Go Big or Go Bust: Day 226 (on justifying hanging out as working 'smarter')

The divine Lea Floden, star of (my first and probably only feature) How To Be Louise, is in New York for a few days.  We hung out all day long eating tomato sandwiches, guzzling kale smoothies (kale from the garden) and even went to my friend Heather's birthday party in a penthouse loft.  SO elegant.  Really interesting-looking people, especially one amazing guy who defies description and bust out multiple psychic insights about Lea scattered through a regular conversation. 

So guess who lost track of the time and didn't get around to writing a blog today?  Me!  The same person who didn't take one single action toward going 'Big'.  Unless, of course, you count being around Lea who is so inspiring and fun.

I'm chalking it up to a "working smarter, not harder" day. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 225 (on euphoria, the Wonder Woman stance, bullies in trucks, and alternate side parking)

I just had the most amazingly joyful day and naturally want to bottle the good feelings.  Well, if not actually ‘bottle’ them, at least figure out the factors so maybe I can duplicate the experience.

So what could have caused this euphoria?  The week started off yesterday on less than a high note.  I moved the car in this dance New Yorkers do to avoid paying for a parking garage, ‘alternate side parking’.  I got a great spot in the shade and in front of the only doorman building on the block.  This is a score because it reduces the (unlikely but real) chance that someone will break into your car.  The thought crossed my mind that it would be wise to move ahead to another spot, away from the doorman building and in the blasting sun.  Though not ideal on a hot and humid day, there was a car double-parked way out into the street exactly opposite where I was parked which left only a narrow lane for traffic to get through between us.

I repressed the thought and, sitting in the driver's seat, started on my to-do list.  A screech of metal alerted me to the very large demolition dump truck which had just made a five inch crease in the side of my car.  

I blasted the horn and jumped out.  The driver, way up high in his enormous truck, rolled down his window part way and stayed well back, hidden in the shadows.  “Sorry.”  he called down, not smiling.  “Sorry?”  I shouted up at him over the din of his monster engine.  “Seriously? How about let’s exchange uhh —“  I was trying to think fast what exactly you exchange with someone who’s just creamed your car.  “Insurance!” I remembered it, but a little late as he was already rolling up his window and nodding, moving his lips but he wasn't talking to me.  Behind the reflection in the window, he appeared to be looking ahead down the block.  I was irrelevant.

Meanwhile, the driver of the double-parked car across the street was having his own problems. One foot on the street, one foot in the car, he was in a shouting match with someone I couldn't see.  The growing chorus of car horns blaring behind the dump truck made it clear that this truck had to move. 

I shrugged, not all that flustered as our car isn’t new or even close to ‘like new’.  I was feeling bullied, feeling powerless but what could I do?  Start scaling the dump truck?  I'd noticed the driver had muscles-- I'm sure he could crush me like a bug.  And what if there were a second guy beside him but out of sight.  

The doorman from the building behind me appeared at my side, a short man with a Spanish accent.  “Is this okay with you??”   I shrugged again.  And then a “No!” burst from my mouth: his outrage cleared away my doubt.  I dashed around to grab a pen as the car horns went silent and the big truck began to move but I scribbled down the name of the demolition company and (I think I got) the (mud encrusted) number on the license plate.  Just back from the boondocks, it had never occurred to me to grab my phone, take his picture, or take a video of the way our vehicles were locked together, the damage he’d done.  

On the advice of the Traffic Police woman who appeared soon after on foot, I called the precinct.  No answer.  I called back three times.  A bored and annoyed person finally answered and told me to call non-emergency 911.  It was hot.  It was humid.  Why am I sitting in the car over a little scrape when New York is a 'no-fault' state?  My inner voice went on a tear:  this'll raise our insurance.  Why am I making a mountain out of a molehill?  The police in New York City don't even have time to hunt down bag snatchers, it'll be hours before they show up!  Apparently it was a quiet morning as within fifteen minutes a patrol car pulled up and took my ‘accident report’.

But that's not the end of the story.

Flashing forward to today, there was a great deal of honking out on the street.  Looking out the window, I spied the name of the very same demo company on a huge truck. I scrambled down the stoop and rushed across the street to discover the same guy trapped in yet another double-parked situation. This time, he wasn’t so callous, his window was open and he smiled a sheepish: “Hi.”  I'm glad that I happened to be wearing the same clothes: he recognized me immediately.  Feeling neither hopeless nor helpless, I took my Wonder Woman stance (feet wide, hands on hips) and shouted up at him, victorious, even taunting with almost a smile:  “Hey I filed an accident report!  What’s your name!  Yeah and what’s your LAST name?”  He insisted on giving me his phone number too (still unverifed) and with some sheepish nodding and 'friendly' waving at me,  pulled ahead as soon as the traffic could move.

There’s more to this story which I don’t have time to tell tonight as it’s already after midnight…  I'll finish it up in the post tomorrow. 
 

All I can think is that he must now be aware of the Accident Report.  

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 224 (the compulsion to clean and a postcard from the set of 2010)

There's so much to do to re-establish life after the summer, buying food and cleaning supplies and scrubbing out the refrigerator (in that order).  And cleaning everything else!  The grime of New York City is everywhere and I especially love to clean when the challenge is great - I was inside, I was outside.  It occurred to me to ask a passerby to snap a shot of me with my broom and the leaves (leaves in August?) but I couldn't break stride for even that. 

So though this blog was supposed to get written hours ago, here it is after 11 PM and I'm wishing I were one of those people who has a supply of posts waiting in the wings.  Alas I am not so tonight I hope you'll be happy with a photograph from the shoot of Season 2. 

Chris Leone (Sound Mixer), Deb Micallef (Associate Producer) and I get ready to shoot while actors walk through a shot.        Photo by Sean Fox

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 223 (on composting, marketing notes, churning butter and the epidemic of road rage)

For the past fifteen months, when upstate, Mr. Green and I have been composting kitchen garbage. True to our let's-reinvent-the-wheel natures, we didn't buy a compost bin or read as much as an article on how to go about composting.  We designated a spot under an ancient pear tree 'the compost pile' and throw a piece of firewood on top of kitchen garbage along with a few stalks of cut hay. The fact that there are deer galore, raccoons and skunks, a large family of ground hogs and another of rabbits sharing the property has keep the question alive if what we put out for compost turns into their salad bar when we're not looking.  So it was with some joy that I went to turn the compost for only the second time this summer, a job that's supposed to be done weekly. 

Good news!  Our carrot tops, kale spines, egg shells and apple cores seem to actually be turning into a pile of black dirt!  But it's an awfully small pile of black dirt considering how much stuff we've put out there ... which leads me to believe that our salad bar theory is also true.

(there's actually a lot more of the black dirt than you can see in this picture...)

With mixed emotions, I washed my hands, packed up my computer and 'marketing files' and we headed back into the city.  Living in both the tranquility of upstate New York and the beehive of New York City is a joy I never imagined I'd know. 

But getting out onto the highway, it quickly became apparent that not everyone on the road was returning to the city from a tranquil place.  While I motored along in my zen state, one car beeped aggressively just to let me know he was passing and a number of drivers cut us off zigzagging from lane to lane at high speed. This prompted me to wonder: Whatever happened to 'passing on the left'? 

Shortly after a police car passed us and, I'm happy to report, he passed on the left, but was so far over the line into our lane that I was afraid he might clip us. This prompted wondering if modern life has gotten to be too much for me... Isn't that still the deal?  Don't we still each GET OUR OWN LANE?? 

Only yesterday I was marveling at an exhibit of farm tools at the county fair, astonished at how much effort, ingenuity, energy and the time of men, women, children and animals went into simply growing and harvesting the food. There was even a wooden treadmill for a '40 lb. dog' to churn the butter!  Nobody got off easy.

I don't want to romanticize an era when women were actually indentured servants without a vote, a voice or any rights at all, but it seems that in 'former times', this kind of behavior would not have been the norm. 

A) People would have been in horse-drawn carriages traveling at the speed of a jog and calling a greeting to each other-- or not calling a greeting but probably not trying to give the finger to or needlessly endanger a stranger's carriage. 

B) When you're out working up a sweat, breaking your back and seeing the fruit of your labor, you generally feel some sense of satisfaction and humility at your part in the greater scheme. 

On the road today, it looked like an epidemic of frustrated, angry and alienated people who actually don't know how to drive.  Mr. Green tried to put it into context: "I've heard of this before.  People get behind the wheel and their personality changes.  It's a sort of neurotic response to the power of the car."  Road rage?  At least today no guns were involved. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 222 (on surviving the end of summer, bad moods, sadistic elected officials and points on licenses with coconut curry)

This whole Go Big thing requires that I hang in there.  And in order to hang in there, I have to stay healthy and reasonably happy.  This post is going to drag you through a bad mood and out the other side.  

Until this afternoon, I’ve long suffered, but never understood why the the 20 mph speed limit around schools so irritates me.   Today the light bulb went on: it feels like a calculated and sadistic move on the part of bean-counting elected officials who (obviously) excelled in school and take some pleasure in rubbing it in.  For the duration.  Those of us who were not good at book learning are forced to relive the horror or risk points on our licenses.  

This afternoon as I crawled by the local elementary school (in a car), decades of bad memories glommed into one worse-than-usual baaad feeling which forced my chest to cave in and my face to wrinkle in a wince.  "See You at Back-To-School NIght!" shouted the signboard with the movable letters.  As I rubbernecked, I heard the over-loud school bell in my head and boom, another light bulb went on: a lot of elementary schools actually look like prisons. This observation was confirmed by a friend who pointed out that architects who design prisons often also design schools.  

I decided to take an action, change a feeling.  We went to the county fair.   

I read somewhere once that after a death you should treat yourself to the ultimate luxury.  The death of summer seems like a bonafide death so tonight I’m cooking rice noodles, kale from the garden and fish with a fabulous coconut curry. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 221 (on my worthy adversary Mr. Green)

After our night on the town, but before putting the car into gear to get out of our 'illegal parking spot', Mr. Green asked: "Shall we head back to our vigorous lifestyle?"

I was laughing too hard to answer.  Mr. Green, deadpan (but not kidding around):  "What's so funny."

I would've posted a picture of Mr. Green tonight but he forbade it. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 220 (Postcard from my night on the town - finding a parking spot with Mr. Green)

So it's feeling like the end of summer and the last joyless man and I decided to go into the nearby big town for the evening.  We circled around for a good fifteen minutes looking for a parking spot but there wasn't one anywhere and then we finally found three together.  Okay it was blocks from where we were going but, with some hesitation, we took it and as we race walked to our destination, Mr. Green became convinced that the three spots were available only because they were illegal and we would come back to find at least a parking ticket if not a towed car. 

So, supportive and selfless, in spite of hunger pangs, I suggested we double back and look for another spot.  But Mr. Green insisted that we press on (pointing out that everything would be closed if we delayed further) but that he was now certain that we had parked illegally.  I pointed out that the police would have no trouble finding us, two criminals on the lam headed to the health food store to get some gazpacho and corn bread. 

"Very funny Annie.  Here.  Lemme take a picture of you with these sunflowers."

P.S. The car was not towed.  And we didn't get a ticket. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 219 (on insomnia and dreams of success)

So the pendulum is swinging ... wildly.  I got very excited last night about what the future could hold.

(In case you've somehow missed out on 'the best t-shirt ever' (and can't read it here) it says "Anxious.  And tense.  The way I like it.  The Louise Log"

Unfortunately, worked up as I was experiencing this possible success, I couldn't fall asleep til 4:30 AM.  Not that I lie in bed yawning.  After an hour, I get up and read, file papers ... something.  I learned long ago that fighting insomnia is worse than insomnia. 

Mr. Green once remarked to someone that I make a great house guest.  "She doesn't need sheets or a pillow, or even a bed!  She just wanders around the house all night."  Well.  Not exactly.  Anyway tonight I'm turning in early.  G'night.

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 218 (on decoding messages in the mountains near Jasper, British Columbia)

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that one of the things I love most in the world is a sign, some kind of confirmation that I'm on the right track, some kind of guidance on what direction to follow. 

This passion sometimes edges over into obsession, as it did when we were driving through British Columbia in June.  Not wanting to lose his life at the hands of a distracted driver,  Mr. Green took the wheel so I could record the messages the mountains were trying to give me.  This way, I figured, I'd be able to take the time to study and decode them.  I took scores of pictures. 

Here it is late August and I haven't found the time to look at them. Until today. 

Anthropology wasn't offered at my college, I've never given more than cursory attention to hieroglyphics and I know nothing about languages which use alphabets other than the Latin one.  But I'm fairly certain that these mountains are rife with important information. 

Please let me know if you read or see anything I should be aware of!

There's a clear 'E P' in the red circle to the far left, 'S5' or maybe 'F5' in the middle circle and if that isn't a lucky horseshoe over in the right hand circle, I'll EAT MY HAT. 

If I were a musician, I would definitely be thinking about the merits of making an EP. 

As one of my favorite tarot card readers, 'Abby' from the old Gypsy Tea Kettle on 56th St and Lexington Avenue used to say "Is there a V, please?  A Victoria? A Veronica?"  Abby, a story in herself for another day, wore her hair in a huge platinum bee-hive and claimed to be Miriam Hopkins' son Michael.

I didn't bother to circle the three '0's' on the side of this peak so you could also find the five 'I's just to the left of them.  And the smiling cat face in the right middle ground.  AND SO MUCH MORE.

Maybe it's a blessing that I never learned Morse Code.  I'd be so busy here I might never do anything again EVER. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 216 (on panic, pain, and Stephen Colbert's life raft of acceptance)

I'm fortunate to have never had to battle depression.  In fact, I've hardly ever been depressed.  But today it's been in a downhill slide since before hauling myself out of bed.  I'd like to think this mood was caused by the second half of that hummus sandwich on the way home from the rodeo --or the barely five hours of sleep.  So I fought it off but it came back.  Again.  And again and again. 

I was starting to fear that the underlying panic (that I'm blowing it, that I'm blowing everything) has solidified into the new me.  

Here I thought it was good to have hopes and dreams (especially supported by astrological forecasts) that the whole 'vision board' thing was a healthy discipline.  Too bad, with my willfulness, it all turns into torture. 

So, not liking pain, I've been scouring for help.  "Plans but no expectations" says John M. Carroll, the (biblical era-type) healer who works with visualization and has helped me and thousands of others with conditions and/or diseases which sometimes (apparently) spring from inner turmoil.  "Forgiveness, no judgment or feeling slighted".  I'm sure he's right, but today I'm not hearing it.

Luckily, Jessica Arinella sent me a cover story on Stephen Colbert which is saving my life.  In the last third of the article, Colbert talks about suffering, about loving your failures and about the importance of accepting them.  "Acceptance is not defeat.  Acceptance is just awareness."  Whattt. 

Many years ago, I had a mentor in a successful artist.  He used to talk about the precious state of feeling completely defeated, that in that moment, your skin is "stretching".  I would think but not dare to say, "Easy for you to say, you with your museum retrospectives and your big career." 

Today his words came back to me with force after reading Colbert's words.  Combined with my late mentor's image of the stretching skin, an action-step came clear: I relaxed into the horrible feeling of my skin 'stretching' and, in an instant, the panic and the pain lifted.  Poof.  GONE.  It was just like the shift of hunching my shoulders and tensing every muscle to not feel a blast of arctic wind vs. relaxing and experiencing the cold as just another feeling.  Once the resistance is removed, it's a state without a positive or a negative charge, like a color. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 215 (postcard from my new studio with Mr. Green's storage bench)

Mr. Green very kindly put his many projects on hold to build me a storage bench and he completed it late yesterday.  With joy, I've been cleaning up the chaos of my studio all afternoon.  And while sorting and stashing, I was hoping that a blog topic for today would occur to me. 

Meanwhile Mr. Green is on to his next project, which involves a weed whacker.  For those of you who live in a city, you may not know that a weed whacker is such a noisy piece of equipment that it makes concentration difficult.  And to make things even more exciting, the pressure is on.  We're leaving to go to a rodeo in half an hour.  I've spent what would have been my writing time on several false starts and so for today, it's going to be a postcard from my studio.  Well, how about two postcards!  The 'before the storage bench' and the 'after'. 

Before

After

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 214 (on sticking my neck out and strengthening the risk-taking muscle)

So I stuck my neck out today.  A savvier friend was holding my hand but I was the one on the block. 

It feels like I fell on my face.  You know that feeling of having the tendons behind your knees and on the inside of your elbows (virtually) cut?  It wasn't anywhere near as bad as it could have been as we had only gotten to the Assistant, and it wasn't a flat out rejection but it was a pretty strong message that Plan B will not be as easy as I was hoping.  

On the plus side, the experience is completely different from my recent *disappointment* and is proof that my risk-taking muscle is getting stronger cause I'm no where near flattened.  In fact I feel kind of relaxed.  The thought descended like a cartoon bubble that it's no surprise that putting myself out there is hard.  After eight years of running the show, of not having to ask anybody to want me or what I've got, of course this is hard! 

But wIthout my savvy friend holding my hand and you cheering me on, it would be a very different story.  Thank you for all you're doing. 

Decades ago, someone planted these lilies in a garden, but now they're in a field, almost unnoticed.  Isn't there some biblical quote about the lilies of the field - "they toil not and neither do they spin"... ?

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 213 (on the problem with selfies and what people see in a face)

In doing this blog, I never imagined for a second that it would turn into posting all these selfies.  Not that I don't like to look at a flattering picture of myself as much as the next person, but as you may have noticed, I seem to have hit a new low in willingness to prep for the camera.  This is partly poor time management and partly because I've discovered that it's not so much about a seriously bad hair day (today, see below) or whether I'm wearing mascara or not that makes for a good picture.  It's about emotional state and specifically, a lack of willfulness or a 'will to power'. 

I don't enjoy posing but the long and the short is that I frequently feel a failure of imagination when it comes to finding topics which relate to what Mudd likes to call my 'journey’.  And, full disclosure, it's rare that people will click the 'Like' button on Facebook if the picture is of something other than me.  This is 'go big or go bust' after all.  I'm trying to get a bigger audience.

But while we're on the subject of physical appearances, I have to tell you a story.  A year or more ago, I was in a health food store, late, rushing and suddenly ravenous.  A very short woman, I'm talking, five feet tall or less, was between me and the brown rice, serving herself.  She was being kind of pokey, and I was getting more and more impatient, until I noticed that she had some kind of pretty serious malformation.  Her head was permanently tipped 90º, so one ear was almost touching her shoulder and she could hardly reach the shelf to get a second container.  I didn't want to be rude but seeing as I'm almost six feet tall, asked if I could help.  She turned to thank me, head at this crazy angle, and looked me right in the eye.  She appeared to be well into her eighties.  And I was dazzled.  It was all in her eyes - love, a sense of humor and intelligence.  We ended up talking and exchanging cards. 

A number of weeks later, I was in the same health food store with Mr. Green.  My short friend from the brown rice take-out was in the aisle shopping.  I introduced her to Mr. Green, we chatted briefly and left.  One thing you may not know about Mr. Green is that he's not what you'd call good with the small talk.  He can be pretty abrupt, he sizes people up quickly and is just as ready to turn and walk away as to shake hands.  I asked him for his take on my new friend.  Mr. Green's response?  "I love her already." 

This may be obvious to you, but it's a revelation to me: once you pass a certain age (for women 55 or 60) the face the world sees (if they look) is actually pretty much ONLY what's inside. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 212 (on the unlikely path to my Oprah moment of surrender)

I've known for a while that I have to be beaten to a pulp before I give up.  And I have Good News.  In spite of my bull-like ability to dig in my heels and resist surrender, compounded by my oxen-like strength, everything seems to have shifted. 

Was it the no-see-um bugs who invaded my studio and brought me to a new level of gratitude for the little things in life like a bug-free bedroom?  Or was it the almost-nine divine hours of sleep last night which put a less desperate spin on the fact that Plan B seemed to be stalled-out-in-the-starting-gate if not in active implosion.  Whatever.  My forty-eight hour temper tantrum has dissipated like a morning mist.  I worked in a workman-like way all day and then dragged Mr. Green off to the swimming hole. 

After a vigorous swim upstream battling the current

We returned home to a surprise:  it's possible that, in surrender, I too had my Oprah moment.  No, Spielberg didn't call to offer me a part but I wasn't hoping for that.  Instead, I heard from someone who I'd figured was speaking for everyone in the industry in writing off The Louise Log  (and me) without the courtesy of even a rejection email.  He'd injured his back soon after our first exchange, had been loopy on heavy pain killers ever since and thought he'd emailed. 

I did see a bird near the house, this morning, with a vividly blue tail.  THE BLUEBIRD OF HAPPINESS??  Hmm.  Probably more like the no-see-ums of happiness. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 211 (It's me and Daniel Powter all the way)

Lotta cursing.  Lotta toe stubbing.  Overall pervasive baaad mood. 

Mr. Green wanted to know if I'm 'upset about something' which forced me to have to talk about it. 

I'm embarrassed to admit that the long and the short of it is that I want what I want when I want it.  And I've been denied it.  So I've sort of reverted to being a three year old. 

Plus I'm so busy being bitter that I've fallen behind with everything.  If I haven't answered you or even acknowledged your kindness, please don't take it personally.  

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 210 (When the multiple adrenaline surges finally wear off...)

I don't know what happened.  It finally hit me this morning.  Here I was all glowy, all OVER not making the final cut.

Maybe the multiple adrenaline surges finally wore off?  First there was seeing:  Episodic Lab!!  blazing in my inbox a full week early.  (without the italics and exclamation points...)  Then, the nicest-ever rejection letter.  And then the tidal wave of love from you.

I'm not generally depressive but woke up this morning in a black mood.  Very Soprano theme song.  Everything was gone.  Fortunately, you sent me links to watch and read, links about how to cope with rejection, about how to deal with an 'upper limit problem' and an Oprah video on surrrender (suggested by Louise Edington) which made me burst into tears and gave me the answer.  I have to let go AGAIN.  (Looking at You, Suzy Soro)  I have to surrender. 

So I hauled out the vacuum cleaner and threw myself into cleaning the house.  At first I was all (mournful) Skeeter Davis: "Don't theyyy know, it's the END of the world..."

This eventually shifted to chanting to a God I don't always believe exists:  "Please show me the way to use my talents."  which changed to:  "Could you just show me how to be happy!"  I felt willing.  I felt truly and totally surrendered.  What am I supposed to do?

Of course nothing happened.  And I didn't even take pleasure in doing a bang-up job of cleaning.  (Not to compare, but Oprah got a call from Spielberg offering her the part in The Color Purple the instant she surrendered.)   

Glum, with heavy feet, I pretended that I wasn't occasionally refreshing the mail on my phone and finished the job (except the bathrooms).  I decided that today is the day: it was almost 90º and I was going swimming.  I NEVER go swimming even though I love to swim.  Last summer I never even went ONCE.

So I put on a bathing suit and my cut-offs, got in the old Volvo and drove to the swimming hole.  I had a delicious swim against the current in a fast-moving river which did exactly NOTHING to change my mood.  I drove home, made a lettuce and tomato sandwich with a ton of Hellman's mayonnaise (protein) and trudged to my studio to write the blog of death. 

Almost immediately, on starting to write, the black mood lifted.  Oh and by the way, look what I found on the way to the studio. 

And look what I found on the way back to the house for a cup of tea.

You may not know that most of my childhood was spent on all-fours, eyes trained on the lawn, looking for 4-leaf clovers.  In decades of looking, I never found two in a day and never even imagined a 5-leaf clover.  Maybe things are looking up. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 209 (The astonishing thing about you and me. And Ben Affleck. And Maggie Gyllenhaal.)

So I can't actually remember if I've mentioned that part of the point of this blog is to figure out what the heck 'going big' exactly means.

There was a story somewhere a number of years ago that Ben Affleck, who had just zoomed to fame, had said: "Being famous is the most extraordinary and wonderful experience I've ever had.  For about twenty minutes." 

On reading that, I was surprised.  But then the more it sank in, the more it made sense.  You could imagine that it's a drag not being able to trust anyone's intentions anymore.  Everybody wants some of you or some of what you can do for them.  I'm guilty. 

Maggie Gyllenhaal once plopped her laptop down on the café table next to mine and asked if I'd watch it for a minute.  While she was off on the other side of the room, my heart rose pounding in my throat. "Give her a card.  No.  Leave her alone.  Anne, this is a fated opportunity.  Give her a goddam card."   When she returned, I offered her a Louise Log card and asked her to take a look.  To this day, I'm haunted by her quiet groan and flick of the eyes in an unspoken "Seriously??"

It feels to me that you and I have something different.  I don't wonder for one second what you're after.  I know what you're after.  You either like The Louise Log or you like this blog.  Or both.  I'm too marginal and too under the radar to help anybody.  And I'm too old to attract 'the wrong element' ha ha.  So we have this incredibly pure connection where we can talk honestly and, even if we've never met, or not for many years, we can talk like friends. 

I Love to hear from you.  I Love to hear your side of the story,  I practically do hand springs on hearing that you identify with my struggle cause of what you're going through.  It justifies this blog and makes all the time on social media feel worthwhile.  And it feels like the validation and the emotional exchange we're having on (what I used to think of as) 'stupid old facebook', may just be the very thing all we unrecognized creatives are actually longing for.   

A stairwell at Dixon Place in NYC

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 208 (Who KNEW that putting your broken, scared, anxious, joyful heart right out there is all that really matters! Gratitude Attack to my Tribe)

First last and always, I throw my arms around each and every one of you who's showed up with UNIMAGINED love and solidarity here, on facebook and twitter.  I thank you for your generosity and your wisdom.  And I'm honored and grateful to have you buoying me in a way that even that big Sundance stamp of approval (with all that it entails) could not have buoyed me.  You are giving me something that I've never had in my life - a massive global tribe!  (You!)  It's especially unique and wonderful that we're also 24-7 pen pals.

So many of us are struggling to be heard, to make a difference with our creative work, to be recognized for what we're doing.  Until this year, I've put most of my energy into the work, very little into connecting and even less into talking openly about the day to day reality of the struggle.  Until this year, I mostly used facebook and twitter for posting links.  Who knew the rich reward of daring to reveal what's really going on.   Who knew that the bottom line of what matters is putting your broken, scared, anxious, joyful heart right out there??

I'm the only one to blame for this very public experience of a Sundance rejection which, in another time, would have been on my top ten list of Things To Avoid. 

But having gone through this with you sometimes cheering me on, on other days offering your shoulder to cry on and on others insisting that one door closes and another opens (or that the bus/train I'm supposed to take is still coming) I'm actually believing it.  In the face of yesterday's rejection, I already feel joyful and excited.  And I'm on to Plan B.

Thank you from my heart for being a part of my roller coaster journey.  I love you. 

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 207 (on The Sundance Episodic Lab decision)

So I got the email from Sundance which included the words "disappointing news" and "regretfully". 

It helps that it was the kindest rejection letter ever.  And it stings less to know that we were apparently *close* to being chosen.

Still. 

I'm dealing with it by doing something I have total control over - moving my entire office outside so I can vacuum and paint the floor with some kind of sealer (to minimize the concrete dust).  And throwing the switch on Plan B. 

Mr. Green snapped this shot as I write this post. 

Woops.  Guess I don't actually have as much control as I thought.  The sky opened up and it started raining on my outdoor office ... which, has since turned into a full-on torrential thunderstorm.   Life is just full of big and little surprises.  And I have to remind myself that I do love a surprise.   

Go Big or Go Bust: Day 206 (on marriage, MY marriage)

I guess we all go through a lot of ups and downs in a day, certainly in 206 days of struggling to figure out a course of action.  But, tell me frankly, don't I look fun? 

photo by Sean Fox

Don't I look like I'd be fun to be married to? 

Mr. Green has a different opinion:  "My attitude toward you ranges from fascination to hatred."  Then he followed up in a mild, distracted way: "I woke up hating you."