We've all seen this movie right? You know the one where the guy needs to crack a code, but there's another guy with a gun to his head holding a stop watch, forcing him to think under pressure? Well guess what, I'm in that movie right now. I'm working on a small project at home that I'm far from completing and my time is running out fast.... What??...
Alright!.... okay! It's been awhile, I know. I've heard the grumblings and wonder whys and all of that yang. I took a break okay? I had a toothache... my laptop caught on fire....my dog ate my cell phone and I couldn't text.... I lost my password.... my computer caught a virus... the screen was bluuuuuue!!
Well actually none of that is true. What really happened was, my beautiful darling wife came down with pneumonia and I had to become Mr. Mom for an extended period of time. She's much better now. But once it actually ended and I was sent happily back to normal living, I found that I was way out of blogging mode. I had moved onto conducting research for my next project. Yeah, I hear you.., another project. Well I do admit I have far too many irons in the fire, but at least I'm working on something that I enjoy. It's all about the journey right?
I did learn a few things during my time off however. The most important thing was that being a working mom is tough and I can't do it! Do you hear me? I can't.. Not for an extended period of time anyway. Now I love my kids, don't get me wrong. But it's a heckuvalottawork! Plus my wife was mostly confined to her bed while she was sick, so it was full service Mr. Mom. Meals in bed, changing stinky kid sheets, cooking, cleaning the kitchen, the works! But I learned that things like patience and kindness are very underrated. When times get tough, it's so easy to just scream and yell and fuss and throw things and complain and complain about how you got such a raw deal. But you've got to work to be patient, to remain calm, to be kind in stressful situations, to show love when you really wanna slap somebody! I'm telling you, I went through almost every emotion possible during this time and I think I even found a few new ones. But God is good. I made it through in one piece.
On top of this experience, I was commissioned the job to produce my mom and dad's 50th wedding anniversary video for their upcoming anniversary party. Now as I've said before, I'm a video editor and producer. I do this stuff all the time. And the last thing I want to do when I arrive home to relax is to work on another video, for free! Yes it's for my parents and I love them dearly. Yes it's for a special occasion, which I understand. But dang, it's a lot of work. And it's coming up in less than a week, and Christmas is in a few days which means even less time. And I'm sweating, cause I can't just throw some mess together and call it a done deal. I'm not like that. I'm my own worst critic but I'm also my biggest fan. I don't want to disappoint me more than I don't want to disappoint anyone else who might happen to see anything I do. So I put undo pressure on myself to produce something good and moving and funny and touching and all of that. But all I have right now is some pictures, a few video clips and some band-aids. I wanna scream, I can't do it!! I wanna tell the man with the gun to my head to just pull the trigger, cause I can't work like this! I need more stuff to make this right. But alas, I am out of time. So we'll just have to see what happens from here on out.
My wife Carla always tells me that I worry and stress out over all of the videos I do, but they always turn out well, and that the people always love them. I tell her it's because they're idiots and they don't know anything. Actually, I don't say that. I know my work is good, even if it's not what I originally envisioned. But that's what I feel sometimes when it doesn't quite turn out the way I planned. No one else knows what it should have been, because they only see it for what it is. But anyway, we'll see how it goes this time.
Maybe this will be my biggest flop to date. Maybe it'll be even bigger than my last flop, my second student film when I attended Howard U., and I stupidly used a black woman to overdub my white actress. And yes, the film was so overexposed it looked like a blizzard in June. BAD. I hope not. But of course, there's always the flip side. Maybe I'll just pull it off. We'll see.
Okay, so it may not be a big deal to anyone else but me. But to anyone who has ever had to work under pressure, you know. It doesn't matter the size of the project. It takes just as much sweat and effort to produce a good three minutes of entertainment, and sometimes more. But let me ask you this. Could you do it with a gun to your head?
Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
This Marriage is sooo OVER!
It's been quite a few days since my last post and I'll tell you why. It's because I've been caught up in a very messy and extremely ugly divorce. But the marriage is soooo over now.
As I wrote in an earlier blog "A Bad Marriage," writing can be just that. Granted, it can be wonderful and amazing sometimes, but at other times it can be a great big stink fest that takes up all of your time and effort with nothing to show for it. My aforementioned marriage was to a screenplay that I've been working on for several years. The idea actually came to me well over 15 years ago and I've worked on it on and off, but it has since changed and morphed into something that I don't even want to think about anymore. You're sickening! I can't even look at you!
It's like an old familiar friend of the opposite sex who wants you and only you, but you're just not sure you want the same. The kind of friend that won't take no for an answer and comes around just because, and absolutely positively will not go away until you threaten violence or call the police to get a restraining order. That kind of friend. Or should I say frienemy.
I've been at a crossroads with this friend for months, this screenplay of mine, and I didn't know whether to scrap all my hard work, research, sweat, loss of sleep, sanity or whatever and just press on through with it. I was very close, or so I thought. How wrong I was! This old hag of a story just refused to let me go, like a specter hanging over my head it was always there haunting me. I had put it down, picked it up, put it back down again, and I was supposed to be on my last ditch attempt to complete it starting today but something happened. Weeks ago I had decided to work through this coming December and if I failed, so be it. But before I started to grind away, I thought I needed to examine the effect this story has had on my life thus far.
I get up every weekday at 4:45 am. But if I seriously want to write for at least an hour I have to get up at 4. It's just another 45 minutes right? I haven't been able to do it. For the last 5 or 6 months it has been a tremendous struggle to get up and out of the house. I'm a night owl, but unfortunately I have to be at work at the crack of dawn. There are benefits to this of course, I'm home earlier, traffic is much lighter both ways. But it doesn't give me much time in the evenings to get anything done after the kids go down. So if I want to write, I'm limited to the early morning hours. And when I'm working on a project that excites me I'm motivated to get up no matter how early it is. It's no problem at all. But those days have been in short supply recently.
My last screenplay was almost too easy. My muse was happy and I had no problem getting out of bed early, but this time.... yeah. I took serious note of this, that maybe I need to pay attention to myself more often. Because I failed to realize that my total lack of motivation to rise in the morning stemmed from the old hag of a screenplay I was holding onto with a vise-like death grip. I failed to see that my inept ability to move forward and just write was directly connected to my story and my subject matter, which I actually have no interest in pursuing any further. It's just not in me anymore. But I'd made a promise to myself to finish what I started and dammit I was gonna do just that.
So this morning I came into work ready to get in a good hour of writing. I decided to fight my incessant urge to edit, being an editor and all, and write the story from beginning to end in long hand. I don't edit very much in long hand, and I can circumvent the computer processing business and work through it rather quickly. But as soon as I put pen to paper to write the title and the first line, my stomach sank. I knew right then and there that it was over for me and this story. I couldn't do it any longer. So I balled up that piece of paper with the one line and a title on it and tossed it into the trash bin across the room. I usually miss this shot and have to get up and walk all the way across the room to retrieve it and drop it in the wastebasket. Michael Jordan I am not, but of course that's besides the point. It was a good omen, not that I'm superstitious or anything, which I'm not. But it was a nice kicker. I had decided then and there to finally move on.
Now I absolutely hate leaving things undone, but this is one thing I am now gladly giving the boot. I lament the loss of time and creativity apparently gone to waste. But when writing, I always have to remind myself that there is really no wasted effort. Everything has its place, even the stuff that doesn't work and doesn't make the final cut. Good ideas always find their home somewhere in our other writings, other stories, articles and anecdotes and such. Nothing is ever really lost because our subconscious mind keeps it, mulls it over and uses it to build new stories and new worlds, new characters, challenges and situations. Believe me, what I wrote will surface again in some shape or form at another time.
So you see, I've now left my tired old marriage and I'm now seeking a prettier, happier muse who will help me get out of bed in the morning and get to work, glad to be there just to spend a few moments alone with her. So goodbye you old hag of a screenplay! Hello beautiful new muse! Hopefully this time I won't have to call the cops on you.
As I wrote in an earlier blog "A Bad Marriage," writing can be just that. Granted, it can be wonderful and amazing sometimes, but at other times it can be a great big stink fest that takes up all of your time and effort with nothing to show for it. My aforementioned marriage was to a screenplay that I've been working on for several years. The idea actually came to me well over 15 years ago and I've worked on it on and off, but it has since changed and morphed into something that I don't even want to think about anymore. You're sickening! I can't even look at you!
It's like an old familiar friend of the opposite sex who wants you and only you, but you're just not sure you want the same. The kind of friend that won't take no for an answer and comes around just because, and absolutely positively will not go away until you threaten violence or call the police to get a restraining order. That kind of friend. Or should I say frienemy.
I've been at a crossroads with this friend for months, this screenplay of mine, and I didn't know whether to scrap all my hard work, research, sweat, loss of sleep, sanity or whatever and just press on through with it. I was very close, or so I thought. How wrong I was! This old hag of a story just refused to let me go, like a specter hanging over my head it was always there haunting me. I had put it down, picked it up, put it back down again, and I was supposed to be on my last ditch attempt to complete it starting today but something happened. Weeks ago I had decided to work through this coming December and if I failed, so be it. But before I started to grind away, I thought I needed to examine the effect this story has had on my life thus far.
I get up every weekday at 4:45 am. But if I seriously want to write for at least an hour I have to get up at 4. It's just another 45 minutes right? I haven't been able to do it. For the last 5 or 6 months it has been a tremendous struggle to get up and out of the house. I'm a night owl, but unfortunately I have to be at work at the crack of dawn. There are benefits to this of course, I'm home earlier, traffic is much lighter both ways. But it doesn't give me much time in the evenings to get anything done after the kids go down. So if I want to write, I'm limited to the early morning hours. And when I'm working on a project that excites me I'm motivated to get up no matter how early it is. It's no problem at all. But those days have been in short supply recently.
My last screenplay was almost too easy. My muse was happy and I had no problem getting out of bed early, but this time.... yeah. I took serious note of this, that maybe I need to pay attention to myself more often. Because I failed to realize that my total lack of motivation to rise in the morning stemmed from the old hag of a screenplay I was holding onto with a vise-like death grip. I failed to see that my inept ability to move forward and just write was directly connected to my story and my subject matter, which I actually have no interest in pursuing any further. It's just not in me anymore. But I'd made a promise to myself to finish what I started and dammit I was gonna do just that.
So this morning I came into work ready to get in a good hour of writing. I decided to fight my incessant urge to edit, being an editor and all, and write the story from beginning to end in long hand. I don't edit very much in long hand, and I can circumvent the computer processing business and work through it rather quickly. But as soon as I put pen to paper to write the title and the first line, my stomach sank. I knew right then and there that it was over for me and this story. I couldn't do it any longer. So I balled up that piece of paper with the one line and a title on it and tossed it into the trash bin across the room. I usually miss this shot and have to get up and walk all the way across the room to retrieve it and drop it in the wastebasket. Michael Jordan I am not, but of course that's besides the point. It was a good omen, not that I'm superstitious or anything, which I'm not. But it was a nice kicker. I had decided then and there to finally move on.
Now I absolutely hate leaving things undone, but this is one thing I am now gladly giving the boot. I lament the loss of time and creativity apparently gone to waste. But when writing, I always have to remind myself that there is really no wasted effort. Everything has its place, even the stuff that doesn't work and doesn't make the final cut. Good ideas always find their home somewhere in our other writings, other stories, articles and anecdotes and such. Nothing is ever really lost because our subconscious mind keeps it, mulls it over and uses it to build new stories and new worlds, new characters, challenges and situations. Believe me, what I wrote will surface again in some shape or form at another time.
So you see, I've now left my tired old marriage and I'm now seeking a prettier, happier muse who will help me get out of bed in the morning and get to work, glad to be there just to spend a few moments alone with her. So goodbye you old hag of a screenplay! Hello beautiful new muse! Hopefully this time I won't have to call the cops on you.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Use What You've Got
So I'm pimping my kids, right? They've got all this talent, creativity and mad skills, ya know, camera ready and everything. Seriously, I hope I don't turn into one of these crazed, obsessed stage parents or something, living off my children, bankrolling their paychecks.... Well actually, I'm only halfway serious. What I'm really doing is this.
A few months ago, I decided that it was time to take a different approach with my career. I'm a father of 3 wonderful kids, two boys and one girl, all creative and highly inventive beings. They are probably three of the most creative people I know, and they get that from both sides of the family. Mama's a writer, musician and speaker, and I of course being the creative genius that I am, do what I do. I know I'm probably biased, blinded by love for my children and myself for that matter, but I'm also a realist and I do know talent when I see it. I pull no punches when it comes to talent or ability, even with them. "Talent don't matter," I say. Talent may get you through the door, but practice, hard work and dedication to your art will keep you from getting booted out the other side.
So what I decided to do was to start a family project, one that would utilize my skills and abilities, and at the same time challenge my kids to tap into their own creative energies. I wanted a way to guide them in their burgeoning skills as artists and to create something substantial together with them. And it all started with an idea my 6 year old son Quentin and then 3 year old daughter came up with on their own. Noelle is 4 now. Time sure flies.
Quentin and Noelle created a show, a normal dress up kids show that all parents have to sit through and endure no matter how good or bad it really is. With my kids though, regardless of the subject matter, it's always entertaining and good for quite a few laughs. But after several performances, I guess Quentin, a natural showman, felt the need to top himself. He needed something flashier with more flair and pizazz. So he talked to Noelle and they came up with a new version of their show. Now this is a 4 and a 6 year old we're talking about here, so it ain't deep. Basically they just repackaged the old show by adding the word SUPER onto it. Yeah... I know what you're thinking. They should work in Hollywood right? That's exactly what I thought! I'm sure they'd fit right in. So now for some reason this idea sparked something in my mind. Immediately I saw that it had potential, and could really be something awesome for the family to work on .
Now this thing has developed from a simple collaboration between two kids and has blossomed into a full fledged project. My whole family is now in full collaboration mode, working together on something we had no inkling about just a few months ago. Now I am acting as an executive producer and my kids are helping with the writing, the artwork, the music, costumes, sound FX, etc. They are honestly involved in every phase to some degree with this. They are learning how to produce along with me, by doing it themselves. My wife is also lending her skills as an actress and musician towards the endeavor.
Quentin is not only one of the stars of the show, but he's also the head artist. He made several designs, drew up some sketches for me which I then took into photoshop and tweaked slightly. I'm sure to maintain the original intent with all of his work so that they are indeed his creations and not mine. This is one of his evil robot creations below.
My oldest son Jon II is acting as chief writer. At 8 he's very opinionated and detailed in his ideas. He has shot down several of my good ideas so far. I mean, the nerve! And I'm like, what?? I cannot believe that you don't like...... Anyway, regardless of my rejected ideas, I make sure that everything works together for the good of the story, because I am the producer after all, and it's all about collaboration.
My daughter is not so much involved in the production process but she is very interested in acting, so this is an opportunity for her to do that. She has selected and designed her own costumes. At 4, she knows exactly what she wants to look like. And when I design things for her on the computer, she gives me the thumbs up or thumbs down, nixes my color choices, or tells me I'm doing a good job. So far the progress for them is slow, but they see it developing over time and are excited to see the end result.
On a side note, I read to my kids at night before bedtime like many parents . But I also tell them stories off the top of my head, stuff I make up on the fly. They seem to like those better than the books, because they never know what's coming next. Sometimes they shout out situations for me to insert into the storyline, which challenges me more than anything. Improv is a beast, but it stretches the mind. On rare occasion I tell a story that doesn't work, or it's a big flop, boring and unimaginative. Thankfully that doesn't happen often. But improvised storytelling is an exercise that forces me to think quickly, to be able to adjust at a moments notice. But the key thing is that it instills in my kids an inert understanding of the creative process. It also helps them to think outside the box and to use their imaginations to weave a story that is cohesive and that works on many levels.
So what I've learned is this. Use what you've got. What is in your hand? What is in your house? What is in your circle? What are the resources that you have available to you here and now that you can use to propel your creative process. It's not always about computer programs or instruments or doodads and whatnot. It's about ingenuity. About listening to that creative voice inside all of us. It's about using what you have to create a masterpiece of your own design. It doesn't matter if it stinks or if it looks a mess, it's a starting point, a place to begin. Art is in the eye of the beholder anyway. We just try to do our best. And if we like it, odds are that someone else will too.
Leave a comment. Let me know what you think.
A few months ago, I decided that it was time to take a different approach with my career. I'm a father of 3 wonderful kids, two boys and one girl, all creative and highly inventive beings. They are probably three of the most creative people I know, and they get that from both sides of the family. Mama's a writer, musician and speaker, and I of course being the creative genius that I am, do what I do. I know I'm probably biased, blinded by love for my children and myself for that matter, but I'm also a realist and I do know talent when I see it. I pull no punches when it comes to talent or ability, even with them. "Talent don't matter," I say. Talent may get you through the door, but practice, hard work and dedication to your art will keep you from getting booted out the other side.
So what I decided to do was to start a family project, one that would utilize my skills and abilities, and at the same time challenge my kids to tap into their own creative energies. I wanted a way to guide them in their burgeoning skills as artists and to create something substantial together with them. And it all started with an idea my 6 year old son Quentin and then 3 year old daughter came up with on their own. Noelle is 4 now. Time sure flies.
Quentin and Noelle created a show, a normal dress up kids show that all parents have to sit through and endure no matter how good or bad it really is. With my kids though, regardless of the subject matter, it's always entertaining and good for quite a few laughs. But after several performances, I guess Quentin, a natural showman, felt the need to top himself. He needed something flashier with more flair and pizazz. So he talked to Noelle and they came up with a new version of their show. Now this is a 4 and a 6 year old we're talking about here, so it ain't deep. Basically they just repackaged the old show by adding the word SUPER onto it. Yeah... I know what you're thinking. They should work in Hollywood right? That's exactly what I thought! I'm sure they'd fit right in. So now for some reason this idea sparked something in my mind. Immediately I saw that it had potential, and could really be something awesome for the family to work on .
Now this thing has developed from a simple collaboration between two kids and has blossomed into a full fledged project. My whole family is now in full collaboration mode, working together on something we had no inkling about just a few months ago. Now I am acting as an executive producer and my kids are helping with the writing, the artwork, the music, costumes, sound FX, etc. They are honestly involved in every phase to some degree with this. They are learning how to produce along with me, by doing it themselves. My wife is also lending her skills as an actress and musician towards the endeavor.
Quentin is not only one of the stars of the show, but he's also the head artist. He made several designs, drew up some sketches for me which I then took into photoshop and tweaked slightly. I'm sure to maintain the original intent with all of his work so that they are indeed his creations and not mine. This is one of his evil robot creations below.
My oldest son Jon II is acting as chief writer. At 8 he's very opinionated and detailed in his ideas. He has shot down several of my good ideas so far. I mean, the nerve! And I'm like, what?? I cannot believe that you don't like...... Anyway, regardless of my rejected ideas, I make sure that everything works together for the good of the story, because I am the producer after all, and it's all about collaboration.
My daughter is not so much involved in the production process but she is very interested in acting, so this is an opportunity for her to do that. She has selected and designed her own costumes. At 4, she knows exactly what she wants to look like. And when I design things for her on the computer, she gives me the thumbs up or thumbs down, nixes my color choices, or tells me I'm doing a good job. So far the progress for them is slow, but they see it developing over time and are excited to see the end result.
On a side note, I read to my kids at night before bedtime like many parents . But I also tell them stories off the top of my head, stuff I make up on the fly. They seem to like those better than the books, because they never know what's coming next. Sometimes they shout out situations for me to insert into the storyline, which challenges me more than anything. Improv is a beast, but it stretches the mind. On rare occasion I tell a story that doesn't work, or it's a big flop, boring and unimaginative. Thankfully that doesn't happen often. But improvised storytelling is an exercise that forces me to think quickly, to be able to adjust at a moments notice. But the key thing is that it instills in my kids an inert understanding of the creative process. It also helps them to think outside the box and to use their imaginations to weave a story that is cohesive and that works on many levels.
So what I've learned is this. Use what you've got. What is in your hand? What is in your house? What is in your circle? What are the resources that you have available to you here and now that you can use to propel your creative process. It's not always about computer programs or instruments or doodads and whatnot. It's about ingenuity. About listening to that creative voice inside all of us. It's about using what you have to create a masterpiece of your own design. It doesn't matter if it stinks or if it looks a mess, it's a starting point, a place to begin. Art is in the eye of the beholder anyway. We just try to do our best. And if we like it, odds are that someone else will too.
Leave a comment. Let me know what you think.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Boys Don't Cry
So here I am in my office, listening to the Prince version of Joan Osborne's "One of us," a great song, but infinitely more funky. I'm just reminiscing about my yesterday, a wonderful, bittersweet day of remembrance. My aunt' Lena's funeral/homecoming was yesterday afternoon, and I can truly say it was a joyous occasion. I saw family members that I haven't seen in years, and it's true what they say about weddings and funerals, it does bring us together. But it was honestly a celebration of a life well lived and I want to honor my auntie one last time. Rest in Peace. I will miss you.
When I started out on this journey of blogging it never crossed my mind that occasionally these life events would spring up. That I would ever talk about things that I'd normally remain silent about or just discuss with my wife in the privacy of our home. But it's something about blogging that brings it out. Therapeutic I guess.
Now I'm like most men. We are taught not to cry or to show our emotions, especially in public. We're told to suck it up! Be a man, gosh darn it! Boys don't cry! Leave the crying to the women and the little baby's. No offense ladies,... or babies for that matter. But I tell ya, yesterday was tough. So many people loved my aunt and she affected so many lives it's amazing. And last night as I lay in my bed, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. It wasn't the wild uncontrollable sobbing, snotting, bawling kind of crying usually associated with death or mourning. No, I actually felt as if I shouldn't be crying at all because I honestly didn't feel the pain or sorrow that comes along with it. Not at that time. But as I lay there the tears just came, wetting up my face and pillow, and I just let them fall. I'm not ashamed. If I was, would I write about it? Hmm.
We all feel pain at some time, and as I grow older I realize that it only gets more difficult when someone dies. It's hard to see your friends around you, family, acquaintances falling ill or passing on. It makes you realize that time is short. And time is indeed short people, so get with it. Live! Live your life to the fullest as if you have no more days, because when it's over it's over. Do as much as you can, have as much fun as you can, help as many people as possible, give the best of what's in you, do for others, make things with your hands, build things, create what hasn't been created, bless others with your presence, give of yourself, show love not hate or malice, because it all has to end at some time and we don't know when that time will be, but it will happen. Just like taxes.
Now I realize that I don't process death like most people. My belief in the afterlife is very strong, and I've experienced far too much to discount that it indeed exists. Whenever I get a strong impression of someone who passed, I fill my mind with good thoughts, happy thoughts about them and their lives. When I do that I feel them all around me. To me, they are very much alive, I just can't see them right now. So for me, feeling sorrow in the face of death is a mearly a physical expression of what my body, my soul is going through. But the real me, my spirit has that connection, and I know that life goes on, literally. I know my family and friends wait for me, just as I wait to see them again. It's a knowing that I will be reunited with my loved ones. Whether that's true or not, or whether you choose to believe that or not is up to you. But for me, I choose to eat my pie in the sky. I choose to believe, because it's much better than eating crow.
I want my life to speak volumes when I'm gone. I want to leave behind not just a footprint, but a handprint, a faceprint, a buttprint, whatever. Making an impact in others lives is where it's at. It's a choice we make as individuals. Do what you can, or can what you do. That's the difference between a life of giving and a life lived selfishly, keeping all that god given good stuff inside and not sharing with anyone else. Live your life to the fullest. Bless along the way. And you will be rewarded with more blessings than you can imagine. Much Love.
When I started out on this journey of blogging it never crossed my mind that occasionally these life events would spring up. That I would ever talk about things that I'd normally remain silent about or just discuss with my wife in the privacy of our home. But it's something about blogging that brings it out. Therapeutic I guess.
Now I'm like most men. We are taught not to cry or to show our emotions, especially in public. We're told to suck it up! Be a man, gosh darn it! Boys don't cry! Leave the crying to the women and the little baby's. No offense ladies,... or babies for that matter. But I tell ya, yesterday was tough. So many people loved my aunt and she affected so many lives it's amazing. And last night as I lay in my bed, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. It wasn't the wild uncontrollable sobbing, snotting, bawling kind of crying usually associated with death or mourning. No, I actually felt as if I shouldn't be crying at all because I honestly didn't feel the pain or sorrow that comes along with it. Not at that time. But as I lay there the tears just came, wetting up my face and pillow, and I just let them fall. I'm not ashamed. If I was, would I write about it? Hmm.
We all feel pain at some time, and as I grow older I realize that it only gets more difficult when someone dies. It's hard to see your friends around you, family, acquaintances falling ill or passing on. It makes you realize that time is short. And time is indeed short people, so get with it. Live! Live your life to the fullest as if you have no more days, because when it's over it's over. Do as much as you can, have as much fun as you can, help as many people as possible, give the best of what's in you, do for others, make things with your hands, build things, create what hasn't been created, bless others with your presence, give of yourself, show love not hate or malice, because it all has to end at some time and we don't know when that time will be, but it will happen. Just like taxes.
Now I realize that I don't process death like most people. My belief in the afterlife is very strong, and I've experienced far too much to discount that it indeed exists. Whenever I get a strong impression of someone who passed, I fill my mind with good thoughts, happy thoughts about them and their lives. When I do that I feel them all around me. To me, they are very much alive, I just can't see them right now. So for me, feeling sorrow in the face of death is a mearly a physical expression of what my body, my soul is going through. But the real me, my spirit has that connection, and I know that life goes on, literally. I know my family and friends wait for me, just as I wait to see them again. It's a knowing that I will be reunited with my loved ones. Whether that's true or not, or whether you choose to believe that or not is up to you. But for me, I choose to eat my pie in the sky. I choose to believe, because it's much better than eating crow.
I want my life to speak volumes when I'm gone. I want to leave behind not just a footprint, but a handprint, a faceprint, a buttprint, whatever. Making an impact in others lives is where it's at. It's a choice we make as individuals. Do what you can, or can what you do. That's the difference between a life of giving and a life lived selfishly, keeping all that god given good stuff inside and not sharing with anyone else. Live your life to the fullest. Bless along the way. And you will be rewarded with more blessings than you can imagine. Much Love.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Lena and Lauren
I had to take a minute and let this one gel. I didn't know if I really wanted to write about it because it's not my usual flow. In fact, it's something I'd rather not talk about, but it's a part of my life that I cannot change.
For the last four years, the month of October has been rather bittersweet for me and my family. My birthday is in October, my sister's birthday is in October, and my daughter Noelle's birthday is on October 9th. Now that is an absolutely wonderful thing. So many reasons to celebrate in October. But on October 9th, I unfortunately have to remember something else. The anniversary of the death of my daughter, Lauren Marie.
October 9th is the day that I gained one daughter but unfortunately lost another. Noelle you see, is an identical twin. Tragically her sister did not make it into this world, and although I get to see what Lauren would look like when I peer into Noelle's happy face every day, it is something that can never be replaced. Lauren was my baby, the one I named. And I know, they're all my babies, my children. But she was mine and Noelle was Carla's. I asked Carla how she knew which one was which, but she knew. She always knew. I know in my heart that where Lauren is now, she is happy.
Although the pain of the event has greatly subsided, I think about my daughter often, but it no longer hurts as much. At times I feel her presence sometimes surrounding me and it always brings a smile to my face. When this happens, I always tell her that I love her dearly and I'll see her when it's time. And I think on what it would be like to have two precocious little girls bookending my two rambunctious boys. I know it would've been great, and it is. And I love the way it is now with just the three of them. But clearly it would have been better to have the fourth here with me.
Now this year I went into October expecting to deal with the usual rush of emotion and reflection on my little girl. But this time was much different than the last four years because someone else dear to my heart was also lost to me. My favorite aunt, Lena Loman passed away on the exact same day that my daughter passed four years earlier. Now I don't presume to know the significance of this by any means, but it happened the way it happened for a reason. My aunt Lena was the most loving and giving person I've ever known. She had a wonderful heart and was a beautiful and kind soul, and she loved God with all her heart. I will miss her.
Lena sometimes did things that baffled me. She actually offered me her car when I decided to move out to Los Angeles. Of course I took it, but that meant that she was left with no car of her own. She did this even after I had smashed up my brand new Mazda 323 to bits and dropped out of school to be a Rock Star. She gave and gave and gave, not thinking of herself. As a child, I remember her as a strict disciplinarian, especially when my brothers and sisters and I where in church. When we were being rowdy or disruptive, her favorite move was to grab our lips between her thumb and forefinger and just shake em. And yes, it hurt. But she was always there whenever I needed advice or needed to talk. She was the best.
In her latter years she had contracted Parkinson's disease and was on medication which limited her ability to speak. The last conversation I'd had with her, she told me that her mind was still sharp, but her body just wouldn't cooperate anymore. Finally she stopped speaking altogether, but I know she was aware of absolutely everything. I saw her just a few days before she passed on to a better life, a better world. I gave her a kiss, told her I loved her, and that I knew she understood every word I said. I know she's happy where she is now. And I can imagine what it was like for her to meet my baby girl Lauren for the first time. She probably told her all about her silly daddy and all the crazy stuff he does. And when I finally get to see them both again, I will give them the biggest hug imaginable. But that's it in a nutshell.
Happy Birthday Lauren. Adios Auntie. I love you both. More than chocolate.
For the last four years, the month of October has been rather bittersweet for me and my family. My birthday is in October, my sister's birthday is in October, and my daughter Noelle's birthday is on October 9th. Now that is an absolutely wonderful thing. So many reasons to celebrate in October. But on October 9th, I unfortunately have to remember something else. The anniversary of the death of my daughter, Lauren Marie.
October 9th is the day that I gained one daughter but unfortunately lost another. Noelle you see, is an identical twin. Tragically her sister did not make it into this world, and although I get to see what Lauren would look like when I peer into Noelle's happy face every day, it is something that can never be replaced. Lauren was my baby, the one I named. And I know, they're all my babies, my children. But she was mine and Noelle was Carla's. I asked Carla how she knew which one was which, but she knew. She always knew. I know in my heart that where Lauren is now, she is happy.
Although the pain of the event has greatly subsided, I think about my daughter often, but it no longer hurts as much. At times I feel her presence sometimes surrounding me and it always brings a smile to my face. When this happens, I always tell her that I love her dearly and I'll see her when it's time. And I think on what it would be like to have two precocious little girls bookending my two rambunctious boys. I know it would've been great, and it is. And I love the way it is now with just the three of them. But clearly it would have been better to have the fourth here with me.
Now this year I went into October expecting to deal with the usual rush of emotion and reflection on my little girl. But this time was much different than the last four years because someone else dear to my heart was also lost to me. My favorite aunt, Lena Loman passed away on the exact same day that my daughter passed four years earlier. Now I don't presume to know the significance of this by any means, but it happened the way it happened for a reason. My aunt Lena was the most loving and giving person I've ever known. She had a wonderful heart and was a beautiful and kind soul, and she loved God with all her heart. I will miss her.
Lena sometimes did things that baffled me. She actually offered me her car when I decided to move out to Los Angeles. Of course I took it, but that meant that she was left with no car of her own. She did this even after I had smashed up my brand new Mazda 323 to bits and dropped out of school to be a Rock Star. She gave and gave and gave, not thinking of herself. As a child, I remember her as a strict disciplinarian, especially when my brothers and sisters and I where in church. When we were being rowdy or disruptive, her favorite move was to grab our lips between her thumb and forefinger and just shake em. And yes, it hurt. But she was always there whenever I needed advice or needed to talk. She was the best.
In her latter years she had contracted Parkinson's disease and was on medication which limited her ability to speak. The last conversation I'd had with her, she told me that her mind was still sharp, but her body just wouldn't cooperate anymore. Finally she stopped speaking altogether, but I know she was aware of absolutely everything. I saw her just a few days before she passed on to a better life, a better world. I gave her a kiss, told her I loved her, and that I knew she understood every word I said. I know she's happy where she is now. And I can imagine what it was like for her to meet my baby girl Lauren for the first time. She probably told her all about her silly daddy and all the crazy stuff he does. And when I finally get to see them both again, I will give them the biggest hug imaginable. But that's it in a nutshell.
Happy Birthday Lauren. Adios Auntie. I love you both. More than chocolate.
Friday, October 8, 2010
The Legend In Our Own Mind Syndrome
So I met this guy the other night, a musician, and I saw him play at a relatively big event which shall go unnamed. I watched him as he struggled playing several songs, and I thought to myself that this guy probably just doesn't know the music very well. Maybe he was called in at the last minute and was asked to play for this group. I know quite a lot about this because it happens to me all the time. However, this guy was pretty bad. He was playing like a complete novice, like somebody who types with only one finger. But I still still gave him the benefit of the doubt, and I thought, maybe he's just unsure of this song. But then the next song came and it was the exact same thing all over again.
After he finished playing, it was my turn to get on stage. It's always unnerving for me to follow a guy who doesn't sound very good, and I felt his eye on me the entire time I was up there. Anyway I went up and did my thing, played through several pieces that I myself didn't know very well, but at least used all my fingers to do so. I'm a musician for hire and many times I play songs that I don't know very well, or songs where the bandleader might simply hum a few bars then just go and expect me to follow along like magic. I get that a lot. But it's okay, I know my instrument, and I can handle it most of the time. And when I stink, I know that too. I know full well when my stuff blows and I will admit it to the world. But after it's over, most of the time people just say I did great, awesome, wonderful music.... of course I think they're insane, but there it is. It's their opinion.
Anyway, I talked to this guy afterwards and he began to ask me questions about his instrument. I tried to answer his questions as best I could, and I made the mistake of speaking to him as if he were a beginner. You see I foolishly put two and two together,... he's playing with one finger... asking simple questions that only a beginning musician would ask... ergo, he's a novice. Of course when he heard my tone, he sounded more than a little miffed at me. He said gruffly, No, I'm not a beginner. I've been playing all my life, since I was 10 years old. Now this guy is older than me by several years, and I was a little taken aback by his response. But I understood. It's like I told him he sucked right to his face. But I honestly wasn't trying to do that, because that's just mean right? We then chatted for a little while longer as I attempted to pull my foot out of my mouth without him noticing. Finally I was able to break away and go home for the night. It was late and I was very tired. But I thought about what he said as I drove home and it started to bother me.
You see, I meet people all the time that tell me that they've been doing something for years and years, but when I see their work or hear them play or sing or whatever, I think REALLY? That long, huh? Because their work doesn't reflect all of the time that has passed. I call this the Legend in our own mind syndrome. Because it doesn't matter how long we've been doing something, time is not our gauge. Time cannot tell us how polished or how sophisticated we are in our art. Only practice and study and more practice and more study and performances and performances and on and on can tell us where we really are. Yes art is subjective, but every great artist knows the tools of the trade. We only get better by doing and then by pushing ourselves to do more than we did the last time out. The only thing that gets better with time by doing absolutely nothing is wine. But even wine begins a swift decline after it passes its peak.
I met the great trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie once and I asked him about practicing. This was about a two years before he passed. He told me, son you must always work to get better. Never stop practicing, never stop pushing ahead. There's always more you can learn. Dizzy Gillespie was in his 70's when he said this to me. He could have said that he's been playing his trumpet for over 60 some odd years, and that he doesn't have to practice anymore. I would have believed him if he said that. But no, he was humble and he respected his instrument greatly. This is from one of the greatest trumpeters who ever lived.
Art is a gift. We must nurture it and refine it so that our own expression can be effortless, and breathless. Once we stop practicing, pushing ahead, we begin to lose the connection that extends from our instruments to our audience. Whatever it is that you do... do it well. We've all heard the saying that Practice makes perfect, but I don't really believe that. What is perfection really? Practice makes better, not perfect. Because it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be right.
After he finished playing, it was my turn to get on stage. It's always unnerving for me to follow a guy who doesn't sound very good, and I felt his eye on me the entire time I was up there. Anyway I went up and did my thing, played through several pieces that I myself didn't know very well, but at least used all my fingers to do so. I'm a musician for hire and many times I play songs that I don't know very well, or songs where the bandleader might simply hum a few bars then just go and expect me to follow along like magic. I get that a lot. But it's okay, I know my instrument, and I can handle it most of the time. And when I stink, I know that too. I know full well when my stuff blows and I will admit it to the world. But after it's over, most of the time people just say I did great, awesome, wonderful music.... of course I think they're insane, but there it is. It's their opinion.
Anyway, I talked to this guy afterwards and he began to ask me questions about his instrument. I tried to answer his questions as best I could, and I made the mistake of speaking to him as if he were a beginner. You see I foolishly put two and two together,... he's playing with one finger... asking simple questions that only a beginning musician would ask... ergo, he's a novice. Of course when he heard my tone, he sounded more than a little miffed at me. He said gruffly, No, I'm not a beginner. I've been playing all my life, since I was 10 years old. Now this guy is older than me by several years, and I was a little taken aback by his response. But I understood. It's like I told him he sucked right to his face. But I honestly wasn't trying to do that, because that's just mean right? We then chatted for a little while longer as I attempted to pull my foot out of my mouth without him noticing. Finally I was able to break away and go home for the night. It was late and I was very tired. But I thought about what he said as I drove home and it started to bother me.
You see, I meet people all the time that tell me that they've been doing something for years and years, but when I see their work or hear them play or sing or whatever, I think REALLY? That long, huh? Because their work doesn't reflect all of the time that has passed. I call this the Legend in our own mind syndrome. Because it doesn't matter how long we've been doing something, time is not our gauge. Time cannot tell us how polished or how sophisticated we are in our art. Only practice and study and more practice and more study and performances and performances and on and on can tell us where we really are. Yes art is subjective, but every great artist knows the tools of the trade. We only get better by doing and then by pushing ourselves to do more than we did the last time out. The only thing that gets better with time by doing absolutely nothing is wine. But even wine begins a swift decline after it passes its peak.
I met the great trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie once and I asked him about practicing. This was about a two years before he passed. He told me, son you must always work to get better. Never stop practicing, never stop pushing ahead. There's always more you can learn. Dizzy Gillespie was in his 70's when he said this to me. He could have said that he's been playing his trumpet for over 60 some odd years, and that he doesn't have to practice anymore. I would have believed him if he said that. But no, he was humble and he respected his instrument greatly. This is from one of the greatest trumpeters who ever lived.
Art is a gift. We must nurture it and refine it so that our own expression can be effortless, and breathless. Once we stop practicing, pushing ahead, we begin to lose the connection that extends from our instruments to our audience. Whatever it is that you do... do it well. We've all heard the saying that Practice makes perfect, but I don't really believe that. What is perfection really? Practice makes better, not perfect. Because it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be right.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
A Horror Story Worth Mentioning
Since it's October and Halloween is fast approaching I thought I'd reminisce about a time long ago when I co-wrote a little Horror film called "THINGS." It was the first screenplay I'd ever finished, and it was meant to be sort of a spec script for John Carpenter, writer/director of Halloween, Escape to New York and my all time favorite horror film, The Thing. I'm sure it was a big old stink-fest, filled with cliches, bad dialogue, the works. We did although have a few original concepts that hadn't been done before. John Carpenter never read it of course, but it did make the rounds for a half second. It was meant to be a sequel to his classic 80's horror extravaganza, but I don't think it quite measured up. I wrote it right after I dropped out of college to become of all things a "Rock Star" which of course is an entirely different story which I may divulge at a later date, but right now... writing.
I was living in LA at the time, and I had had a writing partner, a make-up and FX artist by the name of David Barrett. David was a really great guy, a hard core Treker and sci-fi nut. We got along swimmingly. David was a much better artist than he was a screenwriter. In fact he was an excellent artist, self taught, and he actually went on to have a small career in Hollywood for a few years doing make up and effects for Roger Corman and several others. He worked on Carnosaur, a Corman classic.
We've since lost touch, but I think about our time together often, writing feverishly into the night while chugging down on good wine and devouring fresh baguettes as we slaved away. I enjoyed my time writing with a partner and I haven't had a connection with another writer like that since. It's funny because his work ethic was completely different than mine. He wanted nothing more than to quickly move forward and get finished, whereas I wanted to go back and refine and refine. We'd battle back and forth with each other moving slowly along until we finally reached the end. It was a huge accomplishment for us and we had imagined great things for our collective future as writers, but of course it was not to be. It sure was fun while it lasted though.
After 6 tough years in LA I had begun to grow homesick and finally I decided to pack up my bags and move on. I left behind a huge investment of music and writing, contacts and friends who went on to do great things in their prospective businesses. I don't think David really understood why I was leaving, but 6 years was enough for me, and I'd only know him for 2 of those years. I was spent and I'd had enough. The City of Angels had chewed me up and spit me out like an old ball point pen top. I don't know... maybe David and I could have become something with a little work and dedication,... maybe? But everything happens for a reason, and I have absolutely no regrets. About a month after I returned to my home town, I met my future wife and love of my life. So yeah... I'm okay with it. But that screenplay we wrote is still floating out there somewhere, but by now its most likely been shredded, recycled and turned into a coffee cup for Starbucks. But we did it. We finished a feature length screenplay. And it was a great time of my life.
It's funny, but years later I saw some of the same original concepts of our screenplay reflected in the film "Slither." That happens to me a lot because I get so many ideas I really don't know what to do with them all. I drive my wife crazy with all the ideas I constantly throw at her, what about this, what about that! She listens politely, probably wondering when I'm going to shut up and turn one of these potential goldmines into a reality. I actually believe there are no original ideas and everything is just floating up there in the atmosphere to grab and write down. You just have to be tuned in to the right channel to get it. However with "Slither", it was almost the entire third act and climax which were similar to my old script. I'm not saying anything was plagiarized our stolen or anything like that. All I'm saying is hmmmm, what a coincidence.
Since then I've seen at least 5 more ideas of mine made into Reality Shows, Films, TV programs, you name it. When it comes to ideas, I just have this to say. Just because you write it down doesn't mean it's yours. Finish it whatever it is and get it out there. If you wait, someone will grab that idea from the atmosphere and make it their own. And all you'll be left with is a great idea on a piece of paper. And they'll be the ones getting paid for it. Now ain't that a horror story worth mentioning.
I was living in LA at the time, and I had had a writing partner, a make-up and FX artist by the name of David Barrett. David was a really great guy, a hard core Treker and sci-fi nut. We got along swimmingly. David was a much better artist than he was a screenwriter. In fact he was an excellent artist, self taught, and he actually went on to have a small career in Hollywood for a few years doing make up and effects for Roger Corman and several others. He worked on Carnosaur, a Corman classic.
We've since lost touch, but I think about our time together often, writing feverishly into the night while chugging down on good wine and devouring fresh baguettes as we slaved away. I enjoyed my time writing with a partner and I haven't had a connection with another writer like that since. It's funny because his work ethic was completely different than mine. He wanted nothing more than to quickly move forward and get finished, whereas I wanted to go back and refine and refine. We'd battle back and forth with each other moving slowly along until we finally reached the end. It was a huge accomplishment for us and we had imagined great things for our collective future as writers, but of course it was not to be. It sure was fun while it lasted though.
After 6 tough years in LA I had begun to grow homesick and finally I decided to pack up my bags and move on. I left behind a huge investment of music and writing, contacts and friends who went on to do great things in their prospective businesses. I don't think David really understood why I was leaving, but 6 years was enough for me, and I'd only know him for 2 of those years. I was spent and I'd had enough. The City of Angels had chewed me up and spit me out like an old ball point pen top. I don't know... maybe David and I could have become something with a little work and dedication,... maybe? But everything happens for a reason, and I have absolutely no regrets. About a month after I returned to my home town, I met my future wife and love of my life. So yeah... I'm okay with it. But that screenplay we wrote is still floating out there somewhere, but by now its most likely been shredded, recycled and turned into a coffee cup for Starbucks. But we did it. We finished a feature length screenplay. And it was a great time of my life.
It's funny, but years later I saw some of the same original concepts of our screenplay reflected in the film "Slither." That happens to me a lot because I get so many ideas I really don't know what to do with them all. I drive my wife crazy with all the ideas I constantly throw at her, what about this, what about that! She listens politely, probably wondering when I'm going to shut up and turn one of these potential goldmines into a reality. I actually believe there are no original ideas and everything is just floating up there in the atmosphere to grab and write down. You just have to be tuned in to the right channel to get it. However with "Slither", it was almost the entire third act and climax which were similar to my old script. I'm not saying anything was plagiarized our stolen or anything like that. All I'm saying is hmmmm, what a coincidence.
Since then I've seen at least 5 more ideas of mine made into Reality Shows, Films, TV programs, you name it. When it comes to ideas, I just have this to say. Just because you write it down doesn't mean it's yours. Finish it whatever it is and get it out there. If you wait, someone will grab that idea from the atmosphere and make it their own. And all you'll be left with is a great idea on a piece of paper. And they'll be the ones getting paid for it. Now ain't that a horror story worth mentioning.
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