Sunday, February 23, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 24
Animal
A picture I took a week ago at the Los Angeles Zoo. The baby's name is Joey and frankly, there are about 150 more pictures of him on my computer. He was adorable, awake, and very clingy. The Zoo volunteer told us baby koala's stay in their mother's pouches (which open on the bottom, not the top like a purse, and are held together with very strong ab muscles) about six months and Joey had been out of the pouch at least 2 months. Needless to say, we'll be visiting Joey again very soon!
Saturday, February 22, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 23
PATTERNS
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| Angela has been learning to knit with a new pattern - we have washcloths galore! |
Friday, February 21, 2014
Thursday, February 20, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 21
Faceless Self Portrait
It was the first day of summer vacation. I was eight years old. It was June of 1986. It was the first summer my mom was back to work after having my sister and I. We lived just down the street from Thompson Lake and the beach there was small, roped off, perfect for Michigan summers. We had a babysitter for the first time, a long-term babysitter who would surprisingly be our babysitter for many years to come though if I had been her I might have run after this first day. Kim was a teenager, the daughter of two of my mom's high school friends. It was her first day with us.
We headed to the beach for the afternoon and immediately Angela and I found the water. The was a dock jutting out from the beach that we jumped off of time and time again. Dozens of kids standing in line on the dock, jumping off, swimming around the dock for a minute, standing and watching your friends, swimming back to the sand, getting back on the dock. It wasn't as exciting as a water slide but it's all there was. There was also a big square floating dock in the "deep end" of the roped off swim area. I honestly can say I never got on that dock. Not that summer, not any summer after. I took swimming lessons in that lake for many years but not once did I get on the dock again. On any dock.
I remember it being very warm, Michigan in June usually is, and I remember taking my turn and jumping off. Then walking back up to the sand and instead of getting in line again, heading to where our towels were, to where Kim was sunbathing with her friends. I remember no pain, nothing out of the ordinary. I remember looking for my towel and then seeing the stricken look on Kim's face. And then her scream. I still didn't understand. And then I did. Then I looked down and saw the blood and the meaty flesh where skin had been and knowing in an instant that I didn't understand what was happening or what was about to happen.
Somehow I got to the lifeguard's shack, that little brick building where we begged our moms to buy us fireballs and chips. (I only ever licked the fireballs once or twice and then always chased those licks with lake water. Yum.) I don't know if someone carried me or led me there or what. But I was there. In a folding chair in the back. Something could have been wrapped around my leg by that point but I don't remember. I do remember my Grandma MacDonald coming to the rescue in that big old red pickup truck with the vinyl seats that were always so hot. I remember getting somehow to Doctor Earl's office in downtown Howell. I remember sitting on the paper on the exam table in the far back exam room. That table was different and in all my years going to Doctor Earl I rarely was back in that exam room that I later learned was a procedure room. I remember my mom being there with grandma but have no recollection of Angela or Kim. Thinking back now I assume they went home though I still don't know.
My mom and grandma held my leg still as Doctor Earl looked to see if a tendon was cut. Somehow, mercifully, that hadn't happened though my leg had been sliced so deep it needed at least three layers of sutures. I can still remember what the inside of my leg looked like and I shiver when I think about it. I remember asking where my dad was when they got ready to give me shots in my leg and my mom telling me he was coming. He'd get there eventually, to take us all home in our car.
I remember the stitches. The layer upon layer of stitches that would literally mark my first day of summer. Those stitches that would be the bane of my little eight year old existence all summer long. There would be no swimming for me, no running, not much playing that required physical activity. I remember the doctor saying it was a good thing I had fat legs or I might have lost the leg. To this day whenever I wish I was thinner I try to remember that being a fat little kid saved my life.
You see, when I jumped off that dock in the water on that beach there was a spike, no not a little nail but a big old spike, poking through the dock the wrong way. When someone, I suppose someone who worked for the city, put the dock together that spring, they put the spikes in the wrong way -- sticking out instead of sticking in. And when I jumped off the dock, a little too close to the dock, my leg hit the spike and tore right through it.
However, that summer gave me two things. It gave me the chance to become a pretty convincing storyteller. I remember telling Mom #2, Marilyn, that yes, I was allowed to go in the water at the lake if I had my leg wrapped up in bandages. I told her the doctor had said it was okay. She believed me. Or maybe I just wore her down. Either way, I got in the water, and water got in me. And the result? Some new stitches. The same thing happened at a picnic I went too. Of course I could run and play a little if I was careful. But when you're eight, you don't really play carefully. More torn stitches. Stitches that took way too long to heal. Layer upon layer that needed to heal and took all summer long.
That summer I also got a scar.
A scar that is still with me all these years later. A scar that for years after the fact was much more pronounced and much more visible. A scar that the attorney of the city of Howell offered to have the city pay to have removed when I turned 18. Yes, that was the only compensation my parents could get the city to provide because they did not want to accrue thousands of dollars in legal fees fighting the city. I don't even have any idea if they fixed the dock that year or years later, no one in my family every went near it again.
I remember being confused as to the though that I might want the scar removed. I wasn't ever going to be a leg model so I knew that it wouldn't be necessary. And frankly, it's a part of me. It's who I am. I am my scars and my bruises and my wounds, visible and invisible. I am my pieces and my whole.
This scar doesn't hurt. Once it healed, it never bothered me again. The only thing is the skin is much thinner where the injury didn't heal properly. There is a deep indentation on my left leg right through the scar. But I only notice if I rub it. I've been able to walk and run and play college sports and do anything I ever wanted despite it. I have been fortunate.
Some scars are hidden but cause so much damage. But this one? This one tells a story. A story of a day I'll never forget even if it fades. A story that has since become family lore. This is my faceless self portrait. This is me.
Post Script from Mom:
"What happened to the dock, we went for a walk in the winter, the city had let the water down so people could work on the shore or beaches. We walked on the ice and saw the nails still there. Your dad went home got the camera told the city to fix it or we would sue. The dock was removed."
It was the first day of summer vacation. I was eight years old. It was June of 1986. It was the first summer my mom was back to work after having my sister and I. We lived just down the street from Thompson Lake and the beach there was small, roped off, perfect for Michigan summers. We had a babysitter for the first time, a long-term babysitter who would surprisingly be our babysitter for many years to come though if I had been her I might have run after this first day. Kim was a teenager, the daughter of two of my mom's high school friends. It was her first day with us.
We headed to the beach for the afternoon and immediately Angela and I found the water. The was a dock jutting out from the beach that we jumped off of time and time again. Dozens of kids standing in line on the dock, jumping off, swimming around the dock for a minute, standing and watching your friends, swimming back to the sand, getting back on the dock. It wasn't as exciting as a water slide but it's all there was. There was also a big square floating dock in the "deep end" of the roped off swim area. I honestly can say I never got on that dock. Not that summer, not any summer after. I took swimming lessons in that lake for many years but not once did I get on the dock again. On any dock.
I remember it being very warm, Michigan in June usually is, and I remember taking my turn and jumping off. Then walking back up to the sand and instead of getting in line again, heading to where our towels were, to where Kim was sunbathing with her friends. I remember no pain, nothing out of the ordinary. I remember looking for my towel and then seeing the stricken look on Kim's face. And then her scream. I still didn't understand. And then I did. Then I looked down and saw the blood and the meaty flesh where skin had been and knowing in an instant that I didn't understand what was happening or what was about to happen.
Somehow I got to the lifeguard's shack, that little brick building where we begged our moms to buy us fireballs and chips. (I only ever licked the fireballs once or twice and then always chased those licks with lake water. Yum.) I don't know if someone carried me or led me there or what. But I was there. In a folding chair in the back. Something could have been wrapped around my leg by that point but I don't remember. I do remember my Grandma MacDonald coming to the rescue in that big old red pickup truck with the vinyl seats that were always so hot. I remember getting somehow to Doctor Earl's office in downtown Howell. I remember sitting on the paper on the exam table in the far back exam room. That table was different and in all my years going to Doctor Earl I rarely was back in that exam room that I later learned was a procedure room. I remember my mom being there with grandma but have no recollection of Angela or Kim. Thinking back now I assume they went home though I still don't know.
My mom and grandma held my leg still as Doctor Earl looked to see if a tendon was cut. Somehow, mercifully, that hadn't happened though my leg had been sliced so deep it needed at least three layers of sutures. I can still remember what the inside of my leg looked like and I shiver when I think about it. I remember asking where my dad was when they got ready to give me shots in my leg and my mom telling me he was coming. He'd get there eventually, to take us all home in our car.
I remember the stitches. The layer upon layer of stitches that would literally mark my first day of summer. Those stitches that would be the bane of my little eight year old existence all summer long. There would be no swimming for me, no running, not much playing that required physical activity. I remember the doctor saying it was a good thing I had fat legs or I might have lost the leg. To this day whenever I wish I was thinner I try to remember that being a fat little kid saved my life.
You see, when I jumped off that dock in the water on that beach there was a spike, no not a little nail but a big old spike, poking through the dock the wrong way. When someone, I suppose someone who worked for the city, put the dock together that spring, they put the spikes in the wrong way -- sticking out instead of sticking in. And when I jumped off the dock, a little too close to the dock, my leg hit the spike and tore right through it.
However, that summer gave me two things. It gave me the chance to become a pretty convincing storyteller. I remember telling Mom #2, Marilyn, that yes, I was allowed to go in the water at the lake if I had my leg wrapped up in bandages. I told her the doctor had said it was okay. She believed me. Or maybe I just wore her down. Either way, I got in the water, and water got in me. And the result? Some new stitches. The same thing happened at a picnic I went too. Of course I could run and play a little if I was careful. But when you're eight, you don't really play carefully. More torn stitches. Stitches that took way too long to heal. Layer upon layer that needed to heal and took all summer long.
That summer I also got a scar.
I remember being confused as to the though that I might want the scar removed. I wasn't ever going to be a leg model so I knew that it wouldn't be necessary. And frankly, it's a part of me. It's who I am. I am my scars and my bruises and my wounds, visible and invisible. I am my pieces and my whole.
This scar doesn't hurt. Once it healed, it never bothered me again. The only thing is the skin is much thinner where the injury didn't heal properly. There is a deep indentation on my left leg right through the scar. But I only notice if I rub it. I've been able to walk and run and play college sports and do anything I ever wanted despite it. I have been fortunate.
Some scars are hidden but cause so much damage. But this one? This one tells a story. A story of a day I'll never forget even if it fades. A story that has since become family lore. This is my faceless self portrait. This is me.
Post Script from Mom:
"What happened to the dock, we went for a walk in the winter, the city had let the water down so people could work on the shore or beaches. We walked on the ice and saw the nails still there. Your dad went home got the camera told the city to fix it or we would sue. The dock was removed."
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Sunday, February 16, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 17
Technology
I honestly don't know what I'd do without technology. I'm rarely without my iPhone, or tiny red iPod that clips to my waistband or my laptop or Angela's iPad. I am constantly amazed at what I can find out or do with technology. I can order clothes, wallets (black travel ones yesterday), dish soap (a case coming Wednesday), a car (Uber is awesome), food, just about anything. I can talk with friends and family continents away. I can watch almost any movie or TV show or listen to any song. I can create screenplays, film movies, manipulate photographs, it's truly amazing.
I can also plan a trip abroad like I spent the afternoon doing today. So far we've booked our hotels for London and Paris online, booked our Chunnel tickets and started researching all of our sightseeing adventures. We have interactive maps, we figured out it's a 10 minute walk from our hotel to the nearest train station and how to rent a bicycle in Giverny all from our laptop today.
Yesterday we went to a bookstore and looked through the map section. We figured out which maps we wanted and then realized it would be over $30. So we decided to go home and reevaluate what we already had and could find online. We soon discovered all 3 of our travel books had pull out maps including metro maps. So I copied what we had and we started coloring our routes. We've already planned our day trips to Versailles, Giverny, and Sacre Coeur.
Add that to the info we've figured out about all of our hotels and the museums and it's been a pretty successful planning day, all using technology, and some good old fashioned maps. Maps I get great joy in writing all over! Highlighting and circling and imagining how much fun it'll be to walk the streets. Only a few more months...
I can also plan a trip abroad like I spent the afternoon doing today. So far we've booked our hotels for London and Paris online, booked our Chunnel tickets and started researching all of our sightseeing adventures. We have interactive maps, we figured out it's a 10 minute walk from our hotel to the nearest train station and how to rent a bicycle in Giverny all from our laptop today.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 15
Silhouette
Today's challenge was a challenge. And not just because Cedric was involved. I had no idea how to shoot a silhouette so Angela started researching, I played with the buttons on my camera and well, we got the first two pictures. (Angela said the second picture looks like Cedric's in heaven. We'll frame this because I'm sure that's as close as he'll ever get.) Finally, we got a silhouette on the last shot but not a true one. It's not what I wanted but I'll keep trying and I'm learning new things about my camera every day, which was the point.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 12
Sunset
Taken by Angela and me, between 5:10pm and 5:50pm
from the sidewalk in front of our house in Los Angeles
Monday, February 10, 2014
Sunday, February 09, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 10
Childhood Memory
Last summer when cleaning out boxes at my parents I found these treasures and just couldn't part with them. I think it's important to remember our prior selves. Where we came from. I came from plastic charm bracelets that had charms like feet and wrenches and toothbrushes. And yes, I wore this pink banana clip in my hair so much. Might have to break it out again some day. Until then I keep these treasures in my dresser in a Crown Royal bag. Ah, childhood.
Saturday, February 08, 2014
Friday, February 07, 2014
Thursday, February 06, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 7
Changes to come
Yesterday I restarted (I'd started back in November but the sitcom pilot sidetracked me) the rewrite I've been meaning to do on my arson investigator pilot. This morning I spread out the notes I have to incorporate, go through, weed out, put in, etc. These notes come from three different readers and me. I'm completely overwhelmed. So, I'll do as the awesome Anne Lamott suggests and just take it "bird by bird".
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 6
Obsession
It's February and I've already been working on next year's Christmas ornaments for a month...
Aunt Gloria
I love it.
My dad has four brothers and one sister. His parents divorced when he was a child and remarried and the result was a large family. Different cities, different states, different generations. And yet? My dad has stayed very close to his half-siblings. That's actually an odd phrase to me, half-sibling. It's not one we ever used in my family. We're family. Not half or step or anything else. Family.
This is a picture of my dad and Gloria at what I imagine is a basketball game that her daughter Blessing was playing in. Blessing is a senior in high school right now. She has an older son, Jeremy, as well. All of this is amazing to me because Gloria is amazing.
Gloria has a disease that has ravaged her body for my entire life. I cannot really remember a time when she wasn't in a wheel chair. I look at pictures of her holding me or running next to me and I have a hard time reconciling that with the woman above. Because for my whole life Gloria has been fighting MS.
If you want to argue things that aren't fair in life, get in line. Gloria is smart. Like college-crazy smart. She takes after her Uncle Ed who was one of the smartest men I've ever known, my Grandma Millie's brother who taught in Chicago. Gloria was athletic. She's funny and sweet and sentimental and I see a lot of myself in her. I love that. She's also one of the most devout Christians I know. She goes to church regularly. She makes sure I get my subscription to Guideposts magazine every year.
And she does all of this without the use of her arms or her legs. She can't feed or dress herself. She eats mostly via a tube. She talks into a microphone affixed to her wheelchair but even that doesn't help us understand her very well. You have to get up close and focus on her mouth and listen intently to figure out words and phrases. And yet? On good days, she is able to speak more normally. And when she does, she asks questions, she knows exactly what's happening with everyone in the family and the world. As I said, she's so smart. And she's trapped.
It makes me cry. It really does. And yet I have to stop and remind myself that every single day she wakes up and she greets the world and she lives in it. She doesn't just exist. She goes to her daughter's basketball games. She came to my grandparents' funerals in Howell this summer. She seems to thoroughly enjoy life. And to me, that is awesome. That's what faith and love and belief do to a person.
Happy Birthday, Aunt Gloria. I love you. You are an example of a life well lived to me and to everyone who knows you.
Tuesday, February 04, 2014
Monday, February 03, 2014
From the ashes...
A few weeks ago I wrote about not knowing what was next. Since then I've had some great conversations with friends and peers and tried to be even more intentional about using my time. I'm good about time management, for the most part, you have to be when you work from home. I get that it's not for everyone. I have to make myself sit down at my desk every morning and not flop on the couch. So over the past two weeks I've set deadlines with two writer friends, last Friday I had a pilot rewrite due to Tami and this week I have another pilot rewrite due to her. On Valentine's Day I have a deadline with Krista. That one? It's a bit bigger. I've decided to rewrite a feature I wrote back in film school. And not just rewrite it but retool it completely. Instead of male main characters? Female main characters. So just change the whole thing basically. And I'm beyond excited. I close my eyes at night and my mind drifts to the characters. I try to read a novel in the waiting room and my mind goes to the characters. That's a very good sign I tell ya.
Also, I've started a photography challenge which has gotten my excited about art and capturing life. And I've started praying with a friend/accountability partner. We started this just this morning officially though we've been doing it unofficially for about 14 years. One of the things I asked her to pray for was my writing and my employment situation.
And just two hours ago I got offered another contract with the University of Phoenix. It's not full-time. It's not forever (the semester starts next Monday and runs through mid-April) but it's something. It's for now. It takes a huge weight off my shoulders, shaves it down a little, and puts it back on. The weight's not gone but it feels just the slightest bit better.
So, I'm back to teacher-mode. I'm in writer-mode. And also? Thanks God, for the pretty obvious reminder that You are awesome and prayer works.
Also, I've started a photography challenge which has gotten my excited about art and capturing life. And I've started praying with a friend/accountability partner. We started this just this morning officially though we've been doing it unofficially for about 14 years. One of the things I asked her to pray for was my writing and my employment situation.
And just two hours ago I got offered another contract with the University of Phoenix. It's not full-time. It's not forever (the semester starts next Monday and runs through mid-April) but it's something. It's for now. It takes a huge weight off my shoulders, shaves it down a little, and puts it back on. The weight's not gone but it feels just the slightest bit better.
So, I'm back to teacher-mode. I'm in writer-mode. And also? Thanks God, for the pretty obvious reminder that You are awesome and prayer works.
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 4
Something Green
I was really focused on the leaves in this photo. I've been reading all of the books that came with my Canon Rebel and I wanted to try getting a macro photo - where you focus on one thing while the other thing in the background or foreground is blurry. Those photos always look so cool to me. This isn't a true one, I'll have to work on that, but I did manage to refocus the lens manually onto the leaves. The green leaves. Also, I love that on February 3rd there's a rose blooming in my yard.
Sunday, February 02, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 3
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| Abbey Place - photo credit Sarah (with DSLR camera) |
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| Abbey Place - photo credit Angela (with DSLR camera) |
Saturday, February 01, 2014
Amazing art
Yesterday I walked over to Angela's school at her request. Sometimes I pop into the school a lot. I've been known to clean half the classrooms there (this is an exaggeration but it's not much of one, every time she moves into a new classroom we clean, deep clean, and she moves a lot - well she did, until this year thank goodness). Sometimes I'm absent for long periods of time. I haven't been over much this school year as she has no prep. She teaches straight through from beginning to end with a 25 minute lunch break. So there's no time to walk with me to get a coffee or sit on the bench out front after I get done with Homeless Lunch. Alas, I've not spent as much time with these students as I have in the past.
And yet?
They didn't forget me. I went on a field trip with them back at the beginning of the school year - to see the Space Shuttle. And on Friday I was greeted by name by almost every child. They were giddy to see me, to talk to me, to ask me questions. Mind you, I was only there an hour. An hour during which I supervised an art project to give Ms. Knapp a second pair of hands. An hour during which I noted several things. One, these are kids. For all their foul language and anger and laziness and refusal to share what they learn, they're kids. Little kids. Eleven, twelve years old. They ask tenderly for an extra sheet of paper. They get frustrated when their crayon breaks. They ask questions that seem so simple and sweet. What color is your house, Ms. Knapp? Why do you sound like the other Ms. Knapp?
And two? Kids are amazing. Just look at the artwork above. Their learning how to "graffiti" their names or words. They're coloring bricks (rubbings made on actual bricks against the school). They're putting time and effort into their projects. They're so proud to show off what they've done, even when they're shy about it. And I love that.
Today Angela and I flipped through some old scrapbooks. I came across my photos from my old classroom in Yuma and my heart sung, sadly at times. I miss those kids, those four walls, that time we spent together. And I'm so grateful when I get to spend an hour or two with Ang's kids nowadays. Kids are amazing. All of them.
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 2
What You Wore
This is what I wore today to get a pedicure (this pic is post pedicure). It's Los Angeles, it's February first, and I'm comfortable in jean capris and flip-flops though I do have a long-sleeved red shirt on. The high today is 66 degrees, the sky is blue and the sun is shining though it's very windy.
Friday, January 31, 2014
30 Day Photography Challenge - Day 1
Day 1 - Self Portrait
P.S. - This was my first time using the self-time function on my camera and I took 10 photos in 10 seconds. The other 9 were mostly me with my eyes closed so I did choose the one with my eyes open, full disclosure. But I love that feature.
Thursday, January 30, 2014
The backpacks are here!
These are the backpacks Angela and I got for our trip to Paris this summer. We wanted something easy to maneuver with since we'll be taking planes, trains, buses, etc. all around Paris and London. We decided early on to forgo large suitcases and backpacks seemed like a logical alternative. So we'll each take two pieces of luggage. The above packs and our carry on sized rolling suitcases.
We've gotten better at packing light over the years. Traveling cross country will do that. I still remember heading back to Kalamazoo one winter after Christmas break and my car being packed to the ceiling of stuff. Now it's hard to imagine that a few suitcases is all I get to go back and forth with. But we're lucky, most of our traveling is to our parents' so we don't take much in the way of toiletries (though one should pack contacts, an item I forgot this winter!) or extras. However, Paris will be different.
In way of preparations we're already deep in the thick of it. We've booked our hotel rooms in Paris (still figuring out London), we've booked our airfare (through Montreal, which we won't see much of since our layover is 50 minutes long which the nice Air Canada woman explained to me yesterday would, in fact, be a sufficient amount of time to get from gate to gate and through customs though I'm still a wee bit skeptical), and we've started collecting supplies.
So far we've purchased the backpacks, four extra memory cards for my camera (we can now take approximately seven billion snapshots), a holder for said cards, and we're making lists galore. I've designated one new shirt for the trip and we've began another list of what we still need to get in terms of clothes and shoes (a pair of sandals is arriving in the mail today for me - here's hoping no blisters!).
I've also started listening to French Coffeebreak podcasts to brush up on my French. Six years of studying the language sounds great until I realize I last cracked a French textbook fifteen years ago. We're still pouring over the travel guides and need to firm up itineraries in order to make some ticket purchases before we go. But most of all?
I'm excited! Beyond excited. I've only traveled to Canada and Mexico before and while those have been fun adventures, it's been nothing like this. (Heck, I've only spent one night in Mexico and it was on a friend's couch!) Our amazing cousin Doris who is a world traveler (literally - she travels constantly for work and fun) has even gotten caught up in the excitement. She emailed this week to see what kind of adapters we were getting for our electronics. I love that! I love that my dad sends me apps to help with museum tours and everything else Paris related. I love the anticipation of having something so wonderful to look forward to.
There's still a lot to do, a lot to collect, a lot to check off the lists. But most of all, there's a lot to look forward to.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Feedback is scary but...
It's been a rough week work-wise. I've been feeling very down in the dumps about my situation. Throughout December I was on such a high regarding my writing and the staged reading and then had a terrific holiday in Michigan and then came back to an empty inbox, no phone calls and stacks of scripts on my desk with no where to go. Depressing to say the least.
To top it all off? I'd received feedback in late December from a source I was excited about. I sent them my favorite script, the baseball one, and was itching with excitement. And the feedback was negative. I was crushed. I put it away and let the negativity fester in my mind until I decided maybe I wasn't supposed to be a writer after all. Maybe I'd squandered my time these past five years when I could have been getting a teaching certificate or some other marketable skill. I was basically screwed. Or so I thought.
Then this week I spoke with a friend. She had received similar feedback on two of her scripts from a similar source. We commiserated and complained and lifted each other up. But it felt a little artificial because deep down we both wondered if this was the plan. So we agreed to read each other's work, read the feedback and discuss. Honestly. Openly. Without regards of the other person's feelings.
I set about reading her script this week. I talked to her and gave her my notes and we agreed some changes could be made. But I still couldn't bring myself to read my notes again. I printed them on Thursday and left them on the printer all day and all night. Friday morning the black words on that stark white paper stared up at me. I had to face the music. So yesterday I took the two pages and I read them through. I distilled the feedback down into bullet points on two note cards. I used a purple pen and thought the notes didn't look as scary in my own handwriting. And a lot of the notes were the same. Over and over again. I wrote down the very few strengths the feedback listed and put stars by those. My script had some merit. It had potential the feedback reminded me. And then I set the cards aside.
This morning my friend called me and we talked about my script for over an hour. I took four pages of legal pad notes. I scribbled and circled and wrote faster than my brain could process. And you know what? I got excited about my script again and the opportunity for a rewrite. I realized, with my friend's not so gentle reminder, that my script is well done, that my characters are interesting and that I'm actually a very good writer. She told me much of the feedback was bullshit and I wrote that in large letters on my note cards as I crossed things out.
But more than anything? She gave me these awesome notes on things I should work on. This feedback, which I was terrified of, was actually a blessing in disguise. It got me to look at my script objectively, for the first time in months, and to consider what's best for the story. It got me to remember how much I love writing and frankly, rewriting is writing.
So this week I'll take the notes I made, all of them, and get to work. I'll take the ideas sprung from those stark white pages, and the conversation my friend and I had, and I'll make this script I love so much better. And by Friday? I'll have a draft that I'm even happier with and more proud to send out with my name boldly centered on the front page.
And I'll have to remind myself over and over, a million times, that feedback is scary but it's also vital. Oh so vital.
To top it all off? I'd received feedback in late December from a source I was excited about. I sent them my favorite script, the baseball one, and was itching with excitement. And the feedback was negative. I was crushed. I put it away and let the negativity fester in my mind until I decided maybe I wasn't supposed to be a writer after all. Maybe I'd squandered my time these past five years when I could have been getting a teaching certificate or some other marketable skill. I was basically screwed. Or so I thought.
Then this week I spoke with a friend. She had received similar feedback on two of her scripts from a similar source. We commiserated and complained and lifted each other up. But it felt a little artificial because deep down we both wondered if this was the plan. So we agreed to read each other's work, read the feedback and discuss. Honestly. Openly. Without regards of the other person's feelings.
I set about reading her script this week. I talked to her and gave her my notes and we agreed some changes could be made. But I still couldn't bring myself to read my notes again. I printed them on Thursday and left them on the printer all day and all night. Friday morning the black words on that stark white paper stared up at me. I had to face the music. So yesterday I took the two pages and I read them through. I distilled the feedback down into bullet points on two note cards. I used a purple pen and thought the notes didn't look as scary in my own handwriting. And a lot of the notes were the same. Over and over again. I wrote down the very few strengths the feedback listed and put stars by those. My script had some merit. It had potential the feedback reminded me. And then I set the cards aside.
This morning my friend called me and we talked about my script for over an hour. I took four pages of legal pad notes. I scribbled and circled and wrote faster than my brain could process. And you know what? I got excited about my script again and the opportunity for a rewrite. I realized, with my friend's not so gentle reminder, that my script is well done, that my characters are interesting and that I'm actually a very good writer. She told me much of the feedback was bullshit and I wrote that in large letters on my note cards as I crossed things out.
But more than anything? She gave me these awesome notes on things I should work on. This feedback, which I was terrified of, was actually a blessing in disguise. It got me to look at my script objectively, for the first time in months, and to consider what's best for the story. It got me to remember how much I love writing and frankly, rewriting is writing.
So this week I'll take the notes I made, all of them, and get to work. I'll take the ideas sprung from those stark white pages, and the conversation my friend and I had, and I'll make this script I love so much better. And by Friday? I'll have a draft that I'm even happier with and more proud to send out with my name boldly centered on the front page.
And I'll have to remind myself over and over, a million times, that feedback is scary but it's also vital. Oh so vital.
Friday, January 24, 2014
The Music of My Life
There has been an item on my To-Do List for over two years now: put CDs onto computer and get rid of CDs. It was something I'd been putting off and I don't know why. I'd gotten rid of the VHS tapes without much ceremony. I'd been digitalizing photos and lots of paper, trying to go all digital. I'm not a hoarder but I do like to keep mementos and lets face it, my CDs are mementos.
When Angela and I got the two giant black CD books out of the closet this weekend I wasn't sure what to expect. Before we moved we'd gotten rid of all the CD cases and put the covers and CDs in these cases. But I hadn't looked at the cases for some time. If I wanted a CD or a particular song, maybe. But for the most part? The music languished up there behind the boxes of Halloween and Christmas candles.
So Saturday morning we flipped through the pages and immediately began reminiscing. The worship CD from the Christmas Youth Conference we attended when I was still in high school. My first ever CD: Whitney by Whitney Houston. My copy of the Rent soundtrack, the soundtrack I memorized long before I ever saw the show on a stage. The Jennifer Knapp Kansas CD that I listened to over and over when I first moved to Olivet. I remember lying on my egg carton bed, on my sleeping bag on the floor of the room I shared with Kelly and Tracy in Brewer House, learning every single word to that CD until I sang it in my sleep. The Alanis Morisette CD that I would end up singing as I drove the tractor at work that summer while I grated the camping ground roads (this was long before iPods and it's a good thing I was on that tractor all by my lonesome because I'd scream her songs so loud).
I listen to music almost daily. I can't usually drive without it. Rarely do I write or work without it. If I need quiet I turn to Yo Yo Ma or something similar. If I'm writing about Detroit it might be Eminem. If I'm feeling upset I might turn up Aerosmith or something from high school. If I'm in need of head space I'll put on John Mayer or Vonda Shepard and let the music I know so well wash over me without even noticing.
And this project had an added bonus I hadn't even thought about. So many of my CDs hadn't ever been transferred to my computer before now so I hadn't spent time listening to some of my favorites. I have every Garth Brooks CD and I'd forgotten how great he is. I'd forgotten that so many of my early CDs were birthday and Christmas gifts and how exciting it was to wait for a new album. I saw handwritten notes in several and I love that I cared so much about music at an early age. And that people around me nurtured that. It didn't matter if it was country, rock, rap, indie, my family bought me the music I wanted. And as a result, I love everything so much. I see the beauty in a metal song or a ballad. I see the sweetness in a Childish Gambino rap as much as I do a Celine Dion song.
Over 300 CDs. Almost two weeks worth of music. I've spent the week rediscovering old favorites and singing along, loudly. Music is everywhere. And now? All of it's on my phone in my pocket wherever I go. Amazing.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
No idea what's next
A few minutes ago I submitted final grades for my latest (and potentially) last class with the University of Phoenix. I will check in through Friday but after that, I don't know when or if I'll teach for them again. As a teacher under contract for each class each semester for the past five years, this is not news to me. But this time, it feels a little different. I was informed (via email memo) last year that the university was going through some changes and they would need less adjunct professors. Then I applied for a full-time job with them and wasn't interviewed. And so, this could really be the end of an era for me. I have no idea.
It may be my chance to rise like a Phoenix and fly off on my own. Only time (and a contract or not) will tell.
So for now, I have no idea what's next. I'm unemployed. Again. I got my final editing paycheck for a freelance gig last week. The woman I'd been working with has gone on a month-long sojourn to other parts of the world. The pilot that got the awesome staged reading treatment in December? It still sits, unasked for, in my portfolio file. There haven't been any calls or emails. I don't know if there will be.
I do know that tonight I'll go to a movie screening of a little indie I'd really wanted to see. A friend who didn't give up when I turned him down twice for other movies is taking me as his plus one. Tomorrow I'll sit back down at my desk and I'll turn to the pile on my left. The pile of rewrites and notes and outlines and things to do. There's always something floating in my brain and I'll get to it. I'm excited to finish the novel I started this weekend and spend time with friends this weekend. Monday I'll drive a church friend to the doctor and Tuesday I'll have dinner with an old film school prof.
But what's next in the big scheme of things?
I have no idea.
Pilot season is here in L.A. and that means staffing season isn't far behind. I'll send out letters and emails and beg people to give me a chance (not literally beg but you know, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do). I'll keep writing. I'll network all over the place. I'll continue to add to my packing list for Paris (only 138 days until we leave!!!). I'll just keep keeping on because well, I never know what's next!
So for now, I have no idea what's next. I'm unemployed. Again. I got my final editing paycheck for a freelance gig last week. The woman I'd been working with has gone on a month-long sojourn to other parts of the world. The pilot that got the awesome staged reading treatment in December? It still sits, unasked for, in my portfolio file. There haven't been any calls or emails. I don't know if there will be.
I do know that tonight I'll go to a movie screening of a little indie I'd really wanted to see. A friend who didn't give up when I turned him down twice for other movies is taking me as his plus one. Tomorrow I'll sit back down at my desk and I'll turn to the pile on my left. The pile of rewrites and notes and outlines and things to do. There's always something floating in my brain and I'll get to it. I'm excited to finish the novel I started this weekend and spend time with friends this weekend. Monday I'll drive a church friend to the doctor and Tuesday I'll have dinner with an old film school prof.
But what's next in the big scheme of things?
I have no idea.
Pilot season is here in L.A. and that means staffing season isn't far behind. I'll send out letters and emails and beg people to give me a chance (not literally beg but you know, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do). I'll keep writing. I'll network all over the place. I'll continue to add to my packing list for Paris (only 138 days until we leave!!!). I'll just keep keeping on because well, I never know what's next!
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Back in L.A. again!
Some people spend winter vacations in Florida or Hawaii. Me? I spend them in Michigan. Where we had ice storms, snow storms, 30-hour power outages, terrible flu outbreaks and temperatures that flirted with -40 degrees. I dug out the old Sorel neon boots and laced them up. I froze my legs off getting made into a snow lady by the neighborhood kids. I went to the ole Urgent Care and got my handy-dandy Zpac mere hours before we hosted a party for 80 people at our house. I kept warm sitting by my parents' new electronic fireplace, drinking wine and eating a pound or two of chocolate and nuts. I read several books that were not for research.
It was the perfect holiday.
It was the perfect holiday.
I knew Christmas would be different this year. In quick succession this summer and fall my family was left without any grandparents. It's a part of life we all accept and try to understand. And then Christmas Eve came and I sat by the tree and I sobbed. I sobbed because I missed my Grandma. I missed her laugh and that evil twinkle in her eye and the way she always had cake at her house. No matter what. I missed my Grandpa. I missed his Hawaiian Punch and Seven-Up with cheap vanilla ice cream treat. I missed his soft, "Alright, Babe" when he would hug me hello and goodbye. I missed my Grandma and her loud cackle as we played cards and the way she always listened intently to what was happening in my life. I missed my grandparents on Christmas. I missed the ones who'd only been gone a short while and the ones who've been gone years.
So we had a good cry, all of us. Then we sat down to dinner, just the four of us, and then headed to church. It was a good Christmas, made bright by so many wonderful people and good days and fun moments. It was. It really was.
We spent so much time with the grandneighbors. We had them all of Christmas Eve morning and we baked and we read stories and we played games and did crafts. And it was perfect. They came over Christmas morning and opened presents by the tree and ate a big breakfast and relaxed a little before we all had to go about preparing our Christmas dinners. I cannot begin to explain how much their presence in our lives means. We are so blessed that they are all a part of our family.
And we relaxed. We played games. Big Bang Theory Clue and Big Bang Theory UNO and cards and puzzles. We read books and passed them between one another. John Grisham and Janet Evanovich and Sue Grafton and Anne Lamott. Books so good we didn't want to put them down and we raced under the tree to grab before the rightful owner could grab them (This might have been me, going for the latest Stephanie Plum book, the day after Christmas. Maybe. It might have been my mom's book. But she's great. And I read it fast).
So yes, we had a white Christmas. Yes, we had a wonderful Christmas. Yes, we had a no power for a day and a half. Yes, I had the flu. Yes, it was lovely and tiring and relaxing and stressful and fun. It was family. It was perfect.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Michigan, here I come!
2013 was quite a year. As Angela and I talked about Christmas cards we decided we couldn't top last year's oceanside shots and went with the more traditional year in review via photographs. I love Christmas cards. I love getting them in the mail, sitting down to write them, seeing who's sent a letter and who's moved. It's old fashioned but it's something I cling too. My Grandma MacDonald used to write out cards for everyone in her address book and it often took her all of December. Sometimes she'd still have a few to send out after Christmas but it didn't matter because she'd write a note to include and she enjoyed it. I want to carry that on.
In the top left is Angela and I at her University of Phoenix graduation where I participated in the ceremony as a faculty member and she received her Master of Arts in teaching. Then there we are "skiing" on Grouse Mountain in Vancouver. Then that's all of us at the Magic Castle in Los Angeles when Mom and Dad visited this spring.
The milkshakes are a little obvious but we're eating at Canter's and we had the best meal that day. We ate and laughed and my mom bonded with the waitress who was being treated badly by her manager. I watched my mom give that woman a big tip that day and it reminded me of just one of the million reasons I love my parents. Below that is Ang and I by the space shuttle Endeavor when we chaperoned her sixth graders on a field trip this fall. We saw the Endeavor twice this year and it was awesome. I hope to visit again next year! Science is cool!
In the middle and right below are pics from our day at the American Music Awards Red Carpet. Then me and Mom at Venice Beach on her birthday in May soaking up the sun and getting our toes wet. Below that we're back at Grouse Mountain with cousin Doris who spent the weekend in Vancouver with us sightseeing and having just the best time.
The bottom row is Angela and I at a Tigers game, one of many we attended this year. It's also the photo we tucked inside my grandparents' caskets as we laid them to rest this summer. Next season won't be quite the same without them.
Next is Angela and I at Griffith Park, in the Observatory parking lot overlooking the Hollywood sign. We finally got mom and dad up there at 7am on a Sunday morning with coffee and donuts and it was a perfect way to see the city. Quietly and without smog. Finally, a shot from Mom and Dad's surprise 40th anniversary party. We started planning it almost a year ago. What a year it has been.
This Christmas will be different. We lost three grandparents this summer/fall. It will be the first time in my life when I don't get off a plane in December and call my Grandma Cows to tell her I've landed (she was terrified of us traveling and I know she rarely slept when we were scheduled to fly but hearing the relaxation in her voice and giving her a big hug soon after made it all worth it). It will be the first time we have a Knapp family Christmas without our matriarch (I will drink a big glass of egg nog this year for you Grandma, even if the rest of my family thinks egg nog is weird, I love it! Thank you for giving me that!). It will be the first time we don't trek to Harry & David to load up on Moose Munch and summer sausage and all of the treats grandpa loved (we switched to treats some time ago, after he quit smoking so much but I still remember when Angela and I used to wrap up pouches of pipe tobacco as his gift each year!). It will be different. It will be hard. And yet? It will be.
There is so much that will happen over the next few weeks. Christmas parties and open houses, worship services, dinners with friends, Christmas celebrations with families both in Michigan and in Canada, gifts to wrap and unwrap, New Years balls to watch drop, Rose Bowl fun with Michigan State in the mix, baking the Christmas morning plunkett with the grandneighbor girls, unwrapping Christmas morning gifts with all three of the grandneighbors, playing board games with Susie, visiting old friends. I can not wait.
Merry Christmas, everyone! Happy New Year too! 2013 was an amazing year. And I know 2014 has so much more in store!
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