My Favorite Things

The poem of the day is called "My Favorite Things". Are you seeing a pattern? I promise not to post another Sound of Music inspired poem again. Cross my little black heart. This was written 29 June 1996.

Mother muse departs
On fairy wings
Glassy-eyed Tinkerbells on puppet strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Bodies stacked tall on crushed ice
Lilly white lace wraps lilly white lies
Harlequin's scepter and thin disguise
All to the tune of baby's cries

Open the box and seal your doom
Captive in an attic room
Bleeding fingers prisoner to the loom
Porcelain dolls with eyes that've seen
All that's sacred, all that's mean
The busted drum and the mute tambourine
These are a few of my favorite things.

plantation walking tour first draft

I finished my first draft for the plantation walking tour. Yesterday, my writing partner and I walked the grounds, script in hand, to see if it actually fit. It did. She told me that the script was fabulous and sent it out to the rest of the committee with a glowing recommendation. Trust me, that was just about the only good thing that happened to me yesterday.

As I was walking the plantation grounds yesterday, I got to thinking about the whole "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" fiasco. Abridged version: the director of my local theatre company asked me if I would play a house negress in their production. I told her hell to the naw and told her that she could basically kiss my ass. I'm black, but I'm an educated person- a writer, damn it! Why would I debase myself to play such a role? Where was she when they were searching for Elizabeth Taylor's part? Anyway, yesterday I thought, if nobody plays these parts (house negress, plantation slaves), then somebody else will. Somebody who will take liberties with telling the story, whitewash the situation or not tell the story at all. If nobody plays the parts, then the stories will be lost forever. So, it was uncomfortable for me to write the scene between the two slaves, but if I didn't write it, someone else would and I doubt they would show ol' Towerhill and Clem the respect that I tried to show them.

car show funny

I forgot to tell you- we went to a classic car show this weekend. My son's new thing is cars- loves all American cars! Anyway, we were walking around freezing our assess off and burning our tongues on hot chocolate when my husband says "Look, there's a Chevy Chevelle". Well, I busted out laughing because my dad's new woman's name is Chevelle. Anyway, I'm standing there, nearly peeing on myself with laughter while my husband's making jokes about the "wide body Chevelle". And, of course, it was black. So here come the "Black, wide-body Chevelle" jokes. I knew it was mean to laugh and I was truly sorry. That's why I'm passing the story on to you, readers. So you can laugh and I won't have to. Just like that movie "Fallen", I'm tapping you on the shoulder.

"Time is on my side, yes it is".

Give Me a Minute

So, over at the ol' myspace, I told you that I was going to post a poem a day. Allow me to explain. My poetry is foul, rank, dreadful and awful. How do I know? The same way a woman expects folks to coo over her baby when she knows damned well it looks like a chimpanzee. Nonetheless, I refuse to let my words languish on the shelf. It's a matter of equal opportunity. I don't do it with the screenplays, plays or even- God help me- the erotica. No more will my poetry be the bastard stepchild of my literary pursuits! So, without further ado, my chimpanzee called "Give me a minute"

Just give me a minute
to gather my thoughts
I should probably head home
But I think I'd rather not

The air's light but tart
The cover's dotted with blood
The paper mat drips rhythmically
With that icky, unborn stuff

Can you give me a second
To settle my mind?
May I have another blanket?
May I have some more wine?

Stop making making faces at me
Because I don't think I can smile
Close the door on your way out
I'll just sit here for awhile

getting stuck in

A couple of weeks ago, I talked about how I had hit a creative wall and was unable to do anything. I even went so far as to blame the minor success of "Cleaver" on my laziness. Now I understand what it was. It was- wait for it -laziness! Sheer and utter. I was so wrapped up in what was going to happen once I got to San Antonio, if the audience would laugh at my jokes or how I was going to make myself sound deep and literary when and/or if audience members asked me a question. But when I step back I recognize these thoughts for what they really are: devices to keep me from doing the very thing that I was put on this Earth to do: write, damn it!

So, I stopped the foolish mind games and got stuck into my plantation piece. I finished the first draft. It's very rough, but it's finished. Tomorrow I will make the necessary changes and on Tuesday, I'm walking the grounds again with my writing partner. We're going to use the trip to kind of act out the script and see if a) the dialogue works out loud and b) enough time is allotted per station for the complete story to be told. Speaking of my writing partner, damned if she hasn't written a doggone thing yet. She said she should have her part complete by Tuesday. Fingers crossed because I'm not too confident in what I've written. Make no mistake- I know I'm talented, but I've never written a period piece. Saying that I'm expanding my horizons is an understatement. I'll let you know how that goes...

I've been e-querying playwriting markets asking them if they accept short play submissions. Two theatre companies in Chicago were the recipients of some such emails this week. One company said they only accept full length submissions and the other said they are reading submissions of all lengths for their upcoming season. I sent them the ol' Potty Mouth. Modesty be damned, I love that play! I can totally see it on stage and if I can see it, then I can be it, right? I think Tony the Tiger used to say that. He's GRRRRRREAT!

I'm writing this through half-mast lids, so it's time for me to sign off. Peace out. Poison rocks, by the way. "Something to Believe In" is my favorite song. It's on the imaginary soundtrack to my notional movie "Pop Life". It comes in at a poignant moment where my main character discovers that her mother has died in her sleep. It's GRRRRRRRIPPING.

Italian word of the day: Garbagiola

Did you miss me?? I’ve missed you, dahling! I’ve been away for a minute and a half, but rest assured, you didn’t miss a damned thing. Well, okay. You missed a heavily-edited, but still-hilarious airing of “Next Friday” on TBS (complete with the hostile African without his receipt) and a rejection letter from a playwriting contest in Florida. I could sense rejection on the horizon, as the my submission was one of my first and complete garbagiola (that’s a soft “g”). No matter; this was one of those instances where I was filling a monthly quota.

I’ve gotta stop doing that, though. It’s just as stupid for me to waste postage on a bunk submission as it is for an agent not to respect my SASE. By the way, this theatre company used their own postage to mail me my rejection. They can lick balls for rejecting my play, but get props for shelling out postage.

the curious incident at the Ruby Tuesdays in the daytime

About Ruby Tuesdays: the husband and I arrived for an early dinner and- wonder of wonders!- our hostess wasn’t vomitous. In fact, she was a thicker, taller version of Yours Truly (minus twinkling eyes and searing wit, mind). Long story short, it was slightly unnerving to see her throughout my meal. Sometimes I wish men would look at me the way other women are looked at. It doesn’t matter how much weight I lose, how clear my skin is or how boss my outfit is, I’m completely neuter and invisible. This has been bothering me, so I called my straight guy friends for perspective. The two (well, one and a half since ol’ what’s-his-nuts is “kinda” engaged to his Yellow Cab fling) were asked the simple question: do you think I’m attractive? G.F. #1 laughed and said “Are you serious, buddy?” “Yeah. Doable- yes or no?” He paused and said, “You’re really short.” I politely told him his mom was short and moved on to G.F. #2. Paraphrased transcript follows:
“Do you think I’m attractive?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a simple yes or no.”
“Uh…well, I haven’t seen you in eleven years. You’re thirty-something now, huh?”
I hung up on him. Good luck on that “marriage”, buddy.

Right now, I'm feeling un-pretty and invisible. It's a terrible feeling. I'm a grown woman, damn it! A grown and sexy woman- why doesn't anyone else see this? And I'm not talking about porch monkeys in doo-rags and wife beaters sucking their teeth at anything with breasts. I'm talking about MEN. Discriminating men. Sometimes I wonder if I'm like Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense. What if I am, in fact, dead and I don't know it. That would sure explain a lot.

playing catch up

I admit it. I've been remiss in my blogging duties. But that's only because I've been running around like a headless crackhead on fire. I finally finished the Night Gallery play and sent it off, feeling mad groovy. The next day, I received my "thanks for submitting" email which contained two very important pieces of information. Number one: winners will be announced in mid-May and number two: they received over 1,000 entries. Hmm. Did I say I was feeling groovy? Make that hopeless.

In other non-writing news, my son is starting to really piss me off. He has become lazy beyong recognition. He wore ripped clothes today because he couldn't be bothered to make the long, lonely trek across the frozen tundra through freezing rain (read: two hundred feet downstairs to the laundry room) to see if he had pants in the dryer. His room smells so fetid, you would think he was shitting in his pillowcases and, to top it off, he has forgotten how to tell time. He's damn near eight! Is this normal for boys? You know what? Scratch that. I don't care if it's normal, the shit is unacceptable and it's got to stop.

I was so angry with him, I put him upstairs until I could calm down and finish my blog. It's time for me to go get him, but remind me to tell you about Ruby Tuesdays.

the opposite of flow

I'm not sure exactly what has happened, but something has stuck a pin in my creativity and it's leaked almost in it's entirety out of my ears. I am unmotivated to write. I have ideas, but can't be bothered to write them down. It's "Cleaver"'s fault. Maybe this is what resting on one's laurels, basking in one's own glory feels like. But I just feel idle. I'll give myself this weekend and Monday to feel it out and then get back into the swing of things naturally. Hopefully.

bonafide dual hyphenate

Yay! Fantastic news! My play "Cleaver" has been chosen for production in San Antonio! This is excellent news because it's the first time I've ever had a play on stage. I feel like this is one more step toward making it. In fact, at the risk of sounding too sure, I feel like I HAVE made it. Sure, I don't have an agent and my romantic comedy isn't being filmed in Toronto right now, but so what? I've had a short movie made and now my play will debut on stage next month. Hey, I'm now a screenwriter-playwright! How about them apples?

After I received word that my play was going to be performed, I thought the day couldn't get any better. Boy, was I wrong! My mentor emailed me and said that the movie producers/ financiers behind his latest movie were on the lookout for a low budget thriller and/or horror script to shoot. He thought I might have something for them. Ha! You know I do...I dipped into the vault and found the ol' "shady nightclub owner gets comeuppance" piece and send him the logline. There's good money involved, so I'm hoping this might lead to something. We'll see.

I'm watching "Murder, She Wrote" tonight. I remember watching this show as a kid. It's very entertaining. Tonight's episode is how Jessica Fletcher is learning to use a computer to write her stories. I freaking love this nostalgic stuff!

Oh my goodness. Did you know that Dr. Kroger from Monk died tonight? It's a jungle out there, indeed.

projects abound

Luckily, I eked out some time this weekend to write. I started writing another ten minute play about a priest. I don't know what it is about priests, rabbis and other holy men, but they seem to always find their way into my work. Maybe I have an unhealthy obsession. Maybe I just need to find something else to write about. Anyway, this play is shaping up to be quite funny, but I'm not sure about the blocking. I want to explore the studio space, you know... My goals for the upcoming week are to finish this first draft of the plantation project and finish the first draft of the ten minute priest play. If I can do that, this week is a success.

Tonight I'm too tired to write, so I just wrote three query letters and will mail them in the morning. Also, the fam in VA made me copies of my short film, so I'm firing them off tomorrow to my sister. She's the leader of the Delafantastika street team, by the way. Anyhow, I'm starting to mispell words like "words" so I'm off to bed. I'll write more when something glorious happens. Peace.

on the up

Try as I did, I just could not make my 24 page murder/mystery/thriller opus into what I wanted. So since I had thirty days to craft something spectacular, I scrapped that whole idea and went with my passion. Dark and spooky isn't my passion nor my nature. It's in my nature to write irreverent dreck that only the sickest of the sick would appreciate. My short may not make it into the final screenplay, but why go against the grain? I've had two valuable critiques on it already and am awaiting a third. After the third crit, I think I'm just gonna send this puppy out into the world.

One thing I didn't know about these independent filmmakers in Arizona is that they are taking their completed screenplay (with, fingers crossed, my short included) to Sundance! Yo, if my piece gets accepted, I'm going to Sundance! I'm getting way ahead of myself obviously, but it's so nice to have a dream.

Speaking of a dream, I toured the plantation "Big House" today. It was soul-stirring because folks- my folks, black folks -were born, worked and died on that property. It was difficult to pay attention to the people showing me around because the air was so heavy with history. I managed to get through it without choking and came away with a much clearer vision of how I wanted the script to play out. By the way, I'm writing this with another person, so I'm actually a "co-writer". However, this is a giant project, so sharing credit is cool. As long as I don't have to share my check, right?

I talked to my sister today. She told me something curious: she knows a fellow screenwriter in the struggle out in Los Angeles. He doesn't have any credits yet, though. I'm sending out a prayer tonight that he continues to fight to have his voice heard. It's difficult in these bland days of sequels, tent pole blockbusters and/or Tyler Perry offerings. But it'll happen.

My eyes are starting to droop, so I'm signing off. I'll be in VA tomorrow with fam, but hopefully I'll have time to write. Peace out.

When it rains, it pours

Today I was still high off my newest, high-vis writing gig when I found yet another writing opportunity! It seems that some independent filmmakers in Arizona (who have either won or placed very high in several big name film festivals) are looking for short screenplays on a certain topic. Of all those submitted, the top 6 screenplays will be made into a movie made up of vignettes all loosely relating to the topic. I'm going to enter because I have a short, 24 page script that- although not necessarily neglected- has been gathering dust on my hard drive for the last two years. The original concept of this screenplay was supposed to be a teenage mystery/thriller that takes place in a high school, but the mystery/thriller part of it was lacking. It's got great dialogue (IMHO, of course) and compelling characters, so I'd hate to see them go to waste. Now it looks like I won't have to.

Tonight and tomorrow, I plan to chop my baby down to the requisite 10-15 pages, insert a little sumpin-sumpin about the topic to make it flow and send it off with a kiss and a prayer. Viel gluck!