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.

deeper and deeper

So, the last time I wrote, I was lamenting the fact that I feel about as out of place as a Huey Newton at a KKK rally. Well, it hasn't gotten much better. I still don't know anybody here, still have zero job prospects (why isn't Raytheon calling me back??) and to top it off, I found out that I have to take the driver's license test over again since my out of state license is expired. My eyebrows need to be tamed, I need a manicure and I'm running out of Mary Kay nighttime solution (it's a face thing- totally necessary). Ya'll, I have no motivation to write or to even breathe. Yesterday I went to bed thinking/hoping/wishing that if I didn't wake up, that would be fine with me.

On the writing front, I did manage to query a couple of places before my computer crapped out on me. I got one response from a company out in L.A. looking for short scripts to produce. I sent them "Pusherman"; what could it hurt? Nobody else wants it. One place I haven't heard from and the other, well, their deadline has passed for accepting submissions. I should get off my duff and start seriously querying screenwriting agents, but what's the point?

Did I tell you about an article I read recently? It basically said that any screenwriter who is over the age of 25 should know that their time is ticking as it relates to ever getting produced. According to the writer of this article, working with older adults is undesirable, as we are set in our ways and difficult to work with. My question is, if nobody is working with us, then just who exactly is attesting to our supposed inability to get the job done?

This is all too much. I want to go home, but can't for obvious reasons.

end of an era

Before we get started, let's observe a moment of silence for the death of a fantasy. Yes, Vin Diesel and his girlfriend now have a baby. This means that any encounters with this living superhero will always be served with a side of baby mama drama. *sigh* It is the end of an era.

I haven't written in a while because we've been moving into our new house. Your erstwhile spiritual British Columbian is now living in Texas. Texas has changed since the last time I was here. The people here are not very friendly, all the lawns are manicured within an inch of their little green lives and there are barely enough black people to populate a soccer team. It's weird, but I'm trying to convince myself that everything is going to be okay. After all, we've only been here for a week, right? I really hope things get better.

To be fair, I always think the absolute worst when moving. On the way to my new destination, I lament "Well, that's it. I had something great that I'll never have again. It's the end of an era". Fortunately, I tend to prove myself wrong. I thought that in the islands where I was financially comfortable and was somewhat of a local personality with the newspaper column. I thought it couldn't get any better. When I moved to the northeast, my writing hit a grand stride and I was again financially comfortable. Now, I'm in this new place and the only place to go is up.

If you can't tell, I'm depressed. Life on the outside looks great, but I feel like crap. I have never been so fat or so bald (I cut my hair off a while back because it's triple digit hot here. Now I live in baseball caps) in my life. OMG. Fat and bald? I'm turning into my dad. Hmm. And I thought I was depressed before...