Solstice Reflection

I'm not one myself to read bulletins... only if the title or the person catches my attention. I'm not good about reading friends blogs, or sending myspace messages, or making phone calls... but I am good at running into people at the right place at the right time.

For some reason, I felt guided to post this, hoping my friends, compadres, homies, cronies, crew, shipmates, fellow humans I've connected with, may take a moment to read my words and except my gratitude for friendships and support in life.

This year, 2007, has been one of transformation. Although we are all changing and transforming without even knowing it, I've been guided to a place of confidence and humble security in myself and my abilities... guided only by intuition and dreams, I've become a visceral being. An Axis of Manifestation.

Last fall, I asked the universe to take away all things from me that were no longer of service... my anger, my frustrations, insecurity.

The result of that was, indeed, healing in context, but in the literal sense, I had my apartment burglarized in January of this year, and lost all of the few belongings I had that meant something, that held my art, my computer, my cameras, my files, my inncocence burst when I walked into an apartment covered in shards of glass, and raped, bed sheets pulled off, belongings fingered by strange hands, strangely familiar hands....?

After that, it took me a while to piece my mind together... Kickboxing helped with the anger aspect, but what message was the universe showing me? Was I not using my possessions to make things happen? My dreams... was I wasting time?

I assumed "yes" and commmited to moving forward with a project that I've talked and talked and writtten about and dreamed about and envisioned, and winced and prayed and prayed and wished would come true,

"FLiCk" in 2001 was an impossibility for this young dreamer.

"FLiCk" in 2007 was proof that anything is possible.

As soon as i made the voiced commitment to the project.... that I was, indeed, moving to New York and getting my ass in gear for getting this done, imagining myself under the high buildings, towering above my little self, walking in and asking strangers for help, I was scared. But I knew what i wanted, and I had to listen to my mom's repetitious words.

"Shit, or get off the pot."

Thanks for your words of encouragement.

I was working at Vertigo at the time... the bar on Ingersoll were souls met up for no reason, drawn into it's unconscious whirlpool. That's where I met Merso, Megs, Julie, found a strength in myself and my ability to wield bullshit far away from me from drunken clients. Quit the Domestic Violence Shelter knowing that my purpose is not to fuel a fucked up machine, but to inspire others to grow and change coming from within. Vertigo. That's where I ran into Kelix Williams, G. Thomas, old cronies of my mentor, Roy A. Fisher.

A few words slipped out, and a new opportunity.

I didn't need to leave Des Moines to go to New York and make a film. I could bring New York necessities here, and make my project where I had the support and resources to make a low budget film.

Shortly after that, I went to an intuitive counselor here in Des Moines, ask me for details if you want, this is not something I usually do, but there was a strong need for me to get some outside words to help get solid.

Shortly after, movement, change... a summer love that fed off communication and candor and fun and new hope. An ambitious young woman that became my cheerleader, my roommate, my actress, my co-producer and an absolute inspiration.

Friends that believed in me, and believed in the dream.. one that extended further beyond my imagination than I ever dreamt possible.

Vertigo closed. Freedom, room for new birth.

I travelled a bit with my father and worked on the final drafts of Flick, after having been drafting for 5 years already... I flew to California and drove acrossed the states in two and a half days back to Des Moines with my little sister/best friend... the salt flats of Utah smelling of mint oreo dirt and my ambitions. Received a job at Starbucks, and tied the multi colored dreadlocks of Ukweli into my own hair.... another random connection at Blondies Beauty Parlor, donations to the dream.

Rewriting rewriting, meetings, work, visualization, phone calls, airline tickets, moving out, moving into the womb on 29th street... A Kidney Infection that forced me to rest and reflect at the hospital. A new partner, a nervous signature at the bank, the naming Axis Manifest, LLC ...finishing the script at 4am October 4, 2007, just in time for the first read through... the loss of a parent for the dearest of friends of mine.

Too many parallels, too many connections between the story and the reality, the characters and their players. Intentions of cathartic healing, of acting out our alter egos, our shadows, our light and darks, prancing acrossed metaphors that lead to our own simple enlightenments.

A prayer asking for guidance.

The gratitude that got me through the hardest days I've experienced in creative processes.

The words of strangers sticking with me, the support of clients, friends, family, teachers, fellow students. We believe in you. The universe believes in you.

Two years ago on a cruiseship in the middle of the Baltic seas, a mentor and friend from Turkey told me that any dream or thought with enough love behind it will find away to manifest and materialize itself.

With no experience, I, with the help of a few solid and amazing individuals, moved mountains in a matter of weeks... so few of us with a few words in our hearts to keep us going.

Faith. Trust.

Trust.

The visceral moments were what drove me... Rather than listening to my reeling mind, I followed the feeling in my chest, my true radar.

Asking for the guidance of my teacher, Joy Renee, who died the day before I went to hospital this year.

The Violet Flame.

Transformation is not always daisies and sunshine.

Transformation can be ugly, brutal, simple, aware, death, stagnance, beautiful disaster.

It's all about choice, and what we do with it. This is Our human experience.

I wonder sometimes if I am meant to be a beacon for others. That if my dream can find a way to materialize, that anyone with enough passion, faith and trust, and get up and go to them, can find away to make anything happen.

That my thirteen year old self is giving me thumbs up sign from the dark notebooks of a depressed youth, so conscious, too young to understand.

Doing exactly what I mean to be doing.



The laughter of my classmates circa fifth grade, nine years old, laughing at me,still stings my ears, as I said to our guest speaker

"I believe anything is possible."



With enough love, with enough patience, awareness, conscious attention to one's intuition, I've followed my heart, and I had a crew of the most amazing, brilliant, talented, honest, faithful, fantastic group of people I have ever been blessed to meet.

I hope some of you read this and realize how very much you mean to me. My "Thank you's" on set became repetetive, but with each cadence, my gratitude resonated more and more.

Those hard days, asleep at 6am, awake at 10 30 am with phone ringing and plans to make, wanting to run away, wanting to get the fuck out of there, to crawl in a hole, to cry, to weep, throw my arms up and surrender, too hard, too much, so much chaos.

Gratitude, I'd say to myself. You've asked for this gift, don't run from it.


Gratitude, to all of you, on this day, on the Solstice, the day the sun is born again, and winter is upon us, I wish you a holiday time of love, reflection, family, catharsis, and anything that you need it to be for your own healing and growth.

I wish the best in 2008 for all of you....

And may you receive all that you desire from life, for it is only this one time that you have the opportunity to be you, at this place, at this time in the span of existence.


With great love, gratitude, warmth and candor.

Lauren Kathleen Hickman
December 21, 2007

closer

We're a week from production mandatory meetings.

LLC's set up. Credit line established. Flights from New York to Des Moines and back purchased.

Here comes Trust, to throw us blows and punches in the face, testing our strength... our endurance, our faith.

The screenplay, now organized into sections of years and editing is thicker than a phonebook.

Changes in dialogue, in purpose, in intention, transformed to fit more and more in the concept of transmutation, transformation.

The Violet Flame representing the cathartic and enlightening pain and cause of the characters need for movement, forward, backwards, sideways, up or down, death, rebirth.

As I've said. Trust. I'm lacking sleep, but full of gratitude and faith in how this will all follow through.

thoughts

Feel like I'm posed, at the starting line... all my ducks in a row, ready, waiting... waiting to go....

oh, woe... neglectful me...

This last few weeks.

I tell you what.

When I thought Ukweli's hair tied into my own was the phasing step towards accepting the reality of this project; I was wrong.

When I thought Grant Monohon shaking the hand of G. Thomas and saying, "looking forward to working with ya'" was the acceptance; I was wrong.

Laying, in the hospital bed for three days, studying the scripts of others, relaxing and paying for it, I thought that was acceptance....

It may have been.

The utter and destructive force of self doubt was present in me for a long while...

It still creeps in at moments of instability, but...

Before my talk with Tana Goertz, her sheer "can do" attitude, faith and support in myself and my project, I don't know if I could be where I'm at.

The late nights the last few weeks, late, as in 4 a.m. kind of later, writing, editing....

It's not so much about writing anyore.

Grant pointed to me one night as I was outlining (once again.)

"You're still outlining, Lauren?
We gotta' talk."

"Every scene is written... I just have to set them in the right order.'

Those words transformed into the finished product, hitting deadline straight in the face, asked to finish six years in one week, and able to do it with the support, emotion and brilliance of Grant, late night, talking and smoking over ideas.

The first read through was a complete success. My delightful and multi-faceted-never-cease-to-amaze-me assistant Miss Nicole, has been a true blessing and enormous piece to this puzzle coming together.

I am in gratitude, over and over and over again... each moment swelling in my heart... the devotion and manifestation of a dream.

People ask me, where've you been?

Writing. Working.

Aren't you tired.

No. I love this work, this work loves me and we're meant to make this a reality.

There is no tire in chasing dreams.

I think about the possibilities....

Filing a LLC this week... "Axis Manifest, LLC" protecting me.

A bank account, a credit line with colateral... shipping postage payments, checks desired only for the Library of Congress and the Writers Guild West. Processed forms from the Screen Actor's Guild.

E-mails sent, desires meant and articulated to actors and models

Owning my Surrender

Now before anyone gets all thrilled by the potential of me just relaxing and not being so bossy, don't get your hopes up. But I am understanding collaboration in a way that I have never been able to do before. I think the point is trust. I trust Lauren and the story she has written. I trust Grant and his faith in the actor he knows will play Jon well. And after speaking to that actor, I trust him too.

I can let go a little bit and enjoy the process. So if you have been telling me that I need to relax (I'm not pointing fingers...) please know that it's a matter of making this thing perfect and until I know faith in you would be well placed I can't put it there. But I've done that over the last week or so. I feel like we are making Flick a little family to raise it. I joke "Flick has two mommies" but now I think Flick has a Daddy or tow and a bunch of uncles, aunts and cousins to help...it takes a village or whatever...


Okay, enough squishy stuff.

October 4, 2007 4am

Sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever read these thoughts... as far apart as they are spaced.

Renewal after my hospital stay and plenty of fluids.... and antibiotics.... Having never stayed there, I figured I would rest, as I was, in fact, paying to do so.

Grant Monohon left today, back to New York, but we had a productive week.

I finished the screenplay.

And this time, I mean it.

It's been a journey. After the first read through, prayers and gratitude generated from myself and all present, I took Saturday afternoon to dig through my "Flick box" as it's been dubbed. I found scratches of notebook paper from 2002. I laughed heartily at how young I was when I first was sketching photos of Ukweli, taking notes about the lighter, and trying to figure out what color the fucking thing was, and what the characters names were.

My, has the story evolved... just as I have.

I have to mention that I couldn't have done it without the random strangers, close friends, and late night coffee or booze talks with folks, forming, shaping and characterizing the stories.

Now, just mixed up in emotions and paperwork, I await tomorrow, beginning my LLC and asking myself if I'm willing to sign over my car for a credit line loan from the bank.

the answer is "yes." I would do anything to protect this project.

I don't know if any of us real know the impact this will have.... even if it takes twenty years.

I just know, I'm imagining myself toasting with champagne in December, holding that ideal picture in my head of the end of the project, and the strength and courage it will take to get through the next two months.

I've been preparing myself for this for six years.

Stay tuned... it's going to be an amazing adventure.

In the hospital

So i've been sick. For a while now.

I can't say if it's a combination of work and stress, and playing too hard when I have time off, or the late night up smoking cigarettes and staring at my computer screen in the dark, digging through the piles of notes and thoughts and digesting 6 years and hoping to manifest something truly purposeful. Meaningful.

I had to get over myself. I had to get over my self doubt, insecurity, fear, anxiety.

In having faith and so much love for one thing, there has to be trust. And I have my moments of being 18 again and going... woa. this is so big.

then, i get sick. very sick, can't stand up sick... days blending into eachother sick, so close to the end.

Laying in the bathtub asking zeth to take notes and listen to my visions... playgrounds and stars.

now, in the hospital, still not much better... I realize that not only am I writing about transformation.... i too, am transforming.

now, once i can get this IV out of my arm, i'm sure i'll be ready to write.

good intentions people... send me what you've got.

transformations

Let's forget about August, shall we.

I noticed tonight, on about the eleventh rewrite of this whole "screenplay" incident... (I have the story in my head, can't everyone just plug in and manifest it along with me???)

I noticed myself drinking lemonade out of wine glass, still smoking in the occassional breaks of wrist cramps, I remind myself of the nights spent sleeplessly attacking a bottle of wine and my computer screen... channeling a story that I still haven't contained.

I look at the rewrites, the cultivations and find them corelated with myself.

A little less conversation, a little more action.
Show, don't tell.


I'm exhausted, yet felt the need to share Shiva's destructive and birthing presence in everything involved in my life.

Fire cleanses, destroys, and gives space for new birth.

rain walk

I sat outside of the Starbucks at tenth and Locust; downtown Des Moines. A thunderstorm had been fluxing in and out of consciousness, the thunder, like an alarming awakening, repeatedly through the night.

My ride never showed.

It wasnt a feeling of abandonement that swept over me, but of opportunity. I'm sure he's alright, but do you really want to call your sister, your brother, your friends, to come bail you out of an easily solved problem.

I finished my tenth froo froo coffee for the evening at work, an empty stomach filled with glass after glass of water, followed by pourings of espresso, sugar, and milks of various origins... cow or not., into my tired body.

I have yet to mention the events of the previous weeks.

No need to. It's obvious. I haven't been writing here.

I stood, making my way acrossed wet pavement, a 1/2 inch of water or more with every step. Man, I wish I hadn't packed all these notebooks in this old courdory bag. Oh well, only 19 blocks.

The American in me said, oh. that's so fucking far. Call for a ride, use your cell phone line to hook someone to pay attention, to pick up the poor girl in the rain. Walking. Alone.

The human in me said. Go for it. How often do you get a chance to walk home from work, in a thunderstorm, on a thursday night.

Needless to say, I counted the blocks, smelled the rain and the rich earth, listened to the splashes of cars tires in puddles. Pondered existence. Moments of caffeinated clarity.

This week. November. November isn't so far away, I think.

A man yells out the passenger window... "HEY IS THAT HOW YOU WASH YOUR HAIR, YOU HIPPIE!?!"

My hair is about three feet long it seems. Heavy. So fucking heavy and hot in the summer humidity. Healing red spots cover my scalp as my hair roots grow used to the doll-dreadlocks that pull my skull taught.

Ukweli's hair.

Ukweli would probably walk in the rain. Girl probably doesn't own a cell phone. Or a telephone for that matter. She probably works nights. At a shelter or somewhere with people. Ukweli loves people.

November. November isn't so far, I think.

November rained on me tonight... The truth that my cinematographer, the lovely and precious, attitude-free G Thomas, admitted to me over a split ciabatta fried egg and niman ranch ham sandwich the other morning.

I'm not free until then. How's the script?

Almost done.

Almost done, I repeat, starring at my let-down of a fruit cup.

November. We'll be ready then. And the nature will reflect the story.

November in Iowa. Desolate, dying. Preparing the upper Earth for Death and Rebirth.

Raining. Like today. Almost snowflakes, minerals unformed by almost cold enough clouds.

This hair won't last. This moment won't last, but we keep treading onward into the barely lit tunnel, which is leading me somewhere. Taking me to my dream.

Manifest. Is that all I talk of in this Blog?

Is anyone ever reading?

I suppose this is record to this experience. Something for me to download and save for my future. Someone's, at least.

I'm soaked.

adversity meets confirmations

This has been a long road.

And we're hardly half way there.

The long bouts of writer's cramp (not "block"... I've got writer's diarrhea if anything...)waiting... waiting for character's to claim their voice in my mind, for the re-"vision" of a scene, bringing a whole new conotation to the word...

Re framing, in my mind, something that has yet to be in front of my eyes.

But I can see it.

I can see every moment of it. Not just the film, but the rehearsals, the smells of the food, the passion, tension, a scratchy throat from voicing concerns and needs and desires for the result.

Flick. This dream. Relentless in my heart.

The closer and closer we (as in my self, the script, The Miss Nicole, the actors, the crew) are getting to the goal time of production, we are all pushed away, by our personal lives.

I see colition between the reality and the written characters involved... I know the drama in my own world, the illness, setbacks, finances, families, emotions, hardships that not only I endure, but what appears to be everyone involved in the project.

I take my part one day at a time, needing to make money to support myself, and waiting for those urges to splooge (yes, I did say "splooge") out another 20-30 pages in a night, including revisions.

Flick has extended itself into a story, not just a concept.

Characters, feelings, emotions, passion, choice, sacrifice and ultimately, free will..

Stay tuned.

The saga continues, as the world turns, the stars align, and I itch this pound of hair attached to my skull.

So my sister says to me...

K: "So, what's the film about? A bunch of screwed up people?"

Lauren: "Well, yeah. People are screwed up."

Sacrifice:

Sacrifice has become a major theme in the film. Everyone gives up something, or is given up, or lost.
I did too.
When Lauren and I first met to discuss FLiCK we talked about the characters. The women in the film were our topic, and she gave me a gift, or a curse. A choice: which of these women will you play?
I thought about it, but not for long.
I don't think about anything for long.
I wanted Del.
So we created Del. Lauren and I brought her to life, and she brought tears to my eyes.
Del has two mommies.
She is so much me, everygirl, to think of her now still brings tears to my eyes. Her sad life; so much promise. She was a prefect role. I knew I could play her.

But not perfectly.

And then my friend Cyd told me she was moving home from LA. She is younger, more...something. She will be perfect. So Lauren and I talked it over and we offered her the part. She accepted.
I feel like a mommy who gave her baby away to a perfect home. I miss her, but I know she is in good hands.

And then came Jade.

Stay tuned.....

Everyone DOES want to be famous...

Don't ever tell anyone that you're making a film.

Not even your friends.

ego: So, Lauren, what's been new.

me: I've been writing.

ego: Oh, whatcha workin' on?

me: I've been working on it a long time (crossing fingers, wincing, saving energy for the writing, not the talking part)

ego: What kind of work? are you a poet or an essayist?

me: (whimper) it's a short film.

ego: REALLY!?!?!? Could you write me a part!! ---or--- CAN I BE IN IT!!!????

me: ugh.

or

me: (more appropriately) I'm so grateful for your enthusiasm. Thank you for your support, here's my card, check the site. we'll be in touch.
ciao baby.


I'm just laughing about this, because I really find in my generation and the younger ones, we grew up worshipping television and film, so now, as adults or individual thinkers, we want nothing more than to be in the box, to be on that screen, to have our name in lights. This isn't just a 1 in a million thing, this is a secret desire of the masses.

I've noticed this.

Even in myself.

Fortunately, I have the rationality to know that it is DANGEROUS to be famous nowadays. I feel sad for all those poor saps at the front of the grocery check out, Angelina, Paris, all these one namers that are worshipped.

I wish fucking people would focus on our politicians and power position people, rather than the celebrities used as a distraction for the masses (do you remember Animal Farm? When the supremicist pigs bring in a television to mesmerize the masses of the other farm animals??)

I'm off topic here. It's dangerous to be famous. That's all I'm saying. Let's just use our skills to make a difference in this illusory world.

Much love, people. I hope I didn't offend anyone. I just kid. But I can't tell you HOW MANY people start posing when they get in front of me nowadays.

kissy myspace faces and sending me photos and resumes of their junior high acting highlight.

Rock out everybody. I'll make sure to stain the new 42 page unfinished with lots of red wine while i'm out of the state.

"what's the good word?"

What's ridiculous is this: that so close to a basic completion of the new screenplay, swimming through piles of notes and copies ripped apart by red and black and blue ink, a bruised by accusations driven by mind and fingertips; the fallen original script, a field of shredded character sketches, tiny notebooks with scrawlings of the words of strangers...

All this work, and here I am heading off to California.

My sister is being given a car on the condition that someone "come pick it up." That entails a volunteer (moi) and the desirer (K) and now, we fly to San Francisco and drive back acrossed the country.

Rumination, Contemplation, Numb asses and legs, fatigue, irritability, the desert, the mountains. Inspiration. Intrigue. Strangers. Trust.

I'm driving acrossed America with Flick.

I feel that this could be it's last travel in paper form.

Yet, I know it will keep travelling in all of the new forms it's acquired.

I love Flick.

The word is being spread.

Ukweli Haunting

As all of this unfolds before me, I can't stop thinking of Ukweli.

She was one of the key ingredients that shaped "Flick" into it's form now.

A thread, a "magical girl" as Roy Fisher called her, that links the whole story.

Is it the girl? Is it the lighter? that causes the change...?

are they one and the same?


Ukweli is what I believe all of humanity aspires to be or become, yet, all or most are too lazy to implement the transformation.
Including myself.

She is like soul, like truth and genuine human goodness personified.

She is disciplined, yet free.
Free, but responsible
Responsible. But Silly.


I see her dignified, blunt yet gentle.
Radical but natural.
Intuitive but rational.

In the world, but not of this world.

I can't call her my alter ego.
Most writers take on a character to vicariously lead a life that is not quite fitting to their lifestyle.
For me, that would be more of a gothic party chick rockstar freak. (kidding, but not).

Ukweli seems more like an entity that floats above all life... a guiding voice.
A star to follow.
A presence and force that speaks to us where we aren't often willing to listen.

I look in the mirror, and sometimes I see her in my eyes.

With the knowledge that I will be playing this character out in the film's reality,
I attempt to be the warrior that she is, and find myself having to forgive myself for not be ready to live up to Ukweli's light.

She is a path many are unwilling to follow.

I am getting her hair threaded into mine at the end of this month, July, by serendipitious and artistic motives.

Ukweli haunts me, as she will to those willing to allow her, once she's manifested.

Blondies Rules. Especially Kristen....

So, after a most productive meeting with my personal assistant. scratch that, personal muse, Nicole Schafer, I made a leap of faith down to Blondies Salon on Ingersoll Av.

Wearing the same clothes I slept in, carrying a back pack, a notebook, a cell phone and a few bent business cards, I wandered in an approached a very innocent and sweet blond at the front desk.

Hi, I'm Lauren, I'm a writer, I'm scheduled for a consult with Kristen. But I haven't set up an appointment, and I have a few details to discuss.

Something to that affect. I can be quite charming, even after removing yesterday's underwear the morning after and breaching commando mode early saturday morning.

I meet Kristen VanHauen, the hero-hair dresser of my darling friend Kelli Jo Sweeney whom gets her hair done religiously by the young Kristen.

She askes me to wait a few minutes while she "finishes up" a client. I sit in one of the swivel styling chairs and proceed to do just that... swivel, and make a few 'important" phone calls and receive a few, while taking notes, and using my best "grown up voice" in the salon.

(this is all in jest, i hope you sense the wit here)

Kristen asks me to sit down, and I say, no no, let's sit, i'd like to look at you in the eye.

I explain my case. Lauren. Writer. Film. Poor. Acting. Need hair. Character. Ukweli. Dreadlocks. Extensions. Credit. Did I mention you could be in the film. Credit. Broke. Help?

She throws her hands up... she's learned a technique for synthetic dreadlocks (which I'd like my character Ukweli to possess) but she has yet to work on a real human head.... she whispers, I don't think Des Moines has caught on yet.

She says if I purchase the hair, she'll do the work (typically 50 bucks an hour, about 6 hours for this hair-duty) FREE.

This woman became the apple of my eye for July.

Blondies Hair Studio. July the 30th. Ukweli's hair manifests.

Blessings to Kristen Vanhauen, may she rock out in every thread of hair.

THANK YOU

Kidneys and Dreams

So, A LOT serendiptiously has been occurring.

A hotel room, rented exceedingly cheaply downtown was manifested for this just-past Thursday and Friday-- the twelth and, dududduh, Friday the thirteenth. I had the full intention of locking myself up in a room and writing. Writing writing until I was finished, even if it took three days, I would get my writing done.

Tuesday, I had the chills, followed by an accupuncture appointment with a Chinese Woman telling me to avoild oral sex... either way.

Interesting.

Then, the illness gets worse, there's ache and pain all over my body. My chiropractor adjusts me in every direction, nearly to tears, this pain was... I cross my fingers that with enough fluids, enough vitamins and bathroom breaks, that by Thursday, i'd be ready.

This was no the reality.

I ended up under doctor's care Thursday.

I spent a lot of my energy crying. Not just over the unidentifiable and crippling pain under my left side of my ribcage. I was disappointed in myself. I sat there seeking a reason WHY if EVERYTHING has been strictly smooth recently, why do i have to bask in the re-emersion of my past ailments..... an infant's reflux and chronic kidney infections arise as a young woman.

FUCK.

I cried for Flick. Wasted time. I cried because I have so much more I want to work on.... that i'm pressing myself for time.... that the characters have grown from kindergarten to gradeschool to being rebellious and angst teenagers in just over a month.

That the story gets deeper and deeper the more the characters unfold themselves to me.... the more the truth becomes apparent.

I shake off this illness, the dizzy spells, the weak knees... the being in my apartment for 4 days without hardly leaving....

I welcome creativity. I welcome productivity. I will rest until I am better, and I expect only time shall alot what energies are spent running through my fingertips and mind, creating a story.

I've been building the structure, the frame. the part where you draw the dots, then connect the little bastards.

This is where you glue and unglue your head and your characters and your scenes... often being a painful or absurd process due to the nature of the game....

I'm playing with the intangible.

Thank you to Grant Monohon for support....

Thank you to Miss Nicole Rae Schafer, the love of my life for backing me no matter what the consequence.

To G Thomas, for patience.

To Joshua Boyd, for the same... waiting on character sketches and whatnot.

To Megs West, for being my relentless cheerleader.

To my love, for letting me break down without fear i would break.

GRATITUDE.

beat me for not clicking "enter"

I asked a friend of mine... I said, I don't know about this "blogging" business. It seems so radically informal,
sort of like a sheep herder ranting at the stars and no one really being attentive of even responsive.
They just muddle under their breath "crazy sheep herder."

I told him that i find myself ranting at the computer, and just due to want for protection, I never publish the damned posts.

He said, that's exactly what blogging is; just hit "enter" next time.

I promise to be less neglectful people. I just am terrified to expend my energy on a blog rather than a project.

happy solstice

Out in Indianapolis for a 12 day sabatacle with my father.

Needless to say, a 23 year old sleeping in the same hotel room as her father, sneaking cigarettes, chugging coffee in the mornings after a late night binge of writing hasn't been in the greatest of ease...
regardless, bonding time. And I got to drive an old 47 packard three-in-the-tree gear shift.


I tossed and turned last night. An old and over used statement, but one that rings true in the reality of my place.

I couldn't sleep.

I've been calling Grant Monohon in New York, doing character studies with my watchful eye and intuitive friends and heart, waiting for the moment to be clear about what's happening.

Guidance from G Thomas has left me more confused, because I know i need to "write what i know" and not get off target or out of proportion with the "point" of all this and that.

Convuluted thoughts, a complete shift in paradigms from the original screenplay to the new one.

I can't say I know where this is growing, but it's going. it's out of my reach.

three a.m. wrapped around my skull, staring in teh dark at my computer screen in a hotel, trying not to click or type too loud, the lamp, off, and wobbling in flux to my fingertips... a darkened refletion of myself in the mirror above the desk as a reminder, where i'm at in my life... how much older I am since I first started writing this, since the first head shots we took 6 years ago.

I'm in love with a project, and it's driving me mad.

Happy Solstice everyone
we'll see where the fourth of july leaves me.

and the award goes to....

Wanted to make a shout out of gratitude and appreciation to all the current players....
Roy Fisher, for planting the seeds in my heart.
Kelix Williams, for his participation in editing.
GThomas Fergerson, for being a kick ass human being and willing to put up with my neuroticsm.
Nicole Rae Schafer, for showing up out of nowhere and assuming a position of great interest and participation (and for being hot!)
To Jeff "Fej" Williams, whom without his help, there'd be no FLuck logo at this point.
To my boss for all the computer paper.
For my parents for not thinking i'm the screenwriter who cried "wolf!" but in this case "Flick!"
Mithra Osiris for being willing to expose character foils and talk psychology with me over beers and cigarettes.
Grant Monohon, out there in New York, for believing in this project for six years while he makes a break in New York City.
David Anthony, out there in Brooklyn as well, a shout out for his vision.
Anyd Baratta for his advice.
Erick Wickes, Merso Dolic, Kelli Jo Sweeney, um... my sisters, the strangers on buses and boats and trains and car windows. Coffee shop conversations, photographers, every step I've taken.

This is my gratitude shout out.

Thank you, Universe, for all the love and support.

research

Now that I've been given a deadline and poetic license, the nerve wrack approaches. What is really being portrayed here? How is writing like algebra in the balancing of human equations and communications?

I've decided that every interaction or, ahem, eavesdropping has been worthwhile.

Not to say that those that I interact with are subjects... yet, at the same time, they are.. personally rather than inpersonally.

I recognized tonite my "alien anthropological assessments." Just because I'm human (or, appear to be) doesn't make it impossible to observe the human experience... the body, the emotions, the urges, the uhhhhhs and so forth.

Uhhhhs, come up frequently, I've found. You think you might just maybe know EXACTLY what you want, then you fall backwards or come to a new conclusion, still involving the free will of another, or, other beings. This is the conflict.

The responsibility.

I'll put for the effort, the gumption, and ultimately, the commited rapport to each of these gestating characters, yet to be born into this world of re-representation.

How do Ukweli and Grant connect? Is there past pain? Why is Jon so sadistical and what is his motivation? Are Jade and Grant meant....

Where do playgrounds and homeless people pay off in the balance of it all? Where is all this to take place and what new character developments will appear?

These questions, my friends... I have complete faith they will be answered.

Watch out, I might be watching you.

(I didn't mean that in a creepy way, more of an honest observation of myself honestly observing others to understand the perplexities and isolations and common denominators of the human struggle, er... I mean, experience??)

rewriting freedom

My mind was blown this week.

gThomas, our cinematographer and I met up at Zanzibar on Ingersoll.

Due to a crooning female, we ended up on the back porch, the dark roast coffee with too much real cream, you know, the real cream which is tinted a bit yellow and buttery with oil floating on the surface?

Anyway... GThomas gave me artistic permission to rip the screenplay apart, to remove characters that I'd built up in my mind as being really necessary (and they aren't) and to magnify what is being communicated.

Communication, and the isolation of the human experience and what connects us.

When I said, "G gave me permission" he was in fact showing me that i didn't need permission to be insane, to go of and make this a really important piece of art. He told me to go bigger, to trust my instince.

I guess fear was a component I hadn't examined in the writing process.

No one's judging me. No one's looking over my shoulder and telling me I'm a fuck up.

My parents aren't going to ground me for making smutty and often tasteless assumptions about people.

Freedom to process and rethink where I'm taking it.

It's time to dive in. Wish me luck.

voyeuristic

There's a lot to be expounded on such a topic. Yes. I love to watch people. This may or may not be a potentially creepy thing, but humans are so fascinating.

Often, I feel as if I'm an alien visitor to this planet, here to do anthropological studies on your species and on the experience of being human... Having a body, having eyes, a brain, thoughts, having to work through reality and it's gestures to manifest something.

Manifest, that's a word that has been a repetitious record lately.

Voyeurism may not be the description I'm looking for here... I often think of it as being somewhat dangerous. To people watch, you are actively paying attention and thoughts towards individuals, perhaps attempting practice in non-judgment and accepting people as they are.

But if that person you are watching falls, and you don't go to help them, there's something wrong. Active participation is component of community.

Community itself is a huge part of this project. My isolation has melted away, feeling often alone and confused by Flick's potential reality, and the image and ideas being limited to my skull alone.

Through participation, through opening up, through vulnerability... I've made connections.

In It...

So this is how it begins.
Or began.
For me, at least.
I bumped in to Lauren twice in two weeks after not seeing her for something like 6 years. She told me about Flick and I fell in love.

The pieces are on the table, and now all we have to do is arrange them so you see the picture that we see.

active love

So. There's a snippet of where this project came from. The struggles endured in my personal experience as a manifestor has been exactly that; a struggle with myself.

One of my hugest issues as an artist is where the source origin is for a particular idea... Art from the Ego is not something that works in the "serious" ( I use this term LIGHTLY) world of Art.

Recently, I've been glancing through old journals, trying to find a sense of self through examining what I might previously wanted. "Flick" was on every "To Do" List I've created, typically number 3 on the list, preceded by health and healing, and human growth. Little did I know that "Flick" was an off shoot of both ideals.

I asked myself over and over the last years, where is this desire coming from? Am I trying to be famous? Am I seeking recognition? My heart has always been the drive for this project... a place inside me where a smaller voice speaks. I've been woken in the middle of finals week, exhausted, hands hurting from essay and academic paper writing, called in the night to sit and write, outlining the scattered characters and thoughts and moments and concepts I wanted so badly to communicate through the lighter, through the film.

"Flick." A motion, a sound with a lighter. Flick. A film.

Recently, I'd thought I'd move to New York. Maybe there I could chase my dream. Or, drown in the city itself.

Through a series of serendiptious events, I met people I hadn't expected to meet, and the universe provided for me when I was in need of abundance. Serving beers to an established cinematographer who just-so-happened to return to his hometown, balancing his work between L.A. and New York. Editor, Kelix, whom showed me that my adamant fervor will push the project forward. Buying a pair of jeans I couldn't afford, in a shop I'd never been in, and my gut screaming at me to say hello to a girl, now a young woman, I hadn't spoken to in years. Nicole Rae, an actress and model and now my personal assistant to the film.

Just do it. Do SOMETHING, my sister tells me. My sister, a focused Capricorn with endless ambition and structure, complaining of my scattered mind and behavior and goals.

Is this coming from my heart-- like art from the heart, or is this a selfish hoop dream that will never be?

Is this coming from my heart? Are my focuses on community and communication worthless, uninspired?

No. No, I don't know that, I keep saying to myself. I will attract the way, I will attract the people and the desire to do it.

A friend of mine said that the universe never "gives" you what you want... it gives you the desire and the ability to make it happen for yourself.

Make it happen.

Make "Flick" Real.

This project is attracting more love and connections than I ever could have imagined.

I'm so grateful for all those who are going to assist in making a dream, a vision, come true.

patience

"Flick" was a conversation. An idea, articulated over a glass of wine and some cigarettes in the bohemian apartment of my artistic mentor, Roy, downtown Valley Junction, Summer, 2001.

Based on a concept developed by Roy and his cronies in the early 90's that was left, ahem, undeveloped, the concept of using a lighter as a vehicle for movement through a film seemed a worthwhile concept to explore.... but once you have a lighter, then what?

A female, magical in nature, appeared. A young human acting as a thread for a story of serendipitous nature, transforming communication and exposing the unique loneliness of our species.

I open this website as a glimpse into this process, and the previous development therein. Notes on napkins, journal entries, conversations, stories told, quotes read-- all these factors adding up into a magnificient equation-- one resulting from patience, imagination and faith in the process.

So... did you get it?