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Batter Up! Summoning The Devil in the Diamond

Our house was destroyed.

 

The year was 2012 and Hurricane Sandy ripped through, among other places, the Mid-Atlantic States.

 

It is said that the storm damaged, destroyed, or severely flooded around 100,000 homes on Long Island, where my family and I lived. By December of that year, more than 2,000 homes were deemed uninhabitable. 

 

At the time I was enrolled in grad school, studying acting. My then girlfriend was a dancer in the department and as these things go, I met and grew close to her family. As my parents went to live with an aunt and uncle of mine out east, I was fortunate enough to move into my girlfriend’s family’s home, a very generous offer that they extended to me, which also made my daily commute to Long Island University far more doable.

 

I grew very chummy with her brother Lou, a history buff who went on to become a history teacher. One day he casually told me about an academic paper he had read that he thought I might enjoy. When he told me it was about baseball (big Yankee fan here!) and the role it played in the ever-evolving relations between Japan and America, I was immediately intrigued. A scholarly article about the greatest sport in the world!? Sign me up! Amidst the cyclone of confusion and devastation that ensued, however, the existence of the article fell into the obscurity of my mind as life forced me to focus on other things.

 

Regardless, a creative seed had been planted.

 

Fast forward to September of 2015.

 

For some reason, out of the blue, I remembered that article. I never did get my hands on it and so I emailed Lou; after a quick email to his old professor, he obtained the PDF version and sent it my way. The piece was entitled For Love of the Game: Baseball in Early U.S.-Japanese Encounters and the Rise of a Transitional Sporting Fraternity; it was written by Sayuri Guthrie-Shimizu. 

As I read it, I was mesmerized by the enchanting history, a phrase not often uttered when referencing a peer-reviewed article. Don’t get me wrong – it was certainly academic, but I saw through its scholarship and could smell the fertile soil of a great story (as a matter of fact, many of the characters in my novel were directly inspired by historical figures mentioned in the piece).

 

Though I enjoyed historical-fiction, the genre was certainly not my forte. I did, however, like a challenge. Ideas started swirling in my head - directions I could take the story, historical avenues I could explore.

 

And then, of course, I started writing something else and the story once again fell by my creative wayside.

 

That is until the 2020 Covid-19 Pandemic emerged and I found myself in quarantine. Determined to remain productive – I decided to take one of the ideas I had for a novel and give it a go.

 

The problem was, and indeed it’s a good problem to have, I had a handful of good ideas that I felt could make for great novels.

 

That’s when I noticed the news was reporting a rise in Anti-Asian sentiment in the United States. Later, in August of 2021, NPR reported more than 9,000 Anti-Asian incidents had been documented since the pandemic began. The New York Yankees’ own ace at the time, Masahiro Tanaka, left the ball-club and the country to go back to Japan upon having concerns about his family’s safety due to the spike in discrimination and hate crimes against members of the Asian community.

 I thought of that article. I thought of how baseball acted as a healing factor between the Americans and Japanese after being at war with one another. All the other novel ideas suddenly paled in comparison.

 

With that article as my springboard, I catapulted into piles of research, which included World War II, Japanese culture, mid-20th century culture in general, the history of baseball (there’s so much that your average fan like myself had no idea about!), and countless other topics.

 

I began assembling. I amassed quotes, notes on fascinating historical tidbits, events, laws, pandemics, milestones, records, occurrences, statistics, journals, philosophies, articles; anything I could get my hands on.

 

The following quote convinced me that the relationship between baseball and war was far from trivial:

 

“Baseball is part of the American way of life. Remove it and you remove something from the lives of American citizens, soldiers and sailors." - Private John E Stevenson

 

I created a massive timeline. It went as far back as 1871 and as recent as 2004. This timeline became my novel’s bible. Anything that could be relevant to my story went on the chronological itinerary.

 

Upon glancing at this timeline over and over – I soon realized that my initial idea of writing a story about an American soldier and a Japanese soldier during and after WWII just didn’t seem to cover enough ground given all the wonderful information I had accumulated.

 

And so I decided to expand my story to make it a multi-generational tale. Though it has a less epic scope than something like Centennial, James A. Michener’s 1974 novel and the subsequent 1978 mini-series acted as inspiration.

 

My novel suddenly became not just about Eugene and Yuujin, my main protagonists, but also their grandparents and, to a slightly lesser degree, their parents. I could now trace and explore baseball in relation to America and Japan in its entirety.

 Which, of course, meant – more work for me! But again, being quarantined allowed for such an indulgence. And so I wrote. Every. Single. Day.

 

A little history to wet your beak - in the 1870s, as part of the state-driven modernization program, rulers in Tokyo recruited over 3,000 experts called oyatoi (foreign employees) from Europe and the United States. As Americans were valued in public education, those in that department came to Japan. And do you know what they brought along with them? Bats and baseballs! The game was primed to spread! And so I made Eugene’s grandfather one of these oyatoi…

 

After a good year, I had a solid manuscript.

 

It was important to me that the novel was not only a great story – but had literary merit as well.

 

As I thought about possible themes, motifs, and metaphors – baseball concepts lent themselves naturally.

 

For example, the idea of “making contact” came to mind. Hitting a baseball is one of the hardest, if not the hardest, feats to accomplish in professional sports. As too is making contact in the sense of forming a connection with another human being or culture. This parallel acts as the backdrop to an entire chapter late in the story. Crossing the threshold of difference to make first contact with a new world can take strength and courage.

 

Speaking of strength and courage, the novel opens with the (historically accurate) near-complete destruction and seizing of Shuri Castle. Yuujin, part of the Japanese rearguard unit, soon finds himself the last living member of his regiment and before long becomes a POW. In real life, Shuri Castle had always symbolized strength, power, and honor and in my tale Yuujin had always revered the palace. And so its physical demise mirrored the spiritual demise of Yuujin, who deals with the shame and dishonor associated with being captured. He very much wonders if both he and the castle can one day be restored to the glory and honor they once exemplified.

 Eugene, our American counterpart, is put in charge of watching Yuujin as they wait for a transport and things don’t exactly go smoothly. In fact, Yuujin gets a punch to the face. Enter one of the novel’s motifs – Yuujin’s bruise. Eugene watches the black and blue begin to form and take shape. As they become friendlier, the blemish becomes more profound, acting as a visible reminder of Eugene’s act of brutality. Bruises are interesting in that they’re not actually very deep under the skin but they’re quite grotesque to behold. Eugene marked his enemy. And then he questions how much of an enemy Yuujin truly is. Even when he returns home, Eugene is haunted by nightmares of a discolored Yuujin, his ever-swelling contusion enveloping his face.

 

The novel’s pillars of baseball and World War II, being male dominated, also opened up the natural lane to discuss concepts of manliness and masculinity – that age-old but seemingly ever-shifting question of: what does it mean to be a man? To discuss such notions through a 21st century lens, via 20th century characters, made for an interesting expedition and reflection as well.

 But enough of metaphors and themes! One of the more fun aspects about the story is bumping into major historical figures. I won’t give them all away but don’t be surprised if, while reading, you meet the likes of Joe DiMaggio, Mark Twain, General Douglas MacArthur, and Theodore Roosevelt!

 

I certainly enjoyed getting to know them. And I fell in love with all my other characters as well. Of course they eventually became their own and now I must give them away.

 

They say a flower blooming in a storm is stronger than a tree blossoming under a rainbow. A natural disaster was the genesis for this story and cultivated a decade old seed that formed during a pandemic and is now ready to flourish and present itself to the world.

 

That’s pretty special.

 

My lifelong dream has always been to become a novelist. I would like to thank Henry Gray Publishing for making that a reality.

 

I very much hope you enjoy my debut novel. And I very much hope it affects and satisfies your heart and mind in the most literary of ways.

 

The Devil in the Diamond embraces the idea that two countries who share the game of baseball can never be true enemies. It is a story about the fraternity of nations and their connective tissue of baseball, which acts as a first step to re-building a peaceful future. The devil in the title very much refers to racism and bigotry, cruelty and hate. Despite it being a period piece, this novel confronts a contemporary revelation: not only does history often repeat itself - ignorance unfortunately does as well.

 

Thank goodness there’s baseball.

- G

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Shelby’s Odyssey: A Wild Ride of Romance in all of its Artistic Forms

I own two t-shirts that I wore as inspiration to get through the journey of making my film SHELBY’S VACATION.  They will sound patently obvious… and yet, they are so true, as cliché’s are.  One has a quote from Winston Churchill: “Never, never, never give up.”  The other has Diana Nyad’s motto (and the title of her book about her swim from Cuba to the Florida Keys) “Find a Way.”  I actually heard Diana talk at the LA Times Festival of Books.  She was riveting.  It took her five tries to do that swim and she accomplished the 110.86-mile journey at the age of 64.  She found a way.  If she could do that, I could find a way to make my film.  And I didn’t have to worry about being stung by box jellyfish… although irritated State Park Rangers was a close second.

SHELBY’S VACATION, once upon a time, was a full-length feature script.  I wrote the initial drafts in the mid 1990’s, inspired by a trip I’d taken to and from the Grand Canyon.  On that trip (and all of my Grand Canyon trips), I stopped in Kingman, Arizona, for gas and food.  It’s always windy in Kingman and when I opened my car door, a gust of wind blew through the car (the passenger window was down) and scattered all of my notes and maps (this was pre-internet).  I thought, wow, what a great beginning to a movie.  Our heroine gets completely lost because the universe yanks away her directions!  I ended up sending my main character, Shelby, up highway 395 instead of into the desert, simply because I love the Sierra Nevada mountains. 

The basic elements I crafted in the early drafts have always remained the same.  Shelby, mid-to-late 30s, is heart-broken because once again she fantasized about a potential relationship that didn’t work out – and this most recent time was particularly humiliating because the crush was on her boss, Marion.  She heads out of L.A. to find comfort in nature but loses her maps and directions thanks to the wind and ends up at a rustic resort high in the mountains.  Of course she falls for resort manager Carol, who has her own fantasies (from the past instead of the future) that get in the way of creating a long-term relationship.  Both women go on a journey to learn why they’ve held on to their idealized versions of love.

Having no clue as to how to move the movie ball down the field into production, I put the script away and focused on my stage plays and TV scripts. 

In 2008 I took a vacation to Rock Creek Lake in the Sierra Nevada and thought, man, this is the perfect setting for SHELBY’S VACATION.  So I got the script out, brought it in to my then-writers group, and polished it up.  I’d tried previously selling my film script SIGNS OF LIFE by having a reading with actors and inviting small production companies.  I got some interest but not strong enough to really launch it.  If a straight romantic comedy wouldn’t quite sell, how the heck was I going to sell a lesbian dramedy?

I put the script away again.

Then I got an email in 2010 about a script contest called Chicago’s Pride Films and Plays.  I noticed that the categories were geared toward gay men’s stories.  I wrote the executive director of the contest, David Zak, asking him, “What about lesbian stories?”  He wrote right back and said they would have a contest for our stories the next year. Hooray!

So when I got the contest announcement the following winter, I sent in SHELBY’S VACATION.  Lo and behold, I made the semi-finals and then a few weeks later David’s group contacted me.  They wanted to do a staged reading of the script for a gay pride event in Vermont. Hallelujah!

In July of 2011 I paid for my own plane ticket and made the trip to Randolph, Vermont as my summer vacation.  I had a glorious time.  I got to hear a fun reading of the script, ate samples at the Ben & Jerry’s factory, and I drove all over Vermont to hike in rolling green mountains – with no billboards on the interstate as I traveled!

Filled with passion from the Vermont experience, I returned to L.A. vowing to turn SHELBY into a film.  I dug out three years of MovieMaker magazine and absorbed all the lessons producers who came before me had learned.  I bought THE book on how to do a business plan and then learned the woman who wrote it (Louise Levison) lives mere blocks from me in the Sherman Oaks, so I paid her to critique MY business plan.  I attached my first director… who stayed for just a few months and then dropped out.  I attached director #2, who stayed on board for a few months… and then she, too, left, to focus on a TV stage-managing job.  Director #3 was with me a few months, and then she moved to Washington State.

Finally, I reached out to a friend who sent an email blast to the Alliance of Women Directors (AWD).  I should’ve done so years ago; I got two-dozen responses. I weeded and weeded and narrowed things down to a half dozen, did interviews, did second interviews in-person, and finally picked Vickie Sampson.  Vickie and I had met many years ago in a networking group called Cinewomen, so there was a comfortable energy between us.  She came armed to our meeting with a lot of enthusiasm about the story as well as printouts of actresses who could play the roles.  Vickie had directed some heartfelt shorts, snappy award-winning PSAs and commercials and was hungry for a feature-length film.   Perfect!

That was in May of 2013.  Then the real fun began: Looking for Investors.

I devised a passionate one-page letter, a one-page story summary plus our creative team bios with years of experience in The Biz (Vickie brought along a great cinematographer and I had a couple of line-producer gals with us as well).  I had my business plan; I had my budget (we had a variety of them over the years, but the smallest one I had for the feature version was $270,000).  I made a look-book of photos I culled from my trips to the majestic Sierra Nevada mountains, where SHELBY’S VACATION is set. I set up an LLC, I hired a good designer to craft a website... I WAS ALL SET!

I approached a handful of reasonably well-off friends and got only one “yes,” but I thought it was a solid yes.  I scoured back issues I had of the LN (Lesbian News, a legendary L.A. publication) for gals featured in articles and in ads for their real estate or law businesses.

Then I hit upon what I thought would be the ticket: I found a group up in San Francisco called StartOut.  They provide mentoring for LGBT entrepreneurs starting their own businesses.   I sent several of them my powerful letter – arguing how rarely we see quality lesbian films – THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT to name one of the rare ones back then.  I pointed out that Hollywood so rarely said yes to these kinds of movies that we needed to fund from within our community.  I explained that SHELBY was different than many typical gay films – no one was coming out; no one felt tortured about being gay.  It was a story of two adults figuring out their relationship patterns and why they couldn’t live in the present.  We’ve never seen this story before, I proclaimed from the mountaintop.

And what I heard in return:  crickets.  Over three+ years I approached 40 individuals, either as investors or someone who would know someone. 

Meanwhile, we were networking.  I’ve been going to Outfest every summer (L.A.’s huge LGBT film festival) since the early 1990’s and to ramp up for SHELBY, we worked it, baby, we worked it.  I researched films ahead of time, their producers, their actresses, and then we went up to these folks after their screenings.  We sent my script to some of them, had follow up phone calls, and even met a few at their offices.  Vickie also got great at approaching well-known actresses after screenings at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences.  Sum result: nada.

So after four years of hard work, I had no attached stars, no production company backing and just two potential investors, neither of them 100% telling me what they would put in.  That wasn’t enough to guarantee $270,000.

In July of 2015, I happened to read a lesbian detective novel called LEFT FIELD by Elizabeth Sims.  It was charming, fun, engaging… and at the end of it I thought, HANG ON, I could turn the story of Shelby into a novel; that way I could tell the whole story and not worry about cutting the budget (because I was forever trying to get the budget down).  Then, we could tell the end of the tale in a short film, say, 25 – 30 minutes.  Forget investors, we could raise the money via a crowd-funding campaign.

Vickie agreed it was worth a shot.

I had been leery of doing a crowd-funding thing for a few reasons.  First, I’ve done several of them with my writers/actors group Fierce Backbone and also for a web-series I co-wrote and co-produced (THE CALAMITIES OF JANE) and I’d learned it takes a village.  We had dozens of people involved with Fierce and JANE and it was still a struggle to raise $25,000 for both causes.  You need more than two people to raise that kind of money.  Or so I thought.

I started on the novel (after reading a couple of books on how to write a novel to pick up pointers on how they’re different from movie scripts).  I set myself a goal of writing three pages a day, five days a week, and by the spring of 2016, I was 80% done with the first draft.

For the movie, I cut the 90-page script down to 25. I cut all of the other characters and focused exclusively on the essence of the story between Shelby and Carol – the moment when they meet, the moment when they connect, the moment when they agree to do a ritual to get rid of their bad habit of holding on to fantasies… and of course the ritual itself.

Vickie and I reached out to a handful of actresses we knew and had them come over to my living room and read in pairs.  The script worked!  We picked our two favorite actresses and we were off to the races, or rather, the slog of raising money.

Nagging Mom / P.T. Barnum

We went to a seminar lead by Emily Best of Seed & Spark and she really is the best.  Seed&Spark (S&S) is a crowd-funding platform solely for independent films.  Kickstarter requires that you raise 100% of your goal (we did that with JANE, and it’s migraine inducing); IndieGoGo will give you whatever you raise.  S&S asks that you raise 80% of your goal, and I thought that seemed like a good compromise.  If we’d gone with IndieGoGo and had raised only $10,000, we would not have been able to hire a professional crew and were adamant about that – and about paying them.

Our budget goal was $36,000 and 80% was $28,000.  While Emily and company were full of tips and enthusiasm, they conveyed to us something along the lines of… a short film at S&S had never raised that much before.  I was nervous, but I wanted to prove S&S wrong. 

On April 1, we shot a teaser with our two actresses up at Switzer picnic area in the San Gabriel Mountains aka The Angeles Nationals Forest, which sits on the northern edge of Los Angeles.  It was a small crew – director Vickie, Kimby Caplan our D.P., a sound guy, and a make-up artist.  I got to wear a lot of hats – craft services / lunch / props… and I learned how to do the slate clapperboard.

Vickie did a fantastic job of editing the footage into a compelling teaser.  We shot a bit of me doing a pitch to donors (citing the deplorable statistics of women and LGBT folks in Hollywood) and edited that in as well.  I had to strategically plan what footage to send out at the beginning and then more snippets as our campaign progressed.  Each email blast needed a fresh angle that highlighted why people should support our film.

From the campaign of the web-series THE CALAMITIES OF JANE, I learned to not offer tangibles as premiums for the different levels of giving – it takes extra money to produce things like hats and t-shirts.  So we made the premiums for SHELBY easy to fulfill – nature photos of mine, visits to the set, hikes led by me, downloads of the film.

During the campaign Vickie and I spent a lot of time sending emails out – personal ones, group ones every few days, using the selling points I’d honed approaching the 40 investors previously.  Hey, that experience was good for something!  I read someone else’s blog about their fund-raising campaign, and she said she felt like a cross between a nagging mom and P.T. Barnum. Yep.

The money came in – sometimes in big chunks of $250 and $500, but mostly as $25, $50 and $100 contributions.  Our actresses didn’t have a lot of luck finding supporters… and then the one playing Carol dropped out saying she had another wonderful opportunity come up.  Crapity-crap-crap-crap.  But we had to soldier on.  We did not tell our audience yet because we didn’t have time to recast and reshoot the teaser smack in the middle of the campaign. 

I had a couple of favorite elements during the campaign – one was writing personal “thank yous” to each and every person who donated.  Whether it was a big sum or a little sum, my heart overflowed with joy and I loved sending gratitude out. The other thing I enjoyed was putting special thank yous up on Facebook:  I would take one of my nature photos – like a shot from the Grand Canyon – and put a phrase at the top like, “’Tis grand… generous friends” and then I’d list the donors of that particular day in the post.

The June fund-raising was 40 days and 40 nights as I would joke later, and it was a nail-biter near the end to get to 80% of our goal.  But I had a few miracles happen in the last week of the campaign.  I contacted an old pal at a well-known production company – he and I had worked together on my first TV show job back in 1988 and we went to the same college.  He and his wife made a very generous donation.  Then, the day before our campaign was ending and we were still $1140 short of our 80% goal, I ran into a friend in the lunchroom where I work at UCLA.  I told her how exciting the campaign was, how grateful I was, and I didn’t even ask her for money, I was just genuinely sharing my passion.  She asked how much we were short, and then she said, “Hmm, that’s four figures.”  I thought she was going to do a math thing, like, “If you get 11 people to each donate $100, you’ll get your goal.”

She got out her checkbook.  I thought, oh, she’s gonna make a donation and I started to do my, “Hey, any amount is fine,” speech.  Then she handed me a check.  I started crying.  It was for $1140.  Here was a co-worker, who probably doesn’t make much more than I do, and yes, we’ve talked about stories and art before, but I hadn’t told her much about the movie and I hadn’t done any kind of pitch to her for money.  This is what happens when you are genuine and full of passion with no expectations:  a miracle.

So we had our goal, and then there was another miracle:  The following day, I got a text message from a woman I used to see at an annual Oscar party for years and years.  Her partner had passed away the previous winter… and she wanted to make a donation in her honor.  It was another generous amount.  So we actually hit 90% of our goal!

Switzer in the San Gabriel Mountains (where we did the teaser) wouldn’t need a reservation (but we’d get a permit and be legit this time) but Harwood Lodge near Mt. Baldy (the second half of our shoot) needed a reservation so I called the Sierra Club (of which I’m a member and they own the lodge) and the only available time they had was the last weekend in August.  WE’LL TAKE IT, I said.  We decided to film the first week in August at Switzer and I contacted the River Ranger District Filming lady and was all set to send in our film permit application the last week in July. 

Then came a big curveball:  the Sand Fire (every fire in California gets a name).  The Sand Fire broke out north of the San Gabriel Mountains July 22nd.  The fire was several miles away, but as fires do, it romped through vegetation and BAM, in a few days, big trouble.  People lost their homes… and the River Ranger office stopped issuing filming permits, including ours to shoot at Switzer.

With almost no time before our scheduled shoot, we had to find a location.  I’ve been hiking in the local mountains around L.A. for nearly 30 years, so I had some ideas.  One idea that did not work:  Griffith Park – the lawns at street level are manicured, so it doesn’t seem like a real forest, and equally important, the permits to film there are very expensive.  I suggested to Vickie we try some nearby state parks.  We drove up to Topanga Canyon State Park early one weekday morning and Vickie saw the potential – lots of oak trees. To get a permit for a state park, you’re supposed to apply four business days in advance.  We were now less than four days away – we called Mr. V at the Parks Dept. film office and told him we wanted to drive over to where he was stationed to fill out our application RIGHT NOW.  He laughed and said we could come by for tea but the application was on-line.  Oh.  Got it.


Instead of driving home to do it, we drove to a high spot on Topanga Blvd. in the Santa Monica Mountains to get good cell reception and filled out the application using Vickie’s cell phone.  Remember this moment:  Vickie told me what the format was for the dates we wanted:  year, month, day.  And we knew our shoot dates by heart, Aug. 3, 4, 5.  We filled it out and hit “Apply.”

 

Shortly thereafter, I received a confirmation of our application and another application to fill out, with our credit/debit card info.  I did that, and at the bottom I wrote the shoot dates and multiplied that times the permit fee for each day.  I sent it in and Miss B in the permit office sent me an email asking for another application, for just the first day.  Remember this moment: I wrote back and asked why, and were they going to bill me three separate times for the three shoot dates?  It made no sense to me.  Miss B wrote back and said she’d get back to me, and she copied Miss C on that email.

 

August 3rd came and we all arrived early at Topanga Canyon State Park, we’re there when the ranger officially opened the gate, yes, off to a good start.

 

Next curveball.  I knew the parking pass machine dispensed passes for $10 a pop.  I came armed with lots of $10 bills.  Great idea, huh?  I had not read the fine print on the machine.  It would take only $5 bills – what the !@#$%?  So I used my debit card… and after three passes, the machine stopped working – perhaps it thought, “FRAUD.”  I used my credit card… for three passes and then that stopped working.  I cobbled together other cash and cards for the rest of our cast and crew.

 

Mid-way through the parking machine tap dance, a very stern-looking Ranger Supervisor came over to me. “LET ME SEE YOUR PERMIT.”  I felt smug and whipped that sucker out.  He looked it over and snottily said, “You have too many people here!”  He practically threw it in my face and said he was reporting me to Mr. V, the man I’d been in contact with over the phone.  He stormed away and my stomach went into Knotsville.

 

Okay, I knew on the permit application it asked how many you had in your crew – under or over 14.  If you had over 14, you had to have a ranger monitor and a bunch of other stuff.  We had a teeny bit over 14, like 17.  I thought I’d go with the “spirit” of the rule – the under 14 was for “small” productions and we were a small production.  To me it was true.

 

By the way, when the Ranger Supervisor looked around at all the cars, some of them belonged to other hikers, not our group, and so he didn’t even count how many people we had.  He just yelled.  To be safe, I sent a few of our volunteers away, to get our total personnel number down.


It was a 12-hour day but we got beautiful footage. Our actresses and crew were superb. 

 

And then I began to worry.  I’d never heard back from Miss B or Miss C about charging my card for our next day’s filming.  I’d sent a follow-up email and made a phone call to remind them.  Still nothing… but Mr. V called in the middle of Day One and said I did not have a permit for the Day Two.  I was livid and told him the whole story about the application on-line where we filled out the dates, how I’d TRIED to submit the credit card application with all three filming dates.  He had no sympathy and said Miss B was in Billing and knew nothing about the actual permits.  OH GREAT, NOW YOU TELL ME.  But he said we could fill out an “addendum” to film tomorrow.  Great!  I had our line producer, Kristina, fill that out, and whewwwww, we were good for Thursday.

 

We came back Thursday, right there when the gate opened again.  I had gone to a grocery store and a drug store the night before to get a boat-load of five dollar bills to feed into the parking machine today – you will not defeat me, “Take that, Parking Machine Monster!”

 

Half way through the day, Mr. V let us know there have been “complaints” about us – that we had too many people again.  I actually had met one of the rangers who came to visit our shooting site, and he was very friendly and seemed okay with us.  I told him we picked up other people’s trash, we had a small footprint, and we were leaving the place better than how we found it.  Apparently having a couple of extra people was too much for the color-in-the-lines bureaucrats.  Mr. V said we were denied a permit for Friday - no addendum, no nothin’.  So, I spent the rest of Thursday with my stomach in Knotsville again, trying to find another location.  I was at least lucky enough to have cell phone service at Topanga Park to make calls; many people did not; it was spotty even for me; my favorite place was under a tree in the parking lot, which I began to refer to it as my “office”.  Well guess what:  you can’t get a film permit at the last minute.  Then I discovered private ranches – no permit required!  But they were exorbitant (hello, $7000, for one day, really??).  Finally near the end of Day Two, I made an executive decision.

 

The Sand Fire was mostly contained by this time BUT the Forest Service wasn’t issuing film permits until the FOLLOWING week.  We would lose our D.P. by then.  We had to shoot Friday.  And we would go back to Switzer where we filmed the teaser.  Without a permit.  I didn’t like going renegade, but I literally had no other option.  I told director Vickie… and I said we need a story in case a ranger came by our Switzer spot.  Vickie said she would pretend to be a college instructor with a class.  Perfect.

 

One more curveball:  our sound guy wouldn’t do a shoot without a permit, so we had to scramble to find a sound person during the evening of Day Two for Day Three.

Switzer Redux

 

Early on the morning of Day Three, I handed out Adventure Passes for parking to the cast and crew as I stood on Angeles Crest Highway… and then drove on up to Switzer picnic area.  The crew unloaded camera equipment… and DUM DA DUM DUM DUM:  the Ranger Lady showed up around 9 a.m.  That morning I’d almost put on my MovieMaker T-shirt.  Instead, as a safety precaution for confrontation, I’d picked out my Grand Canyon “Just Hike It” t-shirt so I’d look like a hiker and not a film producer.  That moment had come.  Brayton, our Key Grip, and I hiked right past the Ranger Lady as she picked up trash.  We talked loudly of hiking in Alaska (his home state) to sound really authentic.  Meanwhile, when Director Vickie saw Ranger Lady, she calmly introduced herself as a college professor teaching students how to photograph nature.  Luckily not every piece of equipment was out of the van yet (yeah, nothing says “college students” like a SteadiCam harness and a jib…) and only a few of the crewmembers were with Vickie at that point. The Ranger bought it.  After she finished with the trash, she left, and didn’t come back the rest of the day.  Whew.

 

We spent a glorious 12 hours filming our actresses (we still had Laura as Shelby and by mid-summer Brynn Horrocks had joined us as our new Carol) running around in the woods “play fighting” with sticks.

We wrapped about 8 p.m., as it was getting dark.

Ignorance is bliss

 

If I’d known the Sand Fire was gonna break out…

If I’d known 17 people was a deal-breaker with the State Parks film dept…

If I’d known my boss at work was gonna pitch a fit when I asked for time off in August when we had to move the shoot from June (August is a big month for my department)…

What? I wouldn’t have done the film?  Ignorance is bliss.  You go with the info you have at the moment and keep your fingers crossed.

 

In spite of all the curveballs, we were ready for our second location, Harwood Lodge.

 

Harwood Lodge – a slice of heaven, a dream come true

Finally at Harwood, I could have a good time and do less worrying.  There were no pesky persnickety State Park Rangers, I wasn’t hounding donors for money, we had a solid cast and crew in place – and as an amazing bonus, we had eight, count ‘em eight, volunteers (many of whom I knew through the Gay & Lesbian Sierrans).  We literally couldn’t have done it without them.  They helped prepare food, then clean it up, set furniture and props and then move things for the next scene, and they acted as background extras.  They did it without complaining.  In fact, no one in the entire crew complained – and we worked hard – 12, 13 hours a day.

I was in my element:  high (6000’) in the mountains, surrounded by pine trees and craggy peaks, making art.  There were many dreams that came true during the weekend.  I’d purchased a Celtic Tree of Life t-shirt in England a few summers back and had hoped it could be used for the film:  our art department ended up framing it and putting it on the wall of Carol’s cabin.  I got to watch (and help) our Art Dept. gal, Melissa, hang up the “Welcome to Sierra Glen” sign, and hear the actresses say lines that I had written years ago.  The hand-made journal I’d worked hard on (with the help of friends, co-workers and some cast & crew members all writing in it) looked big and full – as if it had been around for years, filled with made-up adventure stories.

We made a movie!

 

One of the few challenges we had was staying on time.  We were supposed to be done at 8:30pm on Friday and we went to 9:30p.m.  On Saturday, the line producer, the First A.D. and I all worked to keep things moving, with more success.  The D.P. did ask me if we could shoot a dinner scene outside under the pine trees – as was originally planned – but we’d already started to set it up indoors and the director had already done a blocking rehearsal.  I just said no.  No explanation, no apology, just no.  We shot in the dining room and it looked beautiful.  And we got done that night by 8:30. The next day, Sunday, we wanted to be done by 6:30 because we needed to pack up and everyone had an hour-plus drive home.  The final shot was a fantasy kiss, with sunlight from behind the actresses, and when the sun disappeared behind the mountains at 6:15… that’s a wrap!

I stood in the parking lot w/ Vickie and with tears in my eyes we both said WE DID IT, WE MADE A MOVIE!

Shelby’s Vacation has gotten in to over a dozen film festivals and won a bunch of awards.

And now the novel

 The movie version of this story ended up being just under 40 minutes and was very satisfying to watch.  And yet… I still had this yearning to tell the WHOLE story of Shelby.  So, during the beginning of COVID, with extra time on my hands, I got out the novel version of SHELBY’S VACATION and polished it up.  I hired an editor who proofed it twice, and then I submitted it to a variety of publishers, which is another journey.

I’m thrilled to announce it was just published on June 1st of this year, 2023.


Nancy Beverly has been developing plays for several years with the writers’ / actors’ group Fierce Backbone, including Dyke-Doggie Patrol which was chosen by the Alliance of L.A. Playwrights for the city of West Hollywood’s 2022 gay pride readings. Thanks to the Harrison Grant from Fierce Backbone, she will be producing and starting in her one-person show Sister from Another Planet at the Hollywood Fringe Festival in June 2023.  Some fun honors:  her play Community made the finals of Sacramento’s B Street Theatre contest and the top 12 of the American Association of Community Theatres play contest.  Nancy’s professional career began at Actors Theatre of Louisville where she was the Assistant Lit Manager and had a slew of ten-minute plays produced, including Attack of the Moral Fuzzies, which was published by Samuel French and has been produced dozens of times around the U.S.  In L.A., she worked on such hit shows as Rosanne, Blossom, Desperate Housewives, and Ghost Whisperer.  She wrote and produced the film Shelby’s Vacation which got into over a dozen film festivals and won a boatload of awards.  More good news:  the novel version of Shelby’s Vacation has just been published and is available now from BarnesAndNoble.com (eBook and paperback) and Amazon.com (paperback), as well as from other online booksellers. Get your copy today!

 

G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

One Writer's Journey

Many times over the years I’ve been asked why I write. Truth is… the answer is simple. I write to entertain. I write because I get an idea in my head, usually high concept, that some part of my DNA insists I get down on paper. 

Back in elementary school, our teacher gave us a creative writing assignment. I wrote a Scooby-Doo episode that, if given the chance, I’d love to go back in time and get my hands on. There was also a poem I wrote about a kid getting locked out of his house titled, ‘If you ever forget your key’. All I remember of that one was the first few lines:

 

If you ever forget your key
You could use a heavy tree
Or if you dare, you could use
Some dynamite, just light the fuse

 

Not Robert Frost mind you, but not bad for an eight-year-old and I’m pretty sure the teacher gave me an A.

I wrote a nice speech for my wedding but being that at the time I was too shy to publicly speak—my words were always better than my delivery—my best man read it for me. He got plenty of laughs and a round of applause.

 

One night we went to dinner with my wife’s family to Ben’s Delicatessen. Her mother, who turns 90 today as I write this, is a notoriously slow eater. We’d all be finished with our meals, chatting away, and she’d just be finishing the first half of her sandwich. Our game was over and she hadn’t even reached halftime yet. The moment we got home I wrote a poem titled, ‘Ode to a Slow Eater’. My mother-in-law kept that one in her archives and she’d bring it out every few years at family gatherings.

 

For our Fantasy Football league, which I’ve been proudly playing with the greatest group of guys for the last 24 years, I wrote a weekly newsletter to spice up the trash talking, ingeniously titled ‘Trash Talk’. Nothing better than taking the Bombers team plane logo, flipping it upside down, with a caption reading “May Day, May Day” after his team got bumped out of the playoffs.

 

The bottom line is I loved to write and finally decided to take a run at doing it professionally, or at least for a larger audience than teachers, family, and friends. Now, just as an aside, before I get into the bigger stuff I’ve written, the whole starving artist thing wasn’t for me. Back in college, I came to a crossroads decision. I could major in creative writing, or I could major in computer science. This was back in the days of punch card programming. Being that computers were the up-and-coming field back in the 80’s, and I had a good head for logic (if not advanced mathematics), I chose the latter. A few years out of school, not quite enjoying the programming work I’d found, I pivoted and went back to business school at USC earning an MBA in Marketing and Finance which I put to good use.

I mention this because as much as I love writing, I decided to do it on the side in favor of a safer career, a choice I often wonder about as my life would have taken a completely different path.

I had a great idea for a comic strip, totally original, and wrote 200 plus daily strips for it, without any idea of how to draw it or pitch it. I hired a very talented artist, who drew the first 36 strips for me for minimal dollars, and it came out better than I dreamed of. Unfortunately, I only knew three syndicates to pitch to, and they all passed (but if anyone reading this who loves the dailies and knows how to get this out there, please let me know because it would be awesome to get these out in the world).

 

I wrote two children’s picture books. One I self-published; that you might find on Amazon (at least as an e-book), but the second I held back because damn… publishing is a tough business to do on your own and paying an illustrator was money I couldn’t earn back.

 

Then I had a killer of a sci-fi thriller idea for a novel. I had never written anything as big as a novel at the time. I’m also a plotter and not a “pantser” as they say (referring to authors that just sit down and write their story by the seat of their pants). Nope. That’s not me. I needed to know the beginning, middle, and end before I started. I needed a chapter-by-chapter outline. I also needed to hone my skills because writing a novel requires a whole different level of detail with multiple character arcs that MUST come together at the end to make it all work. And then I had to do a ton of research to make the story as realistic as possible. An audience can buy fantastic scenarios as long as you get the down-to-earth stuff right. And for the most part I did, though it definitely wasn’t perfect.

 

The high concept: Imagine if Roswell happened again, only this time the UFO doesn’t crash within the United States. My ultimate What If? My answer, well… we’d go to war to get that ship. And so would others. At the very least, a covert war would start between the nations that learned of its existence. And just to add a little extra nuance, this time the alien craft held survivors. A year later, THE ROSWELL PROTOCOLS was complete. Holy shit! I wrote a novel.

 

A few agents toyed with it. Somehow, I got it to the editor’s desk at St. Martin’s Press on my own. In the end it came down to me and another author (I suspect I know who but can’t confirm) with a similar premise and I drew the short straw. Unable to sell it on my own, I almost gave up, but Amazon launched Book Surge (now CreateSpace) that gave underdogs like me a chance. So I went for it. Within two weeks I sold over 700 copies and received mostly positive reviews. 88 reviews at last glance. And I loved every minute of it, even smiling at the few bad reviews because damn… I had the largest audience I’ve ever had and for the most part they liked it. And even better, a few years after the initial burst died down, a reader in England discovered the book, wrote a nice review, and sales caught a second wind.

As a marketing guy, I knew I should’ve stayed in that lane and kept writing sci-fi, including an immediate sequel. Unfortunately, creativity comes from the heart and the imagination, so I decided to write a TV Pilot. Yeah… that was a wild pivot. A manager would have been good for me back then, but I wasn’t writing for the money. I was writing to get cool ideas out of my head.

 

I got it to a few producers, who liked it better than they thought they would (with me being an amateur), but they passed, and since I really didn’t know what to do with it next, I tossed it in a drawer and then into some contests later on, where it received a couple of accolades, for whatever that’s worth.

From there I moved on to writing a few monster novels. A decently reviewed monster hunting series I’m looking for a better way to move forward with, and one hell of a thriller of a YA novel that landed me an agent at a big agency. This was it. The big leagues. It looked like I was finally heading to the show with this one. Or at least the nearest Barnes & Noble. It went through several iterations and titles, received an offer from a publisher which then got pulled back because (we think) the publisher was having some financial difficulties at the time. Yeah… like I said, publishing is a tough biz. Ultimately, and unfortunately, the agent moved on, so instead of beginning the arduous year and a half journey all over again, I decided to release it myself as ‘HELLION’. If nothing else, I made a very cool ad.

 

And though that was a tough setback, I was fortunate to meet a lot of terrific writers along the way and through those connections I have gotten some short stories published by traditional publishers. My recent successes include a short story called ‘THE GRIM’ about a veteran detective investigating a series of frightening crimes in New York City, which just appeared in Flame Tree Publishing’s ‘CHILLING CRIME’ anthology. They produce beautifully bound books all of which are worth checking out. I wrote a ghost story titled, ‘THE FINAL EXPERIMENT OF EUGENE APPLETON’ which recently appeared in the “EVEN IN THE GRAVE” anthology from Espec books.

 

And in the pipeline, I have another novel, a whole slew of short stories (one I know is being released in 2024), a full-length screenplay, a second TV pilot, and a short film I’d love to produce. The stories I tell and the media through which I choose to tell those stories are all over the map. But it’s the way my brain works, so I just go with it. Sooner or later, one of my stories will hit big. But even if it doesn’t, that’s okay. Just having unloaded all these ideas onto paper in a well-executed manner is success enough. Because at the end of the day, the journey is truly more important than the destination.

 

If you love to write, do it! It’s a subjective industry so live your dream your way (assuming you don’t need to do it to pay the bills). And along the way, treat everyone you meet professionally and personally with respect, honesty, and integrity. Be proud of your accomplishments and you will prosper no matter how many dollars there are at the end of the path.


Allan Burd writes imaginative thrillers in the YA, science fiction, and action horror genres. He also dabbles in children’s books and short stories and is a contributing author to a Bram Stoker nominated anthology. For more information on Allan, please visit www.allanburd.com


G&E In Motion does not necessarily agree with the opinions of our guest bloggers. That would be boring and counterproductive. We have simply found the author’s thoughts to be interesting, intelligent, unique, insightful, and/or important. We may not agree on the words but we surely agree on their right to express them and proudly present this platform as a means to do so.

Why I Wrote Veil of Seduction

I’ve had a few people say to me, “Wow…did you really write this? I can’t believe you wrote this!” And somedays I wonder that myself. I wonder who that voice is, the unconscious self that spent months exploring her pain and hope and righting wrongs and flinging words out with all the passion of every lost flame and tortured soul she ever encountered. I grieved for my characters, I held onto them tightly, but after all is said and done…it’s time to let them go.

I’ve been putting this article off for awhile. Somewhat consciously, mostly unconsciously. But as the year (and my deadline) draw to a close…the pressure is on. That’s how I always felt I wrote best: under pressure. But alas, I’m already getting off topic. I’m here to tell you why I wrote my novel, Veil of Seduction. What it means to me. What inspired it and why it’s important to me. I wonder why it’s so hard for me to write about it. I suppose because its personal. Or all the things I wanted to say have already been hidden throughout the text itself.

Perhaps that’s why it’s taken me so long to write this article. In many ways, developing this story was not only about exorcizing the demons I’ve grappled with, but also understanding and coming to know the demons that are in me…that are myself.

 

First looks at the original cover art and the progression of creativity! All original artwork by Lock.Wolfe


It all started with a conversation I had with my therapist. It’s hard to go into the details without giving away some spoilers but I’ll nevertheless try to be as thorough as possible. I spent a good amount of my life absorbing the energy of toxic people. I was naive, afraid of conflict and continually went out of my way to please others instead of taking care of myself. This is a pattern I was becoming more aware of and felt on the precipice of finally breaking. It was a connection I made to the many stories I had read as a young girl. Stories of bad men turned good by strong special women. I always wanted to be one of those women, and save every bad man I came across in the hopes of finding true love. But my views of romance and love were twisted, born out of abuse and domestic violence which left me trembling and raw in the aftermath of broken fantasies. I was tired. I was disillusioned. And I wanted answers to my behavior and the misunderstandings of romance, love, sex and everything in between.

 

When I set out on the road to healing, I knew the only constant provider of peace and reflection was my writing. So upon having one of those ‘ah ha’ moments during a particularly vigorous therapy session…I knew a story was on the horizon. One small string of words, which I cannot reveal without giving away an extremely important part of the plot, unleashed the monstrous and unyielding force inside me which was destined to write this novel. I found clarity in my subconscious and instead of acting and reacting, I began to think critically and rationally. I developed a mantra “Pause. Think. Act.” And I decided that my actions, my mistakes and the blindness that I experienced in my quest for love and connection needed to be explored. Not only to help close the bleeding wounds of my past, but also to help others avoid my mistakes and pitfalls. If not that, then at least to let my readers know that they weren’t alone and that many smart, talented and even extremely independent and successful people could fall prey to those who destroy and conquer. Alas, the fire was ignited and I was ready to burn. On this quest I also came to the very important conclusion that those who were out to incinerate the world and themselves were often the ones in the most pain, the people who needed the most help. However, my mistake had always been to sacrifice myself in order to provide that relief. Now, through the lens of a fictional world and the creation of my own characters, I was able to explore the ways in which humans sacrifice, lie, cheat, deny and even murder in order to avoid the thing that is staring them straight in the face—their fears…themselves.

I learned things about myself.

In case you need a quick synopsis :)


A lot went into this novel: inspiration, history and plenty of research. I spent hours compiling a great wealth of information on Nellie Bly, a journalist in the early 1900s who became famous after she went undercover and was institutionalized at Blackwell Asylum on the now Roosevelt Island in New York City. She pretended to be insane, was officially committed (after being examined by a doctor, judge and a police officer) and then began her investigation into the conditions of the asylum. Bly was pulled out less than two weeks later due to the horrific climate and wrote her exposé “Ten Days in a Madhouse” in which she contested that any sane person, and there were quite a few she met there, would be completely out of their mind after ten days of such horrendous and awful care. Her work and writing led to reform and further consideration of how patients were treated in state asylums.

Nellie Bly - American journalist, industrialist, inventor, and charity worker

Bly’s Exposé “Ten Days in a Mad-House”

I also spent time reading about the glorious history and ominous beauty of Newport, Rhode Island where I personally spent a significant amount of Summers in my youth. It is where Lorelei’s, our main character, journey begins. This was my starting point for diving into the dark side of the wealthy who resided there during the Gilded Age. I found plenty of research to develop, particularly in regards to the families who summered on the isolated island and the type of deboucharous parties that took place as well as the glorious architecture of homes like Seaview Terrace and the Breakers…it was nice to be able to breathe life into them and revisit them in the time periods in which they were in their grandeur, to uncover the delicious secrets and scandals that lay beneath the the glittering gold.

Seaview Terrace located in Newport Rhode, Island where the novel is set. This location plays an important role in the book!

Exploring the rich and gaudy juxtaposed and highlighted the wild gap in affluence that existed during this era, especially within mental health institutions and how care was distributed based on wealth brackets. This led me to more general concepts and necessities like economic, social and political happenings in America during the 1920s. This became an essential area of study; I felt that in order to truly understand the world I was creating, I would require a solid grasp of the issues which might affect the characters based on their locations, backgrounds and even their sense, or lack of, morality.

 

I don’t want to give away too much, but there was also research behind each character’s name, their backstory, where they came from and even the evolution of their beliefs. I spent hours creating a mythology to justify the twists and turns as I raced around every page wondering what lay next! As much as I prepared myself with a thorough outline, one of the many joys of writing is when you find yourself held hostage as your characters throw you for a loop and take you in a completely different direction than you originally planned. That happened with Chapter 26 (if you know you know!).

I am once again stalling as I draw closer to the core of my thoughts. It lays, very much at the heart of the story: the false delusion of the anti-hero and the through-line of narcissism that persists in villainy. The thing which I have again and again explored in my life with no resolution and constant repetition. Until now. Until this novel acted as a final confirmation to something I had suspected for quite some time. It pained me to do the dirty work of an author and break the ties that so fully bound me to my insipid belief that I could change others. That I could save those destined for destruction. The illusion has been lifted and I thought it would break me. But when I wrote the final lines of this story. I signed with relief. Things were different. I was different. And I knew someday, I, with Lorelei by my side, would be able to tell this story in the hopes that it would not change others, but allow them a new perspective on an old trope that no longer serves us as women, nor as humans.

It’s been a climb, a struggle, but I’m still here. Getting this book out was terrifying. The process was loaded with multitudes of rejection and self-doubt. Constant revisions and failures. Cries of joy and tears of rage. And I will tell you now, as I sit up much too late into the night continuing to write about this story, that it was so worth it. I love this story. If you ask me tomorrow, I might hate it. But right now, in this moment, I know writing it has changed my life. And I acknowledge that true change can only come from the self, from within.

My final thoughts. I lied to you. I have not let go of these characters. Not even close. So when you turn to page 323, don’t fret, there will be more coming your way.

Give you a hint? I couldn’t possibly. Nice try.

Write On,

E

La Vita Quotidiana: The Artist and Daily Life

The phrase “la vita quotidiana” never hit me so hard as it did during COVID-19, when a dystopian reality hit the world in a wave, like 80,000 fans at Yankee Stadium moving as one amoeba, rising falling and watching the wave move through the stands.  I saw COVID-19 coming, like everyone. I had the privilege of a door to close to keep the virus out, human contact out, and money enough to get food and medicine delivered right to my door.

Here’s my artist’s daily life now without la vita quotidiana.  I wake up I check my handheld screen, make espresso and it’s never as good as if I was in Napoli, but it’s a placeholder for la vita quotidiana I am not living.  I drink the espresso and look at my gallon of Sicilian olive oil on the counter with the picture of the carrozzella, another placeholder for the trees my grandparents harvested as youth field workers, landless peasants.  I open another screen, type on a keyboard, conscious to keep my fingers and neck from stiffening.  Hours and hours dissolve while my brain works almost not attached to a body.  I turn to the piano keyboard, working on the lead sheet of “Fly Me to the Moon.”  I take a break to eat.  I go into my audio cave—two walls where I glued soundproofing to the walls and threw a sleeping bag over a makeshift lean-to. I can’t explain the architecture of how I rigged this, but I can try—I zip gunned a framed canvass to the underside of a corner shelf, and stuck a four-foot length of scrap wood under it as a leg.  I didn’t bother to measure or cut the leg, so it’s on a diagonal.  However it fits.  Perfect. Sturdy.  Holds the roof up.  Over the top goes the sleeping bag.  This is my audio cave. 

130303018_10159041203331499_4163731075782861397_n.jpg

I record podcasts in there.  Yes, I talk to the walls.  As a kid in the Bronx this was the ultimate nightmare: once you start talking to the walls, you know you’re in trouble.  The people in the white coats are “coming to take you away.”  That was a popular song lyric in my youth. “They’re coming to take you away hah hah, they’re coming to take you away.” Maybe you remember it, you baby-boomers out there. I’m aiming for a hundred stories, a Decameron, because that one Giovanni B. did something admirable with his plague.  So, why can’t I?

I survived 2020 with a stack of N95 masks. How I got them is a story in and of itself--an under the table deal, what we used to call on the street--a racket. March 3rd, 2020 another fellow actor friend in NYC told me, “Annie I know a guy who sees what’s coming. He’s warehoused N95 masks, hand sanitizer, and packets of alcohol wipes.  Meet me on the corner of 13th and 6th and I’ll hook you up.”  Like a drug deal, my buddy, let’s call him Adam, jumped into my car without me even pulling over, as I drove eastbound on West 12th. He directed me to an undisclosed location. Take a right here, the next left, pull over, wait here, I’ll be right back.  I gave him some cash, and he brought me double what I paid for.  “You’re gonna need this,” he kept saying. “You above all.”  I didn’t know I wouldn’t see him for over a year from that moment.  We were all going, into effect, underground.  Back to our caves to face whatever home life we’d created or failed to.  Adam saved my life. Spleenless and immunocompromised with lungs already with fibrosis from radiation from a teenage bout with Hodgkin’s Disease, I was not slated to do well if I came in contact with this mysterious virus with its protein spiked crown, each sure to mutate.

I telephoned my old doctor, the hero who saved me in 1981 at Sloan-Kettering.   “I’m just calling to say hi,” I said, “I don’t have COVID.”

“If you had it, this would be a goodbye phone call,” he said to me.  “Ten or fifteen years from now it’ll be discussed how the hemoglobin structure of Italians made them more susceptible.  We look at malaria now, we see how people with variant hemoglobin structures are differentially affected.  But you, you’re from Bari, your bloodline is really Constantinopolitan.  You’re not really Italian.  I don’t mean that as an insult.  I mean it in terms of hemoglobin structure.  That might actually be protecting you from the path of the pathogen.”

I face-timed Rome every day.  Friends. Friends like family with a newborn baby who wouldn’t see the face of strangers the whole first year of his life.  I wondered about these babies of 2020, without interaction with other babies, without the sounds and smells of the cities around them, without faces except the ones they lived with in confinement.  Sheltering-in-place. In Rome and all over Italy, my friends and family were in “la zona rosa”—red zones; they couldn’t leave the house without a reason or written permit.  There was no passeggiata.  La vita quotidiana had come to a halt; la dolce vita,--on stop.  I’m thinking of emergency brakes, I’m thinking of those old cassette deck players, a simple square was the icon for “stop” and someone’s thick finger just pressed it, pressed it hard.  Stop.   Italy was two weeks ahead of New York in terms of the COVID wave so talking to my friends I knew what was coming ahead of time to New York.  I braced myself.  Stocked up on any food available for delivery. Dove deep into writing and painting still lifes of lemons.  I thought about the long de-evolution of humans in society; As kids we studied the local communal living in Iroquois longhouses where extended families and communities cooperated to survive and held ritual for spiritual awakeness and healing.  How did humans devolve in post-colonial capitalist society to believe that each human being needs to pull themselves up by their bootstraps?  As President Obama once pointed out --What if you don’t have boots?  How did we acquiesce into living apart in “apart”ments, literally naming the trend?  How did we isolate and warehouse and medicate our elders into zombies in “old age homes?”  And how do these words not stick in our throats as they writhe out of our mouths?  How are humans praising whatever deity on one hand and not caring for elders on the other?  How do companies have individuals each paying a couple of bucks a month for invisible “cloud” space, the intellectual closet space and $12 bucks for this, $18 bucks for that, for audio files, website files, and then poof, one “php” change and it all evaporates like a Buddhist’s “I told you so.”  

The other day I took an N95 masked walk on City Island with another fellow actor.  A City Island elder hippie wise woman stopped me in the street: 

            “What’s your birthday?” she accosted me in a friendly “I see through you” way. 

            “Six-one” I told her, “Marilyn Monroe.”  

            “Ahh yes,” she said, “That’s right.  What year?”   

            “63,” I told her.  

            “Ahh, yes that was a good year.”  She nodded putting it all together and getting to the root of my soul:  “You don’t know the difference between what’s real and what’s not.  That will be a lifelong struggle. And constant creative ideas.  You can’t turn it off.”

            “Yes, thanks,” I said.  “I’ll take all the free advice I can get.”

            And so, in search and hope for la vita quotidiana and la dolce vita once again, this one artist signs off for now, going to pop a croissant in the toaster, and dream of la cornetta di crema and the daily flow of a life in community with human touch I once knew, as I stare at screens of light, cup my hands over my eyes to give darkness as a gift to my brain, and keep breathing knowing full well every breath is a privilege while I have it.  One day, one day, the breath will fly free.  For now it stays with me, comes back home.

THANKS:

Annie first gives thanks and abbracci forti to Greg Cioffi and Emily Dinova who Annie claims she was the first to see them fall in love, love at first site, while overlapping in the costume shop in Manhattan Plaza.  Like all memories this one has a few puzzle pieces: the audition where Greg showed off his chest hair, then the costume room where Annie overlapped with Greg, and a minute later spotted Emily in the crosswalk on her way there.  BAM, it was a cosmic event.  Crosswalks are the place of city cosmos.  Greg and Emily were cast as lovers in Tony n’ Tina’s wedding.  Annie was cast as Grandma.  The rest is artistic history.  Here we are.   Annie celebrates la vita quotidiana that Emily and Greg have so artfully woven together. Graziemille to Adam Feingold, Emily Jordan Agnes Kunkel, and Sanford Kempin.

 


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Annie Rachele Lanzillotto

Author, poet, performance-artist, actor, director, songwriter, and activist

Author, poet, performance-artist, actor, director, songwriter, and activist, Annie Rachele Lanzillotto is a consummate cantastoria, one who sings epic tales in the piazza and walks with a big stick.  She has promoted audience participation in hundreds of performances everywhere from the Arthur Avenue Retail Market to the Guggenheim Museum to the Napoli Città Libro festival  While sheltering-in-place alone, she embarked on a solo Decameron, with a nod to Boccaccio, to tell one hundred original stories, in her podcast, "Annie's Story Cave” which can be heard everywhere. 

Forthcoming are two memoir essays: “The Wallmakers / I Muratori,”  (KGB Bar Lit Mag online) edited by Pat Zumhagen; and “Another Spring” in the anthology “Talking to the Girls, Personal Reflections on The Triangle Factory Fire” (New Village Press), edited by Edvige Giunta and Mary Anne Trasciatti.  Lanzillotto’s books include the double flip book: Hard Candy: Caregiving, Mourning, and Stage Light; and Pitch Roll Yaw, (Guernica World Editions), L is for Lion: an italian bronx butch freedom memoir (SUNY Press; finalist for the LAMBDA Literary Award), and Schistsong (Bordighera Press.) Her original albums include: Blue Pill; Never Argue With a Jackass; Swampjuice: Yankee with a Southern Peasant Soul.  Lanzillotto was on the founding board of the Remember the Triangle Fire Coalition.  She is the Artistic Director of Street Cry Inc.  Member of Theatre 68.  All love and thanks and in memory of the ancestors.

LINKS to Annie’s work: 

·      Podcast: “Annie’s Story Cave” is on every platform and: StreetCryInc.org. 

·      Books: order through any bookstore, or here http://www.annielanzillotto.com

·      Audiobookshttps://www.audible.com/author/Annie-Rachele-Lanzillotto/B00APRVO9E

·      Original albumsannielanzillotto.bandcamp.com

·      Paintingshttps://fineartamerica.com/profiles/annie-lanzillotto

·      Icewoman Performance Videohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3FimguzDxs

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