Last night...

Last night I headed off to UCLA in the middle of a rain storm (I use the storm loosely, on the east coast we'd call it sprinkles. Here it's the same amount of rain causes major traffic issues, meeting cancellations, etc. But I digress.) As I parked and wound my way to the film school building I met up with some new classmates and we found the lecture hall where our class would be held.

Let me just preface what I'm about to say by saying I went to college. In fact, UCLA is the fourth college/university I've attended and the third I've gotten a degree from. I'm very proud of my educational background and the road I've taken. However, I didn't go to Harvard.

When I watch movies about the typical (or in most cases, the atypical) college experience, I rarely relate. I didn't attend a Big Ten school or pledge a sorority. I didn't sit in lecture halls with hundreds of peers and get quizzed on facts and opinions. I attended small classes, even in grad school. And my experience at UCLA has been only vaguely different. Yes, I attended a lecture class through the professional program but that was my first exposure to UCLA and it was almost always lecture, very little interaction between students and instructor (I'm pretty sure if I approached my lecture instructor today, a year later, there would be no recognition on his part).

However, last night I sat in on my first "Creating for Television" class at UCLA. And I loved it. The experience was like those I've seen in the movies and on television. This is college.

There were maybe fifty (I don't really know, I was in the third row) or more students in the hall, a T.A. and the instructor. There were no 'get to know you' activities or going around the table meeting everyone like we usually have in these classes. Instead, from moment one, we were off and running. We were expected to answer questions, share opinions, get things wrong, try again, speak louder, say our name again, try for a different verb, and know things. Or at least make educated observations. And it was great.

We watched the pilots of two very successful television comedies (Roseanne and Malcolm in the Middle) and then dissected them as a group. Our instructor rarely took a breath. And Again, I loved it.

Last night I felt like what it must feel like to sit in a lecture hall at Harvard or Yale or one of those other highly-touted universities that they make movies about. But the best thing? I'm doing it for real. I'm studying something that fascinates me. And my homework for the week? To watch as much quality television as possible.

Improving...

Saturday night Angela and I went to a sneak preview of the movie "Life As We Know It". Very cute, lots of laughs, great supporting characters. However, I was most excited to see it because it was the movie in development when I interned at Gold Circle Films. I smiled when I saw their name on screen and the name of one of the executive producers who I worked for. Very cool.

When I was at Gold Circle it was the second script they had me read just so I'd know what everyone was talking about (the first was their movie "The Haunting in Connecticut" that had just come out that weekend). There was a lot of buzz around the office because they had just confirmed that Katherine Heigl was going to sign to star in the film. No one else had signed yet but because of Heigl the movie had quickly leap-frogged from just another movie to a big deal. The budget had suddenly skyrocketed, the studios involved had tripled, and the headaches had suddenly multiplied.

I wasn't at Gold Circle through the whole development of the movie but it was still very exciting to see it up there on the screen. To think that just two years ago the words being spoken by these actors were simply words on a piece of paper, parts of a hundred page script written by someone just like me, sitting at a computer at a desk. That will never cease to amaze me.

I've started a new writing project, again. I'm rewriting a script for the third time, a complete rewrite, new scenes, new ideas, etc. And while I had heard rumors of such rewrites from instructors, I was sure that no one would re-conceive a project this many times. I was wrong. I'm proof. But it's also exciting. As I write this story I love again and again I'm realizing that I'm becoming so much better at my craft. No, I'm not an expert or accomplished or anything like that but I am improving. I'm learning and applying that learning to my words. Words that someday might be up there on that huge screen people watch while eating popcorn and Twizzlers.

END THE BACKLOG NOW!!!

Last night was the first night of my new screenwriting class at UCLA. And instead of heading to campus our instructor invited us to a house in the hills of Beverly Hills (yes, way way up there) to attend a party with some industry folks. It was quite the event. The house was on par with, oh, the Bellagio in Las Vegas, and the views were breathtaking. Seriously, watching the sunset over the mountains while standing in a gorgeous yard next to a gorgeous pool, wow.

After some mingling we were all invited inside to screen tonight's episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit called "Behave". It's about a woman who's being victimized by a serial rapist and how justice is being denied to her. Her rapist hasn't been caught because of the government's backlog of rape kits that have not been processed.

Here's a couple of things you may not know:
- A rape kit is the evidence taken from a victim after an attack, it includes DNA, clothing, photographs, etc.
- "Experts in the federal government, including the US Department of Justice and members of Congress, estimate that there are hundreds of thousands of rape kits in police and crime lab storage facilities throughout the country" (from endthebacklog.org).
-There's a statute of limitations on prosecution for rape and many rapists are never charged because the rape kits are not processed in a timely manner. Illinois is the first state to make a change to this law -- a change that happens this month.
-New York city, in combination with some awesome volunteer groups, no longer has a backlog AT ALL. This is amazing. And from what I understand, took years and millions of dollars and a lot of work. A lot of work.

After we screened the episode the showrunner got up and talked about why he and his staff wrote the episode and what they hoped to achieve from putting it on the air. Most of all what I heard last night was that these people want to raise awareness. And that it did. I knew that governments took their sweet time (because of many different factors, I realize this) in getting through evidence but this is ridiculous. Just because the government is low on funds, criminals -- violent sexual criminals -- go unpunished, free to continue raping? Unacceptable.

I was very interested in the politics of it all, of the science of it all, and in the volunteer work that's been done and has to be done. But even more so I was interested in the reason I had been invited in the first place:

Television reaches people. Particularly 10pm dramas on major networks.

In grad school I took a class on health communication. I studied and wrote several papers on how television and media affect the communication of health information to people. I studied ideas like Does ER do more harm than good? and Do telenovellas really encourage people to get tested for diseases?

This class was my first taste of using media to impact social change. And last night I witnessed what I hope will be another step in the process of using television to get a message out. Should all television have a "message" or a "cause" to support? No. I don't think it has to. Yes, last night's episode of Glee had a plot that focused on a dentist and his "cause" but do I think it was intended to get high schoolers to floss? No. And that's totally fine. But sometimes I think television can use it's mighty reach to make an impact. To encourage people to sit up and take notice. And this is one of those times.

Last night as I stood at the end of the driveway and waited (and waited and waited) for the valet to bring my car around I reminded myself that the wait I was experiencing was nothing like the wait the young woman who attended the screening had experienced. She waited almost 15 years for her attacker to be prosecuted. And last night, as I watched her wipe away tears after watching the episode, I thought how no one else should be victimized a second time by the very government they rely on to protect them.

So I encourage you to watch tonight's episode. I encourage you to log onto endthebacklog.org afterwards and find out what you can do. Maybe you can donate money. Maybe you can write your congressperson or your local sheriff. Maybe you can spread the word just like the people who produce Law and Order: SVU are trying to. And let's end these backlogs all over the country. Let's change the law so that there is NO statute of limitations on this horrific crime. Let's make a change for the better. Because it takes ALL of us doing our part, using ALL of our voices.

Keepin' on keepin' on...

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." --Matthew 7:7 (NIV)

"Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you." -- Matthew 7:7 (NLT)

This scripture verse from Matthew is one of my favorite. I have it written on little pieces of paper and stuck throughout my house as a reminder to pray. Open my jewelry box, there it is. Open my day planner, there it is. Actually, all it says on those little pieces of paper is: Remember to ASK. And it does cause me to remember.

Last night as I got into bed I saw my devotion book. I'm a few days behind but I skipped ahead to the day's lesson and read about "Supersized Prayers" and Matthew 7:7. It reminded me that if I ask God for something I need to believe it will happen. Because without that faith, what's the point in asking. It also reminded me to pray big, for what I want and what I have, to praise as much as I pray.

I thought about that as I pulled out my prayer journal, which was a bit dusty. And I started writing. Yes, I've been praying a lot, as always, but I thought about how maybe I need to be much more specific in my prayers. And much more of a believer that God will actually hear my prayers and answer them.

I like the New Living Translation of Matthew 7:7 - it says "keep on asking". So that's what I'll do. I'll keep on. I'll keep on asking, keep on seeking, keep on knocking. For that job that will keep us in our house for one more month. For that job that I want when I'm exactly ready for it. For the people I love to be painfree at this exact moment. For the specifics and for the broadstrokes. I know God knows it all but I also know He wants to hear it from me. He also wants to hear my praise and I cannot forget that.

Getting lost in the stacks

I got a package from my mom today, it contained a pair of pants I left behind when I visited, some sugar free cider packets for Ang, some stamps (yay!), and a few clippings. I love that my parents send me clipping from the paper. Sometimes it's coupons or cartoons or stories. One of today's was a story about the statue and plaque they put up at the Howell Public Library in honor of one of the librarians, Martha, who passed away several years ago. It was a lovely article and it reminded me of one of my favorite parts of summer when I was growing up: the library.

I never remember a time when we didn't go to the library. It was within walking distance when my dad was at work and there was only one car. It's where I first saw Pinocchio and got so scared I had to call my Grandma MacDonald to come and get me before it was done. (They get swallowed by a whale, that's terrifying when you're not much bigger than the wooden boy!) It's where I spent hour upon hour browsing the shelves, sitting in first the children's section, then the teen section and finally, the adult fiction section. (My Grandma Boutell introduced me to Danielle Steele at a very young age.)

We'd always arrive with stacks of books to return and more often than not Martha would be there to check us out. She knew my dad well, his library card had a hole burned in it he used it so much. She'd comment on our selections, give an approving nod and off we'd go, until the next week. We rarely had overdue books at our house, usually we ran out of books before they were due.

I still get lost in libraries. When I lived in Olivet I was fortunate enough to work in the library building for a year and I loved it. How quiet it was, how everyone there had a purpose, whether it was serious research or finding out the sports scores or getting lost in eighteenth century England. In Kalamazoo there was a gorgeous, fairly new library that I spent many days in researching information for my newspaper articles, reading screenwriting books, scanning the magazines. But nothing compares to those early days when I learned to love books in Howell.

This summer Angela, Dad and I trekked to the library in search of some Sue Grafton books we were missing from our collection. We found what we were looking for and then some. We came home with a DVD tour of Taiwan, where my dad was stationed when he was in the Air Force. And we all found a few extra books to read during our vacation.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a place with no libraries. To live in a world where no one wanted to share what they read or wrote. On second thought, no I don't want to know that world.

A little cracked

This is my Cousin Camp mug. The one I painted at U Paint It in Texas and then they fired. It arrived in the mail today and the handle was broken off and there were a few chips. Thankfully Angela's survived the donkey ride.
When we unwrapped the mugs I was upset, okay, maybe a little more than upset. I have been trying to be calm for the past few weeks, trying to maintain my vacation vibe but it's getting harder and harder. I've been applying for jobs and getting no response, the checkbook balance is getting lower and lower, and the state of California wasn't being very speedy with Angela's unemployment checks (she's now caught up through the second week of July, yep, I said speedy). I've been writing but haven't heard from any of the programs I've applied to...the list goes on and on.
But I don't want to be a whiner. I really don't. I read the paper each morning and know there are people so much worse off than me. But this afternoon, I lost it. I'd been to acupuncture which had been painful (and it's usually not but apparently the left side of my body is just going to pot), I'd been to the grocery store which had also been painful, and I was hot. It's been near a hundred all week here and fans only do so much in the afternoon. So I lost it. I cracked a little when I saw my cracked mug.

So I put it aside, grilled some veggies for dinner and watched a little Jon Stewart. I laughed. I wrapped Angela's birthday gifts and giggled when I drew on the envelope. I read through a friend's beat sheet and thought about how great it was that I had ten people show up to my Writers' Group on Sunday. And then I went and got the Krazy Glue.

It took only a moment (well two moments, I had to pause mid-glue to read the instructions on the glue box to make sure I was doing it right, turns out there really is no wrong way to glue) and voila! my mug was whole again. Sure it has a few chips and you can see where the handle had been snapped off but it was fixed.

And then I thought about how I wrote on the inside of my mug that "love is all around me all the time". And you know what? It really is. And love isn't perfect. Love is cracked and smudged and a little broken and off-kilter. But you know what, it's love. And that's what I need to remember. I am loved. I am so loved. I am loved even though I am cracked and smudged and a little broken and off-kilter. And that even though my calm is waning, I'm going to be okay. Because my mug is.

Trying...

I've been back from "Cousin Camp", aka my vacation in Texas with my cousin Jamee and her wonderful family, for four days now. And I've yet to write a thing. Well, I take that back. I wrote comments on all of my students' assignments when I graded them. And I wrote a bunch of stuff on the discussion boards for work and some emails. I even wrote notes on how I want to rewrite the last feature I wrote. But nothing on the TV pilot I've been working on or the spec script I'm trying to write of 'Modern Family'. Not a word. I've sat down to write plenty but that hasn't produced much.

I try not to beat myself up about it too much. It's been a stressful week, there have been job issues and money issues and Angela hasn't felt well and I've been dealing with jet/vacation-lag. (I've finally figured out that those are very real things.) I've done my job, I've paid the bills. I've even applied for several jobs (so far I've gotten one response, the Halloween store by the mall sent a 'we'll get in touch later this month' response -- no joke) and I've slept. A lot.

I was complaining to Angela today that I've been so exhausted this week and I don't know why, I was just on vacation for a week. Then she reminded me that I tend to cycle through life, I go go go for a while and then I have a week where I am drained and need to sleep more than usual (last night I went to bed at 10:30pm, yes, on a Friday, in Los Angeles and slept through till seven this morning). And if I think about it, maybe I didn't sleep a lot last week. Different environment, up late with the big kids, up early with the wee kids, etc.

So I am trying not to worry. I am reminding myself that I will write, that I will get back in a normal groove and that by tomorrow, in time for my writers' group, I will have something down. I've been going over and over my stories in my mind so it's not like there hasn't been progress. And I've been doing research and reading which are all good things. But sometimes that's not enough to quell the inner monologue that says, just do it.

So I'll try. These words here are a start. I'll open up the Final Draft document in a moment, go over some notes from my last read through and plow forward. Because, as the note above my computer reminds me: I am responsible for my dreams.

We had fun!

Yesterday Angela and I headed to Universal Studios with our friend Angela and her two teenagers. This is the third time we've been in 10 months and can I just say, I never thought I'd be the kind of person who goes on the same rides over and over, but I loved it!

We did do several new things this time which means I have officially done everything at Universal (ok, I haven't eaten any cotton candy or bought a $11 beer but still...). We went to the Waterworld show and promply got soaked. Yes, we knew we were in the 'Wet Zone' though we specifically did not sit in the 'Soak Zone'. I should have clued in when a show cast member came out before the show and started throwing buckets of water into the audience. It only got worse from there. Nothing like being on the receiving end of a jet ski's quick turn!

Then we decided we'd go on the Jurassic Park ride, which our friend Angela assured us was a water ride but was very calm. Apparently the dinosaurs just spit a little every so often. So off we went. We watched people buying $2 ponchos left and right but we scoffed. Ponchos, whatever! And then we got on the ride.

Yeah, the only part of me dry after that was my butt. Literally. The ride took us down several drops, log ride style, and then ran us through several waterfalls. Literally just poured water on us! But you know what? We laughed and laughed and laughed the whole time. We loved it! It was a nice warm day and who cares if the sunscreen ran off and messed up my shirt? Who cares if my blue wrist band bled all over my shorts? Who cares if my bra filled up with water? WE HAD FUN!

And that's what yesterday was all about, having fun. We all have annual passes (Universal constantly runs deals, buy a day, get a year free) and the parking to get in is cheaper than a movie ticket per person. And we had coupons for free sipper bottles full of pop so it was a great, cheap day! And we topped it off by heading over to the studio tour and checking out the new King Kong show. But most importantly? WE HAD FUN!

Sometimes I think it's so important to remember that life is fun. Why shouldn't it be? A lot of life is hard and scary and sometimes you just want to hide. So why not grab those moments (or those 9 hours in our case) and leave everything else behind and just enjoy something, someone, some place.

The salt air

Yesterday Angela and I headed to Malibu with our friend Angela. We drove and drove down Sunset Boulevard then cut north to the Pacific Coast Highway, the PCH here in California. We drove and drove and drove some more and finally found the much heralded Zuma Beach.

Clean sand (no rocks like down in Santa Monica and Venice), blue-ish water (except when the waves through the sand over), lots of waves (it's a big surfer area), Baywatch-type lifeguards in red uniforms, loud music, lots of families with canopies and too much food, and us.

It was a gorgeous day, not too hot (though we all returned a little pink in areas the sunscreen didn't make it too), a little breezy, cool water and relaxation. Sometimes I forget that's what the beach is all about. As we stood there, watching the waves, anxiously awaiting the dolphins to pop back up again and give us an encore, it was all that mattered at that moment. The ocean. The beach. And is there really anything better than the drop dead tired feeling you have upon return? I slept for nine hours last night, hard and fast, and woke up refreshed this morning. Yes, the salt air does agree with me.

I smile now

Sixteen hours after landing in Detroit last month I headed over to MediLodge, one of the care facilities in Howell. This was a big deal for me as I had avoided this place for most of my life. I don't, or didn't, do nursing homes well. When I was little my mother's grandparents, my great grandparents, lived in a nursing home. We'd go see Grandma and Grandpa Larry on a regular basis as they were just over near Jackson, less than an hour's drive away. However, to me, a little kid, the place seemed horrible. It smelled like a hospital. People sat in wheelchairs in the hall, and the whole place had an institutional feel to it. I don't know why, I just didn't like it. At all.

Fast forward a few years and I became a youth group member and then a youth group leader in Howell. It was our charge to lead the worship services at the two local care homes every September. And every September for six years I bowed out. I couldn't do it. The thought of walking up to those glass doors made me cry. Literally cry. So I just didn't go.

Fast forward to now. I've gotten better, it's true, over the years. A treasured family member is in a facility in London, Ontario and we've visited and it's a lovely place. Really. I am not lying. And I've had my share of hospital and doctor experiences with other family members and friends to learn to suck it up and deal. However, this past month I found myself having to enter MediLodge to see my Grandma MacDonald. She fell in January and ended up having multiple surgeries that have left her physically impaired and very shaky on the details of what's happened in the past five minutes. Ask her about something that happened 15 years ago and your golden.

But off I went. I had to, there had to be no hesitation, no indecision. This was grandma. Grandma who we visited constantly growing up, weekly if not more. Grandma who lived four blocks away. And guess what? It wasn't so bad.

The place has been renovated in the last few years and it's amazing. Bright and airy and cheerful. The staff was friendly from moment one. Everything's all glass walls and windows, comfortable couches and aquariums. Libraries and concerts and state of the art technology. They even have a cafe. Color me impressed.

For the month that I was in Michigan I went to MediLodge countless times. I'd run over by myself to deliver the afternoon paper. We'd go as a family, take a homemade dinner complete with table cloth and hot dessert, and eat in one of the many common areas. We'd run into people we hadn't seen in years, catch up with friends, talk to patients, laugh and smile and laugh some more when we left. The people in this care facility are not just patients, they're characters.

My grandma is getting the care she needs and deserves. She's being well fed and they're helping her adjust. She plays cards and bingo and watches movies and chats. She's never in her room, one day it took 10 minutes to track her down. She gets her hair done at the salon that's right there when you walk in. And trust me, I'd get my hair done there. That's how nice it is.

Does it break my heart to see her there? Yes. But not for the reasons I might have suspected 1o years ago. It breaks my heart because she isn't well. And she's not progressing as we all had hoped. But on the other hand, I smile because I know where she is. I met the nurses and therapists and her roommate and her friends. I shared meals with her. I listened to a Frank Sinatra impersonator with her. I watched as they set her hair. I saw her try to reteach herself to walk. And all of that makes me feel closer, even when I'm far away.

Unwired

I have been in Howell for two and a half weeks now and I'm enjoying it so. Besides seeing family and friends and playing a lot of golf I'm enjoying being unwired, untethered from my computer. Yes, I'm still working and yes I'm still checking Facebook, etc. but I'm not sitting at it for ten hours every single day. And I am loving it.

True, I am not writing very much of anything. But I think my brain and my back/neck needed the break. I'm reading books, spending time just sitting with people, leaving my phone on silent more often, even leaving it home. And it's bliss.

Just over a week to go -- maybe I can find a little more balance when I get back to L.A....

Goodbyes never get easier

Yesterday we said goodbye to our pastor, Reverend Chuck Jacobs, and his wife, Ann. They have been at my parents church here in Howell for 13 years. Part of me was surprised it had been that long but part of me cannot remember the other pastors at the church well at all so I guess it has been that long.

I've experienced my share of goodbyes over the years, to pastors, to jobs, to friends, to relatives, to towns, you name it, I've said goodbye to it. And it never really gets easier. Which I think is a good thing.

As we stood in a circle yesterday, over a 100 of us at just one of the three worship services of the day, and sang Michael W. Smith's "Friends", I cried. Yep. As I often do when saying goodbye. I can't make it through a graduation, a wedding, sometimes even a TV show that's even remotely sad without crying. But I think that's a good thing. I wear my feelings on my sleeves, and my face and my hands and everywhere else. I think too often in our culture it's seen as a weakness to show emotion, particularly tears.

So yesterday I shed some tears. But so did many people around me. And it was really nice to be a part of a community who was mourning, celebrating and sharing.

Do you ever...

Do you ever have one of those nights where you're tired and you're kinda sore and you get into bed and all you want to do is go to sleep? And you can't.

Yeah. That's me right now. I came home tonight, watched some TV, read a little and shut off the light. I laid there and thought about the new book I'm reading. Then I started thinking about writing. And my trip back to Michigan next week. And what will happen if Angela has to have surgery. And whether or not I'll get up the gumption to work out again tomorrow. And what I'll buy with the Kohl's cash I have. And whether or not the macaroni salad will still be good on Sunday.

Then I thought about how I shouldn't have eaten both of the peanut butter cookies at lunch. And about how I was kinda mean to Angela when I met her afterschool because I was hot and sweaty from walking over in the sun. Then I thought about the movie I'd seen tonight and if I'll ever have an idea half as good.

Then I thought about the script I finished yesterday. The 69 pages bound and sitting on my desk with my title and my name on the cover. Then I realized I never applied for the church scholarship this year because I hadn't been to church in a few weeks. Then I felt guilty and asked God to please forgive me. And tell me whether or not I should go back to school this fall. And then I thought about if I'd have enough money to go back to school. I tried really hard to remember if my credit cards have any open balances. And then that brought me back to the Kohl's cash and how I really need to stop at Target for dish soap. And maybe some laundry detergent.

And I suppose, if you're still reading, maybe it's because you have had one of those nights. Because it's a quarter after twelve and I'm sitting here in the dark, thankful I took typing in community college so I can type in the dark. Wishing I could go to sleep because tomorrow is a busy day. Lots to do, lots I want to do, including getting up early to make the 12 mile trek to Kohl's so it won't take 2 hours in traffic. Ah, apparently shopping is on the brain.

But yeah, so it's just one of those nights. So I'll go crawl back in bed and read some more and pray sleep comes easily. Sweet dreams to the rest of you...

Polar opposite feelings

Last night I sat at my computer after returning home from my television pilot writing class at UCLA thinking, it is possible to experience hope and despair in the same breath. I'm proof of that.

I spent most of yesterday writing. Not just thinking about writing, not just fiddling with an outline or fleshing out ideas but actually writing pages. Writing dialogue. Coming up with character names and places and actions. I wrote over 25 pages yesterday. Yeah it's all first draft but it felt awesome. I felt like a writer and that's the best feeling in the world.

And then I went to class. With only one week left after last night we'd come down to the obligatory 'How to get an agent' lecture. And everyone has their two cents and it's nothing I haven't heard before. It basically boils down to two things: it's who you know and it's where you've worked.

This is great if your brother's an agent at CAA or your father's the head of his own production company. This is great if you came out of a writing program that placed you in an internship that naturally progressed to a production assistant position. This is soul-crushing if you're me.

I don't know many people in the business. And my one and only internship (out of the hundred or so I've applied for) is for a company that experienced a shift in staff after I left. So I sat here last night, listening to the tail end of a screenwriting podcast (my equivalent to watching bad TV before bed) and I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

"I've literally put myself in the position where I cannot fail."

The screenwriter was talking about how he quit his job to move to Los Angeles (yep, me too). He went on to say how he couldn't get a job and so he just kept writing (I know the feeling). So I got to thinking. Yeah, that's me.

I'm not a twenty-one year old college graduate who's living on my parent's dime (not that my parents aren't awesome and don't help out whenever I ask, and even when I don't) and 'trying out' L.A. for a while. I'm a grown adult who's made a conscious choice to move here, to write, to support myself, and to make a go of it. There is no other option. There's no law degree to fall back on. There's no trust fund that will mature. There. Is. No. Other. Option.

So I crawled into bed and opened the Oprah magazine I've been reading and came upon a story about putting adventure into your life. And I got to thinking about that. A friend from Michigan had just asked me on the phone that afternoon if I truly liked living here. And I answered, I truly do. Because for me, this is my home. No, not home, that will always be Howell. But it's my home for now. And if I don't think of it that way then I will see failure as an option. I can't go home because I'm already there.

So I got out of bed this morning and listened to the end of said podcast, and another for good measure (I listen while I 'teach' so it's not like I'm just laying around in the sun, I wish it were sunny right now). And the second one got me thinking about my script. It got me thinking about the pages I've written and will write today. About how accomplished I will feel after I've finished this draft. What it's like to hold a bound copy of my writing in my hands. It's pretty awesome. And that, my friends, is not failure. It's the polar opposite.

Career Day

Yesterday I was a speaker in Angela's classes for John Burroughs Middle School's career day. It was a good day, I always love visiting her classes mostly because I'm stared at a bit like an animal in the zoo.

"Are you and Ms. Knapp sisters?"
"Why do you and Ms. Knapp have the same last name?"
"I thought you were Ms. Knapp."
"Are you and Ms. Knapp twins?"
"Do you have a brother that looks like you?"

Yesterday was no exception but I also turned the tables on them a bit. I opened my career day discussion by asking them if they hated writing. Most said yes, happily. I asked them if they knew what a screenwriter was. Most of them did not. And then I just smiled and nodded when one child told me he thought my job sounded very easy. I wish.

All in all, a good day. One student told Angela I encouraged her to write seven stories about seven different animals. I think this came mostly from the prompt I had them write about for a few minutes: hippos who were found in the parking lot of their school. But still, it was pretty cool. And some of their stories about how the hippos got there or what they were doing was very imaginative. We had hippos who had come down from outer space via spaceship. We had hippos who had stolen a Ferrari. We had hippos who were there to go to school and hippos who were there to eat cars and students. We had hippos who carried signs protesting the legalization of pot. They were a creative bunch.

And the energy. You know, when you're in the trenches it's different, you don't notice how much energy they have and you have to give but I was reminded of it yesterday. And I was only there part of the day. God bless all the teachers out there. Seriously. If you know a teacher, do something kind for her. Tell her she's doing a good job. Take him a $5 gift card to Subway. Offer to watch her kids on the weekend for an hour. Seriously. You have no idea what they go through.

So yeah. Career day. I had fun, I'm hoping the kids learned something. And maybe, just maybe, I encouraged one of them to put pencil to paper and explore themselves a little bit.

The newspaper

For the first few days of my mom's visit out here to Los Angeles I went to the gas station and bought her a copy of the L.A. Times newspaper. Then I decided it would be easier, and cheaper, to get it delivered. One call and the next morning, voila! newspaper on the front step.

I read bits and pieces of it while she was here but not the whole thing. She read it religiously and pointed out good articles and funny comics we cut out and mailed to my dad. Then she flew home Wednesday morning. But the newspaper didn't stop coming. Yesterday, on my way out of the driveway to take Ang's car to be service, I threw the paper in the passenger seat. And I read it while waiting at the dealership. I learned about the whale stuck in the nets at Dana Point. I learned about the overnight failures BP had with the oil mess. And I felt a little more educated than I had been that morning.

I've been thinking I should probably cancel the subscription but I haven't done it yet. So this morning I grabbed a bowl of cereal and headed toward the TV. Sometimes I eat at my desk, sometimes I eat in front of the Today show (which I really don't like after 7:20), and sometimes I eat while watching last night's The Daily Show. But instead, today, I saw the paper sitting there. So I sat down at the dining room table and I opened it up.

I learned that the whale has been freed (and nicknamed "Lilly", though they don't know it's sex) but won't go back out to sea. I learned that children who spend copious amounts in preschool have a tendency toward risky behavior as teens. I learned that LAUSD can't fire anymore teachers at 3 school because of a court order. And I learned that I really do like the newspaper.

It took me all of 15 minutes to go through the newsprint pages. There was a lot I didn't read -- ads and the sports mostly -- but I also got a chuckle out of the few comics I remember reading as a kid and I read my positive horoscope for the day (You'll do what you believe in, and that will work well for you.) and I felt a little accomplished.

I think I'll keep the subscription going for another week, see if this trend in slowing down and reading something not on a computer screen continues for me. I like it. I like the feel of the paper in my hands and the idea that I'm learning about my community a bit more by not skipping "all the boring" parts while reading the paper online.

Also, I think I'm a bit prejudiced toward actual print newspapers. I've spent a good chunk of my life writing and a good portion of that has been writing for newspapers. I still vividly remember finding out that a story I'd written had been selected to run in the Lansing State Journal back when I was in community college. Some friends told my parents the good news at church that Sunday morning and we had to go meet up with the Old Car Club for a trip that afternoon. As we were waiting for everyone to arrive I saw a paper box and I ran down to the corner with the requisite 50 cents. I put my money in, opened the box, and promptly took out every single copy of the paper in there. I don't think that's how the paper box is supposed to work but hey, I was excited!

So, for what it's worth, long live the newspaper! And here's to reading it with a bowl of cereal every morning!

Womentum

(WOMENTUM> is an inspirational force gained over a distance of 5 kilometers applied to the eradication of cancers in women. (According to the EIF Revlon Run/Walk)

And today we saw that (Womentum> in full force. Us and over 50,000 other people on the University of Southern California campus, at the Olympic Coliseum, all walking with one purpose, for one reason. Because cancer has touched our lives.

It was an amazing day that started at 7am. When we got there the place was already packed. And the people had only started to arrive. But here's the thing that stood out to me the most:

Everyone there was there to help.
Everyone there wanted to make a difference and to remember someone.
Everyone there was showing their love in an outward fashion. By wearing it proudly on their chests and back and putting their feet into motion.

And it was a very cool thing.

Thank you if you donated money or prayers or kind thoughts to our walk this morning. We walked for Marilyn and Grandpa Jim but we also walked for so many others. We walked for everyone who fights this disease on a daily basis, we walked for everyone who fought with all they have and has gone on to a place where there is no cancer, we walked for everyone who has shed a tear or had their heart broken because of this awful disease.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, many are strong at the broken places." --Ernest Hemingway

Today we saw how strong everyone is afterwards. We have womentum and we're still moving forward.

Story

I recently finished reading the nonfiction book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life" by Donald Miller. He's the guy who wrote "Blue Like Jazz" one of the best books on spirituality and Christianity I've ever read. It's a book I've bought several copies of because I just have to share it with everyone. I love books like that.

So back to A Million Miles. This book was about Miller making his book Blue Like Jazz into a screenplay. I had no idea this is what it was about when I bought it for Angela for Christmas (she had it on her wish list). But it kinda fits perfectly with my life right now. And Miller talks a lot about story. Writing story, living story, creating a better story, those who teach about story (particularly Robert McKee, the screenwriting guru on the subject), etc.

But what's stayed with me most is not any of the writing tidbits sprinkled throughout the book but the idea that because of all this talk of story, Miller made the decision to create a better story of his own. And he encourages all of us to do the same. We have the ability to create an awesome life story. No matter what. All we have to do is get off the couch. (Well, that's what he had to do at least).

That thoughts stayed with me over the last week or so since I've put the book back in it's dust jacket and slid it onto the shelf. Am I creating a better story every day? How can I write my the best story possible with my life? I thought about it today when I got up from my computer an hour before I should have and went out to the living room and asked my mom to show me how to knit, again (yes, she's shown me, several times, and no, I never remember but I really really want to learn from her).

I thought about it when I invited my two elderly neighbors over for coffee tomorrow morning. I want to hear about their stories, more than I hear in passing when we wave from the driveway or walk to the Neighborhood Watch meetings.

And I've been thinking about it as I make decisions and contemplate making decisions that affect my life in a much bigger, overall way. How can I write a really interesting story? What should I do right now? Tomorrow? Next year?

I want to write a good story. I want to live a good story. I want to create better stories. The question now is how?

Me and tuna

I just ate a can of tuna. Yep. It's true. Me, the girl who doesn't like tuna. Who doesn't like any fish (this probably has something to do with my severe allergy to seafood).

I've eaten tuna before, this wasn't my first time. Tuna and noodles (a hot casserole) was a staple growing up and I ate my fair share of it and I liked it. And I distinctly remember eating several tuna salad sandwiches on a mission trip to Philadelphia because I was famished. I also remember that those sandwiches tasted better than anything I'd ever eaten and I appreciated the heck out of them.

But today was different. Today was me trying my hardest to be healthy. (And yes, thin but mostly, for today, healthy). I'm trying to eat more whole foods, more foods that are served the way they come if that makes sense.

I recently read a book called "The Game on Diet" by Krista Vernoff and Az Ferguson. If you're at all interested in creating a better, healthier life for yourself, I highly recommend it. Plus, Krista's a very funny writer (she's a writer on "Grey's Anatomy"). While I'm doing the game right now (because you're supposed to have 4 or more players and Angela and I are only 2) I am trying to put a lot of the principles into place. For instance:

-Less chemicals! Yeah, yeah, I like 'em too. I love Diet Coke. I adore ketchup. I put 2 packets of Splenda in my apple spice tea. But apparently chemicals are bad for you. So I'm cutting back. Less prepackaged food. Less pop (none in the house was big change number one), even less Crystal Light (sorry, Ang but I know you're getting used to iced tea!). And my tea doesn't taste so bad. And yes, I still had ketchup on my burger the other night, let's not get crazy!

-More protein, less empty calories. Before I'd reach for a bag of crackers or chips to accompany my lunch sandwich. Yeah, they're only 2 points on Weight Watchers (which I am still doing religiously). But they're 2 points that mean little in terms of fuel. So instead, I reach for the 5 point package of almonds - plain old unsalted almonds, and guess what? I feel better. And I really like almonds (this last week we also bought walnuts and cashews! Cashews! I thought they were only for Christmas but guess what? You can eat them any time!).

-Water. I am drinking water like no one's business. We splurged and bought these new stainless steel water bottles, three of them at Sam's for like 20 bucks. Now there are always 5 or 6 filled in the fridge. Makes life a lot easier.

-Fresh fruits and veggies. Yeah, they seem more expensive but I've realized, they're really not. Not compared to how expensive those 100-calorie packs of snacks are. And I've now got Ang hooked on asparagus. My mom would be proud!

-More movement. I bought this elliptical. I am trying to get my money's worth from it. (It's a lot easier on Wednesdays when I have 2 hours of "The Biggest Loser" to keep me going!) But not just that. For instance, last night Ang and I danced around my room for 10 minutes to some new songs I downloaded. It was fun and it was healthy.

So yeah, a few changes here on Abbey Place. Nothing big, nothing major, just making better choices. Hence the tuna. I ate a can of it, mixed with a teaspoon of olive oil and some kosher salt (I have the biggest box of this stuff, bought for some recipe I can't remember) and guess what? It was pretty good. And I feel good, I feel like I'm treating my body better. And hopefully, in return, it'll treat me better too.

A collaborative sport

The other night I had an "Ah-ha!" moment. And I cannot tell you what a relief it was. I was sitting at the table with my classmates and instructor and I just couldn't figure out why my instructor had given me the same note on my script multiple times. It just didn't make sense. I got that there was a problem with the plot but I couldn't grasp what it was. I'd spent several hours that afternoon sitting there, thinking it through (remember Victor Hugo's quote: A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor.), re-reading the notes I'd received and I just wasn't getting it.

And then "bam!" right there, at that moment, I got it. And it was a relatively simple problem to fix. Some characters had to interact earlier, a few scenes needed to be changed and voila! the whole was filled. But it took me several weeks to get there.

As I was driving home that night I thought about how I just couldn't get to that realization on my own. I'd tried and tried and tried. I'd made outlines and notes and charts and nothing worked. It wasn't until I was talking with other people that I finally saw the light. And that led me to think about how for most of my life writing has been an individual activity. It's been a process I do alone, with a computer or a pencil, sometimes with music but mostly just alone. Me and my thoughts. Me and my crazy brain. (My grandmother once asked me where I came up with my stories. I didn't have an answer, they're just there, in my head, and once they're there, I have to get them out.)

But now my writing life is changing. It's becoming a group activity. It's becoming collaborative and I like that. I like talking about my characters and storylines with others. I like trying to come up with ideas for someone else's characters. I like working through the beats and the outlines, working together, discussing, creating.

I think that's what drew me to screenwriting at the beginning. I love the idea that I'm just the start of it all. I'm just the architect. And I love when I watch a movie or a television show I'm fully aware that those characters would have nothing to say if it weren't for some writer sitting around with a computer and a few friends. I love that.

But that's not to say it's easy. At least when I write my Bones or NCIS: Los Angeles or Big Bang Theory spec scripts, I know that I'm drawing from someone else's world, I'm just visiting for a while. But now, starting this week, I'm going to be responsible for creating the world again -- as I embark on my first pilot writing experience. I'm taking a class on how to write an original television show, so once again I'll delve back into my mind, to my own ideas and work out from there.

But now I know something I didn't know when I began my writing journey: that I don't have to do it alone. There's so much to be said for spending time with other writers. For learning from, helping out, just going along the path with them. And that's exciting...