My Screenplay, Back to the Drawing Board...Day 7 of NaBloPoMo.

As I previously wrote (post from October 17), I entered the Bluecat Screenplay Competition several weeks ago. I anxiously awaited my two script analyses and they arrived last night. I read it over twice, printed it, let my husband read it, then told my mali about it.

I didn’t want to crack open my script last night, but I have eight days to pound it into shape and resubmit. It wasn’t slaughtered like I thought it would be, but I was surprised that they wanted more DRAMATIC scenes.

I feel like a swordsmith who needs to fire up the logs and pound my sword into better shape. I WANT A SAMURAI SWORD, NOT A BUTTER KNIFE!

In any writing, novel or scripts, nice neat emotional packages are great, but they want the rollercoaster ride and the uncertainty…I will do my best.





Some of the positives of THE DADDY BLOG analyses:

*****READER A>
“I thought you did a good job exploring what it means to be a family. Your main characters took on the typical roles of a nuclear family despite the fact that they weren’t actually directly related….I think that this depiction of “the family” was very unique and made your script more interesting to read.”

*****READER B>
“In general, the characters are distinct and relatable, and Verona really stands out as someone who has sacrificed her own needs for the needs of her family.”

Some of the negatives/constructive criticism:

*****READER A>
“I also feel like there is generally not enough conflict in your story. Despite the fact that your protagonists’ parents face horrible deaths while they are still children, it doesn’t seem to affect them in a very significant way.”

*****READER B>
“Once Brutus dies, the script becomes very conversation-driven and many of the scenes feel static, almost play- rather than movie-like.”

Overall, I’m relieved that I received this feedback. It was worth the fee. Again, going to do my best to bring this screenplay up to par. Wish me luck!



ESTA LATER!

JENGA, a Good $10.00 Investment…Day 6 of NaBloPoMo.

I’ve never owned a Jenga set, but played it many a time with family and friends. My favorite memory of Jenga was New Year's eve playing with three ladies as the husbands and babies were asleep. We did a truth or dare version and have pictures somewhere of our (mis)adventures. *****I purchased our first set yesterday and it is proving to be some nice Sunday fun after breakfast.

My son and daughter are learning restraint, patience and strategy. “Don’t shake the table!” and “Why would you chose that one, it will make the whole thing collapse.” That’s the parents yelping…. With one game session over, we will pack it up for another session after lunch. Happy Sunday! ESTA LATER!

My Blogging Boundaries…..Day 5 of NaBloPoMo.

“Boundaries are to protect life, not to limit pleasures.” Edwin Louis Cole

Keeping my posts light this weekend. Have much to catch up on, but the basic gist of this entry is the boundaries I’ve set for myself when writing anything online, whether it is Twitter, Facebook or here. For one, I don’t discuss marital issues here. I never discuss my husband in detail, unless it’s to note something positive. I don’t post photos of my kids (and I know many bloggers do), it’s a personal choice and a mutual decision my husband and I made. I do have one photo of my son dressed as Ben 10 with the creator of the show at Comic Con, but that’s him in character. If you’re a “friend” on Facebook, you can keep up with my children’s adventures there. I may be hypocritical because I enjoy seeing photos people post. I get a snapshot of their lives and for me, I don’t reciprocate. If I do, it’s with my words, and I feel that’s enough. My children and I watch videos on Youtube enjoying lately the dance styles of Justin and Jeremy, adorable twins who can be seen in Just Dance 3 commercials. We find joy in watching these cuties, and by their parents put it out there for people to enjoy, we do. *****It’s just that I wouldn’t do that for my children. My family, with our Chamorro culture, our personal backgrounds flavoring our current decisions as parents, our beliefs as a family unit, well, we don’t let it all hang out-so to speak. There are too many unknowns in the world. Too many fiends I need to protect my children from. I’ve downsized my Facebook page twice, and may have to do it again, because it is there that I am most myself with funny posts, photos of my kids in everyday life. At least I control the 700 plus “friends” who view, reduced from 800+. I walk a fine line of what to share and what not to. I hate how people are most friendly in cyberspace, but duds face to face. I like watching someone’s face or body language in person to see if they are sincere, really interested. As an author (self-published, yes), I do need to market myself to an extent so my name is known, a brand of sorts. I plan on making it big in writing and by saying that, it can become more real.

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”—Applejack

ESTA LATER!

Written Words for My Children. Day 4 of NaBloPoMo.

My beautiful children are still so young, but may one day read this blog, or be embarrassed by it….but, aside from “penning” in cyberworld, I have been JOURNALING the old-fashioned way (pen and paper) for my two children since 2008.

I invested in some matching, fancy schmancy leather bound journals. As I chose them, I worried about the possibility of a third child…should I buy a third now even if he or she wasn’t born yet? What to do?! My level-headed husband told me that I could contact the journal company when the time came and not to stress. So, two journals and about $60.00 later I was set to start writing to my son and daughter. I’ve journaled very infrequently, but continue to fill their pages when time, inspiration and life permits. They’ve seen me with them and of course ask, I merely say it’s a journal and they accept that. They have many journals of their own (composition notebooks) dreams and invention journal for my 6-year old son and an art journal for my 3-year old. I envision handing the journals to my children when they graduate from high school, or college. Or, when they get married or have their first child…. My husband is invited to write to them too, and again when time and inspiration permits, he will. Every entry is dated, including the day and time. I end every entry with “Love, Mama.” I fill it with milestones in their lives or big events about life or the world in general, funny things they say or quirky behaviors that may be fleeting. I recall a point in my son’s life when certain words he said sounded BRITISH. We would laugh, but those moments were so short-lived and I can’t even remember the words he used to say… (I’ll have to check with my husband).

“Ideas can come from anywhere and at any time. The problem with making mental notes is that the ink fades very rapidly.”-Rolf Smith

Pictures, video of my lovelies in their childhood are wonderful, but documentation with my words, in my script and with my take on their life will hopefully be something they appreciate.

ESTA LATER!

Is There a DENDROLOGIST in the House? Day 3 of NaBloPoMo.

“That tree whose leaves are trembling: it is yearning for something. That tree so lovely to see acts as if it wants to flower: it is yearning for something.” ~Diego Hurtado De Mendoza

<-------This tree!****This tree I found as I walked my morning walk yesterday, pretending to be a jogger, with my daughter talking away in the stroller. <-----This tree****what is it? Name, please, anyone? I’ve wanted to know for the last 30 years. Googled it to no avail….anyway, the story of this beautiful tree begins when I was the same age as my son is now. <-------This tree holds special significance to me because it was THE TREE I was going to build my first tree house in. When I was 6-years old, my parents bought a home in the village of Ordot back in Guam, my home island. I was excited to have my own room and not be renting (at that age, I felt the power and excitement of owning something). My mom was eager to start gardening. My dad was happy to start building. In our front yard, my dad and mom planted this short plant, and I didn’t know if it was just a flowering bush or a tree. My dad said it would grow big and become a tree. I was fascinated by its butterfly looking leaves and beautiful pink orchid like flowers. I remember the perfume of the pink and white petals. I remember sitting on the poky Chinese grass, which was vibrant green and carpet-like. The thin blades of grass poked through the thin material of my shorts, but I didn’t mind. I was trying my hardest to enjoy the “shade”, sparse as it was of MY tree.

My childhood home, Ordot, Guam. Wish I had a picture of the tree, but it's to the left of the shot.>>>>>>>>>>. ************I wondered every year if my tree would get big and strong enough to actually hold a house. My father would watch me from our front door as I insisted on sitting in the grass to read a book. I must have been eight or nine, and the tree was now slightly taller than me, guessing about four feet tall. “When is this tree going to grow, dad?” He would say, “soon”. So, instead of watching this tree grow, that afternoon I perfected my cartwheel. My dad was proud and proceeded to cheer me on to do more. I must have done a hundred, at least that’s what my child memory logged in, sure felt like it. I was happy to make my dad laugh.

***********When I moved out of my childhood home to a home of my own in another village, that tree was grown, but not strong enough for a tree house. By that time, I had given up on that dream. And, the beautiful grass was replaced with concrete for a basketball court, which doubled as a parking spot. ***********In 2009, I visited Guam again. I had just sold my Mangilao home and did a drive by to see the first home I purchased. Then, without question, my mom and I drove to Ordot. We visited the tenant who had made this her residence for almost ten years. She raised her children in my old home and was now a grandmother. My tree was now taller than the house. It was still not ready for a tree house, and would never be. The nature, structure and delicate branches could never hold my dream. But, now, I’m okay with that. It is a reminder of a time when my dad was healthy, young and attentive. This tree that I see every morning on my walk will still be special to me. It will still be a place I can hang my hopes for something big.

I ♥ Music. I searched "Screaming Trees" & "Treehouse Song" for music...Ane Brun won. ESTA LATER!

These Gents Cubed! Ivan³, John³ and Henry³…..Day 2 NaBloPoMo!

"Wookin Pa Nub in all da wong paces!" --Eddie Murphy as Buckwheat

Patterns, love them. I’m not mathematical at all, needing a calculator at yard sales to keep my addition and subtraction in check. But, I’m into patterns, symbols and over-analyzing connection when my husband might just say it’s COINCIDENCE. Now, I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but when over-analyzing my life, past and present, certain symbols rise up like cream. I’ve wanted to detail this before and I’ve notice this pattern of boys/men in my life many years ago, but with NaBloPoMo, I’m digging deep for good blog posts. So, I’ve had two boyfriends in my past. The first at 21 (John) and the last (Henry) at 28 years of age. I married my second boyfriend. I’ve been attracted to dudes name “John” (and its various forms) and “Henry”. Ivans, not so much as you will read.

*************The Ivans***************** In third grade, Ivan T. stalked me. He was a tan, rotund, robust Guam boy with curls. I guess, he wasn’t my cup of Tang at that age and it didn’t last more than a month—him following me, that is. But, when a third grader says he’s going to marry you someday, with as much conviction that an 8-year-old boy could muster, a girl could freak out—at least I did. In high school, I was acquainted with an Ivan M., green eyes, nice Chamorro boy, not a great conversationalist, but again I wasn’t feeling his flow—his stalker tendencies came into full bloom when I was in college. He was a bag boy at one of the only major grocery chains on island. I worked at a clothing retailer (Sparkle—yes, that was the name—don’t ask) in a strip mall outside of the grocery store. He loved collecting shopping carts and slowly, creep by our store front—I would be the girl hiding behind mannequins. A few months later, the second Ivan’s buddy, who worked in the same store as a butcher, came a courtin’ too. Tall, dark and hella scary with his white apron stained with blood. His name? Ivan. (cue eerie X-Files music).

********The Johns ******* I’ll be more coy here. First boyfriend at 21 (I was a late, late bloomer with a very intimidating to all men of a father), a few dates with another John back when teased bangs were cool and rock bands like Firehouse, Stryper and Slaughter were on the airwaves, and then the final John who “thought” he liked me, when I knew he really liked MEN, but he himself was still not aware of this. (Later verified). ****************************The Henrys**************** Back when Guam still had the wonderful department store, Gibsons, I loved me a comic book sales clerk named, Henry. My parents would drop me off to “stroll” with my other 13 -year-old friends, and we would walk by the comics to see the cutie. Never spoke to him….. Then down the street in the village I grew up in, was a much older Henry. Handsome for sure, great hair, mestizo, macho and mysterious. Never spoke to him either, but gagged and stuttered a lot if he was near. There could be a fourth Henry, which only solidifies that Henry would be a man I married--again, my over-critical brain at work....but, this little Henry was a teenager and I was ten years his senior in our Tae Kwon Do class...already engaged to my one and only Henry....I set young Henry straight, right quick, roundhouse and ax kick included. Kidding.....

But, the most important man to me, is my husband, Henry. The one who matters in the end of this equation. So, there, the dudes I remember most in my girl meets boy world. ************************Day 2, National Blog Posting Month! Accomplished!******************

Esta Later!

I am The Sun and The Moon...Day 1 of NaBloPoMo

"If the SUN and MOON should doubt, they'd immediately go out."--William Blake

*****This morning, the SUN, veiled behind the haze of moisture and clouds made me think it was the MOON instead. I was able to stare directly at the perfect circle in the sky, gray with a white border, which is why I thought the moon was having a late start to its bedtime. If we removed the filter that the earth provides and zoom up close to the sun, minus the reality that we would be burned to cinder, the sun is actually this volatile fire ball of energy--crazy, whipping flames to and fro. Then, my mind, which tries to find symbolism in everything, thought of PEOPLE and how we create filters around ourselves. We filter how the outside world views us, this persona we want people to believe about us. When in reality, we’re like the sun viewed from up close, fiery, crazy, unpredictable.

*****I find this true when I first meet someone. If I have seen them around, I start formulating a judgment about who they might be. They may be intriguing because of their gait, their choice in clothes, the large cup of coffee they drink, the tinkle of their laugh. I may be watching how they interact with their child or spouse. This is the filter or lens I view them and they may be unconsciously casting this net or aura around them, but it’s there. I love being mistaken when I finally get to know someone, or having my initial judgment verified. Most times, I am pleased with what lies beneath and other times, I am repulsed. I know the same is true of those who have met me. I’ve heard many times about myself, “Wow, I never knew you were so funny!” or “You are so on top of things and organized.” *****Anyone who has taken the time to know me might find this true, to an extent. I’m a straight A student when it comes to certain things, but I am flawed in other areas. I have cast an aura around me and this has perhaps misled some and attracted others. *****One particular incident in my past reminds me of how my reputation and the way I was viewed by my girlfriends were in stark contrast to the weakness I shared with them. After a very big break-up with my boyfriend of over five years, I suffered some sort of mental breakdown. To family and friends, I was strong, moving on, kicking butt and taking names. But, for myself, I was shattered. So, sitting in a TGIF’s, noshing on high calorie desserts, I declared my anxiety issues with three great friends, the best at the time. They all became silent and then laughed awkwardly. They thought I was joking, then made jokes about my feelings. I smiled and sucked it up, but a piece of the link between us weakened. For them, they couldn’t accept that I was anything but a tough chick who didn’t take crap from anyone. So, for their sake, I joked with them and promised myself silently not to be so vulnerable with them again. Part of me was flattered that the aura I set forth of being the female Bruce Lee worked, but another part—the one who wears a pink tutu, cried in a field of daisies.

So, nowadays, I’m all things, strong, vulnerable, neurotic, organized, a leader and a follower. And, with the sun shining now, really doing its true thing--I take on writing today, the first day of NaBloPoMo month (National Blog Posting Month). I will focus on entries for the next 30 days, some short and sweet, some long and deep, but I’m predicting, mostly short and deep….I’m a busy wife and mother.

One constant in my life is my writing. I’ve returned to it for solace. Thank you for joining me, the real me. Esta Later!