Imagination

Last week I taught my third grade students about Picasso. Yep, the guy who made crazy cubism paintings with eyes where noses should be and noses where eyes should be. And they loved it. (See above picture as evidence - they so enjoyed making their own "Picassos"!)

So today we continued the discussion about imagination - after deciding last week that Picasso must have had a pretty big imagination. I asked them what they pretended to be or where they pretended to go when they played. Just one said they didn't pretend at all. And I told her that made me sad because I loved to pretend. I love to imagine myself in other places, doing other things. In fact, that's one of the things that lead me to writing. And to moving to Los Angeles.

And this discussion got me thinking about how my parents raised me to use my imagination and how some kids don't ever get that encouragement. I remember playing games with my parents that didn't involve any controllers or electronic devices. I remember running through the cemetary with my dad playing war when I was little with just a stick and my finger as a gun, hiding behind trees. I remember my mom encouraging Angela and I to close our eyes and imagine what land we'd go to every night when we lay in bed. We'd go to all different lands, lands she'd describe, lands we'd describe. And it was all pretend. All imagination.

I am so grateful that I grew up being encouraged to stretch my mind, to know about worlds other than my own. One of my favorite reading experiences growing up was Jurassic Park. It came out in 1990 and I remember reading it not too long after that, before the movie came out. I remember laying in my bed in the hot, humid summer nights before we had central air, dreaming of being on that island with dinosaurs. So much so that I had nightmares that baby velociraptors were chasing me.

For the past few weeks I've been doing a project - I've been attempting to come up an idea for a television show or a movie every single day. This has stretched my imagination beyond belief. But it's fun. To create stories and worlds that never existed, that may some day exist on a screen because I dared to dream of them. Dared to use my imagination...

I am ready to throw up (literally)

Most people who know me know I can be outspoken. I'm not afraid to talk in front of large groups of people, I lead small discussion groups, not much scares me. I teach public speaking to college students and I've done my fair share of getting up in front of crowds number in the hundreds. But today, right now, I'm about to throw up at the thought of talking in front of two people.

Tonight I have to pitch myself as a writer to a couple of people in the industry. These are people I've spent some time with, not strangers by any means. But they intimidate me. Frankly, they scare the crap out of me. Why? Well, simply put, this is it. This is the real thing.

Talking to a friend going through the same pitch experience as me today, I realized something. This is my shot. I've always been a writer but I've always wanted to be a paid writer. A professional writer. A screenwriter. And this is my shot. This is the do or die time. This is the putting my money where my mouth is time. And it's terrifying. I'm literally shaking as I type this.

How many people say they could have done this or been that but never got the chance? Or never put any effort into it? Well here's my chance. This could be the beginning of something big. This is what all my work, all my dreams, have been about the past few years.

And tonight it all boils down to two-minutes. Two minutes of me telling people about myself. Not about nuclear physics or microbiology or Shakespeare. I have to talk about me. The person I should know best. But here are two things I've learned over the past two weeks of working on this pitch:

1) I'm a writer, not a pitcher. There's a difference and it's big. And I have to become both in order to succeed.

2) I am not an actor. I've written a lovely pitch but I can't memorize it for anything. Just ten minutes ago I stood up in my bedroom and attempted to tell the mirror my pitch. About myself. I got two lines in and froze. Yes. This is fabulous.

How will tonight go? I have no idea. I'll keep you posted. But I do know that I'm scared out of my mind. But I think there would be a problem if I weren't. This is the thing I want most and I'm on the verge of getting there. Nothing else has ever been this important.

And if I don't pass out, maybe I'll be able to remember something to say tonight.

***UPDATE: The meeting went well. I didn't throw up. My hands shook a little but not my voice. So happy I could cry. It's a start...

Still kicking!

Last Saturday my dad, Angela and I got up with the sun and headed out to the Coliseum at USC. Last year my mom walked with Ang and I but this year her knee was bothering her so my dad took her place and we were so glad he got to experience the day with us!

It was another amazing 5K - it was a beautiful cool day, and we enjoyed the morning walking with thousands of others who walked for and with their loved ones. And most important - the event raised millions of dollars to kick cancer's butt! And thanks to all the support from the people on the sign I carried with me (see photo above) Angela, my dad and I raised $3500 for the cause!

So thank you all! We walked so others can continue to do good work to fight this horrible disease. We walked for our family: Marilyn and Grandpa Jim. We walked for all those listed above. We walked and we loved it!

It was a whirlwind and I'm still twirling

Two weeks ago today I was out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean wearing my winter coat, hood tied tight around my head, watching the water split where the large ferry I was riding in cut through it. My mom and I were the only two people gutsy enough to brave the cool weather and occasional peaks at the sun to sit on the top deck of the ferry. Angela and my Dad were below deck, in cushy seats, sleeping off their sea sickness. But not my mom and me. We were watching the blue sky, smiling at each other, silently taking in the quiet nature all around us. It was quite a morning. It was peaceful. It was still even though we were moving. It was amazing.

And then everything came crashing down. The stillness of my soul turned to shards.

By that night my parents were on a plane back to Michigan. And then eight hours later, Angela and I were following. An unexpected trip that came too soon. Or not soon enough depending on how you look at things.

My grandmother, my mother's mother, hadn't been well for quite some time. Eighteen months ago she fell in her house and spent a night on the floor. Three surgeries, countless procedures, a lifetime supply of antibiotics and meds, it just became too much. Her body had managed so many years. Years of pain starting with a terrible automobile accident before she married my grandfather through replacement hips and arthritis that crippled her. Through it all though she never complained. Never. She was amazing.

I have so many stories. Stories I want to record. Stories I will record. But not right this moment. It's too hard. Yesterday, Monday, I sat down to write out some cards as I do every Monday. I have a small list of people who get them regularly. Grandma was tops on that list. As I went to the box of cards I've collected from trips to Hallmark (I might have a problem, they send me very large reward checks) I looked at the pile earmarked for her. Cards I didn't have the chance to send...

Then today, as I was walking to my car after work I felt the need to talk to someone. My sister was at work. Several friends I knew were busy. My parents were traveling. Until eighteen months ago Grandma would have been tops on that list as well. I can't remember how many nights I called her and talked all the way home from my job an hour away from my apartment. I loved it. I miss it. So much.

It's been a whirlwind. Real life doesn't stop and so I continue to work, grade papers, proctor state-wide tests for the little ones, try to create a screenwriting career, connect with friends, buy groceries, dust the living room. But through it all, I can't help but miss her. A picture in the dining room. Her name in my cell phone. The ring she gave me. The life she helped me create.

I hope the tears don't stop. I also hope the memories don't fade. I hope the shards don't dull. I don't want to forget. I don't want to be too far removed. Here, now, feeling it is only where I want to be.