My lists from SLAMDANCE to SLAMDOINK

Oh life. As of late I have been neurotically checking off 'things to do' on a list as long as Sarah Jessica Parker's nose (its what makes her unique and beautiful). It's been so busy that I hardly had the chance to take a second to grieve the latest rejection of Eastern Sunset -SLAMDANCE.

(Peter Lindberg for Harpers Bazaar)
"I'm gonna bet mine's longer than yours."

I was hopeful for this one. Many Indie breakouts premiered at their festival and alumni included Paranormal Activity director Oren Peli and Maria Full of Grace writer Joshua Marston. So why doesn't it include future Academy Award Nominee for Best Original Screenplay (at least!): me? I'm going to pull out the 'it's just not my time' coupled with the 'my script needs further editing' index cards.

So much has been going on that I barely had a second to be angry or feel sorry for myself or get frustrated that I'm getting old and I'm going to need to pay for private school tuitions soon and I still havent built my dream (tree) house -ok I'm thinking about it now. But I'm trying to keep up beat and positive...plus so much has been going on in my personal life that I'm soaking it in and filing it under the inspiration folder.

I'm not gonna lie, I got a little discouraged. I courted daydreams of returning to an insignificant job and being content with this being as good as it got until I died. The only thing I drafted in the past month or so was my list of pros and cons in regards to my writing... the list of cons was much MUCH longer but the font on my pros was much larger and bolder.

In the end I dont want a long list of things that I did, I want a significant list of things that I loved...

The Best (of W. Somerset Maugham ) and The Worst (of Richard Kelly)

Nothing motivates me to write (and write well) more than seeing (or reading)either an outstanding piece of work or an outstanding piece of crap. I finished writing Eastern Sunset in a manic/sleepless week, encouraged by the elegance and cinematography of The Painted Veil.

"Oh Kitty, I brought you here so you could die of cholera for being such a cheating whore; I never thought we'd...fall in love."

I began drafting Old Mike, New Christine based on the June 2010 GQ article of the same title (obviously my title is tentative). I reevaluated my scenes' juxtaposition in Short Life of a Beard after sitting through a grueling and incoherent 88 minutes of The Love Guru (wtf Meyers?).

So as a new season comes around the corner, I polish up scripts of old and actualize scripts of new to make it in time for next years' big submissions -here I am conduring inspiration from my unfortunate luck in rentals. Here is my list of some bad movies I've
endured for educational purposes:

Couple's Retreat -ok, I'm not gonna lie, I was actually looking forward to this. Tropical location plus Favreau and Vaughn, it had some potential ingredients for a funny night in. But as their last night unravelled and loose parts were haphazardly duct taped together, I was left feeling like I was watching a night of amateur improv at John Rennie High School again: "Ok can I have a suggestion for...a sucky ending to an overbudgeted piece of poo...?"

Observe and Report -I may have enjoyed Paul Blart:Mall Cop more than this work of a regular fave, Seth Rogan. What the heck happened hear? I have no idea and I think that was the problem. I wasnt sure where plot points were or what was the driving force of the story -main's secret dream of becoming a cop, what he'd do to get the girl, his need to find the flasher <- oops spoiler alert, but who the eff cares. I also battled with myself trying to find ways to at the very least sympathyze with actual douchebag Ronnie Barnhardt. Still working on developing an undeserved sense of accomplishment *sarcasm*

The Invention of Lying -what was Ricky Gervais and Matthew Robinson smoking while they wrote this? Oh no I get it, this had the potential to be as exaggerated/shallow funny as Bruce Almighty, but it took a weird turn as soon as the director demanded an Oscar calibre performance from Gervais that rivaled Sean Penn in Milk. As soon as their frou frou, dimple faced, honest, pretend world was cast under the shadow of our actual World's theology and religion it wasnt funny anymor <- oops spoiler alert again! but that ok because you shouldn't see this movie anyway. It shoved me back to my reality without a meager refund of the 40 minutes of life I would never get back.

and last and absolutely least:
"If you open this box it will unleash a series of disorganized and perplexing events that will ruin
date night for couples all over the world...you will still get paid your millions despite your acting."

The Box -smh. No, smhhtetfmm<- shaking my head hard to erase this from my memory. So now I have creepy Frank Langella's half face engrave into my subconscious and a neck brace from THE WHIP LASH OF CONSTANTLY LOOKING BACK AT EJ EXCHANGING 'WTF' FACES. I was hoping that Arlington Steward was indeed a terrorist and that this box was part an intricate plot to shake up ungrateful shopaholic middle
class couples. Your husband works for NASA and you still cant afford to pay for your kid's private school?? Come on now. I was so disappointed with this movie that there aren't even sufficient words. I'll just remain "smhhtetfmm."

So now back to my drawing board, using the above movies as life lessons not to emulate. Then again who knows? One of my scrips might make it on someone's worst list too one day...maybe it'll be one of those 'controvertial good' movies that at least win awards and were fun to write or is just widely disliked by haters who wish they wrote it first. :)

Flashback: August 16, 2003

EXT. CALGARY INT. AIRPORT, AFTERNOON

The back of a 2003 Toyota Sienna is stuffed with suitcases; visible hands are holding them in place as the trunk is slammed shut.

INT. TOYOTA SIENNA, CONT'D

Mar adjusts some bags from the backseat before settling down. E, 22, bumps his head as he enters the vehicle.

E
eff.

MAR
Cheese and fries, are you ok?

E folds his hands over his chest feeling for something in his coat pocket. He answers without looking at her...

E
I'm fine.

MAR

Um...ok. (beat) Are you mad at me or something?

E

What? Why would I be mad at you?

MAR

Well we havent seen each other in like two months
and you're acting like this is the first time we've met.

E
(laughs nervously)

Technically this is the fouth time in almost a year
that we've been together, I mean how well do we
really know each other right?

Mar considers the concept while regarding him with intense skepticism.

MAR

(confused)

I don't know...

Meanwhile, five other passengers load the vehicle-AUNT JANE, 45; UNCLE ELMO, 50; EUGENE, 21; and JAKE, 18.

EXT. CALGARY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, CONTINUOUS

The two side doors roll shut and the vehicle pulls away.

INT. MIRANDA RESIDENCE, NIGHT

A typical Canadian Bungalow filled with people (including Mar's family; MOM, DAD and ANGEL) and alive with merriment -the crackling of frying food, the echoing of the kareoke machine and the obnoxious laughter of gossipers and spectators.

Mar and E are jammed into a loveseat, absent participants. Contemplating the next move of their long distance relationship.

Mar has been entertaining thoughts of the worst...

MAR

Why did you even come here? and why did you bring them?

E

Your dad said he wanted to meet my family right? So...

MAR
But you're obviously not ready for this...

E
(defensively)

Ready for what? My parents meet new people all the
time, it's not a big deal.

MAR

Ok...so it isn't a big deal then.

E lets the weight of his head drop to his chest in defeat. He gets up and takes the mic form the kareoke machine.

E

Can I have everyone's attention?

The chaos of the house quickly settles as Mar looks on unimpressed but curious.

E
(nervously)

Ok... um. (beat) Actually, can i get Mar to come
up here with me?

Mar shakes her head, E clasps his hands pleadingly. Mar finally obliges and stands next to E. He looks at her first before physically adjusting her to be in front of him. She tilts her head, suspicious. He gets down on his knee and the house guests all squeal in anticipation. E manages to clumsily get out his ring box while balancing the mic between his shoulder and jaw.

E

Mar?

MOM
(frantic)

Wait!! Let me get the mic stand.

She disappears for a moment as Mar stands awkwardly and E kneels in silence, before reproducing a mic stand.

MOM
(clapping)

Ok go!!

E takes a deep breath and mumbles...

E
(inaudible)

Will you marry me, Mar?

AUNT JANE

Louder, son! I can't hear you!

The crowd laughs and E humors his mother as he talks into the mic.

E

Will you marry me, Mar?

MAR

Um...yeah...

CROWD

Louder!

MAR

I said yes!

Crowd cheers and everyone comes in for congratulatory hugs.

AUNT JANE
(to Mar)

Congratulations, Mar! Did you suspect it?

MAR

No, Auntie! I thought he was gonna break up with me,
he was being so weird.

AUNT JANE

Don't be ridiculous...you call me momma from now on, ok?

Mar nods.

*****
This began (what skeptics would call) my 'premature' journey into becoming someone's wife. I was nineteen when it happened and til this day one of the best decisions I've made in my life was agreeing to marry my EJ. If you don't know him, well, this guy pretty much can make something out of nothing -he's a true artist; making things from scratch, creating beauty from imagination. He's one of my inspirations, he's a true testament of how good and generous God can be when it comes to allowing for your dreams to come true. I've watched him make his way, switching gears violently/purposely from a 'job' in accounting to a 'career' in graphic design. If it can happen for him, who's to say it can't for me?

Glad I said "um...yeah" that day and I'm glad you're in my life, sir. Continue to reach for the stars so -as I hang on to your modern fit coattail -some of that star dust may shower down on me:)

Mar, Present!

Hey there fancy 15. Enough of you have asked why I haven't posted in a while or where I have been or how the next screenplay was coming along...while there are many levels of "well" and "well enough" to suffice as answers, for the most part I am here, being everpresent.

Its been a whirlwindy month and a half -mostly a bad wind coiffuring the cap of my wits into a medusa like state. An event late last month that I was looking forward to had turned out beautifully -unfortunately with unexpected horrible circumstances lacing its hem. I'm not going to get too into it but let's just say that if you've seen this scene from Family Guy, then you have an accurate reinactment of my Canadian vacation:



I'm still waiting for it to be 'real life' funny so I can spin it in into something written but I'm not there yet. Though I never got sick, everyone is now fully recovered...but I'm not gonna lie, there were days where I wished I were blowin chunks just so I could get some rest...

More travel dates are coming up and its all I can think of!! Hopefully this time nobody gets food poisoning, or stomach flu, or diarrhea. I'd like for us all to enjoy riding "Its a Small World" without clutching the Kaopectate and for my husband and I to enjoy New York without...well, diarrhea. haha

So I'm here; living, experiencing, getting inspired... How have you all been?

Great Moments

This is the year I gathered the courage to enter screenplay competitions. Nicholl Fellowship because of its prestige, Slamdance because of their feedback, and Zoetrope because of the chance that Francis Ford Coppola might read my script. Only one script was polished enough to deem worthy of submission this year and that was Eastern Sunset.

I dont know how many versions of this story I've written and in how many artistic variations but I did it. A story inspired by one moment in my great grandmother's life. One fateful moment that changed everything in a life that she thought was already set in stone; heck if it didn't happen I might have not been here today.

I got the confirmation letter from Nicholl Fellowships that I didn't make the cut for quarterfinals. I didn't even get a "PS message" which would have said that my script was read at least twice and got two positive feedbacks. I'm one of the thousands of people that got the 'thanks, we'll send you a link for the competition again next year...' email. A good percentage of these thousands of people are very very angry; angry at the system, the readers/judges, the Greg the director of the competition and even Mrs. Nicholl. I'm not...

I came into these contests as a 'worm jacob' -humble, hoping for the best but expecting the worst -and here it is, the worst. Just because you've been expecting it, it doesn't get easier. I'm not butt hurt at the people that didn't like my script or the judging system or organizers and Mrs. Nicholl whom without her generosity this platform of hope for screenwriters in limbo would not exist.

I am taking in deeper breaths today, nodding my head at an invisible coach agreeing that it just isn't my time yet. I can't help but feel a little deflated, like a dog chasing after its own tail to no avail. I have to remember that I love writing above all its 'perks' and though I am currently unable to contribute to my family's livelihood, I'm here with my two kids being props for their games, pillows for their naps and comfort for their tears -and that's enough. They need me more than Hollywood does right now.

But I'm not giving up! Like my great grandmother, my moment will come too...when it does I hope it's as inspirational and luminous.

Toy Story 3, a character study?

I thought about writing what I would have predicted the scene layout to be like for one of my favorite scenes in the movie, but that would just be lame. And I know this isn't really a blog about movie reviews but after intending on watching Toy Story 3 for the benefit of a large refillable popcorn and drink -I was not prepared for the emotional whirlwind that the night had become.

It was going to be a good night no matter what. EJ and I had intended to take our girl Tey to see the final installment of what is now the 'Story Trilogy' with an extra infant dangling on one arm, red velvet cupcakes cradled in another. We settled ourselves resigned to the fact that this would be another movie where we over exaggerated our nods and stretched out our faces in support of a child's ephemeral joy. But three quarters through the movie, as the remaining toys held hands and accepted the end I found myself wiping away tears behind my 3D glasses.

Now I really don't want to give away any of the movie because I thoroughly enjoyed it -from beginning to end, Woody and Buzz navigate us to Andy's humanizing finale- and you need to watch it. The only thing I will say about the movie is that: Andy is all grown up. Andy is all grown up! In an animated world where time can stand still and Andy could have been six years old forever, they made him grow up. Not only that, he's going to college -the perfect platform for a toy's suicide. This movie had so many on going themes that were very timely...for me, a twenty something adult in the theatre filled with both teenagers that could be Andy's homies and are just about to leave home too, and youngins like Tey who have just been born into the bandwagon.

The movie made me think about my brother who is a thousand miles away from me, and is turning seventeen and going to college next year. He loved Toy Story back when it came out and was still distributed on VHS (remember that?) and every time the movie would finish and automatically rewind, he could just press play again. Now his room is like a Star Wars fanatics' dream and I wouldn't be surprised to find Princess Leia porn under his bed in place of where the old dinosaurs and robots used to be.

This movie also made me think about my own offspring and how a new character in the movie is just about my eldest' age and how fast everything is happening and how if I can't even imagine her going to kindergarten next year, what more with college?! After thinking this, I pretty much needed a paper bag to regulate my breathing.

Time goes by so quickly and before we know it all we have left are toys/objects as tokens of memories. As the last scene of the movie played out and the tears behind my 3D glasses were amplifying the objects that were coming out of the screen, my heart was breaking into a million invisible pieces. This last installment to the 'Story Trilogy' rounded the series into more than just a child's movie -it is now a classic.

Now I know with Disney pictures there are a team of roughly ten thousand writers behind one script, but there's no denying a good screenplay. I didn't expect to reflect on the pace of time as much as I did on the drive home- I held my children tighter, I cherished the smell of my baby's head, I measured my daughter's hand against mine. Now that's a good movie; one that makes you feel. Not just 'feel scared/excited/horny/sleepy/happy' during the movie, but to feel inspiration when you leave the theatre.

Thanks for all the adventures and good times Woody and Buzz, you'll always live on in our hearts and DVD players.

A Lesson in Property and Values

EXT. LARGE BACKYARD, DUSK, FLASHBACK

It is a tropical themed tween birthday party and the Beach Boys' Kokomo is dreadfully looping from a boom box in a distance. Prepubescent girls are gathered around the music dressed in oversized New Kids on The Block shirts and neon scrunchies. They are making up dance moves as Mar, 10, is dressed impeccably in a sundress and slumped next to Mom. Mar sighs.

MOM

Baby, you should go play with them.

MAR

They aren't playing.

Mom looks.

MOM

Ok...so go dance with them, looks like fun!

MAR

Nah. I don't really have any professional training.

MOM

(laughs)

Well neither do they.

MAR

(matter-of-factly)

No, those kids are probably twelve or thirteen and if they've been training since they were five then...(beat) that's about seven years! They could be training for seven years already!

Mom laughs.

MOM

I see you've thought about this thoroughly. See the kid in the rainbow bright t shirt?

They both look. Rainbow Bright kid -MIMI, 11- is at the butt end of the conga line.

MOM

(cont'd)

That's the birthday girl, she's eleven. I'm sure she hasn't had seven years of dance training. She takes swimming lessons.

Mar looks furtively studying the group at the corner of her eye. She notices a tree house beyond them and for a moment her eyes sparkle. An older kid catches her glance and whispers to Mimi. Mar growls.

MAR

(mortified)

Mom! Why didn't you put me in ballet or hula when I was five?!

Mar has struck a nerve.

MOM

Oh for pete's sake! Why am I having to force you to play with other children? This is a child's birthday party! If you don't want to play then sit there, bored but behaved. Don't start questioning my parenting decisions-

MAR

(interrupts)

I thought you said she was eleven?

MOM

What?

MAR

(affronted)

I'm only ten. If she's eleven and this is a (mockingly)child's birthday party, then what does that make me? A baby? You think I'm a baby?

Mom is ruffled, casting a stern look at Mar before joining the grown ups.

MAR

(mumbles)

Swimming lessons? It takes all of twenty minutes to learn how to swim, what a waste of money. (looks at her mom) You guys didn't teach me anything!

OS MIMI

What do you want to learn?

Mimi now stands inches away from Mar overhearing the last part of her rant.

MAR

What?

MIMI

What-do-you-want-to-learn?

Mar is unable to respond but feels like she must.

MAR

How to write cursive without my hand cramping up, how to get on level 6 of Super Mario Brothers, how to french kiss -most things that don't require lessons.

MIMI

(awkwardly)

Um...okay. Anyway, my mom told me to come get you. So... you want to learn how to hula?

MAR

Not really. Can I check out your treehouse though?

MIMI

That old thing? (laughs) I guess, if you want.

MAR

What is that, like almost a hundred square feet?

MIMI

I guess...

They make their way into the distance.

*****

I always wanted a tree house. I always envisioned going through life with a husband, kids, puppy -and a cozy little tree house in the backyard. The tree house was a symbol of a simple life. I didn't have ANY idea a simple tree house would entail cost of materials, labor, design and most importantly owning property to build it on. It's such a simple dream -tea parties with my daughter and playing pirate's captive with my son - with such an intricate protocol. Where's my house? Where's my wood? Heck, where's my zoning license? Dreaming something simple isn't simple or free.

The kids are starting to grow up and they still don't have the things I dreamed for them and it breaks my heart. I don't know when it'll happen and I'm sure in retrospect they probably won't care about the tree house, or puppy or painted room, but I would. I'd know what was missing and in what way I might have been lacking.

Its enough to motivate me further to write and write well. Writing isn't just a 'talent' it can be a means to an end. Though when I'm writing I try to refrain from thinking about it in that way, so as not to allow delusions of Rocafella money get in the way of my love for story telling...but making this writing thing work is the only thing keeping me away from the next meticulously lined up desk job.

God, Family, Friends, Tree House and then Oscar.

Current Statistics

Guess What? I'm actually gonna work today...*mumbles* after I finish watching season three of Lost. So let me leave you, my six sexy followers, with some current statistics:

Projects in Development Stages:(6) Truth in Sephia, Tokyo Genesis, Fresh off the Boat, The Messenger, Angeles City and Matchbox

Projects in Editing Stages: (1) Old Mike, New Christine

Projects Finalized: (2) Short Life of a Beard and Marmito San

Projects Optioned: (0) *boooo*

I decided that Short Life kinda sucks so I'm probably going to rewrite it when I find the inspiration to do so. Marmito San has been entered in three competitions, Nicholl Fellowships (http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/apply.html), Slamdance (http://www.slamdance.com/writing/index.html) and Zoetrope (http://www.zoetrope.com/contests/).

Most of my work is registered in the Writer's Guild of America, West. Which doesn't mean much except that I can comfort myself silently when some movie comes out with the same concepts as my screenplays. I can tell myself I thought about it first and cry myself to sleep.

K, it must be time to work...or something.

ps. Sayid never wears a normal shirt on Lost does he? He's always in a halter top.

Avoiding The End

The following are the things I did today instead of finishing up my current project:

-bathed a child.

-watched Toy Story 1 AND Toy Story 2.

-blogged about how i was told that I'd pretty much be an obscure writer so I should think about a back up plan.

-made a fan page on facebook for my friend's cakes.

-thought about the many variations of pork i could eat RIGHT NOW (carnitas quesadilla, BBQ pork ribs, a cuban sandwich...etc.)

-ate a cold plate of beef stroganoff while thinking that if i were working then i wouldn't be overeating.

-attempted to work out.

-^FAILED.

-watched a five month old boy attempt to roll from his back to his tummy...for twenty minutes. He succeeded by the way.

-tried on my lilac bridesmaid dress.

-looked up new big words.

-blogged again...

When I write I loosely map out scenes and dialogue, the end and beginning of acts, plot points, opening scene, closing scene, etc. My latest project based on the transexual tragedy that became of Mike Penner is reaching its end... and this is the point in which I take a break to let things marinate. I'll open the file everyday and look at it, spell check it, edit it, but I've become so attached to this project that I'm sad that it's ending...

*wipes a tear*

Is there more stroganoff?

'Fall Back On' vs. 'Free-fall On'

INT. KITCHEN, EVENING, 2002

MOM, 45, sits at the table with Mar, now 18 -going through piles of pamphlets and handbooks.

MOM

Did you pick your classes yet?

MAR

(clearly ecstatic)

Yep! English 101, Theatre Practicum, History of Art A-

MOM

(skeptical)

And this is all towards your major of...?

MAR

(caught off guard)

Oh...I'm not really sure yet. I don't really have to declare a major until, like, the second year or something, so I'm good.

MOM

Oh...so you're good? Just because you don't have to declare a major in two years doesn't mean you shouldn't. Come on, didn't you always want to be a doctor?

MAR

Yeah when I was like, three though. If i remember correctly I also wanted to be Shee- ra and marry He-man. That was a nice try though, mom. (she grins)

MOM

(exasperated)

Well what are you going to do with your life? This is the time to know!

MAR

What?! I thought this was the time to figure it out...?

MOM

You've been in school for twelve years and you still haven't figured it out?

Mom is making air quotes with her fingers while Mar becomes bedraggled by the conversation. She pushes aside the papers.

MAR

(hushed)

What if...I do have it figured out but you won't like it?

Mom sits back, knowing.

MOM

Baby, being an actress isn't a career-

MAR

(defensive)

Yeah I heard you...'it's a lifestyle.' Whatever that means! I...I

want to write. Like be an author or like be a journalist. I don't know yet. But I want to be a writer of some kind.

MOM

The thing is about being a writer is that you're either stuck in obscurity or you're famous -there's no real in between.

Mar is now deflated, giving up. She gets up for a beverage abandoning the conversation.

MOM

Hey...Not that you're not good -you should write but you just need something stable to fall back on...

As Mom continues to speak, we see

EXT. UNIVERSITY OF WINNIPEG, MORNING

Throng of eager freshman, bright eyed, bushy tailed with moronic grins, hop into the main building.

INT. UNIVERSITY OF WINNIPEG, MORNING

Mar trying not to look terrified, walks through a more adult mass of students waiting to get into a room.

O.S. MOM

...I'm sure that when you figure out what you need to do everything else will fall into place.

INSERT (label on door) Education 101

Mar sighs and slumps against the wall. A fresh looking boy, typically tall, dark and handsome -his back slumped in the same crescent shape, across from her. They lock eyes and she smiles...

*****

It's true, I was told that a writer's life is as black and white as obscurity vs. fame. The rest of the scene, well, only I'll be able to tell which was fiction and reality -unless you know me real well then you probably know too! It took me a while to realize what kind of writer I wanted to become. With that said, it took me LONGER to accept the fact that I should probably just write already and stop pretending to fit into a branded mold of 'contributing to society adult.'

I could probably even have my own line of How to Make it in America Dolls: Retail Sales Associate Mar, Laundromat Store Supervisor Mar, Receptionist Mar, General Contractor Mar... The most nondescript doll would be Writer Mar -I don't even get a name tag. I'm ok with that though. Learning fast that a writer may be able to write an immortally incandescent line, but also can be a horrid conversationalist. M.Soriano would throw an eraser at my head if she could hear me now. A writer's life is lonely. When I work I would often stop and imagine talking to the characters in my story asking "Would you really say that?" or "Why are you so angry in this scene?" Also acknowledging that when one of screenplay goes into production I'll probably get driven out by the directors and producers so they can have their way with my baby...

With that said, this is it. Even if I'll have to blog here until I'm fifty before realizing my goal, I feel like I've already won. Writing means a lot, but it's not everything. Writing means a lot, but it's not everything... But it means a lot, so stick with me because we are on our way to the Oscar's friends!

Day 5,475...give or take.

FADE IN

INT. MARIANO C. SAN JUAN ELEMENTARY, AFTERNOON, 1996

A timid, bucktoothed MAR, 12, diligently navigates through the lush compounds of the rural school towards the admissions office. She stops in front of the door furthest to the back of the building.

INSERT (nameplate mounted on the door) "M.SORIANO, principal"

Mar gingerly smoothes her navy blue pleated uniform skirt and takes a deep breath...

INT. M.SORIANO'S OFFICE, CONTINUOUS

M.SORIANO, 52, looks officious scribbling her signature on a mile high pile of paperwork. There is a knock O.S.

M.Soriano

Come In.

Mar emerges, halting before the principal's desk. The principal is possessed in her task and doesn't bother to look up.

Mar

Ma'am, my name is Ma-

M.Soriano

Do you know why you're here?

Mar

(thinks for a quick second)

Because my homeroom teacher sent me...?

M.Soriano

You write well, do you not?

Mar is stunned unable to respond, M. Soriano looks up impatiently.

M.Soriano

Well?

Mar

Ummm.... I like to write ma'am.

M.Soriano

(seemingly annoyed)

Do you write well?

Mar

Ummm.... I don't know...

M. Soriano slowly ascends from her crow-like perch, towering over the child authoritatively.

M.Soriano

False modesty... is a sign of bad character. Do you

understand (Mar nods, lying)? I've read your feature articles

and you write with a lot of heart...I like it.

Mar

Thank you, ma'am.

M. Soriano

I can tell you enjoy writing when i read, because it isn't

hard to read your work...I don't get blinded with anger from your incompetency. I suppose when you're twelve, you aren't jaded or callous by the world yet...

Mar

(shrugs)

I suppose...

M. Soriano

So...let me ask you again. Do you write well?

Mar

I...love to write...and it is my intention to write well.

M. Soriano

Good enough. You will represent MC San Juan in a writing competition in Binangonan and place in the top five, understood?

Mar shrugs, terrified.

M. Soriano

Oh for Pete's sake stop shrugging! (produces a blank form)

This is a permission slip, get your parents to fill it in, sign it, we'll take care of the competition fees. Do you hear me?

Mar

Yes ma'am.

Takes the blank slip obediently, bows her head politely before turning to leave.

M. Soriano

Oh and stop saying ummm! You don't sound nearly as intelligent as you write.

*****

This was fourteen years ago and that competition is what started it all. 'Started' in the sense of cultivating my love for the written form of expression... not what made me famous, catalyzing my wonder-child screenwriting career, buying me my house by the beach, winning me my first Oscar. siiigh. But i've known it for this long.

It took me several attempts at 'grown up' jobs to make me realize that I shouldn't neglect my true calling -the almighty pen...or tywriter...or netbook... I am in a current situation in which 'spec' writing my heart out doesn't mean I'll starve or go homeless, so I'm making the most of it. This blog isn't so I can show off my work (you can read it upon request) or so I can vent about my personal life -it's to monitor my progress towards my path towards 'success'. For me, that means a trip to the Academy Awards. It can take me years, even decades to find my path and get there but this will be my map, jotting the many mundane, inspired, mortified, overwhelmed, pain-stricken and occasionally blissful days that will eventually burgeon into my success. You in for the ride?