Gracias, Amigos!

Well, today is the final day for the free eBook downloads at Smashwords and I have to say, in all astonishment, my erotic novel from 2011, Freak Parade, (yes, that’s 8 years ago already), had over 1000 free downloads.

So, I’m sort of saying, “thanks,” and also trying hard not to do the math on my royalties had you chosen to download the darn eBook for the usual $3.99. (!!)

But, thank you. That novel meant a lot to me and it frustrated me beyond belief when my agent shopped it for 5 years and no one would publish it because they couldn’t figure out how to market it.

Only 2 editors hated the book, the rest loved the book. So it was just a very frustrating thing that no one would step up to bat for it. (And also to be expecting a 6-figure advance from one publisher and have that dashed at the last moment… at Christmas…)

How can you not know how to market a book like Freak Parade? It’s all about the covert & overt racism shown towards Puerto Ricans in New York City every single goddamned day.

Oh, wait. There’s all that graphic sex in there… God knows, nobody wants to be confronted with sex. It ruins all the racism! And the drugs! And the music! And the Mafia! And all the homeless people living with AIDS!

So frustrating.

Anyway, the book meant a lot to me and so I published it myself. And I think I did a great job. A lot of talented people helped me with it, for sure. The cover, especially. I think that cover alone helped me win the Silver Medal at the Independent Book Publisher Awards that year. I really do. (That was for the trade paper and hard cover editions.)

I am still planning on developing it as a limited online streaming series with Bohemia Originals in LA, but God knows, I’ve got a lot on my plate right at this particular moment.

That said, though, the rewrites on Tell My Bones are really, really going great. Through some miracle, all those things I struggled with before, when trying to translate too many elements from the screenplay to the stage — I’m working all of that through this time.  (I think  it’s because the director said, “Stop trying to stage it, let me do that.” It opened things up for me.)

Okay, I’m going to close now and get to work. I leave you with the theme song from Freak Parade.  And a brief excerpt from the novel below that. Thanks for visiting, gang! I love you guys. See ya.

 

(Excerpt from Freak Parade, approx.  4 pages)

He took so long getting there that I thought maybe he’d changed
his mind. But then the buzzer sounded at last and I let him in.

“You don’t look so good, papi.”

“I know,” he said. “Trust me, I know.”

He came in and flung himself down on the couch.

“What is it, Eddie? Tell me.”

He sighed heavily and took off his coat. “Nothing.”

I had the money in a wad in my jeans pocket. I pulled it out. I
handed it to him. I said, “Please, take it. Pay me back when you can,
there isn’t any hurry. I don’t need it right now. Take it.”

He wouldn’t take the money. He just stared at it, at me, holding it
out to him. Then a dark cloud came over him and not the look of relief I’d been hoping to see. He said, “Is this what you had me come all the way over for? So that you could humiliate me like this?”

“No, Eddie. I’m not trying to humiliate you. I’m trying to help.”

“That’s not going to help.”

“But it’s a hundred dollars,” I said. “I can get you more if you need
more.”

He stood up abruptly. “I’m going,” he said.

“Eddie, don’t – please. Don’t go. Let me help. It’s just money.”

He turned on me then. He was extremely angry. He spat, “Is that
right? It’s just money? Come here,” he said. “I want to explain something to you about money.”

“No,” I said, knowing where that would lead us. “Come on, Eddie.
Calm down.”

“No. Come here. Right now, come here.”

Instead, I moved farther away. “No, Eddie.”

“I want to make something very clear to you about money, so you
understand, mami.”

“I already understand,” I said. “I can tell – I’m punished!”

Sí, mami. You are so punished.”

But why? I don’t understand this! Why?

“I don’t know why,” he boomed at the top of his voice. “You just
are, goddamn it! Now come here!”

I was petrified. He was too angry for me to risk moving even an
inch closer. I realized I was still clutching the wad of useless money and I felt so impotent that I started to cry.

“Don’t do it!” he shouted again. “Don’t cry! That’s not going to
help me, either.”

I screamed out, “What is going to help?”

“I don’t fucking know!” He sank back down on the sofa, his head
in his hands now. It was as if every ounce of fight he’d had in him only
a moment ago, had run out through a gaping wound. There were tears on his face. I was dumbfounded.

“You have no idea, Genie,” he said quietly. “You have no idea. I
have really been having a fucked-up couple of days. I can’t handle it
anymore. First, the mail came and Father Andrew says that there’s
something in it for me. I never get mail at that place. My mother usually gets my mail. But I knew what was in that envelope Father Andrew gave me. I didn’t even have to open it. I recognized it, you know? Fucking Claudia was suing me for the child support. I opened the envelope anyway and sure enough, not only was she suing me but there was already a hold on my driver’s license until I report to some office on lower Broadway to fill out some sort of pile of paperwork to prove I’m fucking broke. That was it for me, you know? How much was I supposed to take from that bitch? I’m trying to be fair.

“So I went right over to Claudia’s, to try to reason with her. To get
her to drop the suit; to give me a chance to find some decent work and get caught up on the child support. When I get up to the apartment, I find out she’s now living with some guy, some pendejo who has a good job. The two of them both work for the city, Genie, do you know what that means?”

“What?” I said, coming closer.

“It means they both have paychecks coming in, good paychecks,
benefits out the ass, right? Why the fuck does she need to sue me at this particular point? Put my license in jeopardy like this? I have no
goddamned work!”

I sat down next to him. I put my arm around him, tentatively at
first, but he didn’t pull away. He said, “And then my son is there and
do you know what happens?”

“What?”

“My son calls that pendejo ‘papi.’ Right in front of me! Papi. He’s
not your fucking papi, I shouted. I’m your papi. He’s just the hijodeputa who’s fucking your mami!”

I didn’t know what that meant but it wasn’t the time to be asking
for a translation. I guessed it was unpleasant.

“So that pendejo lunges at me. And I’m fine with it. I am going to
bust his fucking head wide open. Let him come at me; let him make the first move. And he does. And my kid starts crying. And there’s a huge fight and of course, I’m winning. I told him, nigger please, just bring it on. And he’s bleeding all over the place and now he’s trying to get away. So naturally, Claudia calls the fucking cops and has me arrested. I got arrested for defending myself. Taken to fucking jail. But I made sure that mamabicho got taken in right along with me – so what? I spend the fucking night in jail. But did they have to handcuff me right in front of my son like that? I asked them to do it outside. Please. Do it outside, even out in the fucking hall. I’m not running anywhere, but they can’t even give me that break. They put on the cuffs. My kid is screaming like crazy at that point.”

“You spent the night in jail? Last night?”

Sí, mami. I spent the night in jail. And now I have thirty days to
pay that fine or they’ll lock me up again. But they made the mistake of putting me in the same cell as that pendejo and I managed to kick the shit out of him before they realized their mistake and moved me.”

Now at least he was smiling. Faintly, but smiling.

“And then I got back to the shelter this morning and you know
what I find out?”

“What, papi?”

“The church has sold the fucking building! The goddamned
church needs money so I gotta move! I have sixty days and then I’m
out.”

“Oh my god. Eddie.”

“Do you still think it’s ‘just money,’ mami?”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. What are we going to do?”

“We, mami? It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

“But how can you have a problem, Eddie, without it being my
problem, too? I love you.”

Clearly, I’d caught him off guard. He stared at me strangely then
he kissed me. “And to think papi wanted to punish you,” he said softly.
“Don’t worry, I still might,” he added. “I know how much it pleases
you…You’re blushing again, mami.”

“No, I’m not.”

Sí, mami, you are. It’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed of it, I
know all about it.” He affectionately smoothed my hair away from my face.

“About what? What are you talking about?”

“Girls like you. You don’t think I figured out girls like you a long
time ago? White, Spanish, it doesn’t matter. A girl like you wants to be punished by her papi.”

I was indignant. “I do not.”

“Sí, mami, you do. It makes you come. I know all about it. You’re a
little girl who wants her papi to pay attention to her. I’m a papi, sí? I’m a magnet for girls like you. You aren’t the first one.”

I was speechless, utterly speechless. How had the conversation
wound its way to this; to me feeling like a total fool?

“However,” he said. “To get back to what I was saying. Father
Andrew said I could have a job again taking care of church property,
and not a shelter this time, a place where visiting priests stay. I could
have a house and a yard and a car and a little boat, a charcoal grill and a plastic pool and a goddamned fucking dog if I wanted one, but you know where this paradise is? In Pennsyl-fucking-vania, mami. So there goes that idea.”

“Pennsylvania?”

Sí, Pennsylvania. I’d have to leave New York.”

“But you wouldn’t have to pay rent?”

“I’d have to pay rent, but at least I’d have a job. I could actually pay
rent. But I’m not moving to Pennsylvania. Who the fuck would I know in Pennsylvania? It would be just me and a pooch and a bunch of traveling priests, like a sideshow or something. And god knows what those priests are ever really up to, you know what I’m saying? And how could I be without you, mami? How could I be without my little Ivory girl making me crazy every day, driving me out of my fucking mind? She’s living with fags, she’s sleeping with dykes; she’s putting cocaine up her nose. She’s doing things I don’t expect, that I don’t understand, she’s doing anything she wants in her little white girl way, whatever pops into her pretty head on any given day until she’s handing me money and I have to shout, stop it you’re punished, and she screams why, papi, why? And I don’t know why, I don’t have a clue anymore…how can I live without that, huh?”

Did I really make him that crazy? “You’d really miss me, papi?”

Mami, I love you. You know that. I can’t go away. I need to get a
job; I need to find a proper place so that you don’t have to live here like this, without a home, either. So that you can, well…”

This was curious. “So I can what?”

“I want to give you a home, mami. I love you. Whether or not you
want to have a home with me, I guess that’s something you’ll have to
decide. But right now, I can’t do anything anyway. I don’t even have a
place for myself, let alone for you – a girl who could live anywhere in
the fucking world she wanted to.”

© – 2011 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Yeah, Baby! You Know What Those Little Happy Cats Mean!

It means it’s laundry day around here!

Am I the only person who loves doing laundry??

I actually love doing laundry. I think because I spent a couple of decades in New York City either having to lug all my dirty clothes to the laundromat, or to the laundry room of the basement of the apartment building.

And now I have my own GE energy efficient washer and dryer, just off of my kitchen! I can do laundry anytime I fucking want to!! And I don’t have to save quarters all week long. (Or all month long, depending on how long it took me to get myself to the laundromat.) (I was definitely one of those people who kept going to Woolworth’s to buy more underwear all the time because I couldn’t manage to get my laundry done in a timely manner…)

But no more! I’m not exactly Susie Homemaker, or anything (although I’m not Susie Homewrecker, either!), but I always have clean laundry.

Okay!!

My second installment of In the Shadow of Narcissa was posted at EdgeOfHumanity.com last evening. You can view it here, in Personal Stories.

Thanks for being supportive of that, gang. It means a lot to me. I will be working on my third installment for that memoir later this week.

Meanwhile, of course, I must get back to rewrites of the play. I spoke briefly with Gus Van Sant Sr again last night. (In case you don’t know or don’t remember, he used to be Helen LaFrance’s business manager — she is the painter that my play, Tell My Bones, is about.) He had sent me over a document that’s going over to the lawyer, about his past history with Helen and her art, and her family, etc. It was fascinating to read.

He is a wonderful man. Really, just the most considerate human being, ever. He once gave me a job when I really, really needed one and he didn’t know me from anyone else on Earth.

I only casually knew the woman who cut his hair at his country club. (He used to be a fanatical golfer.) The reason I was back in Ohio is a long, painful story (if you know anything at all about narcissists and “the discard” you can piece together what ultimately happened with me and my aging, adoptive mother). But that aside, I’d had no idea that the business office of Gus Van Sant’s movie production company was 7 minutes from my house.

At the time, I had been back in Ohio for less than 6 months, I had a new home and a 5-figure mortgage, and then the economy tanked, and the publishing industry practically imploded. 4 of my primary publishers went out of business on the very same day, and even the publishers who published me occasionally either folded, or began paying horrible money as they tried to just survive.

At the same time, I was living with a man I trusted, who moved with me from NYC, but I had no clue he had a horrific gambling problem from long ago that was in remission. The city in Ohio that we moved to had a brand new casino. In record time, behind my back, he gambled away my entire savings. All of it — gone. And I had a new mortgage and no publishers left.

It was really just the best year.

But this hairdresser who hardly knew me but knew I was a writer who had moved  to Ohio from NYC, told Gus I needed a job. Sight unseen, he hired me because he needed a new assistant. He truly kept me from going under. And even though he couldn’t solve all my problems for me, he was really just a solid emotional anchor for me when I really, really needed that.

And then the whole Helen LaFrance project was born from that work relationship, so meeting him really was probably the best day of my life.

And the worst year, in hindsight, was likely my best year.

However, on that note, I really gotta get going here! The director wants to meet “in a few days” to go over my re-writes so far, so having some would be ideal, don’t’cha think??

Okay. Thanks for visiting! Have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world! I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning. I think there’s a Country band who has a remake of this song out there somewhere now, but I love this version from the 1980s. Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, singing Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Going Nowhere.” I love you guys! See ya!

“You Ain’t Going Nowhere”

Clouds so swift, the rain won’t lift
Gates won’t close, the railing’s froze.
So get your mind off wintertime,
You ain’t going nowhere.

Ooooo ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day my bride’s gonna come
Oooo are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

Buy me a flute, and a gun that shoots
Tail gates and substitutes
Strap yourself to a tree with roots,
You ain’t going nowhere

Ooooo ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day my bride’s gonna come
Oooo are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

Well I don’t care how many letters they sent
The morning came and the morning went

So pack up your money, and pick up your tent
You ain’t going nowhere

Ooooo ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day my bride’s gonna come
Oooo are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

And Genghis Khan he could not keep
All his men supplied with sleep.
We’ll climb that hill no matter how steep
When we get up to it

Ooooo ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day my bride’s gonna come
Oooo are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

Ooooo ride me high
Tomorrow’s the day my bride’s gonna come
Oooo are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair

c- 1967 Bob Dylan

Just a Hodge-Podge of Summer!

Sorry it’s taken me so long to post today. I had a strange morning, which stemmed from a terrible car accident I saw early last evening.

Well, I didn’t see the accident. I was stuck in  traffic and the accident was directly in front of me, after it had happened, as they removed the victims from the wrecks and then had to have a helicopter arrive and air-vac a small, unconscious child to the hospital an hour away, in the city. Never a good sign. So heartbreaking.

The whole thing was just horrible. And for some reason, the saints & angels decided I should have a front row seat for that, for over an hour.

Naturally, it stuck with me. I really don’t think anyone survived that accident. It felt like all the emergency vehicles were just a last resort. Both cars were destroyed.

And I had Neil Young’s Harvest on the car’s CD player because of yesterday’s post. “The Needle & the Damage Done” was playing over and over as I sat there, stuck in my car, watching the horrible stuff unfolding —  until I realized it was playing over and over, and I had to just sort of shut everything off. It was too much.

And of course, stuck in the traffic there with me were trucks and cars galore, with inner tubes, canoes, and kayaks strapped to them, heading to (or from) the truly beautiful Black Hand Gorge, a few miles from here (pictured below).

Image result for black hand gorge ohio

Image result for black hand gorge ohio

Well, on a brighter note.

Even while I don’t actually believe in the church as a structure anymore, I do believe in Saints & Angels and miracles of all kinds. And I always pray to St. Francis and St. Christopher, and to Jesus, whenever I get into my car because there are a whole heck of a lot of animals around here, especially at night, and I seriously do not want to ever kill one of them.

And I have miraculously avoided killing all sorts of animals, gang. From stray cats, to groundhogs, to deer, to tiny little field mice, darting across the road.

However, the other night was the strangest thing.  I was on the back road not far from my house (imagine the scene below, well after dark, there is a road in there). (I told you I lived in the middle of nowhere – this is what it looks like as soon as you leave the village where my house is):

Image result for raiders road muskingum county ohio

Anyway. Driving at night. Twisty-turny. Then the tall cornfields, and who should come scurrying out of the cornfield, right into the road, but one of those raccoon cubs!

I slammed on my brakes, and I swerved to miss it, and I swear that my car lifted up off the road — like it feels when you hydroplane in water,  but the road was completely dry. And then my car sort of gently landed a few feet ahead of where I’d started out.

I was not dreaming this. It was the most amazing sensation. And of course the little raccoon scurried away unharmed. I could not get over it. I tell you, there are the most amazing spirits in Muskingum County, especially right around where I live.

Anyway. While I’m at it. Here is the 2nd Street Grill in my little village. This is a block away from me. It is only open for breakfast, weekdays. It is directly next door to the police station — that little brick building to the side there, is the police station. (It really is like living in Mayberry…)

Related image

And directly across the street from this establishment, is a sort of very old Town Hall, with an old gazebo out front and everything. It’s on a nice, really big corner, with trees and the original brick sidewalks, grass growing up through the cracks. The Volunteer Fire Department is directly behind it.

I was thinking we could get a grand piano put in the Town Hall and Nick Cave could come and have one of his Conversations there — just like he’ll be doing at Town Hall in New York. I feel confident that all 14 of the people who live here would attend. If only out of sheer bewildered curiosity. And out of politeness — because people here are super polite, I’m serious — the people would ask him questions, and I feel thoroughly positive they would be unlike the questions he usually gets, because, you know, nobody at all would know who he was. And then, and only then, if the 14 people left the event thinking that Nick Cave was God, well, then and only then, would I be forced to believe it. Finally.

Okay! So! Here is my little cat, Francis (named after F. Scott Fitzgerald even though she’s a girl cat). You can’t tell how tiny she is by this photo, but I usually call her Peanut because she is just super tiny. She is also super MEAN. You cannot get anywhere near this little cat.

Francis, aka Peanut. Excuse the dust on the dresser. This is in the guest room. If you were ever coming to actually visit me, I would dust it!!

And here is my enormous hydrangea, right outside of my kitchen porch. I love this thing!! It has grown like crazy this summer. I actually hug this big bush whenever I pass it on my way to the car because it makes me so happy and the flowers are so soft and fluffy.

The hydrangea! Photo taken just a few moments ago!!

And here is St. Francis himself!! Guardian of raccoons and impatiens. This is on my front porch. The windows look into my dining room. You can see that my front porch is practically right on the sidewalk. The huge maple tree is directly across the sidewalk from the porch. (All of this stuff is 118 years old.)

Look carefully in the corner of the far window…

Yes!! My one remaining male cat — Weenie. Watching me water the flowers and take photos!

Weenie, watching me from the dining room!

And then this was too cute!! When I went back inside, he was still in the dining room, looking out the window.

Weenie in the dining room, looking out!

Okay, gang! Enough. Unless you wanted to see a picture of me taken at Girl Scout sleep-away camp, when I was 9! If so, here it is!! (If you don’t wish to see it, scroll down really fast…)

Marilyn Jaye Lewis at Girl Scout Sleep -Away camp!! Age 9!!

All righty, gang!! I’m gonna close up shop here and enjoy a peaceful, easy evening for a change.

Thanks for visiting! I love you guys. See ya. (I leave you with the sexiest summer love song, ever.) (I bet this guy would even bring a gal a cup of coffee in the morning! He seems confident enough, right?)

“Peaceful Easy Feeling”

I like the way your sparkling earrings lay
Against your skin so brown.
And I wanna sleep with you in the desert tonight
With a billion stars all around.

‘Cause I got a peaceful easy feeling.
And I know you won’t let me down
‘Cause I’m already standing on the ground.

And I found out a long time ago
What a woman can do to your soul.
Oh, but she can’t take you anyway,
You don’t already know how to go.

And I got a peaceful easy feeling.
And I know you won’t let me down
‘Cause I’m already standing on the ground.

I get this feeling I may know you
As a lover and a friend.
But this voice keeps whispering in my other ear,
Tells me I may never see you again.

‘Cause I get a peaceful easy feeling.
And I know you won’t let me down
‘Cause I’m already standing
I’m already standing
Yes, I’m already standing on the ground

c – 1972 TEMPCHIN JACK

Greying Eyebrows Along the Way

I sent this to Kara to show that, you know, I do occasionally wash my hair… My hair gets intensely silver right after I wash it.

I like how one of my eyes looks sad and the other looks happy. She said it was just my Janus face, showing my yin and yang. I liked that description!

I also like how grey my eyebrows are getting. I always loved Susan Sontag’s eyebrows and how grey they got, the older she got. She always looked so intensely intelligent. I’m hoping for a similar result… Although sometimes if I wear eye makeup I use a dark pencil on my brows, to make them look like how they looked in my wee bonny girlhood. And it almost looks too intense.

Anyway!! Taking selfies. Texting. Studying Italian. While the play hovers….

They that go down to the sea in ships…

These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.

But on another note…

Fellow blogger William, in Australia, informed me during the night that the photo I posted of Nick Cave yesterday is from the otherwise black & white film, One More Time With Feeling. (An intensely beautiful film, btw.)

(I won’t explain why I was looking at blog comments at 3:15am. I’m sure it was probably daytime where he was. Actually, I have no clue what time it was for him, since I have no mental faculties whatsoever for figuring out what time or day or season it is in Australia, ever. But he was awake, because he replied to my reply…)

Anyway. I still have no recollection of what I was reading when I saw the photo of Nick Cave yesterday. Some sort of online newspaper thing. Clearly, it was riveting and memorable…

Regarding my diagram of the play that I posted yesterday afternoon… No! The ghost of Elvis does not appear in my play. Helen LaFrance’s first (& second) husband was named Elvis Linn. She married & divorced him twice. Then he died. And he’s the ghost that appears in my play.

Lots of ghosts in my play. And trains. (Well, just one ever-oncoming train, really — and the train is also a ghost.)

Okay.

Well, I am exhausted, gang. It was one of those mornings where I slept too long — it was 7am when I finally got out of bed. (For me, 7am is usually when I’m sitting down at my desk to write.)  It was a stunning morning, but I was so exhausted that I just wanted to cry. (I didn’t, but I wanted to.)

You know, just once, I wish someone would being me a cup of coffee while I’m still in bed. Just once. Just that.

Well, and feed the cats for me. And vacuum my house. And dust it. And clean the upstairs bathtub, too.

Remember Neil Young’s song from Harvest – “A Man Needs A Maid”? Well, guess what? A gal over here in Crazeysburg needs one, too. For all the same reasons, it turns out, 47 years later.

(Talk about riveting and memorable — Harvest is such a great album. If you’re too young to know it, you should find it somewhere and play it. I’m guessing it’s one of those things you can hear for free, somewhere.) (You can hear it for free in my house, because I own it.) (Subtle hint: buy music, gang!)

All right. Well the morning is almost gone, so I should get going around here.  (I did manage to wash my hair already, so that’s, you know, an astounding achievement over here.) But I need to get to work on the play.

And it isn’t so much the play that’s exhausting me. It’s just an emotional thing, you know? I’m getting emotional. All around me, I see people strapping kayaks to their trucks and heading off for vacations. And I wonder what the fuck is the matter with me? I never go on a vacation. Ever. I travel. But I’m always working when I travel.

My friend Kara wants to go away for a day & a night, to one of those cabins down by the caves. And “get away from it all” and just chill.

And, actually, I really want to do this because I love the idea of just going away for a day & a night in a cabin and just talking with Kara, because she is on the most amazing planet. I seriously love visiting it.

But this idea of going off to the middle of quiet nowhere, to get away from it all — I live that every single gosh darn day. I mean, I have a (really, really old) house, not a cabin. But otherwise, gang. I am in the middle of quiet, peaceful, beautiful nowhere, and I think I still manage to work harder/longer hours than anyone I personally know.

I think the key is “having someone to talk to.” I talk to the cats, of course. They don’t actually ignore me. What they do is sort of look at me with those pained expressions, as if they’re thinking: oh no, she’s making those sounds in our direction again. I hope she doesn’t try to touch us or anything.

So, conversations with my cats are less than rewarding, always.  But it just seems that right now, at this juncture in my life, I have so much writing that wants to come out (I would even say, needs to come out). And if I had one of those “relationships” that you so often see people undertaking, I would only make the other person insane and they would make me insane, because they would want to talk to me or something intense like that. And then I would destroy the relationship because I can’t talk right now, I need to write…

Well, that’s it in a nutshell (or a “nuthouse” if you want to take in the full scope of my entire existence .)

I’m gonna scoot now, and get back at it. The play, that is. Revising it for the 17 millionth time…

So. Thanks for visiting! Have a really fun Sunday, wherever are you and whatever you’re doing! I love you guys. See ya.

 

“A Man Needs A Maid”

My life is changing in so many ways
I don’t know who to trust anymore
There’s a shadow running through my days
Like a beggar going from door to door.

I was thinking that maybe I’d get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.

A maid.
A man needs a maid.
A maid.

It’s hard to make that change
When life and love turn strange
And cold.

To give a love, you gotta live a love.
To live a love, you gotta be “part of”.

When will I see you again?

A while ago somewhere, I don’t know when
I was watching a movie with a friend.
I fell in love with the actress.
She was playing a part that I could understand.

A maid.
A man needs a maid.
A maid.
A man needs a maid.

When will I see you again?

c – 1972 Neil Young

Getting There!!

Yes! Here we have it! The play. Finally! All done and ready to go…

Luckily, this makes a LOT of sense to me…probably not to anyone else yet, though.

Mostly, I really wanted to post this photo of the front of the director’s house.  This photo was taken a couple days ago. In case you thought I was exaggerating before…

And here’s a beautiful photo of Nick Cave that I saw online today, although I have no idea when it’s from or who took it, or anything. At this point, I can’t even remember what I was reading when I saw it. (My mind is approaching the Jello stage at this point. I think I might need a nap…)

Okay. Now I gotta get back at it. See ya.

Just Getting Ready to Figure it All Out…

Now it’s all about being a tuner, being a receiver, and allowing the signal to just come.

I’ve written this play how many times already, gang? How many times? Now I just need the best possible version of it to get itself onto the page.

I know it is all there. So I simply have to receive it.

We’ve all decided that Sandra is not going to come here to begin rehearsals on August 5th. We’ll start the rehearsals in September, in NYC. And the director wants to spend the next several weeks here, just working with me on the script. To finally nail it down.

I work well under that kind of pressure, but it is indeed pressure.

And when I say “here” I don’t mean that the director will be here in my ancient home that is from pioneer days. I mean “here” as in 20 miles from me, in his circa 1929 mansion that is just so beautiful and has more rooms in it than I can even remember (i.e., you need to consult your map to find the powder room).

So he won’t be exactly standing behind me, looking over my shoulder as I type; as I sweat, as I squirm; as I squint at the laptop screen because I refuse to wear my glasses; as I fumble with an unlit Pall Mall between my fingers — toying, for hours, with the idea of actually lighting it. Throwing it down angrily once in a while so that I can grab handfuls of my unwashed hair or rub the skin right off my forehead and say: Think, Marilyn, think! There’s got to be a better word here. Fucking find it already. Jesus fucking Christ!

No. He’ll more likely be drinking a whisky, neat, while sitting out on his sprawling veranda, admiring the 3-acre view of rolling lawns and sweeping trees, while listening to the birds and the gentle tick-tock of the grandfather clock coming through the screen door  from the vestibule; yes, just sipping whisky and silently awaiting more stellar pages to arrive from me. Where are those stellar pages? he might wonder from time to time, as he looks at his pocket watch, the sun setting serenely in the west…

That kind of pressure.

Anyway. I do work well under pressure. But it does mean that, yet again, Peitor and I cannot do any work today on our micro-script for Abstract Absurdity Prods. 3 weeks in a row now. So that bothers me.  But he still has his hands full with exhausting familial/ elderly parents/ obligation stuff out there in West Hollywood. I guess maybe it’s a needed “switching of gears” for both of us right now.

On the topic of short films, though. On Fridays, I get the weekly email from Short of the Week, which always includes about 5 or 6 short films in various categories.  Not to be snarky, or anything, but I rarely find anything that truly blows me away. I still watch them for the editing, the camera angles, the shots, the locations – that kind of thing. How filmmakers are best utilizing these things for short films.

Yesterday, however, there were actually 2 films included in the weekly round-up that I absolutely loved.  Both were Asian-American influenced themes. One Korean-American: Koreatown (12 mins).

Synopsis:  At a discreet host bar in Los Angeles, Kyeong uses his talent and charm to create the illusion of love for the women who hire him. When a new client pays him for a “2nd round,” Kyeong discovers too late that behind her kindly demeanor lies a disturbing request. Watch it online here.

And the other one, Chinese-American: Kiss of the Rabbit God (14 mins).

Synopsis: A film about an ordinary restaurant worker’s extraordinary sexual awakening. Nightly visits from the Rabbit God, who arrives in the body of a tantalizing mysterious stranger, blossom into a tryst that empowers the young man to embark on a journey of self-discovery.  Watch it online below:

Beyond that, what I really wanted to do yesterday was stream old episodes of The Flintstones on my iPad and lie around on my bed, delighting in the absurdity of all that old stuff.

However, under the above-mentioned circumstances, that seemed like a usage of my time that might be a wee bit hard to justify right at this particular juncture. So, watching The Flintstones (see yesterday’s post), I guess, will have to wait…

That said! I gotta scoot and get going on some new stellar pages.

Oh, wait! Two things. I never mentioned that my new passport photo was, yes, even more hideous than my new driver’s license photo! A feat that I didn’t think was humanly possible. And I get to keep it for 10 years….

And also: the Summer Sale at Smashwords ends in 5 days. So if you haven’t already downloaded my eBook titles over there (for free), you have 5 more days to do that in. Titles included are: The Muse Revisited Vols. 1-3; Freak Parade; and Twilight of the Immortal.  The links are above, under “About Marilyn Jaye Lewis”. (Only Smashwords-linked titles are free; Amazon is not.)

All righty! Now I’m really outta here. Thanks for visiting, gang! I love you guys. See ya!

Image result for the flintstones