TV Show

I want to write a TV show. about a newspaper. old auburn ave feel. and i want it to be about stuff like urban sprawl. regentrification. innercity and outercity politics. mass transit. drug trade. death penalty. prison industrial complex. gay marriage/gay adoption/gay gayness. passing the torch. family dynamics. interracial marriage. suburbia. downtown. and more…

1st season- 7 characters introduced.

1 patriarch (owner of the newspaper)
2 his daughter (researcher, fact checker)
3 his son-in-law (new politician who wants to trade on newspaper contacts and history, idealist)

4 his wife (senior editor, has to be Alfre Woodard)

5 idealist beat reporter (just married, moving from downtown to suburbia)

6 new kid (writer who by mistake but with writing genius brought down a local political ‘gang’ with a series of articles on personal blog)

7 ?? (maybe six is enough)

I also want Tina Marjorino in it…

a birth of words…

“I felt the kick, a slight shift of weight that wasn’t there before but is now” I put it in quotes because it is what I was thinking but then I thought someone (although, there is no one here!) might think there is a baby involved. There is not.

Words, developing meaning, slowly, like what was a feeling growing into something tangible, touchable, real. Not just one word. Thousands! Growing into sentences, paragraphs, chapters, one after another reborn, reincarnated, rearranged.

I want something real…

I’m reaching for it even when I think I’m not. It’s not a singular one time event, like once I have reached it, that’s it, that’s all. And sometimes it’s already washing over me and only then do I realize i’ve gotten it, unbidden. I still get to wonder over it, and sometimes it makes me cry with the realization and the joy of it; the clear indication of something real surrounding, enfolding, infusing me with light and life.

I have no clue

I admit it. I don’t know what I am doing a lot of the time. It’s not that I don’t know things and stuff but rather that I don’t know how to put what I know into a useful and accessible format for consumption.

I have this blog on which I write things that cross my mind and I don’t know what to do with it. I want to do a number of things but when it comes to sitting down and doing the things, I can’t seem to grip on what the “things” are that I want to do. As a result, I end up doing nothing which is a self-perpetuating circle of nothing ness.

How do I make the leap from thinking about doing a thing to actually doing a thing?

That is all.

Sleep perchance to Dream…

There are nights I cannot or will not sleep. I stay up; my mind a monster obsessively running like a mouse on a wheel. I want to get off, but I drink Coke instead and let the monster have it’s way.

The aftermath is not always predictable. Sometimes, I’ve gotten one step closer to understanding what ever it is that has been circulating in my head; usually a problem I want to solve or a thing I can’t understand but desperately need to in order to move on to the next step or the next thing or simply to lay an idea to rest.

And sometimes, like today, I end up looking like passing over into sleep is imminent. I crave a nap like I crave chocolate after a long time away from the treat.  It becomes the one thing on my mind, the mouse wheel I climb on – nap nap nap nap nap. Around and around.

That is all.


This is not a new thing for me. I destroyed my first diary out of fear of discovery of several crushes I had going at the time. It was a little red, drug store diary with a tiny gold key. I filled the pages up with miscellaneous life of a 12 year old; I would give $10 to have it back today so I could revisit that 12 year old. (I’m currently fascinated with this personal story of mine).

In (what I hope) is the beginning of the middle of my life, I find I’ve forgotten so much of my younger self that doesn’t relate to fear, abandonment, or longing. I know there was more to my childhood than that. I don’t think I could have survived if there wasn’t more. I imagine these crushes, at least in the beginning, might have been something wonderful.

The subject arises as a result of stream of consciousness ruminations which began with my current crush. A very unlikely point of fixation that I won’t describe, but I’m smiling just thinking about the possibilities, impossible though they are.

The dictionary definition of “Crush is an interesting read. It is filled with pain and violence:
1.To press between opposing bodies so as to break or injure.
2. To break, pound, or grind (stone or ore, for example) into small fragments or powder.
3. To put down; subdue: crushed the rebellion.
4. To overwhelm or oppress severely: spirits that had been crushed by rejection and failure.
5. To crumple or rumple: crushed the freshly ironed shirt.
6. To hug, especially with great force.
7. To press upon, shove, or crowd.
8. To extract or obtain by pressing or squeezing

Then buried near the bottom is the informal meaning:
1. A usually temporary infatuation.


When I first read that I thought, wow I wonder how that word came to mean those two very different things. Then I remembered again, that little red diary and that as those crushes went on without reciprocation or acknowledgment, how I was crushed. I wasn’t popular, I wasn’t pretty, I wasn’t thin and I wasn’t very girlie which I thought others felt to be a more desirable way to be.

And yet here I am again, crushing. Still not particularly popular, charming but not pretty, definitely not thin, and only occasionally do I have moments which could be called anything close to girlie. What I have gained in the 31 years since 12 is experience, success, failures and wisdom. So I’m enjoying this crush and won’t be crushed when it passes.

That is all.

Going Public

So far, I’m talking to myself. I’m okay with that. I’m trying to get used to the idea that I might write something that someone will read and have an opinion about. Right now I only feel comfortable with my own opinion of what I have written; subject, content, style, grammar. Plus the most interesting things in my life I’m not sure I should write about, which begs the question why write at all here?

I don’t know.

How do you know if you’re ready?

I woke up this morning, thinking that it would be nice to have a girlfriend.

Unusual only in that for the last 2 and 1/2 years I have been singing the refrain: no girlfriend, no partner, no wife. And up until the beginning of this year, I wouldn’t even consider a date. Only sex. Sex only. Because it was sex only (notice I didn’t say ‘just sex’) I could give myself a little leeway about my choices.

And I think the moment I started thinking about narrowing down my choices, I gave myself room to consider girlfriend material. If I’m considering gf material, it follows that I would be thinking gf. As soon as I realized that though, I had the urge to back off of those thoughts.

I’m still too scared.

a million little wounds

There are some people who like to think that they are nice. They have a million little pass phrases to cover up the million little jabs they make to help themselves feel better when they imagine that they have made you feel just a little bit of their pain. Unintentional, of course.

Self effacing and overly modest, you’re golden until they imagine that you have done them harm. With them, passive/aggressive is an art form practiced daily, hourly even.

nothing prompts me to put up a wall faster than this type of meanness.