This is a short piece. I haven’t written anything besides the script for the last two months, and my head is empty of imagery and illumination. I got the script done as right as I could until such time as a more experienced screenwriter explains what I’ve missed. It’s like looking in the mirror and deflecting the flaws, until the big mirrored light swings over and all is revealed. .
Last Saturday after I printed the script out I went into a cocoon of pleasantries. Studying my home-nested wild birds, nudge the bird feeder, peck each other out of order, eat alongside the chipmunk, the doves, and the squirrel on the porch and Rick, the pavement glory of La Posada waving from across the street as he jogged to retrieve a guest’s car. I envied Loren on the porch, sunglasses and hat tipping slang narrating life as he sees it from a valet, go to guy, perspective, and watching Rudy on the roof pitching leaves, and listening to Ray Baretto. I drank up Gloria’s laughter at Geronimo when Sam Shepard sat next to me, and she nudged me to talk, talk talk. I watched the fireplace rising into flames and the sunlight at dusk in the melon room .I rose to morning air so fresh it numbed my tongue, my nose and eyes, and inside my San Francisco kimono, draping over my arms I could see the blossoms of color.
Lounging in lavender and lilac oil, soaps and salts in my claw foot tub listening to Nancy Wilson and then later with the TV on to TCM and my head on the pillow, I snuggled the pleasantry of a warm bed and heat rising through the vents.
If you write down the pleasantries
Surrounding your life
Your blessings rise up and
Give you comfort.
The sweet peace may vanish the next day, or be intercepted by the news, a wreck in the street, an unexpected phone call. The crossroads of everyday life comes and goes. Between all of these uncontrollable incidents we are writing our stories. Stories that some day will be told in conversation, or written in journals and books. The essence of our changing lives is worth telling, so you loyal readers write to me and tell me yours.
Remember your pleasantries, and the ones that swim through your days, with smiles and laughter, pats on the backs, jokes and tales. We all have clutter of the mind but we have the power to sift out the deranged deviations. I have come to believe the only will I want is the power to be a real good sifter.
A gangster daughter is ripped from comfort and innocence into confronting her father’s nefarious gangster life as Ben Siegel’s friend and partner. Ten years after her father took his own life; Lily discovers she must break the code of silence, to free herself from shame and distrust. When that trust is tested against her father, who controls her mentally, Lily is faced with standing up to him.
SCREENPLAY: My Hoodlum Saint is the story of a woman whose survival is wedged between love and fear of her father. It exposes my struggle to survive adolescence while growing up in my father’s secret and terrifying world, where only family could be trusted.
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