‘There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you’

February 22nd, 2017, 7:48 AM by Goddess

The thing that makes “This is Us” so unbelievably awesome is exactly what I posted about yesterday.

I am still reeling from last night’s episode that took Randall and William to Memphis. And why?

Because the writers leave nothing on the table. They pack every brilliant idea they can find into each episode.

They know the show could be canceled at any moment. (It won’t, thank God — it’s been renewed for the next two years already.)

I cried and laughed and cried and did I mention cried? That’s how you do it. That’s the writer, the producer, the director, the talent, the EVERYTHING coming together.

I really need to sign up for Shonda Rimes’ screenwriting class. I have to. These stories aren’t telling themselves, you know.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you,” as Maya Angelou said.

And mine is killing me with each day that passes with it going untold.

The neverending chapter

June 12th, 2016, 8:26 PM by Goddess

I finally got to see “Money Monster” today. It was masterful. 

It also distracted me from the pile of work I needed to do today because I really needed to do it three weeks ago but it’s been nonstop chaos and I already canceled a vacation so someone else can take theirs and Jesus the tasks never stop. 

I often think about how I probably would have been Vice President of the company I last worked at in D.C. 

I mean I might have been the janitor too. But this whole starting over again every couple of years is for the boids, I tell ya. 

Anyway. I love my field. Not always my place in it. But my current deal with God is to be patient and it will all be worth it someday.

As I watched the movie, which was masterfully written, I thought that’s what I should be doing. Explaining complex things to the masses in an entertaining way. 

I’ve been reading a book in my free time. Just a lovely summer beach read, Judy Blume’s latest. I’m in love with it. It reminds me why I wanted to be a writer. 

She has a massive cast but it’s not hard to follow and it tells a million sides of the same story. Love love love. 

Yeah. I should be writing screenplays. Or something like that. It’s time to get back to that. But hopefully without giving up everything and starting all over again. Although taking a nice week off to write may be harder than going off the grid entirely …


April 16th, 2016, 7:02 AM by Goddess

I came across that word in my travels this week. It gave me that magical, tingly, giddy feeling I always used to get when I found the perfect word for a very specific usage.

Understand, I was once a walking thesaurus. Then I met my mortal enemy, Flesch-Kincaid. And I hate that motherfucker.

So now in addition to being a grammar queen and figuring out where the point in the story is and making sure it’s at the top of the page and a great conclusion is at the bottom and then that there’s a super-awesome P.S. after the signature because everyone KNOWS that most orders come from people scrolling through the heart of the story just to get to the epilogue …

I have to take beautiful prose and julienne that shit so that even a fifth grader (or in this case, an eighth grader. Maybe 10th if there are a lot of numbers) can read it.

Funny how a gal who sought a career in wordsmithing would come to loathe sentences (rather, phrases used in place of sentences) so much.

Today I don’t care. I am insouciant. And the word rolls off my tongue. Monday, I will be indifferent or nonchalant or, here’s a thought, no one cares how you feel and I won’t be anything at all.

11 days

October 21st, 2015, 11:34 AM by Goddess

I’m pretty sure the Thunder Bunch drugged the kids last night. No constant stomping, vase-rolling or glass-dropping that would rouse the dead. Win. 

I did hear them as I left the house today. But it was more annoying listening to residents’ unleashed dogs going after humans and their leashed dogs last night. 

Huge kerfuffle with “Amber” and her attractive asshole owner. Per usual. It’s a shame all the cute, single guys are either mean to their dogs or lax in taking care of them. 

When this “toodaloo Thundercunt” countdown ends, I plan to start a new, positive one. I don’t care to do NaNoWriMo anymore … all the cool writers and writers’ groups were up North. But I can manage a positive post a day for 30 days. Right?

Each life has its place

April 20th, 2014, 11:35 AM by Goddess

There was a moment on this week’s episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” that will live in my head for quite some time.

Our beloved Miranda Bailey, constantly trapped at her computer to stare at boring research about genomes that kept her out of the operating room she loves so much, got pulled into a surgery she didn’t have time to perform.

(Insert “staring at numbers” and “doing the writing she loves so much,” and guess who we’re talking about.)

Meanwhile I’ve been cursing a writing project in very much the same way.

The surgery gave Bailey a brilliant breakthrough idea that would catapult her research from the point where she was stuck.

I … haven’t quite gotten that inspiration.

Writing has become that thing I used to do. Like a high school football or cheerleading star looks back after 20 or 40 years and fondly recalls when it all seemed so important and yet so effortless with the benefit of youth on our side.

I tried to think about my book characters for the series I started writing 25 years ago. And I wondered if I should just have a mental funeral for them. I have come to hate writing that much.

But I’m not sure how to define myself without it. In fact, I’m not certain how to define myself at all these days.

I think of my mom and what makes her special. She will always say that I was the best thing she ever did with her life. I imagine most parents feel that way. What makes my mom special is that she makes everything more-beautiful.

She’s artistic and creative and kind and caring. She can match a shade of blue bought in a dress in Pittsburgh with the perfect matching blue shoes in Virginia and a blue hair accessory found on a random trip to the Florida Keys.

She can, for under $35, pull together an entire house in lime greens and magentas and purples and turquoises to make it look like an Easter spread from a high-end magazine.

She can, after everyone else has tried to trample my soul, reinflate it with a, “Well, you’re happy inside and they aren’t. And you look skinny, too. Fuck everyone else.”

And so on.

But I’m the only one who sees all that.

And I wonder if, whatever makes me special — whatever that is — will ever be visible to anyone but my mom and my cat. And whether I’ll have my Bailey-like inspiration and finally, finally do something the world is going to appreciate.

Maybe I just need to stop caring about what the world thinks. And that will be the jumping-off point I’ve missed up till now …