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.