The Write Woman’s Plan B for a Type A Personality (42 days to go)

Real writers must thrive on rejection. Many people are curious as to all the parts coming together in the creation of a movie and where the writer fits in. I certainly don’t have time to get into all the credits, but I can tell you why the directors and producers gain most of the notoriety in creating the film over the writers. The basic concept of the film, after painstaking attempts to perfect it with numerous rewrites, resumes hashing by the aforementioned producers and directors when the writer finishes the creation. At this point, with the purchase complete, they can slice and dice the film however they see fit. While this concept stinks, and I’ll probably cry my eyes out after my first sale, that’s how the industry works. My goal consists of ensuring my vision takes over.

Speaking of visions taking over, I’ve been submitting to positions at such a ramped rate I haven’t even placed all of them in my spreadsheet. I get excited, I suppose. And the resume I submitted through school, after countless times of resubmitting over the course of over a month, has only had one hit. I went back and investigated the resume and found I have one semi-repetitive sentence, however I’ve come to discover my resume cannot be replaced without even more chatter to my less-than-cooperative liaison. This guy makes it a point to answer my emails just to talk down to me, I swear. Because of this waste of time I’ve already dedicated, in addition to searching on my own to no avail, I’ve decided to wad up the plans and start over. My phone number, I’ve tried like hell to keep private, has apparently gained submission onto several calling lists who continually call me offering sales positions; everything from posing as a food vendor at Costco to selling car wax at Sam’s Club. I’ve tried advertising agencies, but as soon as I walk in to see the young and hungry, working-out-for-my-lunch-break bodies, I understand I don’t belong. I’m a behind-the-scenes personality. So, until I can sell a screenplay, my future says I’ll continue substitute teaching. There are several reasons: I can still take grandma to her doctor’s appointments once a month; I can take the kids to their doctor/dental appointments without having to request time off; and the schedule suits me dedicating at least two hours a day to writing. This means I can work my ass off on Vermill!on Beach and submit it to various platforms. Of course I own the copyright, and will place it on my professional webpage when  I have an ample amount of samples perfected and placed, but here’s the logline:

After a century of cryonic sleep, a modern Joan of Arc finds herself leading a revolution against a tyrannical government—risking everything for future generations, if she can escape. 

Meanwhile, with tomorrow as my daughter’s ninth birthday, her option for a gift consists of an hour with a tortoise at the zoo. Go figure, but it’s her dream. Because her actual birthday isn’t until tomorrow, I’ve reserved a BR ice cream cake tomorrow night, and she’ll also receive a lovely pair of howling wolf earrings. Okay, they’re pretty inexpensive and purchased from eBay, but she’s a kid.

My son thrives as one of the star players on his soccer team, unhappy that his coach would prefer he be goalie because he wants to be out in the action. I told him if the rest of his team sucks, he’ll have plenty of action, right?

The Write Woman on a Limb (109 Days to Graduate)

Each script is 120 pages long

The problem with me is that I'm too old to be picky about which career I indulge in. I should be content with a customer service position until I get my degree, right? Why don't I feel like that? I've applied for numerous positions in the past few weeks, but when they call and describe the position, I just can't force myself to go to the interview. There's always something wrong with the job. And although I could take the job, because it's only for a little while, my heart wouldn't be in it. I wouldn't produce even par work, which isn't fair to the employer. Where does that leave me? This is totally stupid, and I know it is, but it's the only resolution I can bear -- I need to complete the screenplay of Vermill!on Beach and get it out there! What does this mean? This means that in addition to teaching public school, schooling Cameron in home studies, attending his soccer games, assuring Nikki's doing well with her classes, and achieving aced grades in my own schooling, I need to complete the final 100 pages of my screenplay within two days. Impossible? Probably, but I've got my outline to simplify the process. That would be to enter it in two different contests, Script Pipeline is quickly approaching, and Final Draft's Big Break Contest is right around the proverbial corner.

The game yesterday for my son's soccer team? What a mess! Okay, so I'm poor. I had four pieces of paper to print on. Cameron's father called one hour before his game and asked me to print off the contract for the new soccer league because he can't work his computer. I stopped my school work, got on the computer, filled out nearly 14 pages of crap to print off three sheets, praying I wouldn't mess them up. They printed, without the blanks filled in. I had to hand

Xtreme play - My son's the goalie in the gray shirt

write all the insurance information, emergency contacts, father's address as well as our information. It was pouring rain, we were already half an hour late, and I couldn't find my car keys. "We're going to have to walk!" I explained to Nikki. She opened the front door and was horrified to see rain pouring down. "We've got to get this to them today." She asked if I looked in my purse. Of course I had. We both toured the tiny apartment, peeking into places they never would be, until she said, "Here they are!" They were crammed into the wrong pocket of my purse. I was thankful, but livid, took a deep breath and headed out. Thank goodness we had our umbrellas. Mine is old and tattered, turning inside-out every time the wind blew. Cam's dad walks from beneath the canopy to me. "Hey, don't know if you realized it or not, but your pants are wet." I looked down and they were soaked to the skin. He suggested I climb beneath the canopy, but no I'm too damned tough for that sissy crap! Guess he deserves kudos for making nice. The boys played hard, giving the other team a run for the money and losing by one point. Way to go, Xtreme! Being a soccer mom is pretty fun after all.

Hope there's something soft below!

I'm also figuring out creative things to do with food, such as mixing things together that sound disgusting, but taste good. Okay, most of them are disgusting! But once in a while, I hit on something that isn't so bad when I close my eyes and use my imagination. The hard part is convincing my kids the food is yummy. I thought about having a website where poor people can learn to make odd things from everyday items, but without having meat in the house, my following wouldn't be very good. Our main ingredient is potatoes, although anyone who knows me can't be surprised. Potatoes are versatile vegetables and go way beyond the plate on the table. And while I suppose eating potatoes is healthy, but if I'm not careful I may be eating the bark from the limb I'm dangling from.

The Write Woman Leaves General Hospital (115 days left to sweat)

"I just can't take it anymore!"

My more recent class came the closest to causing an ulcer. Lack of sleep, no appetite, and working, rather than working out, has taken its toll. (Sounds like a dog that should be checked for worms, right?) But General Hospital from Hades passed me with a B+. Not as great as I would normally expect, but with the class’s division into two months the students will learn even more than we were able. Stinks for us, but yeah for them. The information from that class was irreplaceable. Thank goodness the General left his “door open” for more inquiries. Although I cannot see how that is possible with so much on his plate. Regardless, kudos to General Hospital. I hope to hell I have no more graded classes with The General.

Vermill!on Beach has been sitting on the back burner for too long. My intention was to finish it before the middle of June but, along with my weight loss, has been neglected. I also applied for several internships, one in Hollywood, California for creating commercials. I had to include my school transcripts in that one, indicating they mean business. I figured with my 3.7 average, my portfolio, etc. I’d be a shoo-in. As my parents so keenly pointed out, “that’s what I get for thinking.” Someone who lived nearby, perhaps with a higher GPA and more life ahead of him got the drop. But as my Facebook friend, Jheri pointed out (hope she doesn’t mind me using her first name), “everything happens for a reason.” Suppose I have to just trust her on this one, right? Besides, when Donald Trump searches for an intern, if I wasn’t available, what would he do? It simply wouldn't do to have him settle for someone who'd give him less coverage.

"Hairdresser, you're FIRED!"

The class I’m in now has the class writing comic scripts. Not for shows, that was the last class – if someone had chosen to create a half-hour sitcom. (I was stupid enough not to be funny, therefore giving me a thumbs-up for a one-hour drama. As if that weren’t enough, because of having no television for four years, I had no idea I was choosing the longest freaking show!) This class has us creating comic scripts as in comic book scenarios. I’m not sure if we’ll be using the Toon Boom Storyboard Pro we were given or not. We haven’t used it yet, however I doubt it. Today I will go to the library and find three titles to books (I think the length is 64 pages, or something like that) to run past him. It’s important to be first, so I can get the titles I want, as it’s first come, first take it out from under everyone’s nose. He’s enticing the killer instinct necessary to survive, as if General Hospital didn’t do that.

Meanwhile, I was blindsided by a terrific movie idea. I haven’t got the title yet. I’m still working on Vermill!on Beach, but the synopsis is a woman goes in for a routine exam, is told she should be on an antidepressant (familiar, I know) and ends up losing her memory. Her sister, who begrudges her for the stable life she’s had, steals her identity, her life, etc. by rescuing her from the hospital and keeping her in a cabin to “help her get better.” In addition to this, she convinces the frustrated husband who left her sister, that her sister ran away. She then cuddles up to the man and his daughter. The patient, although at a clear disadvantage, must first figure out all that’s happened and then try to patch her memory along with her life. What do you think? Okay, okay, it’s no cartoon! Better refocus on 2D characters with depth.

The Write Woman Afraid for Wrong Reasons? (150 Days to Go)

Right, Wrong, or Whatever?

“If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Remember that song? If you’re thirty or older, there’s no excuse for never having heard it. Anyway, I’m not saying I’ve totally sucked into involvement with someone. I’m not. But I can’t figure out why I’m even contemplating the issue. It isn’t, after all, as if I have time to eat and sleep properly. How in the world could I add in another task? Perhaps it’s the issue of me considering the whole thing a task, although there is work involved in a relationship and no one has asked me out.

Life is ONLY confusing if you think about it. Stop Thinking!

So at the library yesterday, I promised Nikki that I would play Wizard101 with her for an hour before I refocused on my homework. We played, I worked on helping her to focus more, and then we packed up with the intention of coming home. No sooner did we step out of the library doors than a male voice said, “Excuse me.” He couldn’t have been talking to me because 1) he didn’t whistle as if calling a dog, and 2) he didn’t start off with “Hey!” Of course I kept walking, talking and laughing with Nik as we usually do when we leave. But he couldn't let it go and repeated “excuse me” a bit louder. I turned to see a man I’d recognized as someone who is in the library all the time with headphones working at his laptop. I’m guessing a few years younger and a couple inches taller than me. He’s dark, but I’m unsure of his racial history, but then again, in a few years we’ll all be mulligan stew. My eight-year-old says she suspects he’s a descendant of India. He told me he sees me working hard every day and guesses I must be a student. Then he told me he took a few months off of work to take a series of tests necessary for internal medicine. His name is Michael Clark and he’ll complete his series April 17^th. I congratulated him and acknowledged that I am a student. He didn’t ask me if I was a nurse, thank goodness! No offense to any nurses, but a group of them gather at the library and hearing some of the things they are unsure of has scared me away from going ever again. Okay, that and the bill for over $1,900 of them checking my heart scare before telling me a dead arm is a sign of my vertebrae’s misalignment. I wish they would have told me that in the first place. Anyway, when I congratulated Michael and wished him well on his journey, he quickly threw in he’d still be coming to the library after and his test was a couple of weeks away. I don’t know why I’m freaking, it isn’t as if he asked me out or anything. Here’s to hoping he doesn’t, right?

 Took the kids to see Home, starring Jim Parsons last week. It was fairly good. I will review it and have reopened my Ten Star Review Listing for my own reviews. I also watched Into the Woods, which was amazing, and conducted a review on it for GeekSmash. I’ve decided to borrow movies from the library and critique the hell out of them, combined with theatrical releases for my own website I’d started a couple years ago. I may as well.

Let me prune your flowers -- away!

Today when Nikki and I got home from shopping, I saw the beautiful Blue Bells I’d planted two years ago had blossomed, after I had written them off. Nikki gave me a hug and told me how beautiful they were, and they were. She helped me pack the groceries into the house by propping the door open and helping me put them away. When we were all done, there was a knock at the door. Peeking out, Nikki’s friend waited and waved through the screen door. She donned her Easter dress with matching gardening gloves and a bucket with sour cream containers filled with dirt. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I am gardening for your Easter gift from me today.” Her smile was huge as I ran past her to witness all of the blossoms, lying with their heads chopped off, all over the ground. Of course I was saddened. But she meant well, and it was free. How often do people approach me with tasks they’re willing to do for free? Instead of getting upset, I grabbed Nikki’s new Madagascar Penguins movie, put it into her hands and asked her to take Leila to her grandma’s and ask if they could watch it there. She hasn’t come back yet and I’ve written this full article.

Now I will go sit in my recliner and breath for ten minutes before coming back to read the series of The Good Wife, of which I must write an episode of for school. I’m on page 33 of Vermill!on Beach, and Cameron will be home in 2 ½ hours. I still have half an hour left of silence before Nikki comes home. I love my children dearly, but in order to have a true appreciation, I must force myself to realize what life without them would be like. I’ll go do that now.

The Write Woman Messed Me Up (166 Days Left)

The new group we're organizing for prevention

            Okay, first of all I have a horrible confession to make. I quit working out. Yep, that’s right, Samara, my friend. I screwed up. You know how on New Year’s Eve everyone makes that healthy commitment to himself or herself to start working out? Well, they do start, but it only lasts a few months most of the time. As weird as it sounds, I have a fear of large groups of people if they’re behind me and I’m unacquainted with them. I can’t sit in a restaurant with the door behind me and a booth is generally better. You’ve heard that one before, right? When I’m teaching a class, it can have a gazillion people in it and I’m fine as long as I can see them. Perhaps this explains why I never won any marathons…

            Anyway, so the more people with this resolution, the harder it was for me to work out. I tried coming in at earlier, totally weird hours as early as 2:00 a.m. and that worked for a while, but then someone with a trainer started, which I worked through until they brought two friends, and they brought two friends, and so on… You get the picture. Alright, you got me! There were not ten people working out at 2:00 a.m., but there were six! And they weren’t on any schedule! Sometimes they would workout on the equipment I was used to using and totally screw up my schedule. Is this an excuse? Could be. But I was working out regularly last year for nearly five months and then I let this trip me up. I tried all different times and ran into the same thing. Everyone was trying to get into shape—it was terrible!

I wish this was me -- but alas, not on your life!

            Last week I started back up again, even though I did work out sporadically throughout the last couple of months. I started slow again, the treadmill, the stair climber. Working my way up from a miniscule amount of time back to an hour. Today I determined I was prepared enough to move back to the equipment after warming up on the treadmill and followed up with half an hour on the stair stepper.          

This younger woman with flaming red hair waltzed in and handed me a dirty look on a paper plate when she passed. It was red like auburn. Actually more like a reddish-magenta, hanging almost to her waist in loose curls. And she had on make-up—lots and lots of it as if she meant to go to the bar down the street and became disoriented, or perhaps the gym was a backup plan after the bar closed.

I remember thinking she had to have gotten up at the same time as me to get ready to work out. It only takes me half an hour to yank my hair up, dress, brush my teeth, and grab my water and towel. When I get home, I grab something to eat and hop into the shower. She’d have to do all that with an extra half hour each time she pulls out the spatula (not to make food, but apply the make-up). Who does that? I mean, if she’s looking to pick up a guy he’s bound to see her without make-up eventually, unless it’s a one-time deal. And usually people that work out are there to get healthier, not clog their pores with oils and powders before building up a sweat.

You may think I’m jealous, after all she is quite a bit less chunky and younger than I. But if I happened jealous, wouldn’t I be someone who wears make-up regularly? The only time I do is when I have to make a presentation or be seen as some sort of role model, when it’s expected of me. Wait, that isn’t true. I’m supposed to wear make-up at my teaching job, but I don’t. I figure if they want Vanna White to teach the class, they should make their tests a little easier. I wasn’t hired for my dazzling appearance, but for intelligence and crowd control; the general aspects of being a mother for a group of thirty hormone-raging individuals.

Even though I tend to spread myself thin, I somehow find I work better under controlled and organized stress. This weekend I’ve already completed all my work for school to brainstorm on this other task I’ve undertaken for drug prevention. I’ll contact homeless shelters and prisons to find out about interviews pertaining to drug users to see what information I can channel. (I need a decent video camera though because mine isn’t the best, but I’ll make due.) I have a speaker and a vocalist already participating and I’ll need to contact libraries (although mine already agreed to it), universities, schools, etc. quickly, because this year’s almost over.

            Meanwhile, the next two months I’m inundated with a screenplay that must be complete Vermill!on Beach, at least as a novel. The first draft is complete, which is enough spine to use for the script. The novel is of 250 pages during the first draft, which isn’t bad, but a script is only 100 to 120 pages long. The tricky part is removing all the things the character is thinking to herself and making it visual so the audience can see and hear what she’s thinking in conversation without her coming right out and saying it like a dork—oh yeah, and change the tense. Anyway, I’ve got a couple of months to do it and at 5 pages a day I should be able to sort through it a couple of times. (Crossing my fingers!) There should be a way to cross fingers on the internet, but I suppose the symbol may look like some kid trying not to wet her pants.

Opening of Vermill!on Beach screenplay

by the end of May. The other morning I woke up with this bright idea to stop working on

            Afterwards, the following couple of months I plan on being stationed in California, coming back just in time to graduate. For those curious as to why I’m single? It’s easy—I’m married to my work and couldn’t be happier. The hardest part is making sure my kids get the attention they need and I get the attention I need, which seldom happens. But anyone who’s ever been a real parents knows exactly what I’m talking about. Nevertheless, I have no interest in men as anything more than friends, just like women. I simply have no time for games.

Oh my gosh! My cell phone! I use the Go Phone plan through AT&T, right? I was changing my little flip phone over to a new phone with a different SIM card and rate plan, so the rep told me two weeks ago to wait until my plan runs out and renew the whole thing through them, so I waited. Last night I called and got some weird dude who was trying to walk me through it step-by-step even though I told him I didn’t have a house phone (Being the only adult, why would I?) Then I told him I needed to have the phone numbers switched from one card to the other, so perhaps I would be better off taking it to the center where they could perform the task easier, because they have their own phone to use, right? Besides, the SIM card would not change from my old phone to my new one because the sizes vary.

"Customer Service" - What the hell is it?

The guy kept arguing with me and then would start over with, “Okay, so I’m going to call you back in a few minutes on the same number.” First, he never had me even set up my new phone with the SIM card, battery, etc. and second, I just told him I need to transfer the data. He promised he could transfer the numbers from one phone to the other from his data center. “Wow, really?” I said, “That’s totally new because I thought the information on the SIM card was private and you had to manually transfer the data.” He said, “No, I can do it from here.” Really? Technology sure has made some astounding headway, if that’s true.

I explained if he calls me back, I’m still going to be on my old phone. He didn’t get it. I told him I was going to the center and have them do it. He said “Okay, that sounds good then. So tell me when you want me to call you back.” I hung up.

            Oh yeah, we didn’t get to the shoot either. My friend had a last minute invitation to go see a play and part of the shoot is from the front door at night. We decided to wait until next week. I’ll need to tell Jen, my  CGI agent, to hold off. She’s busting her butt to get it done by next week, and it’s not going to won’t happen.

            Today, coincidentally, I am teaching Drama/Yearbook at one of the schools, which will be fun. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn something. Even though I’m the instructor, I try to learn something every day and this is a great opportunity. So go ahead, let the cat out of the bag. I’ve got so many little things going on, I need to step lively. I’m creating a presentation about people using drugs, this week; working on Vermill!on Beach to complete by the end of May, hopefully not going is an absolute waste. It’d be like going to La Caille, means "the quail" in French (an expensive restaurant) and eating a salad over the course of the four hour meal without eating a complimentary dessert. Which, by the way, you never get at La Caille. But if it was free after spending $200, wouldn’t a person be foolish to skip it?

Susan Albershardt

travelling to California in June and July, finishing school in August to graduate on my birthday, and made a few connections on an online school program last night. By the way, “Thanks Susan Albershardt and Sheena Fowler for an incredibly insightful discussion last night.” I definitely need to attend more of them to ensure I get my money out of this school. Each of the discussions is a bonus class for the students so

            Lastly, I’ve decided to include my talents by giving back to humanity. I’ve requested several friends’ help in creating a program called Messed Me Up for teens and adults in battling narcotics, cigarettes, and alcohol abuse. The going is slow because of all the people in libraries, schools, prisons, shelters, and newspapers I need to contact, but moving in the correct. I’m certain the work is worth the reward, if only one person’s life is changed for the better.