight on the set limitations I should be writing around.

Life is good today.

the fable

I just read an interesting story in Creative Screenwriting magazine. Apparently, there's an ex-convict who just sold his very first spec script ("spec" script is a script written on "speculation"- that is, nobody is paying you to write it). Earlier today, I read about how Niecey Nash (my imaginary best friend from Clean House) got into show business. She called a casting director that she had auditioned for previously and said something like, "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Niecey Nash. I have a baby now and I need a job". Next thing you know, she's got paying work on the big screen.

What will be my fable?

new ventures

In the past 24 or so hours or so, I completed a draft of a short script tentatively called "Name That Tune" and half an outline for a web series for which I had a "brilliant" idea. I'd originally thought that I could have the series scripted, shot, edited and ready to submit before the IFC Web Series contest deadline, but that may not happen. There's no script, no actors and no video camera. That pretty much puts the kibbosh on any contest plans. Still, I do plan to eventually script and shoot the pilot. Next week, the Apple store is giving a class on using movie making software and I'll be there soaking up as much as I can.

As you can see, my newest interest is short film making. Why wait for somebody else to share my vision and be responsible for the finished product? Most of my shorts involve no more than three characters and one indoor location (convenient, as I can control the lighting). I found a video camera with a built-in USB port ($149) that I can use for starters.

Completely off topic- a film company in London is looking for ten minute dramas to shoot in October. Not one to let an opportunity slip away, I'm sending in my outline after I finish this blog. Yours truly happens to have penned a thirty minute drama about a woman who believes that she was the lead singer of a '60s girl group. I'm well aware that thirty and ten are two different sums, but I believe I can chop up the script and cobble together a logical ten minute piece out of it. This is low budget, though, so right away I've gotta get rid of the airplane crash and flashback elements. I'll focus on what happens at the psychiatrist's office. Wow! I've almost got my outline already! Who said blogging was a waste of time..?

not a word...

Yesterday, it was so freeing to not write that this morning, I thought, "why rock the boat"? Really. Except for this blog, I haven't written a thing all day. But the day was not wasted...I spent the afternoon downtown perusing the antique shops and eating flavored popcorn. I love antique shops- anything from the 1950s and early 60s gives me an imaginary chubby. Today I bought a book called "In Training" that was intended to be a coming-of-age, "this is what's happening to your body" manual for teenagers. It was from 1943 and spent about nine pages talking about the evils of self-abuse or what we now know as masturbation. Tee-hee. It would be totally laughable if it wasn't written by an M.D.

Big ups to my sister!! She made it past the first set of gatekeepers for a whiz-bang fashion school scholarship. Woo-hoo! Big thangs poppin, indeed. Speaking of big things, (usually I would segue into a comment about my thighs, but not tonight. See how far we've come??) I received a note today from the agent reading Mixtape. It was a nice note, just letting me know that they have received my screenplay. So professional and very appreciated.

The city paper never contacted me. Guess I wasn't on their short list of potential food writers. *sigh*

Enough of this vacation. I need to get back into the writing thing again. It just seems that whenever I sit down to the keyboard, I want to go to sleep or start crying uncontrollably. What the hell is wrong with me? Writer's block? Pshaw. I would kill for writer's block. I don't know what this is, but it's unproductive and silly. Resolved: I will write tomorrow. Even if I'm typing through tears, it must be done.

one down, two to go

This happens all the time! It's like a damned omen or something! So, earlier I wrote that I hadn't heard anything from any of the agents. Well, I got home today from a particularly stimulating trip to the North Texas Historical Museum (sidebar- it's politically correct now to call them "farm" as opposed to "plantations") and what did I have waiting for me but a rejection from one of the agents. Although Lucas Donovan was "very entertaining and well-written", they would have to pass on it. Oh well. One agent down, two more to go.

Still thinking about my rewrites. I took the day off writing to do some museum jaunting and wrap my mind around all the different ideas. Anyway, I was so taken with the community that surrounded the museum that I'm going back tomorrow (sans 3 inch heels, mind) to visit all the quaint antique shops and old fashioned ice cream parlors. Another sidebar- I love mid-century architecture and this town had a lot to offer.

My husband's idea of comedy is very basic. Sometime I wonder if he "gets" the funny in my scripts. Maybe he doesn't like it at all. Or maybe my funny isn't funny, but I'm telling myself that it is so forwardly funny that nobody gets it.

producer's notes

This morning, I received a notice in my inbox through infolist.com that some L.A. theatre company is looking for one-act plays. The theatre company boasts board members like Steven Spielberg and Neil Simon (famous playwright- not Paul's brother), so I'm uneasy about sending in my play about the amateur phone sex actresses, but whatever. Hopefully, Spielberg will just reject it and not sic animatronic dinosaurs on me.

So, last night I turned in my rewrite on the short. This morning, I had the notes in my inbox. The producer first off thanked me for all the hard work, and then proceeded to verbally ass rape the script. My feelings are hurt, but this business isn't about feelings; it's about product. Anyway, the script felt "rushed and one-note" and I was "telling, not showing". Ouch. The comments sting, but I've got no choice but to get stuck in. I keep telling myself that this is only a short and when I start receiving studio comments, the same thing is going to happen. Except it'll be in person and instead of one page, it'll be a novella of shit that doesn't work. It's kinda like giving birth to a big headed baby. It's over now, so swallow the Big Girl pill, massage your stretched asshole and get back to work.

Still no job. Still no word about my full manuscripts. I'm a little more than nervous about my scripts floating around out there. I mean, they're copyrighted and registered, but there's still the off chance that they could get ripped off, you know? Ahem...CAMERON CROWE and his "original" script for "Elizabethtown".

Ah, but bitterness is a dish to be enjoyed alone, so I'll sign off. Gotta go find the comedic timing in this movie. Comedic timing? Come out, come out, wherever you are...

exhausted options

I shouldn't say this because I'm sure you're tired of listening, but I don't care. I maintain this space to unload things that are- for the most part- socially unacceptable to voice. For those of you who know me, you are well aware that my moods can be rapid cycling, to say the least. Today is a down day. Well, that's a little misleading. The past three months have been a down day, with slight spots of happiness. We're now in August and nothing has changed. I'm still unemployed. I'm still fat. I'm still without agent. I have friends, but they're stay at home moms who wouldn't understand my almost physical need to work every day. I spent the entire day laying in front of the television watching Bargain Hunt and eating nachos. That's not entirely true; I did edit the short script that's due on Wednesday. Nine pages. Big whoop.

The day started off terribly. I got a call from one of my good friends who is a recruiter for a Fortune 500 company for which I'd worked for years. I asked her to research a couple of positions for me that were advertising in Dallas. As it turns out, they aren't hiring for those positions until October and the positions are in SAN ANTONIO! Why the hell did the notice say "DALLAS", then?!?? So, I'm back at square one trying to find a job. It's depressing, especially when I'm sitting in my home office staring at my B.S. and my M.A. sitting side by side. Lots of flipping good they're doing me now.

I haven't received any word back from agents, managers or anything in weeks. This, too, is depressing. Ya'll, it's a quarter to seven and I'm ready to throw in the towel. Not just taking a shower, either. I mean, I'm ready to just lay down and die. I think I'm ready now. I've been a good human being for a long time now and I'm pretty confident that I will go to heaven (so long as I don't off myself on purpose). My husband and my son don't need me, the literary community doesn't know who I am and my Mastercard has protection on it so my balance will be forgiven in the event of my death. See? I'm all prepped and ready to go.

My husband just came in and told me that he loves me, which made me cry even harder. He thinks I'm a basket case. Maybe I am. But if I was, then I'd be revered as the next Hunter S. Thompson, right? Except that I'm just a chubby nobody sitting in Nowhere, TX.

When I was an impressionable little Catholic, I used to believe that God had chosen me for something special. Maybe it was all those hours I spent cooped up in a prayer closet that was messing with my mind, but I did. I believed that I was a "chosen" one. I believed that I could hear him speaking to me and that my steps were literally ordered by him. As I've gotten older, I find myself wondering why He allows me to feel so badly. Yeah, I know that my sadness is nowhere near, say, Jesus, but for a mortal, I'm feeling a little worse for wear. Times like this is when I lean so heavily on Him, that I'm just glad He's not as fickle or impatient as me.

I'm tired. I'm going to brush my teeth (I'm not gonna bleach tonight. What's the point?) and then go to bed. This is gonna be my last blog for awhile.

updates

While reading through old blogs, I realized there were quite a few loose ends that needed tying up. So here goes:

1. Raytheon. I didn't get the job, but a higher position was posted two weeks later. A position that was more in line with my experience as a manager/executive. I applied for that one, but haven't heard anything. I also applied for twelve other various jobs in and around this burg. I plan to take the first one that comes along (and ditch it when Raytheon calls me) simply for a little positive cash flow.

2. Disney Fellowship. I finally finished something resembling a coherent Statement of Intent, packed it all up and sent it off just under deadline. Finalists for the fellowship will be notified in December of this year.

3. Nickelodeon Fellowship. Semi-finalists will be notified this month. Once upon a time, I was excited about it. Alas, that was before I a) knew that "Cavemen" was on CBS' sitcom chopping block and b) realized that my spec script for "Cavemen" was garbage.

4. Newspaper writing gigs. The human period panties from our local ghetto rag never wrote me back, but I'm not bitter. Mainly because the city paper was looking for a restaurant reviewer (full time, paid in real money). I did, in fact, mail off my resume, clips and cover letter. The package was mailed a whole twelve miles into the city, so I should hear something by the end of next week. Mind you, this is my deadline. They may end up being just as shady as the locals busters.

laurels

Here's the deal with laurels and laps- where the hell are they??? Just like your lap disappears when you stand up, where the hell are your laurels? Or is "laurels" another word for butt cheeks? That's the only thing I can think of that one would rest upon that is plural. Well, maybe pillows...anyway, I'm working like a one legged slave on this rewrite. It's going a lot better than I thought it would. The hardest part was the first cut. Kinda like performing open heart surgery on your own child. You know they would be better for the surgery and you possess the skills, but damn if it's not hard to make that first cut.

I received a disturbing myspace message the other day from a friend. I told him that I want to move out to L.A., but I don't have a reason to because I don't know anyone out there. He wrote me back and said that, just by virtue of me being a writer, I need to have my chocolate self out there schmoozing and making contacts and getting my face out there. It was a difficult thing to hear because, well, it's the truth, damn it. I am doing okay from where I currently sit, but I know in my heart of hearts that if I were out in Los Angeles, I could get twice as much done. The truth hurts, ladies and gentlemen. The only thing that worries me about moving to Los Angeles is money. I don't have any and it takes a lot more than what I have to live day to day out there. Just my luck, I'd end up turning tricks for a spot in the "According to Jim" writer's room. Have you ever seen "According to Jim"? Ugh. Hardly worth a blow job.

Last month, I was a querying fool and send out over 100 queries and submissions. This month, I don't anticipate quite so many; I'm shooting for forty. That's only because I want to do the best job I possibly can on this rewrite. I really want this relationship with the producer to bear full-length feature fruit. And on that note, it's time for me to get back to the script.

our 200th episode

Syndication, here we come! Today marks my 200th blog here at delafantastika.blogspot.com, so let me take this opportunity to thank the academy for their support and tell the haters to eat dirt. Delafantastika forever, baby!

Yesterday, I downloaded my favorite album of all time. No, it isn't "Thriller" or "Frampton Comes Alive". It is the one and only "Anything is Possible" by Debbie Gibson. Eternally uncool to most, this album came into my life at a time of transition. I was fourteen and had my first job (summer hire), my first serious boyfriend, (a twenty-four year old soldier who happened to be a dead ringer for Rick Astley) and my best friend was moving away. When I first heard this record, I thought every song, every lyric was speaking to me. The experience would have been almost spiritual if it weren't so stupid. Anyway, I downloaded it from iTunes yesterday and am listening to it right now. Funny thing is, the songs still have the same effect on me. Debbie Gibson rules.

The real reason I'm writing is that I'm putting off crafting my Statement of Interest for the Disney Fellowship. All I have is one sentence "My name is Delafantastika and I really, really want this fellowship". No amount of encouragement from the Dalai Gibson can mask its lameness. That's it. I've got to get off my butt and finish it. The Statement is the last thing I need for the packet (it's even been notarized) and the packet must be postmarked by tomorrow. There's the ball and I'm getting on it.

extra limbs for Pusherman

One of my neighbor-lady friends is a Republican. Not sure how I feel about that.

I received producer notes on "Pusherman" and am now undertaking the rewrite. I thought I would be offended that someone wanted to take my already-perfect (ha) baby and attach more arms, legs and another head to it, but it's not like that at all. In fact, it is validating to know that my vision was not only clear enough to understand, but powerful enough to pull someone in and make them want to expand on it. My hair appointment is in forty-five minutes, but after I'm fried, dyed and laid to the side, I'll be right back here adding those arms and legs...

If you haven't heard "Chasing Pavements" by Adele, I highly recommend it. As long as Amy Winehouse keeps dancing with Mr. Brownstone, Adele has a bright future.

new friends

Oh, I forgot to mention that I met my neighbors here in this Stepford town. Two of the ladies are cool as shit and I plan on hanging out with them. One is a stay at home mom (SAHM- ever heard of that acronym before??), but was a teacher for ten years before getting pregnant again. The other works part time, has five kids, but grew up in rural Oregon and drinks and smokes like a geezer. Never thought I'd use the terms "Cool as shit" and "Stay at home mom" in the same sentence, but there you go.

Side note- I still haven't heard from the editor of the Fucknut Gazette (I emailed him on Friday to ask what the f*ck was up with not printing my piece). Wanker. If I had balls, I would lay them across his stupid forehead.

script notes

I had planned to submit my script yesterday, but of course, that didn't happen. That's another reason I don't like having visitors. They want to do things, see things and experience the town. All the while, I am attempting to carry on with my normal life. My normal life- as boring as it sounds- consists of a job search, mailing scripts and writing my butt off. Not quite as interesting as a Dallas Cowboys game, but it's all I need. As soon as I finish this blog, I'm off to the post office.

Speaking of scripts, I've been knee deep in "Camp Responsibility" lately. Thirty-eight pages in and I've made a startling discovery: the dialogue is terrible. The dialogue is lacking because I don't really know my characters. So, after I'm done playing the happy hostess to family, I'll sit down and write character sketches. I'm having trouble with the relationship between the mother and grandmother. The main character, Michael, is pretty fleshed out. I know this all sounds like gibberish, but I promise it'll make sense when you're watching it on the Disney Channel. How's that for moxie?

Yesterday, my niece (the one who is four and begging for a BB in the butt) kept jumping on me and giving me kisses. I know it's supposed to be cute, but damn if it didn't make me want to vomit. Look, I don't like to be kissed, touched or breathed on by ANYONE, especially children. I told her to stop kissing me because it makes me itch, but she thought I was kidding. Then she kept trying to spank me, so I just body slammed her fat ass. She looked up at me like "Ha ha!" but I could tell in her face that she was also contemplating a good cry. Good. Maybe she'll start ignoring me.

Gotta go mail this script and call the landscapers again.

did I say I didn't do defeat..?

Funny things, those tag lines. Yesterday, I was up on my horse talking about how I don't do defeat, tomorrow is another day, as God is my witness, I shall never be rejected again and all that yang. Well, this morning I woke up and checked my email on my mobile and what was waiting for me, but a nice, juicy rejection from a little theatre in England. No love. I gets no love.

My in-laws and sister in law and her four children are here. If I weren't so fond of my current cut, I would pull my hair out. Those little fuckers are so loud and obnoxious, it's difficult to concentrate. My kitchen is a wreck and I can't get a moment's peace. In my world (a world with one well behaved eight year old and a husband who is more gone than home), the kitchen stays clean. I put things down; they stay put. I wish I had a blowgun so I could pop a BB into the youngest's butt. She is annoying. Little girls who like princesses are bloody annoying. I want to take her aside and tell her, "Look. There's no such thing as Prince Charming. But there are mortgages. So you might wanna take a break from brushing your hair and singing to the fucking animals and see what's up at the community college."

We got a letter from the HOA President yesterday saying that we have to weed our front garden. This bitch is starting to get on my nerves. I should send her a letter and tell her that 1986 called and wants its Ogilve home perm back. As much as I rail against the machine (no matter how fat and tragic it's capri pants are), I am as much a cog as the next person. I'll call a landscaper today and have him come out on Monday.

Writing news- I'm submitting my Fort Bend Writer's Guild (egad! I used the actual name!) scripts today. This is one contest that I can honestly say is worth the moolah. See, for $25 and the price of postage, you can get a scored feedback sheet on your first fifteen pages. Anyone who has ever paid for coverage knows that this is a bargain, indeed. So, off it goes today. I'm sending in "Mixtape" (currently being read by an L.A. management company, thanks very much!) and "Big Eddie Bound". You may remember "Big Eddie Bound" when it was known by the silly name "Pop Life". It was my very first screenplay and I never received any decent feedback on it, so off it goes. Wish me luck!

small town newspaper blues

About a month ago, I had contacted the editor of our small town newspaper here- for the sake of argument, let's call it the Fucknut Enterprise- and asked him if I could write for them. Well, he hemmed and hawed and talked about how he didn't have a budget for freelance writers and I wrote him back and told him that I would write for free; I just want the byline (I need more editorial work in my portfolio if I'm going to get back onto the newspaper staff in Hawaii). Anyway, he said it was okay if I submit and article. Well, I get excited and got to work. I went out to this local hotspot, slaved over this article and turned it in this last Monday. Did I hear anything back from the editor? Anything like "Got the article, thanks" or "This is complete bollucks"? Nothing. Silence. I thought, "Oh well, this must be the way things are done in this small town". Ha. Silly me.

The paper comes out on Friday. So, yesterday I got up early and trucked it on down to my local bookstore. I picked up the paper and looked through, hoping to see my article. As I continued scanning the sections, hope faded fast. Finally, I threw the paper down in disgust and resignation. That fucker didn't use my piece! Not only did he not have the balls or the decency to let me know; he just ignored it. Forcing myself not to cry, I walked to the nearby Kroger- feeling silly for getting up early for this bullshit. At Kroger, I was hoping to find a copy of the local glossy "Image". Perhaps they need a writer. After all, they are a new mag. No dice.

Long story short: I drove around town, visited the library, etc formulating my next plan of attack. I didn't want to drive home, though. For some reason, I thought that driving home would be an admission of defeat. And I don't do defeat.

mac bastards

I forgot to tell you about my iDrama. So, I took my old laptop into the Genius Bar (genius. ha!) to see if they could recharge the battery and/or keep it awake long enough to migrate the information off of it. Well, these genius' told me yesterday that they couldn't take the information off my hard drive. What?? They couldn't take the information off the hard drive? How hard is that? So anyway, my husband and I are going to pick it up today so he can replace the DCM board (which is the only thing wrong with it in the first place) and I can keep it alive long enough to migrate my info.

If I lose everything on my hard drive, I will be a mad bitch. My entire life is on that computer. All the latest versions of my screenplays, plus those germinating gems like "Responsibility Camp" and "The Joneses".

Oh yeah, my office is a PIT. My husband has moved into the office with all his grad school work and now I can't concentrate. I cannot create among chaos. Resolved: I'm going to Ikea today for some storage solutions because this shit isn't working. He leaves for two weeks on Sunday, so I've got time to organize.

Gotta go wash my 'do...

a writing fool

The last few days have been nothing, if not totally productive. I'm back to querying ten times a day and it is working. I don't think I ever discussed why I chose ten times a day. See, back when I was a practicing real estate agent, my mentor would constantly stress how success is a numbers game. "The more people you talk to," she was say in her Brooklyn-ese, "the more opportunities you have for somebody to say 'yes'". And you know what? She was right. That's why sixty or so queries a year just wasn't cutting it! Now that I've been shooting out these queries, I've gotten some measure of success.

So far, I received two requests- TWO- for my full Lucas Donovan script. I've also received another option on a short film and several requests for loglines. Yay, me.

Yesterday, the results of the Script Pimp TV writing contest were supposed to be announced. I haven't heard anything, so after I finish this sentence, I'll check their website to see if my name pops up in the winner's circle. Wouldn't that just beat all?

new Mac

Guess who's typing on her brand new computer?? My husband bought me a new MacBook for my birthday (he's going to be out of town for my birthday, so is this guilt?) and I just set it up. Tomorrow, I'm off to the Apple store in town for a new Fire Wire so I can migrate all the stuff from my old Mac to this one. In the meantime, I gotta find my Final Draft CD to really get the party started!

It's almost midnight and I'm super tired, so I'm off. Call me crazy, but I just felt the need to christen my new keyboard.

a moment of peace

It is the day before the 4th of July weekend. My husband and son have buggered off to watch Hancock, so I'm sitting on the couch watching the Twilight Zone marathon on Sci-Fi. Many of these I have already seen, but these old episodes are like a pot of spaghetti- even better the second time around.

My husband is good at everything! He's been exercising his ass off lately and that, coupled with the fact that my butt is getting bigger and bigger, doesn't make me feel good. He also has this wonderful relationship with our son that I could never hope to duplicate. It is downright depressing. To not think about it, I've thrown myself into my writing.

My strategy has paid off, as "Pusherman" has been optioned. I also have a stage play version that I am submitting to a small theatre. Hopefully, they like it as much as I do. A side note about option: it doesn't mean that it will be produced. On the contrary, it might never be produced. An option is giving a production company the option to produce the piece within a certain amount of time. If they do, you get paid. If not, you're free to shop it around. At any rate, this is good news.

Gotta go write. Enjoy your 4th.

bullets

1. My grandmother died yesterday. My mother isn't doing so hot, so I'll be visiting her on Saturday for the memorial service. My sister flew in from L.A. to lend a helping hand.

2. I just optioned my short "Pusherman", like, fifteen minutes ago. In my haste, I neglected to mention payment. I'll write him back and tell him $50. That's enough to cover the cost of my next Inktip listing.

3. My husband agreed that my ass is spreading, so I've been on a terrible, destructive diet. I'm so hungry, I can't concentrate. However, my abs are quite defined.

4. My son told me he wants a Link Larkin Hairspray doll. Hmm. Not quite sure what to make of that. If I wasn't so hungry, I could analyze it.

5. I've really gotta write that guy back about my money.

gold dust woman 2: Electric Boogaloo

It's been a week since I've blogged, so let me catch you up on the doin's. First off, I've been drinking pretty heavily tonight, so just remember that if I start talking about leprechauns and fish sticks. Anyway, I got tired of sitting around, moping about the automatons in this burg that I decided to do something about it, damn it! That's right! Time to take fate into my own hands! I found a friend through the internet. Talk shit if you want, but I'm not about to waste time waiting around for life to happen to me. Anyway, We met tonight for drinks and convo and she's cool as shit. Loves vodka and Boris Kodjo (I'm so spelling his name wrong). Suffice it to say, I had a great time.

On the writing front- I have been receiving rejections left, right and center pretty regularly, but my spirit is not broken. oh no! On the contrary, I feel energized. See, today I got a letter from a local newspaper editor inviting me to submit my stories to his paper for publication. Yay! Another writing gig. If there's anything I love more than toast and marmalade, it's a writing gig. Tomorrow (or whenever I sober up), I'll get cracking on my first draft. I aim to turn it in no later than next Friday. I'll let you know how that goes.

Money, money, money, money..MONAAAYYYY! Got my stimulus check today. Time for me to go and stimulate the hell out of DSW! Sike- the boy needs school clothes and more monkey accessories for his bathroom.

My eyelids are heavy, so it's time to sign off. I had a really, really good day and I didn't even have to use my AK.

gold dust woman

The original plan was to submit ten queries a day. That was all fine and good until I realized that I would have little time for actual writing if I continued down that path. So, I've narrowed it down to thirty queries a week. That way, I can submit ten a day three days a week and still create whenever the mood strikes me. Of course, "real" writers out there (the social outcasts in Birkenstocks and jams) will say that a writer needs to be disciplined and write every day. To which I scream "Bollucks!" Lemme tell you something: when the DLF is forcing herself to write, it's painfully obvious. Nobody wants to read that shit.

I'm making awesome headway on the new screenplay. I went through my old CD collection and have re-discovered Fleetwood de la Mac. Those songs are awesome and timeless. As of now, The Mac is my inspiration to keep going. Every time I hit a story hiccup, I think, "What would Stevie Nicks do"? That's when I flounce around in a black cape taking breaks only to snort cocaine off my own left breast. Just kidding. Can you see me in a black cape?

So, yeah. I'm reading a book called "Taming the Tongue" that outlines ways to keep negative, unGodly talk out of your vocabulary to make room for the postitive and the edifying. I'm trying really hard, but I kinda went off over at myspace about some country-ass theatre fucks. But that's the last time. Promise. You believe me, don't you?

down but not out

Suck ass writing news but swell real-life news.

First, the suck. I received another rejection of sorts today. This one was from a small management company in Los Angeles. Below is what he had to say:

Hi Delafantastika, unfortunately we're a small shop and can't
take blind submissions.

Good luck,
A PROFESSIONAL

People, this is how a rejection should be handled! He wrote back with one sentence that was the same basic kiss-off that I got from the monster agency. The difference was in the execution. He didn't punk out like the penis holes from yesterday and I can respect him for that.

Coming down from the writing cloud into real life, I got a phone call today from Raytheon. They want to interview me for a position this week. I'm stoked, but when I double checked the requisition, it requires a person with 0-2 years of experience. I'm not worried; I've got over seven years. What I am worried about is the salary range. Salary for 0-2 years experience is markedly different from 5+ years, nahmean? I'm calling the hiring manager back tomorrow with a suggested interview time. Ya'll, pray I get this job. I miss working...

There's a place near my house that repairs CDs. Handy, this is since both my Corbin Bleu and High School Musical 2 CDs are well and truly scratched.

If/ when I get this/a job, I'm taking the fam to Disneyworld again. I freaking love that place.

Corbin's dad's cereal commercial

FYI- Corbin Bleu's dad is in the new Reeses cereal commercial. I saw it this morning on Nickelodeon. Come to think of it, I was half awake, so I could have dreamed it (just like I dreamed that I sustained a massive head wound and started my period on the same day and mused about bleeding from both ends...). Anyway, shout out to Pops Rievers. Do yo thang, fam.

how long is your rope?

Hidey-ho and top o' the morning to ya!

Below is a message I received from a mega literary agency's legal department yesterday in response to my query:

Please be advised that the attached email, addressed to DICK HOLE, pertaining to "Romantic Comedy Query" has been referred to my office. Please be advised that it is corporate policy of the BALL LICKER Agency, LLC not to accept, read, listen to and/or review any unsolicited material of any kind. In accordance with such policy, we must decline your query, and I am unable to endorse the submission of further materials.

WHAT?! So, you mean to tell me that it is the policy of this agency not to read ANYTHING?? How the hell do they find clients if they aren't reading anything? That is the stupidest thing I have heard in a long time. I called my friend Elayne about it yesterday and she agreed: muy dumbo. She also implored me not to write back anything snotty. I wasn't going to; I may be offended, but I'm not in the business of burning bridges yet to be built.

Needless to say, I'm at the end of my rope. And, no, this doesn't mean that I'm going to sit around in my robe feeling sorry for myself. Huh-uh. I'm mad as hell! SOMEBODY is going to make my movie. SOMEBODY is going to give me a job. Today is the day I stand up and say, I will not go quietly into the night...

Oops. Seems I've lapsed into the "Independence Day" speech. Anyway, I'm fired up and will use this energy to get noticed.

confession session and other bits

Another update: I didn't finish the play "confession session", either. Instead of sitting on it, waititng for it to hatch, I'm going to get on the ball. See, there's a playwriting contest (or call for entries- truthfully, I can't tell the difference) that's looking for religious themed plays. This play is perfect! The deadline is 15 July, so I've gotta get cracking. Unlike "Bad Joke" or "Coffee...", this play is written and just requires tweaking and proofreading. Hear that, Kat and Elayne?!! Knocking on your door, I will be.

Dig the Yoda.

coffee in the old country

Way back when, I said I was going to enter a playwriting competition that was looking for short plays that take place in a coffee shop. Well, I started the play, but didn't finish it in time, so I missed the deadline. So, I am now the proud parent of a robust outline for "Coffee in the old Country". Maybe I'll work on that today.

God Bless Corbin Bleu

So, I'm not depressed anymore. I figured that there's little use in sitting around moaning about how my career isn't skyrocketing when I haven't done much to help it out. Resolved: I shall query ten agents/managers a day until I get the answer that I want. I resolved this three days ago and so far, I've met my quota every day. I have completed five today, but it's only 10am; I've got time.

As for this wack-ass, white-washed town that we live in, well, that's not going to change. The only thing I can do is have as much fun as I can. If I don't make any friends, well, that just frees up more time to write and work on my career, right? Don't get me wrong. I love white people. But my neighbors are not real people. They are the kind that- God forbid they lost their jobs- they would kill their children and turn the weapon on themselves. I have seen more boob jobs and double strollers than I care to recount and for now, I'm counting down the days until we leave.

Corbin Bleu's neu (bleu? neu? get it?) album is supposed to drop sometime soon. I'm stoked about it. There's nothing like generic pop music to lift me from the doldrums. The third High School Musical movie comes out in October. I'm torn because I want to see it, but I don't want to see it end. It's like the series' end of SATC or the Golden Girls. I simply cannot bring myself to watch. I like to pretend that Charlotte and Miranda are still doing their thing in Manhattan and, if I were ever to find myself in Miami, I could pop in on Blanche and the gals. I don't think I can stand to watch Chad, Troy, Sharpay and Ryan graduate.

I could go on for hours about this, but I've gotta get washed and dressed. I'll let you know if anything outstanding happens. Peace out.