I Pitched My TV Show to God and...

He said, "I'm Listening.  Keep talking.  Keep trying.  Be patient.  I'm making a way."

Why is it when you're down, people take that opportunity to crap on you instead of lifting you up?

Be still and know that I am God.

Outside Looking In: Living on the Fringe of a Promise

Everyone has a purpose in life.  Sometimes it takes an entire lifetime to figure out what it is and like some, that purpose is evident the day they were born.

I've been writing all of my life for myself.  I was a shy child that turned into a vocal teenager that transformed into a strong purposeful adult.

Facebook has allowed me to reach out to those outside of my purview and reconnect with those who knew me as that shy child or vocal teenager.

I am at the stage in my life where purpose and promise must meet.  I can feel it.  I can see it.  I am living it but not fully.

I started writing at the advice of my teachers in school.  At nine years old, I had experienced so much life and they felt I should share that experience and newly found knowledge with the rest of the class; just stop talking during class!

I was shy but vocal when needed.  I'm still that way.  I put great thought into my words and reflect on my actions and possible outcomes.  I like to know the ending before I begin.  That is not always possible.

Everyday I write, I am fulfilling the promise.


 

Remembering my Father

Today I cried like a baby watching the movie "Taking Chance."  I've seen that movie a dozen times and there is one scene that gets me crying every single time - it is when they are driving PFC Phelps body to the funeral home.  As a truck passes the SUV, the truck driver removes his hat and turns on his headlights.  Then cars that follow the SUV one by one slow down and turn on their headlights.

Why I cry?

1. It is the Universal time where EVERYONE shows respect to someone they don't know without question.
2. It reminds me of the day of my father's funeral.  Although I was just a child, the memory of me being an observer, watching everyone follow the limousine in their cars with the headlights on.  His funeral procession was miles long. Once inside the funeral home, people came from everywhere to give their condolences.  I remember it was standing room only.  I remember being brave and not crying, mainly because I was still numb.  I had just seen him in the nursing home days before and we thought he was getting better.  I remember once we were at the gravesite, it began to rain. 

When I got home, I wrote my first poem "When it rains, a funeral is going on."  Miss Dora gave me an "A."  She, Mr. Latman, and Mr. Osada encouraged me to write,  they all agreed that I had something to say, probably because I was always talking in class!

I miss my father everyday.  I often wonder if he is proud of me even though I've done nothing with my life.  I never married.  I never had children.  I never had a career.  Somehow, I believe my father would love me no matter.  He was a great guy.

I miss you JBS.

Two Lies, Two Friends, Two Days

As a writer, it's difficult to stay out of your own head.  It is for me because I am always there.  So from time to time I will reach out to friends to get away from the endless loop running in my mind.

I reached out to a "friend" just wanting to be apart of society and she shut me down!  It's not as dramatic as it sounds.  Her excuse for not wanting me to attend her super bowl party was that it was only for "family."

I spent all day Saturday working on my latest pilot.  I felt I was making some headway because the flow was continuous, an unending stream of scenes and plots hitting the page.  At the end of the day I sent it to a "friend" as she wanted to read it.  Twenty minutes later, she said it was really good and I had improved.

Friend one didn't want me to attend because my ex was going to be there.  That's the thing about friendships gained while dating someone.  The friends are placed in an awkward position when the relationship ends.  I would rather the friend tell me that "Jim's going to be there and I don't think it's a good idea for you to come."  I would rather hear that than a lie.

Friend two read the first two pages and said that she liked the fact that I wove historical speeches in my story.  That would have been a solid comment if I hadn't already done that before in the last 40 drafts!

Two Lies, Two Friends, Two Days.