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…)
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!
Spent the wee bonny hours of this beautiful Friday morning at the Honda dealership!
My treasured Honda Fit was acting wonky during that intense heat wave over the weekend and so I had them look at it. It was feeling like the floor board was gonna drop out of it and I would soon be driving like the Flintstones & the Rubbles:
I love my feet! I wasn’t looking forward to having to run real fast on the freeway…
But after they checked it out, it was a balance issue and Honda had 2 recommendations. There was a $460 difference.
I could either get 4 brand new tires. (approx. $500)
I could just drive slower on the really hot days for the next few months, until my lease is up and I trade in my Honda Fit for a new one, and then just pay for the diagnostics they ran today. (approx. $40)
I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it — meaning for about a nanosecond. Tossed them their 40 bucks and then toodled away! Going my usual 95 mph as soon as I was out of everyone’s field of vision.
But I’m thinking I might fly to NYC in September instead of putting all that wear & tear on the tires, even though I hate flying. Because I’m guessing that when I do trade it in for a new lease, they’re gonna be inspecting those tires under a microscope (one of those giant tire-sized microscopes that you so often see). (I’m feeling like they’re gonna get $500 out of me somehow…)
Anyway! I’m feeling happy! I’d thought it was gonna be a strut issue of some kind and that can get stupidly expensive.
So!
Yes! Even though I had begged her not to do it, Sandra did in fact take another role in a TV show up in Toronto. A 5-show arc. And so she texted that she “might have to switch up those rehearsal days”.
But’cha know… this meant I didn’t have to explain (yet) just how drastically I am re-writing the play, yet again.
The director texted me that since I am doing such intensive re-writes, we could all just wait and begin rehearsals in NYC in September.
So I texted Sandra and magnanimously said that whatever works best for her, works best for us! — “Oh, and I’m doing a few more revisions. We can discuss it later.”
(Although, Sandra probably got my text and wondered, how come Marilyn’s being so calm about this and didn’t include a million exclamation points and tons of unhappy-looking emojis?)
Anyway!! I no longer have to do this massive amount of writing in 2 weeks. And the director wrote during the night saying that he loved the new opening pages and that I was a” beautiful and inspiring writer”.
And I said “thanks” and left out the part about how I had a beautiful & inspiring Muse. I decided to just take all the credit for the moment. (It was super early when his email arrived and the world was still dark, I was still cozily in bed and I only had one eye open and I didn’t want to type some long, drawn-out reply about how amazing my Muse is… so “thanks” seemed sufficient for now.)
So now I have 6 weeks for re-writes instead of 2 and my life couldn’t be better!
However, because of my visit to Honda, which, like everything else around here, is 25 miles away, my morning is gone. So I gotta scoot, gang.
Have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting! (Oh, and, wow! thanks for all those visits to the In the Shadow of Narcissa site yesterday. I appreciate it. And I did get one inquiry about how to access the actual posts there — you have to click on the title. And the segments will be posting in reverse order.)
All righty! I love you guys. See ya!
“The Flintstones Theme Song”
Yabba-dabba-doo!
Flintstones, meet the Flintstones
They’re the modern Stone Age Family
From the town of Bedrock
They’re a page right out of history
Let’s ride with the family down the street
Through the courtesy of Fred’s two feet
When you’re with the Flintstones
Have a yabba-dabba-doo time
A dabba-doo time
We’ll have a gay old time
Flintstones, meet the Flintstones
They’re the modern Stone Age Family
From the town of Bedrock
They’re a page right out of history
Someday maybe Fred will win the fight
Then the cat will stay out for the night
When you’re with the Flintstones
Have a yabba-dabba-doo time
A dabba-doo time
We’ll have a gay old time
Another gorgeous day here in Crazeysburg! You would not believe it had been so unbearable only a couple of days ago.
And because it’s so beautiful, I think I’ll spend the next 8 hours, yes, sitting at my desk!
Even while I am actually excited about making the drastic revisions to Tell My Bones — because I believe in the director and I believe that whatever he feels so strongly about is the path to follow here — I do sort of lament that I spent my entire birthday (Monday) at my desk, working on the (old & now useless) revisions of the play.
I was at my desk for over 12 hours on my birthday. And it really was a struggle, because I wasn’t sure the revisions were working, either. I wish the director had read the screenplay earlier (I sent him the screenplay at his request 6 weeks ago) and had discovered earlier that we needed to stop and go back down the previous path.
But it’s futile to wish that too hard, right? For whatever reason, we’re on the path right now. So I try to let go of it and focus on what’s in front of me. And next year, maybe I will spend my birthday doing something wonderful.
Yesterday, I added a new segment to In the Shadow of Narcissa. It’s a work in progress, for sure. It’s not what I would call an actual struggle to write it, but it’s a challenge to find balance there, and to tell the story through the eyes of my actual childhood and not tell the story as my grown self, who knows all the awful stuff that came later.
I’m not exactly sure what years the memoir will encompass. I want it to remain in the realm of my childhood in Cleveland. My happiest childhood memories are of Cleveland, but that’s because my paternal (adoptive) grandmother lived there and she was the very best part of my life.
But I do also have some happy memories about my adoptive mother from the years in Cleveland, even though I was already terrified of her by age 2, when she first lost control and mercilessly abused me. She tried really hard to regain her footing with me after that — and sadly, I believe it was to the detriment of my older brother. This is my own opinion about what happened. But I think that she was so afraid of herself, and of losing her control again with me and then having my dad find out that it had happened again, that she wound up redirecting all her rage toward my entirely defenseless brother.
As if her rage only counted if it was aimed at me, and that my brother didn’t matter. It was horrible, the stuff she did to my brother and I don’t even really know what happened, because she was always dragging him off to his room and I was always told to sit in a chair and shut up and not move.
Once, she tied his hands together and dragged him off to his room, and a lot of screaming, from him, ensued. He was 5 years old. It had started because he wouldn’t stop biting his nails. I was overwhelmed with anxiety, having to sit there and shut up and hearing him scream and not be able to help him.
I do remember one time being unable to control myself and pleading with her to leave my brother alone. “Mommy, stop!” you know, just inconsolable screaming, wanting to help him. And she actually told me to calm down because he was a boy and boys had to learn how to handle it. (As a footnote, my older brother stopped any contact with our adoptive mother back in 1982 and I haven’t seen my older brother since 1995.)
She said this. I remember it so clearly. I had a hard time processing that, for sure. Even at age 4, I could not believe that anyone who was suffering for any reason whatsoever, was meant to learn how to handle it.
Anyway, I’m trying to find balance as I tell In the Shadow of Narcissa. Because I do remember her trying very hard to be kind to me when I was very little, while she was in her early 30s. As the years went on, she became pretty much uncontrollable, 24/7. But I don’t think this memoir is going to be about that. This memoir is going to be about her seeming battle early on to be kind and yet to be filled with rage — a truly unhappy young 1960s American housewife who was also a narcissist. And how disruptive it was to me psychologically, and how, because I knew I’d been adopted, I began very early on, wishing that my “real” mother would come back and get me.
And then that very real fear of realizing that my “real” mother did not know where I was and that I was on my own.
Regarding the play, though. I decided to take last evening off. It was such a lovely night. I played my guitar up in my room for awhile and I even got out this Tom Petty songbook that someone gave me as a gift, recently.
I have never played a single Tom Petty song on my guitar in all these decades. I am strictly an acoustic rhythm player and so electric guitar stuff has never really called out to me, you know? Even though I know that Tom Petty felt very strongly about his songs staying as simple as possible, so that everyone could play it on an acoustic guitar around a camp fire, right? He believed this. I think it worked for him, too, because he was worth something like $95 million when he died. Keep it simple.
(As an aside, I saw a video on Youtube recently, by way of the AThousandMistakes blog in Australia. It was Warren Ellis and the Dirty 3 playing a recent concert in Sydney, I think. And he was introducing a specific song as their version of a camp fire song that people were supposed to be able to play on their acoustic guitars. It was so funny, because no way on earth could anyone else have been able to even attempt to play that thing.)
Anyway, I was looking at some of those Tom Petty songs in the songbook and I was actually astounded to see that some of my favorites from his early days always had about 3 chords. They were so simple to play. Even Free Fallin‘ — I had no idea it had 2 chords in the whole song. In fact, the melody itself is comprised of 3 notes, sometimes sang an octave higher, but 3 notes!! In the whole song.
That tells you a lot about how to become a wealthy songwriter in America, doesn’t it? Where we prefer things to be emotionally simple. We really do. I’m not knocking it, either, because I love that song Free Fallin.’ But we want our songs simple. We’re either happy, sad, or angry. That’s about it.
(As another aside, I remember coming out of Mel’s Diner on Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. It was late at night. I was with Peitor and I was talking about a song Nick Cave had written, “We Call upon the Author to Explain.” I just love that song, you know. And I said something to Peitor, like, “I just don’t understand why Americans don’t love Nick Cave.” And Peitor looked at me like I was from Jupiter and he said, “Nick Cave is too smart. Americans like things to be stupid.”)
I don’t want that to sound like an indirect way of saying Tom Petty was stupid, because he wasn’t. He just saw the value in keeping it really simple. And yesterday, as I marveled at the 2-chord, 3-note structure of Free Fallin‘ and, you know, considered the state of my own bank account, and I wondered if simplicity wasn’t in fact the way to go…
Okay, gang! I gotta get started here!! As you know, I have a lot of work to do on Tell My Bones in the next 2 weeks. To put it mildly.
Thanks for visiting, though. I love you guys! And I leave you with your right to choose!! Simple, or not so simple. Okay. I love you guys. See ya!
The meeting with the director lasted 3 hours and what was it about? Pages & pages of reasons why I need to revise Tell My Bones yet again to make the play more like the screenplay.
After I’d spent God knows how many days in an unbearable heatwave, revising the play for the millionth time.
The director does not read my blog. However, you, loyal readers, do. So you know I went into that meeting yesterday knowing he was going to say that.
So I’d had a whole night to sleep on it. I knew it was coming. And I know, with all certainty, that the Universe is somehow going to deliver to me the final version of Tell My Bones that puts the darn screenplay up on that stage. Finally.
I’m not telling Sandra, yet. (She doesn’t read my blog, either.) Because my main concern right now is getting this revised play as close to finished as I can get it in the next 2 weeks. Sandra went through a lot just to free her schedule and make time to fly into this tiny town in Ohio for 3 days so when she gets here, she’d better have something to rehearse or it’s not gonna be funny.
I honestly don’t think she’s going to care which version of the play we run with, as long as she’s got something that she knows is good. (Or gets her a Tony nomination — one or the other. Preferably both.)
The stress was off the charts for me yesterday, gang. However, a huge part of the problem of revising the screenplay for the stage was always how to stage some of things I was seeing in my head. And one of the (many) nice things the director said to me yesterday was that it’s not my job to stage it. It’s only my job to write it and let him do his job of staging it.
So that helped a lot. I’m not going to worry about staging it or about budget, either. I’m just going to write it down.
Within all that stress of me feeling “how the hell am I going to do this in 2 weeks?!” I sort of lost sight of all the incredible things the director was saying about my screenplay. It eventually did sink in after I left the meeting. That what he’s saying, in essence, is: take all these wonderful words you’ve already written and just put it on the stage. Of course, it’s not really that simple, but in a way, the words are the hard part.
I’ve done this kind of intense rewrite/tight schedule thing before and the rewards were phenomenal for me. Back when I was working on the screenplay for DADAhouse. Frequently, the producers would decide that the entire script needed to be re-written over the weekend. I was always having to pull so many things out of my hat, while under incredible pressure. And eating only Powerbars and drinking nonstop Diet Cokes to somehow get through it.
Yet, when I did, the finished result was part of a 10-minute segment on HBO that really just blew people away — including me. It came off so cool. This was back in 1997, when most people weren’t even online yet — it was all dial-up and most people didn’t have home computers yet. But after that 10-minute segment ran on HBO, 28,000 people logged on to our web site within 20 minutes.
So all the fucking stress I’d gone through was worth it.
So I know that all this fucking stress is gonna be worth it, again.
When I got home from the meeting yesterday, I spent about 5 hours getting all the query letters and submission stuff together for the small presses re: Blessed By Light. Because I knew I was not gonna have another free minute to do that for the next couple of months. Why can’t small presses just have the same submission requirements all across the board?
Well, they don’t. So I had to do all that and check, and re-check, and double-triple check that I was sending the right requested materials to the correct publishers, etc., etc. And in the middle of all that, Gus Van Sant Sr called again and asked me if I had all the legal documents drawn up…
ME (awkward, exhausted dead-brain-silence, then): “Um, I didn’t know you were expecting me to do that…”
HIM: “I’m just teasing you! We’re doing that.”
Oh my god, right? I’m supposed to be drawing up legal documents??!! I thought my brain would just crumble to dust when I heard that and I certainly didn’t want him to see that. Or to hear it over the phone. Thank god he was just kidding…
So today, I’m focusing on the next installment of In the Shadow of Narcissa to send to Edge of Humanity. And then I’m gonna get caught up on my Italian lessons — I’ve missed 3 in a row now plus my weekly quiz. And while all that is going on, I’ll have the new revisions for Tell My Bones gestating somewhere in that part of my brain that is directly connected to the Universe.
(And I have the best Muse, so I feel 100% confident that all of this is going to be great, once it’s all said & done.)
Okay, I gotta scoot! Have a wonderful Wednesday, wherever you are in the world, gang!! I leave you with this: a painting by Helen LaFrance, the reason why I’m going through all this in the first place. (If you click on it, you will see the details of her work that will likely stagger your mind – just imagine seeing one of these paintings in real life.) Thanks for visiting! I love you guys. See ya.
Canning Peaches by Helen LaFrance. Permanent Collection of Kentucky Folk Art Center at Morehead State University
This morning, I realized that I hadn’t studied my Italian lessons for the past 2 days. Which also means I missed my Sunday quiz!
Ack!! I’ve been so caught up in revisions of the play, as well as the profoundly intense heat wave, that everything else fell from my awareness.
I’m not gonna spend the rest of the summer giving you the weather report for around here, but I do want to at least say that it is an unbelievably beautiful day here, today. All the heat and thunderstorms are completely gone. It is sunny and mild and supposed to stay that way all week. And by mild, I mean it’s going down into the high 50s Fahrenheit during the night! I feel transformed because of it.
I did not feel transformed yesterday, though.
I had a very challenging day with the revisions for Tell My Bones.
I was getting good work done. I liked what was coming, but it was painstakingly slow going. And I am still having trouble going back & forth between the new revisions for the overall play, and the staged reading version of the play , which is condensed and shorter, less music, etc.
And as I make the revisions to the overall play, I then have to go back to the staged reading version and make sure it gets updated. So the constant switching back & forth was extremely distracting.
After I was at it for 8 hours, the director of the play called to wish me a happy birthday and to confirm our lunch appointment for today — AND to say that he was reading the screenplay version of Tell My Bones and that it was incredibly wonderful and he told me all the reasons why he thought so and that he lamented that the play couldn’t capture a lot of that because they were two different media.
(The screenplay scored really well in several high-profile screenplay competitions the year I wrote it, and won Best Voice of Color at the Cleveland Independent Film Festival the following year.)
While we were talking, I was already so incredibly exhausted from laboring over the revisions of the play for 8 hours, that my “take away” from the phone call was that the play was nowhere near as good as the screenplay and so I had to start from scratch or something.
It blew my evening right out of the water, and not in a good way. I stayed at my desk for 3 more hours wondering, what am I supposed to do here? How do I turn this into the screenplay?
Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that Sandra and I struggled with just that very thing for a couple of years before I came to the conclusion (with input from Peitor in Los Angeles) that I had to let go of the screenplay entirely, and approach the play from a whole new perspective. Because it wasn’t working for the stage.
Last night, though, I kept feeling that there must be a way to sort of layer aspects of the screenplay on top of the play…. and have a 90 minute full-cast dramatic screenplay magically become a 90 minute one-woman play with music.
I’m sure you can readily see that I was completely out of my mind.
Eventually I realized that I was starving and needed to eat dinner. So I finally closed the darn laptop and walked away.
This morning, though, I had an entirely fresh perspective on all of it. And I know something magical is going to transform or infuse the play with aspects of the screenplay. I don’t know yet what that is but I can feel it sort of hovering at the edges of my mind.
Even though this also means that at my meeting today, revisions to the script will not be finished. But it isn’t the end of the world. I still have 2 weeks before Sandra gets here to begin the initial rehearsals.
(Here’s something interesting that I just noticed: Whenever I need to type the word “being” it always comes out as “begin” and I have to fix it. But just there when I needed to type the word “begin” it came out as “being”! Clearly, I know how to type the word “being” so why can’t I just type it the right way when I need it??!!)
Anyway. Hey, thanks to new readers who are coming here through the post over at EdgeofHumanity.com yesterday. I appreciate it.
I thought it was kind of interesting that yesterday was my birthday and the first excerpt from my childhood memoir-in-progress, In the Shadow of Narcissa, went out on the EdgeofHumanity.com feed. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting that. I knew it was coming out this week, but I didn’t think it would be on Monday.
I have emotional issues with In the Shadow of Narcissa, only because it is very hard for me to write. It’s hard for me to emotionally claim all the stuff I need to in order to write it. But I do feel 100% sure that I need to write it, so I’m not going to allow my emotions to get in the way of that.
Still, seeing something so personal to me arrive as another entity’s web update in my inbox, was startling. Partly, you know, I just want to remove myself from it. It’s the only way I can handle it, really.
I appreciate so much that they are wiling to publish it over at Edge of Humanity, though, because I think it’s helping me stick with the process of writing it.
Okay, gang. I’m gonna get started around here now because I have to have that lunch meeting in a couple of hours. I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with the breakfast listening music from today! “Opium Tea” from B-Sides & Rarities. A song with an hypnotic, groovy little groove to it. Thanks for visiting! I love you guys! See ya.
“Opium Tea”
Here I sleep the morning through
‘Til the wail of the call to prayer awakes me
And there is nothing at all to do
But rise and follow the day wherever it takes me
[Chorus]
I stand at the window and I look at the sea
And I am what I am and what will be will be
I stand at the window and I look at the sea
And I make me a pot of opium tea
Down at the port I watch the boats come in
Oh, watching the boats come in can do something to you
And the kids gather around with an outstretched hand
And I toss them a dirham or two
[Chorus]
Well, I wonder if my children are thinking of me
Cause I am what I am and what will be will be
I wonder if my kids are thinking of me
And I smile and I sip my opium tea
At night the sea lashes the rust-red ramparts
In the shapes of hooded men who pass me
And the mad moaning wind laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs
At the strange lot that fate has cast me
[Chorus]
The cats on the rampart sing merrily
That he is what he is and what will be will be
The cats on the rampart sing merrily
And I sit and I drink my opium tea
I’m a prisoner here, I can never go home
There is nothing here to win or lose
There are no choices need to be made at all
Not even the choice of having to choose
[Chorus]
I’m a prisoner yes, but I’m also free
Cause am what I am and what will be will be
I’m a prisoner here but I’m also free
And I smile and I sip my opium tea
As promised, the thunderstorms came through last night in a big way and the intense heat wave finally broke.
Even though it’s grey here today and likely to keep on storming for most of the day, it is only 72 degrees Fahrenhiet right now, gang, and I can think!! And I can breathe!! And I’m not sweating like a Tropical Fuck Storm!!
Yay! Because I have a whole lot more to do on that play and I must do it TODAY.
And it is indeed my birthday today. And I would much rather spend this special day thinking and breathing and not sweating!!
Even though I had to cut the day short yesterday because of the intense heat, I did get some really good work done on the play early on and I was so incredibly happy with it.
I was forced to stop at an intense juncture, though, because I honestly just couldn’t think anymore. It was so fucking hot. And I seriously needed my brain in working order.
It’s a part in the play about a segment of Helen’s life that was very, very important to her and to what came later for her, but the way it is written now — the director didn’t say it in so many words, but he finds it boring. Non-theatrical. And so I must find a way to “theatricalize” it!! Because I can’t leave it out. I not only owe it to Helen to keep it in, but it lays the groundwork for the most important elements of Helen’s private life.
Yes, it’s days like today that I miss easy access to illegally obtained prescription medications! The kind that make your brain seriously focus!
I guess I will have to rely on my regular brain, instead. And coffee.
That said, I really gotta scoot. And get focused. And spend my day as my dear friend Kara advised in a text to me during the wee small hours of the stormy night, “celebrate the day of your birth with your words.” So I’m gonna do that!
Have a great Monday wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
Even in the intense heat yesterday (at one point, my outdoor thermometer read 99 degrees Fahrenheit but I think the sun was beating down on it), I still got great writing done on Tell My Bones.
I was so happy yesterday. Once I was able to finally figure out where the revisions from the staged reading script fit in with the overall play, I made so much progress.
Caffeine had a lot to do with it, but at one point, I tuned into that signal of the Muse and everything came in loud & clear. It was wonderful. It just flowed.
I still have a lot of revisions to tackle before Tuesday, but one of the trickiest junctures is done and I’m just so happy with it.
And even though it was super hot in here last night, for some reason I slept really great. I was up at 5am, did the usual cat-breakfast-furry-feeding-frenzy thing downstairs. Got my coffee. Went back upstairs to meditate. And during the meditation, I realized that I am in such a great space today, energetically speaking. The feeling was pronounced. I was just totally blissed out.
Do you ever just lie in your bed with your eyes closed and try to imagine that you’re somewhere else, but try to get the details so precise that you actually feel that if you opened your eyes, you would be in that place?
I love doing that. It feels so cool. Like you’re actually building a new reality outside of yourself.
After I finished meditating, I was in such a relaxed emotional space. The sun was just coming up and I just wanted to lie back down in bed, curled around my pillows, and take in the peacefulness of this amazing town. So tranquil at that hour. And so many trees. So many birds singing.
And when I closed my eyes, I started imagining one of those high-end glamping-type tree houses. It was screened in on all sides, so it had a 360 degree view of something lovely, although I’m not sure what. But I could feel the breeze coming in, because there actually was a breeze in my room. And I could hear the birds singing around the tree house, because birds were actually singing over here on this end of it. And there was nothing in the tree house but a big bed, and there was a mosquito netting canopy thing over the bed.
And then suddenly it just sprang into “reality” and it felt like I was really there. And that if I opened my eyes, I would be there in that tree house. It was just so cool. (And the guy in the beautiful robe who brings the coffee — see the post re: I Live Vicariously Through These Two — he was suddenly there, too! Whoever he was. And the robe was only sort of implied, you know, but not on anymore. And he was just as peaceful as I was, and just lying there with me. It was just perfect. And even though I didn’t want him to bring me coffee, I knew that he would if I wanted it.
I have never had a guy bring me coffee in bed. That is just ridiculous, isn’t it? Part of it is because I’ve always been a really early riser and most people are still asleep for several more hours after I’m up and puttering around. The other part is that I’m really particular about my coffee. I take milk in my coffee, but a very specific amount. And I know when the amount is perfect by the color of the coffee.
It seems to me that it would be a simple thing to learn that shade of “coffee with milk,” yet, as it turns out, it is an impossible thing to master. And so I am always politely told to just get my own coffee. And then, sure enough, we are soon well into the “woman brings the coffee” routine while the man stays in bed. And then the “woman makes the coffee” routine while the man is still in bed. And then the woman says “can I make you some breakfast?” routine while the man stays in bed. Etc., etc.
I have no actual problem with any of that stuff, you know. And I can be almost unbearably perfect about it. And why wouldn’t I want to do that, especially if I’m in love with some guy, right? But just once, I would love to just lie there, blissed out for whatever reason, and have the most perfect cup of coffee brought to me while I get to just lie there and love my life.
And yet, it turns out that it is a little too much to ask. I will probably have to get a wife in order for my cup of coffee to be absolutely perfect…
But anyway. I digress!
I was taking in the whole tree house thing in my mind and how incredibly real it felt, and how incredibly blissed out I felt — with or without the phantom guy with the beautiful robe no longer on. And when I opened my eyes, and I saw how beautiful my maple tree looked outside my windows, and how beautiful the sky looked beyond the tree, with the sun coming up. And how much I love my bed and my pillows and this incredible bedroom in this house that I love…
I realized that it doesn’t matter where I am, I am just super happy, gang.
Okay, well! The weather report for my birthday tomorrow has changed significantly. It’s still supposed to thunderstorm, but those storms are now set to begin later tonight, and by tomorrow , the high is only supposed to be 74 degrees Fahrenheit! So I shouldn’t have any trouble sitting all day at my desk and writing. I really need to finish the revisions on the play by Tuesday and I know I still have too much left to revise to get that all done today.
That said, though, I’m gonna scoot now and get started on that.
Have a super blissed out Sunday, gang, wherever you are in the world! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with a blissed out song, if there ever was one. From my wee bonny girlhood! I love you guys. See ya!
“Peace Like A River”
Peace like a river ran through the city
Long past the midnight curfew
We sat starry-eyed
We were satisfied
And I remember
Misinformation followed us like a plague
Nobody knew from time to time
If the plans were changed
If the plans were changed.
You can beat us with wires
You can beat us with chains
You can run out your rules
But you know you can’t outrun the history train
I’ve seen a glorious day.
Four in the morning
I woke up from out of my dreams
Nowhere to go but back to sleep
But I’m reconciled
Oh, oh, oh, I’m going to be up for awhile
Besides flooding yourself with caffeine on ice and doing everything in your power to not light up a Pall Mall cigarette. (I have a whole pack here because that’s what my mom smokes.) (Nicotine makes my brain work GOOD, gang! But makes the rest of me feel like shit later…)
My brain was completely locked down from all this heat by noon yesterday, and it never got better. I could almost think, but not enough to keep switching between 2 different versions of the script for Tell My Bones and try to get a firm grip on the revisions I needed to make to the play overall.
My brain was like a swamp, replete with all the lovely things that swamps entail.
And that’s not the best way to undertake writing a play that will win a Pulitzer Prize! (Still, if the swamp/brain route is the only available way, then you gotta pray that everything else in the running that year is way, way, WAY less good than your swamp-ridden play…)
It was so frustrating.
However. I did get some really good input from a publisher re: a potential good home for my new novel, Blessed By Light. So that was cheerful!
And this morning, even while Peitor is back in Los Angeles, he still has his hands full with really pressing, disturbing, tedious familial obligations, so we once again cannot work on developing the script for our tiny yet delightful Abstract Absurdity Prods. Which I guess is good, because I need to have the revisions of the play completed by Tuesday morning.
Which means, of course, that I’m gonna spend my entire birthday working on the play. But it will only be 93 degrees Fahrenheit on Monday, instead of 97 degrees. And instead of ungodly amounts of humidity, we will have ungodly amounts of humidity with torrential thunderstorms.
So, you know. Sure am looking forward to that!
Still. All that whiny stuff said. It is nowhere near as bad in here as last summer, before all the new insulation got installed. So most of my histrionics are just for show.
I got a really pretty birthday card from my father and stepmom yesterday. (My adoptive dad — the one who had the profound delight of raising me). It was really sweet. And it said that I was the kind of daughter who brought sunshine wherever she goes.
It cracked me up! I know my stepmom has to have been the one to pick that card out, right? Even though she is confined to a wheelchair and in a nursing home, and ravaged by years of MS, her mind is still sharp & she is really sweet. And there is just no way, ever, in a bazillion years, that my dad would correlate me with “sunshine” in any way, shape, or form.
If it was really my dad choosing the birthday cards, it would say something like: I’m Almost 90 and I Cannot Believe I Have Survived All the Joys of Knowing You for This Long; OR, No One Spews the ‘F’ word Like You Do, Darling Daughter! OR, As Another Birthday Comes Around for You, Darling Daughter, I Think Back on All the Years and Wonder What the Fuck I Did to Deserve You, I was Having Such a Good Time ‘Til You Showed Up.
You know, sentiments like that. (I only wish I was kidding, gang.)
Anyway. It was a cute little card and it perked up my spirits in the dreadful heat.
Today, I am going to split whatever energy I can find for my brain between working on the play and writing query letters to 3 publishers. It’s a really interesting adventure this time around, because I love my new novel but I also know that it’s really unusual. So I honestly have no clue with which publisher it will be a good fit. My queries so far have been, “I have no clue if my writing is suitable for you at all but do you think you might like to see it?”
THEM: “Well, when you put it like that — I might!”
It’s an adventure! A literary adventure. Of which I have had many in my illustrious career.
(Including, but not limited to, on the eve of supposed-to-be receiving a 6-figure advance for my delightful, award-winning novel Freak Parade, the owner of the (large, very well known) publishing house, announced at a production meeting: “We are not publishing this filth and I would never publish this filth, even if my life depended on it!”) (Sadly, again, I only wish I was kidding.)
Okay, gang. My music-listening in this heat has gone in 2 distinct directions. Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds when the caffeine is spiking, and then Jr. Thomas & the Volcanos when the heat & humidity swells back up and smothers me again.
So I leave you with those two listening options today!
(And for some reason — methinks a financial one — no lyrics are online for Jr. Thomas songs.) (And of course, I am aware that all these “free” music and “free” lyrics online, robs musicians and songwriters of a ton of royalty money that they used to get back in the Dark Ages. But all the music I listen to every day, is either a CD I paid for, or is something I stream that I also paid for. I can only hope that you guys do the same, but I’m thinking that a whole heck of a lot of people don’t really pay for music at all anymore. Which really does suck.)
Anyway. Have a great sunny Saturday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting! I love you guys. See ya!
“Midnight Man”
Hold that chrysalis in your palm
See it split and change
It won’t do you any harm
It’s just trying to rearrange
It was born to live a day
Now it flies up from your hand
It’s beautiful
It’s the one they call
Your ever-loving man
Wolves have carried your babies away
O your kids drip from their teeth
The nights are long and the day
Is bitter cold beyond belief
You spread yourself like a penitent
On the mad vibrating sand
And through your teeth
Arrange to meet
Your midnight man
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around!
O baby don’t you see
Everybody wants to be
Your midnight man
Don’t disturb me as I sleep
Treat me gentle when I wake
And don’t disturb me as I sleep
Even though your body aches
Even though your body aches
To serve at his command
Between the walls
She still adores
Her ever-loving man
Close your eyes, sleep in him
Dream of your lost sons and daughters
Me, I’ll raise up the dorsal fin
And glide up and down the waters
I’ll glide up and down the waters
Then I’ll walk upon the land
And call ’em out
The ones who doubt
Your midnight man
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around!
Don’t did you see
Everybody wanna to be
Your midnight man
It’s early in the morning
And I don’t know what to do
It’s early in the morning
And I can’t believe its true
As I lay in the moment
And it’s happening again
Well, I called you once, I called you twice
Ain’t I your midnight man
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around to my place!
Everybody’s coming around!
They want you, they love you, they need you
To be, your midnight man
Everybody’s coming here
Everybody’s coming here
Everybody’s coming here
To be your midnight man
To be your midnight man
I was speaking more about yesterday but I’m guessing that today will be splendid, too!
Splendidly hot, for one thing.
It’s going to go up to 95 degrees Fahrenheit today (again). But I’ll tell you, having this entire house re-insulated last fall was a really great idea. So far, the house (my bedroom, specifically) is staying a whole lot more tolerable than it did last summer. So I’m finding myself reasonably complaint-free. Even though it does get pretty hot in here.
For instance, you would not want to undertake any sort of amorous adventures in here at night unless you were either in love beyond human imagining, or just stupefyingly horny. Because it does get pretty darn hot in here. (But so far, nothing close to last summer.)
(I am reminded, however, of a lyric from one of my favorite Nick Cave songs of all time, “Oh My Lord”: Now I’m down on my hands and knees/ And it’s so fucking hot!/ Someone screams “What are you looking for?”/ I scream, “The plot, the plot!” — That lyric comes to me repeatedly, throughout my lifetime, and also quite a lot while living here.)
Anyway.
But yesterday — wow. Sandra and I worked for a couple hours on some stuff we needed to clarify in the script (The Guide to Being Fabulous, the one-woman musical about Sandra’s incredible life). I haven’t really focused on any aspect of that script since last October, when Sandra and I finally finished our notes for the ending of the play (after about 5 years of re-writing the ending.)
In fact, here we are in a tavern in Rhinebeck NY, the moment we finished the notes. I posted the photo to our Instagram pages back in October. (We were just about to unleash another one of our laughing jags, where we would laugh uncontrollably for several minutes, until we were crying, and we’d inadvertently annoy anyone who was anywhere near us in the tiny but mightily wealthy village of Rhinebeck, NY.)
Sandra Caldwell, Rhinebeck, NY, October 2018
Anyway! Focusing again on that play just made both of us see it with fresh eyes again, and, gang, it is a really great play. It’s upbeat, funny, deep, and awesome. And Sandra is a knock-out singer. Plus, she wrote all the songs herself and they are really, really killer. Very “Broadway” good, even though the play is premiering in Toronto, Canada.
It was so exciting for both of us yesterday, to see just how far we’ve come with this play. Sandra has had an incredible life. I wish I could tell you about it because it would blow your mind. But you should come see the play…
And on the heels of that…. An important meeting in Toronto is looming large and it became horrifically apparent that I have waited too long to get the process of renewing my passport underway and so now I have to pay those ridiculously high fees to get the whole thing expedited. And I need to get it started, like, today, but I need to get the passport photo taken and, as is so very often the case with me, I need to wash my hair.
I am always in a perpetual state of needing to wash my hair.
I made the mistake last summer of renewing my driver’s license without washing my hair and now I have the most horrendous driver’s license photo known to man and I’m stuck with it for something like 4 years. (I’m toying with the idea of telling them I lost my license and need a new one. It’s really that bad. The photo looks like it’s my first day out of prison or something, plus I look about 75 years old.)
Anyway. My advice to you, gentle readers, is: Always wash your hair. And always renew your passport about 2 months before it expires.
That said, though. Who has time to wash her hair? I need to focus on the revisions for Tell My Bones. And the pressure surrounding that play gets more and more intense every day, gang. People — even total strangers — have such high expectations for that play. So I need to get back to that again right now, before it gets too hot around here.
Have a fantastic Friday, wherever you are in the world, gang!! I’m gonna leave you with this, even though it’s not what I was listening to this morning. I was listening to nothing this morning, in fact. I was a bit brain dead this morning. I ate my breakfast and drank my coffee while staring blankly at the furry swirl of cats in the middle of the kitchen floor, scarfing down stinky fish gunk from cute little cat- shaped ceramic bowls.
And I also noticed, in my brain-dead stupor, that the kitchen table is a fucking mess. My CD player is one of those things that looks like a jukebox from a diner in the 1950s. It’s 2-feet tall. That, and the speakers for the iPad, takes up one end of the table. A ton of CDs are scattered everywhere. 3 issues of MOJO Magazine have landed on the table, unattended. Ditto, several issues of TheHollywood Reporter. Some early birthday cards that have arrived in the mail are propped up in the mess. And the companion hardcover coffee table book to Peter Bogdanovich’s 4-hour documentary on Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Running Down a Dream, takes up one whole corner of the table and Weenie, my last remaining male cat, has now ravenously chewed on one of the (until recently, pristine) book’s corners, proving that you shouldn’t leave a bunch of stuff all over your kitchen table unattended to for months.
I’m guessing, though, that I’ll probably do something unthinkable like wash my hair before I manage to clear off that table…
All right! So I’m leaving you with the aforementioned “Oh My Lord.” Thanks for visiting, gang!! I love you guys. See ya!
“Oh My Lord”
I thought I’d take a walk today
It’s a mistake I sometimes make
My children lay asleep in bed
My wife lay wide-awake
I kissed her softly on the brow
I tried not to make a sound
But with stony eyes she looked at me
And gently squeezed my hand
Call it a premonition, call it a crazy vision
Call it intuition, something learned from mother
But when she looked up at me, I could clearly see
The Sword of Damocles hanging directly above her
Oh Lord Oh my Lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms around me
Oh Lord Oh Lord
Oh My Lord
They called at me through the fence
They were not making any sense
They claimed that I had lost the plot
Kept saying that I was not
The man I used to be
They held their babes aloft
Threw marsh mellows at the Security
And said that I’d grown soft
Call it intuition, call it a creeping suspicion,
But their words of derision meant they hardly knew me
For even I could see in the way they stared at me
The Spear of Destiny sticking right through me
Oh Lord Oh my lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms round me
Oh Lord Oh lord
Oh My Lord
Now I’m at the hairdressers
People watch me as they move past
A guy wearing plastic antlers
Presses his bum against the glass
Now I’m down on my hands and knees
And it’s so fucking hot!
Someone cries, “What are you looking for?”
I scream, “The plot, the plot!”
I grab my telephone, I call my wife at home
She screams, “Leave us alone!” I say, “Hey, it’s only me”
The hairdresser with his scissors, he holds up the mirror
I look back and shiver; I can’t even believe what I can see
Be mindful of the prayers you send
Pray hard but pray with care
For the tears that you are crying now
Are just your answered prayers
The ladders of life that we scale merrily
Move mysteriously around
So that when you think you’re climbing up, man
In fact you’re climbing down
Into the hollows of glamour, where with spikes and hammer
With telescopic camera, they chose to turn the screw
Oh I hate them, Ma! Oh I hate them, Pa!
Oh I hate them all for what they went and done to you
Oh Lord Oh my Lord
Oh Lord
How have I offended thee?
Wrap your tender arms round me
Oh Lord Oh Lord
Oh My Lord
Marilyn's Room 