A Good Corner Turned

I awoke at my usual 4am nonsense today and discovered that I was in a really good place.  The Muse was even hanging out, sort of hovering around the area of the bed.

I was happy again, and peaceful, and willing to accept and embrace constant change. That’s all life is – just change. A constant pulse. And I’m not a stranger to change and usually don’t resist it.

Falling in and out of love is just more change, really. So now that I’ve accepted that, I’m good.

And now that the holiday  is really barreling straight at us, everyone in LA and NYC leaves their offices so I can just put all the business stuff on hold for a few weeks, and just spend some good, quiet time writing – along with steadfastly refusing to decorate the tree.

My birth mom sent me a really pretty ornament that I will put on the tree, though –  just that one ornament. I’ll be making a statement of some kind, perhaps: Lovely Obstinacy.

She also sent me a bunch of Christmas presents! So far, I have been able to resist unwrapping them. I am usually not very good at waiting until Christmas, though. We’ll see.

She sent me a really beautiful card, too. It kinda broke my heart. I could feel that she meant every word of it. And I loved that it smelled like cigarettes. I could picture her writing it at her kitchen table, smoking a Pall Mall and thinking of me. I liked that a lot.

I won’t tell you what I got her, or why I got it, even though I don’t think she reads my blog, but you never know!

On a similar topic:

A book arrived in the mail yesterday. It was sitting on my front porch with no indication of who sent it to me. I don’t know if it’s a review copy and someone would like a review, or if it was a gift to me? Regardless, if you, or someone who looks a lot like you, or someone you know, sent me the book, please let me know!

It’s a really cool book! It’s called: Rock and Roll Woman: 50 of the Fiercest Female Rockers, by Meredith Ochs.

And as a testament to I don’t know what, both ex-husbands sent me Christmas gifts this year. I was really touched. Really. I love to be thought of enough that someone actually gives me a gift. But I have to wonder – is this a way of saying how happy they are to have me very far away now at Christmas? You know, like, they’re so happy about it they want to give me a gift to commemorate it: Thanks for leaving! It made a world of difference in our home!

I’m kinda just kidding, but kinda not.  I simply cannot imagine surviving being married to me and then wanting to send me a gift on top of that.  For any reason whatsoever.

However.

All righty. Laundry is almost done. Coffee is down to the dregs, so I am going to begin writing around here. I’m on Chapter 17 of Blessed By Light. My guess is that I have about 80 or so pages left to go.

Have a really terrific Saturday, wherever you are in the world. Know that I love you! I’m happy you’re here, crossing my path in life. Take care and see ya!

All right already, I put up the darn tree

And by “putting it up” I, in fact, mean that I took it out of the box and plugged it in.

I’m not gonna decorate it! I’m not even gonna straighten the fake branches! I’m too damn tired! [grumble grumble grumble]

Christmas tree, fresh from the box!! While it doesn’t smell like pine, it does smell like Teen Spirit!

Before I forget, in case you’re wondering why I have a photo of Louisa May Alcott at the top there, it’s because she was a cousin of mine – through her mother, on my birth father’s paternal side. I’m really proud of that.

Plus, I think Louisa’s dad was truly  awesome, even though I am not a blood relative of that line.

So anyway – yes. All this non-Christmas spirit of mine is because I fell out of love. Not so much “fell” as was thrust, or shoved out of it. I’m devastated but I’m getting better.

I simply have the worst track record with men.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I recently had fallen back in love with Mob Guy #2 only to be told by a very austere and important friend in NY that he was not going to allow it because me and mob guys and potential problems with the FBI always end badly.

He even intervened, as it were, regarding that really cute electrician who wanted to sleep with me back in October! He said, and this is a direct quote: “Marilyn, you have the poorest judgment of anyone I have ever known.”

He was right. I had to give him that. I tried to totally behave myself for about a nanosecond with the cute electrician who was 20 years younger than me and the father of a 2 year-old, but then promptly fell totally in love with someone that I knew was going to be a disaster.

I did try to avert it. But then I gave in. And then I got my heart broken into a bazillion pieces.

But you know? What are you supposed to do? Just not be alive? Sit at your desk and write all the time?

I tried both of those options, many times, and still come back to wanting to be in love before I die… For real “die”, I mean. Not just be one of the emotionally walking dead. (Okay, I was totally and thoroughly in love with Mikey Rivera, the guy I wrote Freak Parade for and about, but 7 years into it, that ended really, really badly, too. And I’ve been totally and thoroughly in love with two different women over the years, and they both “liked me a lot.” Heavy sigh… )

And multiply all that with all those people hitting me up on Instagram and Facebook – I really was at my wits’ end yesterday. Yesterday was the day wherein I officially could no longer take it. Another close friend, through texting, convinced me to actually leave the house yesterday, instead of isolating myself and/or killing myself. (It really was a really rough day, gang.)

And oddly enough – I had a nervous breakdown on December 13th 1974. Now, you don’t just have a nervous breakdown in the space of one day. It builds, it explodes, it magnifies, it crests, you try to kill yourself, and then dozens of years later, you sort of “get better.”

So that’s my professional definition of it. (Of my life, frankly!) But I thought it was odd that yesterday was another one of those December 13th’s.

But I’m better today. Moving onward. Sitting at the desk, preparing to work some more on the new novel before tackling the needed revisions on the CLEVELAND show bible.  Somehow it’ll all work out, right?

And in other good news… my first ex-husband sent me a link to an article in the Daily Mail yesterday, assuring me that Keith Richards is sober now and will be sober for the upcoming American tour!! Not only that, but Ronnie Wood finds Keith easier to get along with when he’s sober. (Or when Keith is sober, I should say.) (And I will add that notoriously hard-rocker Ronnie isn’t a man that should be throwing any “stones”, if you’ll excuse the pun.)

I found that just so delightful. I mean, it’s great that Keith is sober at age 175 (oops! I meant “75”), but the fact that my ex-husband, whom I’ve been separated from for 35 years and who is no fan whatsoever of rock & roll, remembered how much I love Keith Richards.  That really brightened my day.

And in other rock & roll news, I thought Nick Cave‘s comments on the Israeli Boycott were courageous and brilliant. You can read them here if you haven’t already.

Okay. I believe it is Friday today, folks. So have a really good one. And thanks for visiting! I love you all to pieces. I sure as heck do. See ya!

Would you take money from this girl??

Honestly.

That’s me at age 2, btw – in Cleveland.

I am so inundated with scammers on Instagram and Facebook, that I am about to shoot myself. On Instagram, I’ve had to make my account private. I’m reluctant to do it on Facebook again, but I might have to do it there, too.

I’m not somebody who goes looking for followers on any of my social media accounts. If you follow me, thank you. I appreciate it. But I went through too many years of having thousands of followers, mostly readers of my books or web sites, and it really got to be too much. So exposing, for too long. The exposure exhausted me. So I sought obscurity. I sought solitude to write within.

And I found it. And for the most part, I’m happy with it. However.

Now all these strange fake people are following me on Instagram and often hitting me up for money. Which, as loyal readers of this lofty blog know so well by now, is just not viable until I sell something! Then, please feel free to hit away!

Just kidding, of course. But it feels demoralizing. So please stop asking me for money, pretending that you like me or my writing, okay?

Just stop.

Meanwhile, I’ve decided that I am, in fact, too exhausted to put up the tree this year. I threw a few meager decorations around the kitchen, since that is where I spend my time when I’m not upstairs at my desk. It’ll suffice. And here’s hoping that next year will be a whole new ball game.

Thanks for visiting, folks. Thanks for not asking me for money. It means the world to me. See ya.

Okay – Exhausted Now!

But it was a really great trip.

I got so much done! Did so much – took TONS of Lyft cabs. And I had to just sort of stay open to everything, energy-wise, in all the various meetings and interactions with people (some were total strangers until now, whom Peitor introduced me to) and it opened up some unexpected avenues, for both the TV pilot and the theater projects I’m doing with Sandra.

Plus, Peitor and I formed a production company to write and produce micro-short  films and theater pieces – all comedies.

And now it’s just more waiting for answers re: the TV pilot…

Even though I now have to tackle the re-writing of the show bible, I want to sort of relax, take advantage of LA shutting down now for the season;  work on Blessed By Light ( my novel) some more because that is where I am truly happiest, and ponder how to come up with the energy to put up the darn Christmas tree!

This is my first real home – ever in my life. My whole life, I have been dreaming of Christmas in my real home (which until now, I’d assumed would come in the afterlife), and now that it’s here, I’m too exhausted to drag everything out of the closet.

I am still in love, deliriously so, although it is hard to be in love and live so far away (and be in love with a man who is so incredibly busy) because it leaves me alone with just the contents of my mind most of the time, which is never a good thing, folks. You can trust me on that.  It remains in the forefront of my brain. It’s like keeping little insects under a microscope, or something. You know, the way I cannot turn my thoughts off.

On another note… Diane broke her wrist, so the re-upholstering of my dining room chairs took awhile, but here’s a slightly blurry idea of what they are looking like!! I’m so thrilled! I think she’s bringing them by tomorrow, in time for Christmas (even though I probably won’t have a single soul here to visit for Christmas, my chairs will look great.).

And the very day I was leaving for LA, the insulation guys showed up to start the work on my house! Thank goodness Diane was staying here, because I’d been waiting for the insulation to get done since May! It took them 5 days to complete it all, but, wow, what a difference it has made.  And on the 5th day (yesterday, while I was gone the whole day), the workers did something really cute. They not only vacuumed my downstairs, they plugged in my new CD player (pictured here, on my kitchen table) —

CD player that looks like a jukebox, plus tons of leftover Halloween candy that you’re welcome to have because I don’t eat it

— They also played a Tom Petty CD!  They chose a really old one – songs from 1976-78, which of course captured my heart because I also love those old songs! It was still in the player when I got in at 10 PM last night. I just thought that was so cute.  And they left their invoice/receipt on my kitchen table, with a note scrawled on it that said, Merry Christmas, Marilyn. Good luck with all you do.

I tell you, Muskingum County is just the sweetest place to live. I’m guessing that if I had such a thing as a liquor cabinet, they would have gotten into that, too! But I honestly don’t care. I love it when people feel at home in my house. And so far, it’s been repair guys.  Quite a number of them. They sit down at my kitchen table and chat. Not just about the furnace, or the electrical wiring, or the insulation,  but they chat about all the books I own, and all the vinyl records I still have, the tons of DVDs and VHS videos I still have, and they all talk about rock & roll.

THEM: “I noticed you have a guitar in your closet. Do you play?”

ME: “Yes. I used to.”

And then I leave out the part about my whole world crashing down and how I felt like I wasn’t even alive anymore for the longest time…

But I do like it when people feel at home in my house.

Oddly enough, even while I’m typing up this post, I’m also working on a new  script with Peitor  – via texting on my phone. Yes, 2 intense things at once. At the very same time. So life is a little full right now. I keep going, but I’m really, really beat.

Oh, and my stepmom is really deteriorating in the nursing home. Getting really dire there. I’m trying my best to remain in denial about that. Because whenever my thoughts actually land on her eventual passing, I want to just fall over and collapse. Block it all out.

But meanwhile, I must close this and get myself to the grocery store. An hour’s worth of driving. Such is the price of living in the middle of nowhere.

Thanks for visiting, gang! See ya.

Off I Go!

This is probably my last post before I leave for LA on Tuesday, gang!

Diane will be here taking care of my many impossible cats while I’m gone, so I have a lot of housecleaning and laundry to do before I go.  Plus I still want to try to get more writing done on Blessed By Light.

I am indeed flying American Airlines (pictured above) out to LA. And in exchange for the lowest round-trip fare I ever saw for a nonstop flight from here to LA, I agreed to sit in any seat they deemed suitable for the likes of moi. That should be really interesting. We’ll see how that goes. (HINT: I’m the absolutely last person allowed to board the plane!)

In addition to working on a couple of scripts with Peitor Angell, whose apartment I’m staying at in West Hollywood; and in addition to my meetings with TV producers regarding my CLEVELAND TV pilot script, I will indeed be having dinner with this gal!

Blare N. Bitch, from the road, summer 2018

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall this photo from the post I made somewhere around my birthday this past summer, and about how awesome Blare N. Bitch still looks at age 59!!

I wish I had photos of what she was like in the 1980s, when I first knew her in NYC, because man, her hair was awesome!!

I actually do have one Polaroid photo of her that I hope to put in my memoirs if she approves my use of it. I can only say that it was 1985 and we’d been drinking all night at the infamous 7B Horseshoe Bar on E.7th Street; it was 4 in the morning and we were in my room in my hellhole tenement apartment on E.12th Street, and she was smoking a cigarette on my bed when I snapped the Polaroid. I mean, she’s fully clothed and all that. But her enormous hair is just to die for.

If you are too young to know what NYC musicians’ hairstyles looked like in the mid-1980s, I guess you can google it. There’s one of me on my “About Marilyn Jaye Lewis” page above – scroll halfway down. Look for the Oscar De La Renta earrings… I was no stranger to Aqua Net super hold hairspray myself!! (Yes, you’re blaming Donald Trump for the current  climate problems, when actually I was the one who destroyed the ozone back in the 1980s, when I was still a musician and daily trying to get my hair to stand up on end.)

Image result for aqua net hair spray

Well, they were heady days – if you’ll excuse the pun! I’m glad they’re over and kinda not. You know, the decades pass and you start to only remember the good things. There were actually two good things that happened to me in the 1980s – Blaire was one of them! I won’t mention the other good thing because I don’t remember what it was!

Anyway…

So, yes, I will regale you with all the news that’s fit to print upon my return next weekend! Try to keep things to a low roar around here while I’m gone.

Thanks for visiting, gang! See ya soon!

No more for me, thanks; I’ve had enough!

Of life, that is!

Or at least that’s how it feels today. I’m just so worn out.

Yesterday was the 4th day in a row that was being beamed to me directly from somewhere beyond Mars.  By this, I mean, that I awoke yesterday feeling that I had regained my emotional balance; my delicate mental wiring was somehow back in place. I was looking forward to a productive writing day.

It was not unproductive. I got more done than I’d gotten done in the last several days, but that isn’t really saying a whole lot. I had hoped to have this novel done by the end of the year. At this point, the only way it’ll be done by the end of the year is if someone else takes over the writing of it.

This current novel, which I only anticipate being about 180-200 pages long, was going along at quite a steady clip until I went off to NYC. And then when I came home, I had to focus on the TV pilot, and turn that in, which went great. But then once I was ready to focus on the novel again, I promptly fell in love with somebody.

So then I was caught up in texting deliriously and trying to write a novel at the same time. It wasn’t working out. At all.

And then, suddenly, I have to go to LA and, you know, be of sound mind because there will be witnesses. To my mental state. And then suddenly I’m caught up in this whirlwind of overwhelment of love & confusion and saying, “I have to break this off; it’s not right.” And he was, like, — well, I’m not going to get too private here, but it became 3 days of the kind of texting that nobody wants to do, especially when one of those texting participants is me losing my mind. And then it was like the whole world went splintering off into a million pieces.

Then, back in professional/work mode,  I googled myself because I know producers are googling me and I wanted to see what they were going to see – hopefully not some lurid 100% sexually graphic piece of writing of mine from 10 years ago or something like that.  But if that indeed was the case (it kind of was, unfortunately) I wanted to be prepared.

When you google me nowadays, you usually get about 1/2 a million links in 44 seconds. Well, yesterday, it was FOUR and a 1/2 million links in 44 seconds.  Holy crap. 4,570,00 results. People have been googling the heck out of me. And links from all over the world were popping up. In all kinds of languages.  And suddenly I was finding out stuff about myself that I had totally forgotten.

I used to give a lot of interviews  – TV, radio, print, and online – and apparently I had the habit of being very candid because there are quotes all over the Internet that are really personal, about me, that are being attributed to me, and apparently I said that stuff because all of it was true. There was some stuff about me out there that was erroneous and not true. But still. I really felt like I was suddenly on the alternate version of Earth, where the past 10-15 years of my career  had not yet happened.

It didn’t feel violating at all, just intensely weird. And it totally fucked even more with my stomach because I couldn’t figure out who I was, you know? Who am I? Apparently I used to know every last detail about myself and willingly told it to “the press.”

So I finally took a piece of a little pill in order to calm down, fell dead asleep by, like 8:30pm. Then was awake at 3am and on Instagram, looking at one of Tom Petty’s daughters getting surprised with a birthday cake as she walked into her apartment, fresh from a trip to Paris.

And I thought: as interesting as this seems at 3am in my bed in the dark, why am I knowing this? She’s been alive for 44 years now and I’ve never seen any of her birthday cakes before.

Instagram is so goddamned addicting now that I have my amazing new iPhone that works at warp speed.

But really the only reason I was on Instagram at 3am was because I was wondering why the guy that I had told in an amazingly lush, dense, and indescribably articulate collection of words that it “was over,” was not writing to me.

Yes! I had become that woman! First, in tons of elaborate words that I won’t repeat here, I said: “It’s over.” Then, I said, “Why are you ignoring me now?” Jesus.

But in my defense (which, albeit, is weak), the last thing he had texted to me was “I’ll text you in minute, honey” and then it was 33 hours later and still no reply… On my planet, a minute is 60 seconds. On his planet, apparently a minute is over 33 hours long.

You know that I know darn well I’m out of my mind. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be an oddly “famous” writer barricaded in obscurity in the tiniest town on the planet, hanging out at the cemetery talking to dead people that I never, ever knew, and writing down the things they’re saying to me so that I can put it in my novel!

After Instagram assured me that my direct messages had not been so much as looked at, and after I watched Adria Petty get surprised with her birthday cake about 4 times, I turned over and went back to sleep. And I awoke at 5am thinking I could handle life, possibly. Maybe. Perhaps. And of course I looked directly at my phone, out of habit, and there he was. Twice. And being very polite.

And I was, like: Okay. Thank you. Now I’m gonna attempt to be sane – or at least do a good job of pretending to be. I’m gonna read up on how the “sane” people look and act and I’m just gonna follow their lead. Jesus. The truly unfortunate part of all this is that I’ve been out of my mind my whole fucking life…

Me, in my alternate world, where everything I do makes sense.

 

The world of author Marilyn Jaye Lewis