The Little Red Hen- A $.29 Lesson

A friend of mine just posted this on Facebook, sent to her by someone I don’t know, Tom Row.

It was too good not to share. Whether he originated it, I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter, because I’m absolutely certain I’m not the only one who has felt the same.

By Tom Row –

I don’t think anybody should be allowed to graduate from High School until they’ve read one of the most important literary classics of all time…The Little Red Hen. 🙂 In the story, the little red hen finds a grain of wheat and asks the other barnyard animals “Who will help me plant the wheat?” The response “Not I” said the cat, “Not I” said the dog, “Not I” said the pig. So the Little Red Hen said “Then I will plant the seed myself” and she did.

At each later stage (harvest, threshing, milling and baking the flour to make bread) the hen asks the 3 animals for help in the process again, and at each stage the animals reply with the same response “Not I” said the cat, “Not I” said the dog, “Not I” said the pig.

At the final stage, when the hen has finally baked the bread, she asks “Now, who will help me eat the bread?” If you’ve heard the story before you know the end. But, I’m almost positive that they aren’t teaching this story in school anymore. The response? “No, you did not help me plant, nor help me harvest, nor help me mill, nor help me bake the bread” so the Little Red Hen ate the bread and gave it to her chicks.

I grew up with this story. Such a simple lesson on being a responsible individual and helping others. Modern society no longer embraces this kind of thinking it seems. “It doesn’t matter that you did not contribute to any of the work or preparation in making something successful…you still get to eat from the fruit of people’s labor.” This kind of thinking is wrong. It promotes laziness and slothfulness and the ultimate feeling of entitlement that we see in our world today.

So you see, this is why this story should be resurrected and taught to our children at very early ages…like it once was…like it was in the days when people were more responsible and understood “cause and effect” relationships. Yes, let’s revive this “Literary Classic” before it is too late!

“The story of the Little Red Hen has been retold many times. First published in 1874, this folk tale teaches children the value of hard work and self-reliance. In the story, a hen finds a seed of wheat, which she decides to plant in order to make bread. Though she seeks the help of other farm animals, they refuse, and the hen must do all the work herself. When the bread is finally made, the other animals wish to partake—but, because they did not help the hen along the way, they are refused the fruits of her labor. The story has been featured as part of the popular “Little Golden Books” series and as a Walt Disney animated film, The Wise Little Hen (1938).”

2 Thessalonians 3:10
Even while we were with you, we gave you this command: “Those unwilling to work will not get to eat.”

Thank you Tom and thank you Stacie Reed for sharing this.

Btw: note, the key word is “unwilling” to work.

Miss Brennenstuhl- 6th Grade – A Peek Into my Life.

Miss Brennenstuhl.  My forever favorite teacher.  How I even remember how to spell her name is a miracle in of itself.  Up until junior high, my teachers would be female.

Miss Brennenstuhl was my 6th grade teacher.  She had blonde hair and wore glasses.  She was quite angular and thin with long legs.  She wore shirt waist dresses with flowing skirts. Her full lips covered a slight overbite and she kept them painted with bright red lipstick and  I remember she smiled easily. Oh, and she smelled nice.  Was she pretty?  I don’t know, but to me she was old, but she had to have been at least 40 and I think I was more fixated on the noticeable amount of makeup and the stylish clothes she wore. To put it simply she was put together quite admirably. Why that impressed me, I have no clue. I was a tomboy.  When she wore her hair down, it was slightly longer and fuller on the bottom than Marilyn’s here but same style.  Her makeup almost exactly the same. When her hair was up, she was classy.

She was what one would have called, in those days, a spinster. An unmarried “older” woman over 30, yet looking not unlike the above pictures. She wore yellow often.

At times, she could be quite stern and because I was the child that was generally on any teachers bad side, I wasn’t on hers.  For some reason, she took to me.  Perhaps I was her challenge for the year.  The one she made it her goal to impact positively and she did.

School had not been easy for me.  In kindergarten, I remember having a teacher,  who did not accept that when I asked to go potty, I meant it.  I think she thought I was fooling around in the john.  Perhaps there were some kids who might have, but I really had to go. Often.

One day, just as we were getting ready to sit on the floor to have our lunch,  I asked to be excused,  she said, “No”.  A few minutes later, she was having to buy lunches for the kids who were unfortunate enough to be sitting near me.  From then on, she never said “No”.   But she also penalized me for it by holding me back and making me go to pre-first, because I guess lacked the maturity and discipline to move on with the rest of my class. That was such a disappointment to me, but after awhile I made new friends, but I never got over feeling as though I wasn’t good enough.

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First grade – I’m second from the right, my two best friends on either side. Josie and Evangeline.

Then in second grade.  I was always getting yelled at and I was always crying and  I remember how this teacher could barely look at me and I’d start crying and because she always made me cry, I then got tagged with the moniker “Howling Coyote”.  She must have been pretty intimidating and scary to me for whatever reason. But, I was always in trouble in that class and I can’t remember why.  On the playground, a young roundish Mexican boy name Bobby Gonzalez would be my worst tormentor and others would then follow suit.

Mrs. McConnell, third grade was of Japanese descent married to an American. I remember her name because it didn’t fit her looks.  Behind her back, I recall kids making racial slurs and comments. In retrospect, she was probably as American as I am as well. There was definitely no accent.  She was stern, but I remember learning, the alphabet and how to form my letters properly with her.  In her class is when I would learn to read  so she was okay.  I loved reading and penmanship and because of her and the teacher that followed, I had  beautifully formed letters.  Of course, I know I wasn’t the only one with good penmanship because it was stressed to us in those days. Sadly, this would not continue because as the years have past,  young people today can hardly write cursive at all. I noticed too that girls were generally better than boys at cursive and boys tended to print better.  I knew a few boys who could do both equally well, but that wasn’t the norm. 

I remember my 4th grade teachers vaguely. That year I started out the year in Alabama and finished it in California. My 4th grade teacher had also been my fathers. I think her name was Mrs. Foote. and then I had Mrs. Newman in California. Nothing terribly exciting there except again, Bobby Gonzalez.  He quit calling me “howling coyote” but would tease me about my newly acquired southern drawl, exaggerating it by just calling out “y’all”.  Why he hadn’t noticed my accent before I don’t know other than perhaps it got stronger that year I was away.

School districts were divided and Bobby would be no more until junior high.  These next years were when I remember learning about and growing fond of the library.

My 5th grade teacher was also strict but I’m not sure fair, perhaps she was but I couldn’t tell. I  know I wasn’t a favorite.  Sometimes I thought she liked me fine but at other times not so much.  However, she was the one who discovered I could draw when she asked all the kids to draw a picture for Veterans Day, in addition to writing an essay to go along with it.  She would then enter it in a competition.  I painted a field of poppies on a hill.  Myself and Alex Rapach, a new boy in school, won top honors for our art and essays.  He was a great artist and always knew he would grow up to be an architect. Knowing what I know now about architects, it was no wonder, he was a natural.  During recess, he would make me hanky mice, while I played jacks.  He then taught me how to make them myself, a skill I have long since forgotten, but he was my first crush and because of that I was always trying to keep up.  Until that year I never realized I could be good at drawing or painting. I enjoy them both, but the truth of it is, I’m just okay at it.  I accidentally finish something worthwhile, but it’s rare and those all belong to other people now. Mostly because they loved them, so they were gifted. Whaaat?  Isn’t that what it’s all about?

By 6th grade, our love had faded and then came Miss Brennenstuhl, who would further cultivate my artistic nature. I’m not sure I was liked that well at first because I am a talker, a fault that aggravated all my teachers actually, but we connected through my art, which she encouraged and through music and stories.  She loved reading to us and she did so so well, that I was able to see those stories play out in my mind like I was there with the characters.  Between those two teachers my love for books and reading grew exponentially.  If anything could shut me up, it would be a book. That year I would become lost and feral in Alaska with Buck and I would learn about the trials of Anne Frank for the first time.

What connected us and made Miss Brennenstuhl stand out was dance.  I think I may have really wanted to impress her because one day, I mentioned I had an Arthur Murray Way record on dancing. It came complete with diagrams for foot placement. She asked if I could bring it and I supposed I could and did. I think my mom bought it in hopes dad would learn to dance and maybe take her dancing,  but I believe I was the one who got the most use out of it.

With me as her guinea pig, I say that because the one thing I don’t have is rhythm,  but she was patient with me and she and I would demonstrate to the rest of the class,  the steps to the Samba, the Foxtrot, box step and the Tango.  I was a klutz, but I always got to be the first one to try a new routine with her.  Boy did she light up when she danced and it was thrilling to see.  I was quite tickled and pleased.

Another time, for art class, I drew a huge Bird of Paradise that turned out magnificently. It’s pose was similar to the second photo below but it’s tail spread like the first, it was beautiful if I may say so.  She loved it and hung it up in her classroom for the remainder of the year.  At the end of the school year, she asked if I would mind if she kept it.  I gladly gave it to her and when I went to visit her several years later, it was still up in her room. I don’t know if anyone can relate to this, but she built me up in so many ways.  Most importantly, she proved to me that she hadn’t lied when she said she liked it.  Do you know how that would make a kid who got beat up and knocked around at home feel?  She made me feel valued and that meant the world to me.

Later on, I would look back at the teachers I had and the ones I liked the most were not necessarily the easy going ones, but the ones that had structure.  I remember a teacher that goofed off all the time in class and I nearly failed her class. There were no guidelines, I never felt like I knew what was expected of me.  I remember my boyfriend getting straight A’s in her class, but not me.  He was one of those that never studied either and boy was I surprised when he graduated with honors.

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I’m in almost center just above the words “junior”, my best friends to my right. Bobby Gonzalez, thinned out by then and is third boy, upper right. He only rarely teased me by then.

Since then I have figured out, judging by my son that I may have had ADD. I wasn’t stupid, just needing that structure. I remember when we moved to a different area, the school he would have been assigned to would be open concept, a no walls classroom.  So we drove him elsewhere, we knew he would never be able to focus in that environment.  Even to this day, I’m a tell me what you want and don’t beat around the bush kind of girl, because if you don’t make it clear, you can bet, I won’t get it. I’m also the gaze out the window kinda girl, easily distracted. I’ve gotten better, but it wasn’t easy growing up.

If you were to watch me clean house, you’d see that in action. If you remember the diagram of Billy in Family Circus, taking the long way to get from point A to point B?  That’s me. I’m sure I’d make the average person dizzy watching me work.  But… I get the job done and I can be OCD … I like a place for everything and everything its place.

Have a good “Lockdown Day”!  Be kind to someone and give them a call or just say “Hi”

I caught my neighbor outside yesterday and we yakked for awhile.  He lives alone, so imagined he’d be lonely,  so from 40 feet, we talked, keeping our social distance. I think he appreciated it.

 

 

Comic-Con’s 50 years, Grandma Tala and the thought of growing old!

Well, what can I say?  I did it again,  I went to Comic-Con for another year, but it was their 50th, so how could I pass it up?.  I guess we are all getting old and this time, I was half naked.

What?  Well, not exactly, but I felt like it!.

If you recall, in times past, I explained how often my sister would wear the skimpiest outfits she could manage to muster up.  Me?  Not so much.  I’m too self conscious of my middle and age, but I’ve trimmed down a bit, so I thought that for the 50th anniversary I’d see what I could do and this is what I got.  But…. Before I show you what I did, let’s quickly review my past ventures.  In general, I try to pick characters that are age appropriate though there aren’t many.

So here is the chronology of past Comic-Con’s

My first was in 2015 or was it 2014?  No, it was 2015.

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I went as Rosita of “The Walking Dead” and believe it or not there are critics!   One guy told me my hair wasn’t dark enough,  and I shoulda’ been wearing short shorts. Well, dag nabbit, she wore long pants too!  My sister was the green lady, better known as an Orion Slave Girl from Star Trek and her son was a character from some video game. And… it took me over a couple of hours to paint her green.  Aren’t I a nice sister?

 

2017 – Year Two:  I went as The Queen of Hearts – my grand daughter was Alice and I don’t recall what my sister did.  Oh yeah, she was a minuscule clad Spider Woman.  For some reason, I didn’t get that pic.  ooops!Comicon 2016-1 - CopyComicon 2016-2 - Copy

 

2017 Year Three:  I went as Queen Hippolyta of Wonder Woman – my sister was Wonder Woman and my grand daughter made a beautiful Storm (see below)- I made all their costumes, which my sis revamped to suit her. Even though Queen Hippolyta,  looks young,  she is Wonder Woman’s mother, so I went with that.

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2018 Year four:  I went as Edna Mode from The Incredibles, my daughter wore my Queen Hippolyta costume and made it look great!  My grand daughter did some steampunk thing, and my grandson did a Dastraquil thing.  We never met up with my sister that year, because I was beat and we couldn’t find each other.Comicon 2018-3 - Copy

I was fortunate to meet up  with The Incredible clan for the above picture.

 

2019 – Year Five was this year.  Ugh!  Talk about feeling old.  I went as several things and I had energy to spare on the first day, but for the next two days I lacked the heart to do all I had hoped.

My second and third day I went as Jasmine or some facsimile from Aladdin. At least this young man called me Jasmine to his Aladdin.  Comicon 2019-12

It was my compromise to my sister, but as you can see, I added a veil across my tummy in the above photo. My idea was to accommodate my sister’s known desire to be provocative. She thought it would be fun.   I thought I’d be bold enough to do so, but as you can see,  I chickened out. Comicon 2019-9 - Copy

Since, I make all my costumes, this was a good compromise.  I didn’t feel like making hers again and or another as detailed as my previous three. As I may have mentioned on other posts, taking up belly dancing was something my other sister, Di and I had done many years earlier in order to relieve stress from caring for mother.

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My sister Di is on the back left and I on the back right.  Well hidden. However, it is obvious my sisters like to dance and I go along for the ride.

Sherene, as you all know from my burlesque post is a dancer and loves to show skin.  She also belly dances and she’s dang good at it.  She’s considerably younger than I.  The point is,  between the two of us, we already had a slew of costumes to fit the bill, so it relieved me from making costumes to from scratch.

So for two days I was a harem girl, which there were plenty of in Aladdin, but surprisingly enough not many at Comic-Con and no one seemed to care.  Generally, people are lined up to take pictures of her in her scanty attire, but not this year.  I guess we’re all getting old.

Photo of Day three:  Not sure who the dudes are, but someone thought we should get our pictures taken together.

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Okay, so I’m not half naked, but did you notice, I skipped Day One ?

For good reason.

Because of Day one, I felt so insecure about Days two and three.

Things that clouded my brain were, why in the hell am I doing this?

Act your age!  Stop trying to look young! Your time has passed. I – AM – OLD.  I should act my age!  All because of … my Day One.

MY DAY ONE:

I was Grandma Tala of the film Moana. Comicon2019-3

It was absolutely amazing.  I looked and felt my age. The only reason I felt my age was that Grandma Tala is slightly bent and carries a cane and… aside from me tripping people up with it, which I did several times, it was hard work. It hurts to be hunched over. I normally stand extremely erect. Otherwise, it was gratifying playing this lovely old lady.

BUT,  what got me is how people love her.  I actually couldn’t figure out if people love old people or was it just because Grandma Tala who is so beloved and all their love for her was transferred over to me?  Day two and three were so anti-climactic because I wanted to stay her.  I almost forfeited my plans for Jasmine to be her again.

Initially, when I looked in the mirror after making myself old, I questioned my sanity wondering, Why would I even go there?  I didn’t and don’t like seeing me old, but I couldn’t help it. I enjoyed being this free, loving spirit that her character embodied.   I was through most of the day before I thought to take pictures of those taking pictures of me, so the pictures that follow don’t come close to what there was. One young couple from the Netherlands were the most excited, so I had to get one of them as well but then a beautiful young lady dressed as Moana came running toward me shouting “Grandma Tala”. Here are a series of pictures of some of these folks and their photos taken with me

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As Grandma Tala, the public loved me!!  What surprised me was how many young men from teens through thirties got excited at Grandma Tala!   My costume was complete with the temporary tattoo that Grandma Tala was noted for, a manta ray! I even memorized her lines from the movie, but never got to use them.

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And, even though I’m somewhat tawny, the splotchy-ness comes from  hubby slathering on my “tan”.  Covergirl came out with a makeup that doesn’t wash off, but it is hard to smooth on evenly and especially so if you don’t know what you’re doing.  Unfortunately, or maybe I should say fortunately, hubby isn’t in the habit of putting makeup on and I don’t think he was much into getting his hands into it.  LOL

It was amazing, but I couldn’t walk more than a couple of feet and people were stopping me, taking pictures and praising me. Telling me I was the best Grandma Tala they’d ever seen and I’m guessing I was the only Grandma Tala out there.

 

People from across the way were mouthing, “You are beautiful”. Thumbs up and shouting “You are amazing!” and it went on like that all day!

So what was it?  I kept asking myself rhetorical questions as to the why she or I was so popular, posing several questions to myself about what it means.

Is it that there are few grandma’s that even look like grandma’s?  I was looking at a scene the other day, of a friend doing a part opposite Jane Fonda and well, look at Jane Fonda. She’s still gorgeous and absolutely doesn’t look like a cuddly grandma, regardless of her 80 plus years and her grandma state of being.

I don’t look like a cuddly grandma, even though I’m not as old, though you’d be hard pressed to believe that from the above photos.  If you ask my grand daughter, I am her cuddly grandma and she has on occasion complained that her mom isn’t and my daughter would admit to that as well, even though she loves her grand kids immensely.  Funny how that works, looks don’t impair cuddles. Are there not enough grandma’s that look like grandma’s and possibly part of why everyone fell in love with Grandma Tala?

My ex, posted a comment that he liked my hair. What did he mean?  Did he like seeing me grey and looking old or just grey? He’s not mean spirited, so I’m guessing he just meant grey.

My mom had beautiful gray hair, so if I had more of it maybe I’d feel differently about having it.  The reality is, I have very little gray hair, but aside from that, even pretending to be old made me feel old.   I was hurting in places that generally don’t hurt and my mind wanted to fog up.  I loved it and hated it all at the same time.  How does one grow old gracefully?

For me, part of my energy level comes from NOT looking old or catering to my age, but then there is this thing that tells me “why not??” Yes, sometimes I wish to give in to it.

For me, I look young because I think young.  I eat right and exercise.  I do not have a cupboard full of medication.  I take a few herbals. I do puzzles, read and write to keep the mind alert.  I’ve seen too many people give into aging and yes, a part of me wishes she could resign herself to looking her age, but I can’t and won’t.  To give in means to give up and because of that,  I want you to know I will fight, kicking and screaming to my grave.   Age is a crown of glory or so Grandma Tala has proven, but Grandma Tala died way too soon, leaving her beloved Moana without her.  There is so much telling in age, but I soak up what I’ve learned and hope I will live long enough to share my Grandma Tala wisdom to those younger than I and for years to come.

However, when I do get old, I won’t look half bad, huh?Comicon 2019 - 13

BTW, that paint was hard to get out of my hair and I think my tan rubbed off onto my PJ’s for days. What if I’d been green?  The tat is almost completely gone now.

More pictures from Comic-Con:

Comcion 2019 - 18Comcion 2019 - 17DastraquillComicon 2019-10Comicon 2019 - 16Comicon 2019 -14

 

 

Michael Kelly

Leukemia is a disease I seldom hear of anymore.

There are a number of other cancers still talked about, but I haven’t heard the word leukemia as much as it once was.   Has it been given another name? Is it still the number one cancer in children?

The answer to that is yes and no it has not been given another name, at least not according to NCI. Leukemia is still number one in addition to its variations, followed by brain cancer. See link for others listed.

When I was young, I never completely grasped what it meant.  Polio was the big thing when I was growing up. In our day we were given live polio vaccines and invariably one of my classmates would succumb to this horrible debilitating disease in varying degrees.  My friend Gloria’s little sister was confined to a wheelchair. She died at an early age, but still managed to have a somewhat fulfilling life, got married and held down a job. My friend Sally was another, she wore braces on her legs and used crutches most of the time.  As she got older, she could sometimes go without.  It always amazed me at fast she could move, stiff legged and all. Then there was Leon, a boy I dated at one time whose only sign of it was poor posture.

As I got older every now and again I’d hear the word “leukemia” spoken in hushed tones when someone’s child or a relative had come down with it, but it was usually done so furtively as not to frighten us, I guess. At times I wished I could come down with this mysterious illness or something like it so that I could be fawned over but I never did.  Little did I know.

My first experience with it was when a very dear friend of my daughter was stricken with leukemia.

I was working at the junior high school  my daughter and her friends attended at the time.  I met Michael earlier on or at least before I was assigned to work with him. Michael was actually my daughter’s best friend’s boyfriend but he became her best friend as well. Michael was also the most popular boy in school.  This kid was friendly, smart and cute to boot. Everyone loved him.  That was in 7th grade.

I always thought it odd that her best friend’s boyfriend called our home as often as he did, but she insisted there was nothing to it.  What was odder still was that it didn’t matter if my daughter was or wasn’t around because he was just as happy to just chat with me. We talked about so many things.  It tickled me. He already knew what he was going to do with his life and was so full of energy and promise.

My job at the school was to tutor kids who were seriously ill and had missed a great deal of school because of treatments, doctor appointments and such.  I kept them up with their studies. So, you can imagine my shock when his name came across my desk at the beginning of the next year.  I’d not heard he was ill.  I was told he’d gone away for the summer with his family.  Apparently, I was misinformed.

I don’t know when he first received the diagnosis but that summer, at 13, his chemo was started. He came in late the following school year. When he first showed up back to school, he was wearing a wig as was commonly done in those days. He walked through the halls keeping his head low and avoided all his friends. As much as he liked me, he didn’t want to be treated special and refused my help with his studies.  He kept up fine though. He made it clear he didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him and because of that he avoided eye contact.  He broke off with his friends at first and pretty much kept to himself. As his health improved at the end of the school year, he looked so much better. When he learned his leukemia had gone into remission and as his hair had grown out we were starting to see a glimmer of his old self starting to get back into the groove of being himself. He let his friends back in and we began to talk again, but never as before.  It was obvious he was still considerably more subdued and the sparkle that was Michael didn’t shine as bright, but there was hope and he perked up.

Too soon it came and went. Sadly, by the end of summer he died.  His mom, God bless her, knew we were pals and gave us a call.  We and the whole school were devastated.   She’d not known how much time, he and I had talked on the phone before he was ill, only that he was friends with Tina.  I would have some lovely conversations with his mom as I shared with her our little chats.  In the end, we laughed some and we would cry more.

Over the years, I lost track of his family  so I don’t have a picture of him.

As kids do, they move on and most would eventually forget this young man who once lead the pack, made them laugh and made them cry. That was nearly 40 years ago, yet some of us didn’t forget.  Every now and then Tina and I remember.

It’s funny how some kids, some people for that matter, can leave their mark on you in just a short amount of time. I would have loved to have seen him grow up to be the man I know he would have been, yet of all of Tina’s classmates, I followed none and barely remember a few.  Except for Michael.

 

 

Places to Donate if you so choose: St. Jude, City of Hope, and the American Cancer Society

 

There’s Always the Phone.

Walk on the beach

I had this great idea yesterday that I would go to the beach for inspiration.  I hadn’t written anything of any consequence in several days, so I thought maybe the sound of the pounding surf might beat it out of me.  It didn’t.

Generally, I come up with ideas easily. But… I have a project (several) I want to totally rework based on, well they need it.

I went to a writer’s (artist’s) retreat, put on by the Greenhouse group, a non profit organization that helps newbies get started and become familiar with the Hollywood scene. It was absolutely phenomenal and so worth it. It’s focus was on incorporating our own personal story in our work, this is what gives our work it’s own unique flavor, unique to us. I liked that.

I left there completely inspired, ideas and juices were flowing like a fountain but I was driving on the San Diego freeway and couldn’t jot them down!!!!

Then instead of making a beeline for home, taking advantage of all this inspiration, I thought since Russ wouldn’t be home for awhile I’d go see a movie I’d been wanting to see before it went out of the theater’s.

Big mistake! I left there totally dried up, like what was I thinking?!!

I may have mentioned this before but there is a movie that got made that was similar in nature to one I’ve had “in the works” now for a few years.

I got positive feedback from the Austin Film Festival with suggestions on how to improve on it.  Well, that’s what I’ve been doing. Why this particular film seems to be stagnating, I just don’t know but it has.

Maybe I should just let it go and move on.

My original script was 40 pages long and everyone that read it loved it. But, here’s the but that bogged me down. Everyone that read it thought it should be a feature film, which meant extending it by an additional 50 pages…at least.

Okay, so how do I do that and not lose the momentum I had?

My first effort was 120 pages long. Oh boy was it heavy.  So much shit in it that the story got lost.  So, I went at it again, and again, and again and so on.

One reader (script doc) said,  I had a comedic moment that he thought was inappropriate since it was a drama (ala Taken). That made sense, so I took it out.  (He did however complement me on my natural sense of timing for comedy)

Another source says I have the possibility of some strong women parts which are sought after but they were underdeveloped. I needed to give them more. Okay, that made sense too since that’s the reason I created them in the first place.

Then there is the angst between my protagonist and her father which needs strengthening as well, I had it originally but dropped some of that in the rewrite because it didn’t read like I wanted it to.

So, here I am at the beach looking for inspiration.

I sat and sat. I wrote a few things in my book, but nothing that wowed me. All these stories that were flowing from me on the way home sputtered.

I had at least 4 stories bouncing around in my head and the passion with which they were coming? Gone.

At least I remembered the idea, so I settle for writing the basic idea for each down in hopes that someday the story will come. Sigh.

Note to self:  Say “NO!” No detours and in the future, pull over and just jot it down. So what if you’re a few minutes late? There’s always the phone.