How do you express your anguish over the pain felt by someone you love without letting it consume you? What words can offer comfort when there is no consolation to be found?
These questions have been on my mind of late.
My niece, my sister’s seven month old daughter, has been having more seizures in the last week or so, and today…we are closer to the news we fear: that her seizures have descended into a condition called “infantile spasms”. The EEG results from today put her “on the edge” of the condition.
The prognosis in cases similar to Clara’s is not encouraging. Five percent of children who suffer infantile spasms do not survive to their fifth birthday. Ninety percent suffer “severe physical and cognitive impairments”, even when treatment is successful – which it is not in more than half of those who suffer from it. Even among those treated successfully, only one in twenty-five will have normal cognitive and motor-skill development. Brain damage caused by infantile spasms leads to cerebral palsy in half of the children afflicted with it, autism in a third of them. There are likely to be learning difficulties, behavioral problems, and psychological disorders. Most suffer from epilepsy later in life.
Treatment prospects are not good. In the US, the condition is treated with ACTH, which can cause weight gain, hypertension, metabolic abnormalities, severe irritability, osteoporosis, sepsis, and congestive heart failure. The damage to her heart caused by the Tuberous Sclerosis may make this option very risky. In most other countries, there is a drug called Vigabatrin, which can also cause somnolence, headache, dizziness (just what you want when you’re learning to walk), fatigue, weight gain, and decreased peripheral vision. Vigabatrin is not approved by the FDA.
Nope. There are no words of consolation.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Who Knew?
Screenwriting Expo 5, end of Day Three: wow. Amazing day.
I should tell you first how I did in the Creative Screenwriting Open: Much better than I expected. I know that I am a good writer, but I will admit that the only reason I signed up for the CS Open was that my brother-in-law wanted to compete. Since he and I are writing partners, I thought we’d be able to compete together.
This did not turn out to be the case.
When I first realized this, I had a moment of panic. I’ve never written anything like a script…lots of professional writing, quite a few blog posts, one novel (and parts of two others)…but never a script.
And then I realized that how I did wasn’t as important as what I learned from the experience. This seemed to calm me down.
The rules for the CS Open went like this: Each screenwriter would be given a scene description, a pencil and paper, and 90 minutes in which to script it. Entries would be judged on structure, dialogue, style, and originality.
This was my scene: “Your ANTAGONIST has just suffered a defeat at the hands of the protagonist. Licking his wounds, the antagonist rallies his ALLIES (or henchmen) and plots a counter-offensive. But one of the allies is beginning to have second thoughts. In as non-cliché a manner as possible, write this scene in which the bad guy tries to regroup while facing subtle resistance from one of his own.”
Here’s my entry:
FADE IN: A PRESCHOOL CLASSROOM. Twelve children and their teacher are seated in a circle on a colorful carpet. A thirteenth child, HEATHER HARDWICK, is seated on a chair in the corner, facing the wall.
HEATHER
(straining to catch
attention of nearest
child, a girl)
Pssst!
JENNY CARSON
(mouthed silently)
No!
Heather hikes her seat around slightly, half an inch closer to the group.
HEATHER
Pssst! Jenny!
The ball rolls between Jenny Carson and Stevie Plimpton, toward Heather’s chair. Both Jenny and Stevie run to retrieve it.
JENNY
(whispering)
What?
MISS PRENDERGAST
Jenny? Hurry up, Honey. Leave Heather
alone while she’s in time out.
JENNY
(looks apologetically
at HEATHER)
Yes, Miss Prendergast!
Jenny and Stevie run back to the circle with the ball. Jenny rolls the ball across the circle.
JENNY
House!
Heather hikes her seat a little further.
HEATHER
(whispers)
Jenny!
Jenny lets the ball roll by her again. This time, Miss Prendergast is distracted by another student. Jenny runs to get the ball, but Heather picks it up first.
JENNY
(whispers)
What do you want? You’re going to
get me in trouble, too!
HEATHER
(whispers)
I hate Miss Prendergast and her
stupid games! If we ruin the game,
she’ll let us play outside.
JENNY
(whispers)
How?
HEATHER
(whispers)
You know how she is when
a kid gets sick? What if
me, you, and Stevie all got
sick at the same time?
JENNY
Ewwww!
Both girls look at Miss Prendergast, who now notices them talking.
MISS PRENDERGAST
Break it up, Girls! Please don’t
make me have to tell you again.
Jenny grabs the ball and goes back to the circle.
JENNY
(looking back at HEATHER
and mouthing)
Gross!
Jenny rolls the ball across the circle.
JENNY
Kitty!
Jenny looks back at Heather, who pantomimes shoving two fingers down her throat.
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
Heather wants us to throw up
and spoil the game.
Stevie glances at Heather, who pantomimes gagging herself again.
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
Cool!
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
It’s gross!
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
Three kids sick at the same time? That would be cool!
Jenny looks at Heather, who nods encouragement.
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
I don’t know…
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
I’m doing it! Come on!
Stevie looks at Miss Prendergast, to make sure she’s not looking. He puts his fingers in his mouth.
Jenny looks one last time at Heather, who nods encouragement, her own fingers in her mouth.
Jenny looks at Miss Prendergast, and quickly jams her fingers down her throat. She wretches.
Stevie does the same.
Heather smiles, hitches her seat back to the wall and places her hands in her lap.
FADE OUT
Now, when my brother-in-law and I were headed back over to get our pages after they’d been graded, he asked, “How do you think you did?”
I told him that I’d be happy if I scored over 30 points, and very happy if I received a score in the 40s.
When I pulled my pages out of the file folder, I was shocked at the score: 81!
The reader liked my sense of action, but felt that the dialogue was too on the nose and that the stakes were not high enough.
Not bad for the first time…essentially, without any training or real awareness of how to develop a movie scene, or even how to put it in writing, I got a B.
Apparently, I can write.
I should tell you first how I did in the Creative Screenwriting Open: Much better than I expected. I know that I am a good writer, but I will admit that the only reason I signed up for the CS Open was that my brother-in-law wanted to compete. Since he and I are writing partners, I thought we’d be able to compete together.
This did not turn out to be the case.
When I first realized this, I had a moment of panic. I’ve never written anything like a script…lots of professional writing, quite a few blog posts, one novel (and parts of two others)…but never a script.
And then I realized that how I did wasn’t as important as what I learned from the experience. This seemed to calm me down.
The rules for the CS Open went like this: Each screenwriter would be given a scene description, a pencil and paper, and 90 minutes in which to script it. Entries would be judged on structure, dialogue, style, and originality.
This was my scene: “Your ANTAGONIST has just suffered a defeat at the hands of the protagonist. Licking his wounds, the antagonist rallies his ALLIES (or henchmen) and plots a counter-offensive. But one of the allies is beginning to have second thoughts. In as non-cliché a manner as possible, write this scene in which the bad guy tries to regroup while facing subtle resistance from one of his own.”
Here’s my entry:
FADE IN: A PRESCHOOL CLASSROOM. Twelve children and their teacher are seated in a circle on a colorful carpet. A thirteenth child, HEATHER HARDWICK, is seated on a chair in the corner, facing the wall.
HEATHER
(straining to catch
attention of nearest
child, a girl)
Pssst!
JENNY CARSON
(mouthed silently)
No!
Heather hikes her seat around slightly, half an inch closer to the group.
HEATHER
Pssst! Jenny!
The ball rolls between Jenny Carson and Stevie Plimpton, toward Heather’s chair. Both Jenny and Stevie run to retrieve it.
JENNY
(whispering)
What?
MISS PRENDERGAST
Jenny? Hurry up, Honey. Leave Heather
alone while she’s in time out.
JENNY
(looks apologetically
at HEATHER)
Yes, Miss Prendergast!
Jenny and Stevie run back to the circle with the ball. Jenny rolls the ball across the circle.
JENNY
House!
Heather hikes her seat a little further.
HEATHER
(whispers)
Jenny!
Jenny lets the ball roll by her again. This time, Miss Prendergast is distracted by another student. Jenny runs to get the ball, but Heather picks it up first.
JENNY
(whispers)
What do you want? You’re going to
get me in trouble, too!
HEATHER
(whispers)
I hate Miss Prendergast and her
stupid games! If we ruin the game,
she’ll let us play outside.
JENNY
(whispers)
How?
HEATHER
(whispers)
You know how she is when
a kid gets sick? What if
me, you, and Stevie all got
sick at the same time?
JENNY
Ewwww!
Both girls look at Miss Prendergast, who now notices them talking.
MISS PRENDERGAST
Break it up, Girls! Please don’t
make me have to tell you again.
Jenny grabs the ball and goes back to the circle.
JENNY
(looking back at HEATHER
and mouthing)
Gross!
Jenny rolls the ball across the circle.
JENNY
Kitty!
Jenny looks back at Heather, who pantomimes shoving two fingers down her throat.
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
Heather wants us to throw up
and spoil the game.
Stevie glances at Heather, who pantomimes gagging herself again.
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
Cool!
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
It’s gross!
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
Three kids sick at the same time? That would be cool!
Jenny looks at Heather, who nods encouragement.
JENNY
(whispering to STEVIE)
I don’t know…
STEVIE
(whispering to JENNY)
I’m doing it! Come on!
Stevie looks at Miss Prendergast, to make sure she’s not looking. He puts his fingers in his mouth.
Jenny looks one last time at Heather, who nods encouragement, her own fingers in her mouth.
Jenny looks at Miss Prendergast, and quickly jams her fingers down her throat. She wretches.
Stevie does the same.
Heather smiles, hitches her seat back to the wall and places her hands in her lap.
FADE OUT
Now, when my brother-in-law and I were headed back over to get our pages after they’d been graded, he asked, “How do you think you did?”
I told him that I’d be happy if I scored over 30 points, and very happy if I received a score in the 40s.
When I pulled my pages out of the file folder, I was shocked at the score: 81!
The reader liked my sense of action, but felt that the dialogue was too on the nose and that the stakes were not high enough.
Not bad for the first time…essentially, without any training or real awareness of how to develop a movie scene, or even how to put it in writing, I got a B.
Apparently, I can write.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Awash in a Sea of Ideas
I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year. Instead, I am attending Creative Screenwriting Expo 5, where tomorrow, my brother-in-law and I will participate in the screenwriting tournament.
We had the option of pitching a screenplay this weekend, and while we’re working on one, neither of us felt we were ready to pitch to anyone, much less the people who will be there to hear unrepresented writers pitch ideas. Producers and executives from Universal Studios will be there. Imagine Entertainment will be there.
I am certain that we could sell an idea, which in this case, would not be for money, but for an opportunity to come in to their offices for a second pitch to higher-level folks who could actually buy the idea. For money.
I am not so certain that we would be ready to make that second pitch on short notice. And, since neither of us has actually written a screenplay before, there’s that whole Okay, so now what do we do? thing if we do sell an idea.
While we sat there listening to Simon Kinberg, writer of Mr. & Mrs. Smith and X-Men 3, talk about pitching a story, it struck me that the Hollywood establishment supports events like these because this is where the really fresh ideas come from. The film industry needs aspiring writers as much as the aspiring writers need the industry.
The truly interesting thing about sitting in a room with a hundred writers is that creative energy forms an invisibly luminous pool, and if you’re sensitive to it, the ideas pour out of you.
It’s a cool feeling.
Wish me luck!
We had the option of pitching a screenplay this weekend, and while we’re working on one, neither of us felt we were ready to pitch to anyone, much less the people who will be there to hear unrepresented writers pitch ideas. Producers and executives from Universal Studios will be there. Imagine Entertainment will be there.
I am certain that we could sell an idea, which in this case, would not be for money, but for an opportunity to come in to their offices for a second pitch to higher-level folks who could actually buy the idea. For money.
I am not so certain that we would be ready to make that second pitch on short notice. And, since neither of us has actually written a screenplay before, there’s that whole Okay, so now what do we do? thing if we do sell an idea.
While we sat there listening to Simon Kinberg, writer of Mr. & Mrs. Smith and X-Men 3, talk about pitching a story, it struck me that the Hollywood establishment supports events like these because this is where the really fresh ideas come from. The film industry needs aspiring writers as much as the aspiring writers need the industry.
The truly interesting thing about sitting in a room with a hundred writers is that creative energy forms an invisibly luminous pool, and if you’re sensitive to it, the ideas pour out of you.
It’s a cool feeling.
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
And I'm Sticking To It
I write my Sihaya daily to tell her that she is a) beautiful (she is), b) smart (hey, she picked me), c) amazing (talented and lovable), and d) any of a limitless number of equally appropriate and complimentary adjectives. When she was in Europe, first on a cruise, and then visiting friends in Rome and Tuscany, and gone for three (very long) weeks, I kept it up, because years from now, I would like to be able to honestly say that since we chose to love each other, I’ve told her she’s beautiful every day.
Because she is.
And I never get tired of saying so.
Now, allow me to assuage your fears that this will just be one of those sickly-sweet posts about newfound love; it’s actually an explanation of why I’m finding it so difficult to post these days.
Time.
Now, aside from similar world views and senses of humor, my Sihaya and I really began with only two common interests – movies and food…and, well, okay, three common interests. Since we’ve been seeing each other, she’s broadened my horizons more than I ever thought possible.
Seriously.
Since she’s a belly dancer, I figured I’d learn to play the doumbek (a Middle Eastern drum…trust me, you’ve heard one), so I have drumming class on Monday evenings. On Tuesdays, I often go with my Sihaya and some friends to the theatre. My friend Bear invited me to join a comedy improvisation class on Thursdays. Fridays are date nights, and Saturday mornings we fill with Tai Chi. There is no room left in my schedule for full-contact needlepoint.
I would never have considered any of this before meeting my Sihaya. Oh, sure, I’d have thought about it, in a sort of wouldn’t-it-be-nice sort of way, but the fact that I now have a companion for most of these things…there is someone other than me who benefits from all these activities…that’s the inch that put me over a mile, so to speak.
Despite the difference she’s made in my life (and she tells me I’m making similar differences in hers), I’ve noticed recently that neither of us compliments the other with absolutes. Neither will say, “You’re the best (blank),” or say, “This is the most (blank) I’ve ever had with anyone.”
Oh, we compliment each other, to be sure. As I said, I tell her every day that she’s beautiful and I try every day to tell her how amazing she is; she tells me just as often how wonderful I am and how lucky she feels to have me in her life.
I’m not saying the absolutes are necessary, I’m just making the observation that they’ve been absent.
For a while, I thought of this absence as a choice we had both made, because absolutes can come across as less credible, and somehow undermine the integrity of what we’re building with each other. How can I possibly be the best? Haven’t we both learned that, having loved before and now again, that there isn’t just one person to love? That to love someone is a choice? Once you’ve said, “You’re the best,” to one person, can you honestly say it again to someone else?
My Sihaya does not see things from this admittedly cynical and simplistic point of view. When I mentioned this topic to her, she said simply, “To use absolutes like that is to ignore the whole of the person.”
Does she love kissing me because I am a good kisser or because my eyes light up when I look at her? Do I love spending time with her because she’s beautiful, and smart, and funny, or because she opens herself to me a little more with every day we spend together?
The answer, of course, is Yes. It’s all of those things and more.
A tribute offered to one aspect of the person we love means that we overlook the rest of her, even if only for a moment. An absolute compliment leads us away from the anticipation, the expectation of a still deeper relationship, and an even greater understanding of the one we love – it robs us of our desire to see more of the infinite mystery that is the essence of romance.
She’s an amazing woman, my Sihaya – beautiful and thoughtful and generous and loving – and every day, she becomes more beautiful, more amazing. Every day, I am more drawn to her. Every day some question is answered, some new mystery is presented, and so it goes. I devour every paragraph of her as though she is a sublime story well told.
So, that’s what I’ve been doing all this time. I’ve been reading.
Because she is.
And I never get tired of saying so.
Now, allow me to assuage your fears that this will just be one of those sickly-sweet posts about newfound love; it’s actually an explanation of why I’m finding it so difficult to post these days.
Time.
Now, aside from similar world views and senses of humor, my Sihaya and I really began with only two common interests – movies and food…and, well, okay, three common interests. Since we’ve been seeing each other, she’s broadened my horizons more than I ever thought possible.
Seriously.
Since she’s a belly dancer, I figured I’d learn to play the doumbek (a Middle Eastern drum…trust me, you’ve heard one), so I have drumming class on Monday evenings. On Tuesdays, I often go with my Sihaya and some friends to the theatre. My friend Bear invited me to join a comedy improvisation class on Thursdays. Fridays are date nights, and Saturday mornings we fill with Tai Chi. There is no room left in my schedule for full-contact needlepoint.
I would never have considered any of this before meeting my Sihaya. Oh, sure, I’d have thought about it, in a sort of wouldn’t-it-be-nice sort of way, but the fact that I now have a companion for most of these things…there is someone other than me who benefits from all these activities…that’s the inch that put me over a mile, so to speak.
Despite the difference she’s made in my life (and she tells me I’m making similar differences in hers), I’ve noticed recently that neither of us compliments the other with absolutes. Neither will say, “You’re the best (blank),” or say, “This is the most (blank) I’ve ever had with anyone.”
Oh, we compliment each other, to be sure. As I said, I tell her every day that she’s beautiful and I try every day to tell her how amazing she is; she tells me just as often how wonderful I am and how lucky she feels to have me in her life.
I’m not saying the absolutes are necessary, I’m just making the observation that they’ve been absent.
For a while, I thought of this absence as a choice we had both made, because absolutes can come across as less credible, and somehow undermine the integrity of what we’re building with each other. How can I possibly be the best? Haven’t we both learned that, having loved before and now again, that there isn’t just one person to love? That to love someone is a choice? Once you’ve said, “You’re the best,” to one person, can you honestly say it again to someone else?
My Sihaya does not see things from this admittedly cynical and simplistic point of view. When I mentioned this topic to her, she said simply, “To use absolutes like that is to ignore the whole of the person.”
Does she love kissing me because I am a good kisser or because my eyes light up when I look at her? Do I love spending time with her because she’s beautiful, and smart, and funny, or because she opens herself to me a little more with every day we spend together?
The answer, of course, is Yes. It’s all of those things and more.
A tribute offered to one aspect of the person we love means that we overlook the rest of her, even if only for a moment. An absolute compliment leads us away from the anticipation, the expectation of a still deeper relationship, and an even greater understanding of the one we love – it robs us of our desire to see more of the infinite mystery that is the essence of romance.
She’s an amazing woman, my Sihaya – beautiful and thoughtful and generous and loving – and every day, she becomes more beautiful, more amazing. Every day, I am more drawn to her. Every day some question is answered, some new mystery is presented, and so it goes. I devour every paragraph of her as though she is a sublime story well told.
So, that’s what I’ve been doing all this time. I’ve been reading.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Something Cardstock This Way Comes
Can you believe that it's already time to start thinking about Christmas cards?
On Sunday, Sihaya and I made a trip to Costco…always an adventure in itself…and while navigating carefully through the myriad obstacle/patrons on our way towards the rear of the store, my eye was drawn to the large, multi-aisled Christmas card section.
We did not stop. We were there on a mission.
But, the seed was planted.
Christmas cards? It's still the first half of October! It turns out that, yes, Virginia, the weeks leading up to Halloween are, in fact, the best time to be thinking about Christmas cards. (Sarcasm intended.)
In the car that evening, Sihaya and I talked about it, and she agreed that it is getting to be time. "I think they've even got snowflake stamps at the Post Office this year," she said. I'm not entirely certain, but I think one of us may have used the word "we" in the discussion, as in, "when we send out Christmas cards". There's a cool thought!
For the past several years (read that as, "oh, for about the last twenty-five years or so"), pretty much all I've done is think about it, when it came time to send Christmas cards. Rarely have I actually sent them, generally because I am so thoroughly focused on my own little world that I can't be bothered with any project that a) involves anything resembling effort, and b) indicates an awareness beyond that aforementioned weird little world. The result is that my Christmas Card List is woefully out of date, and probably needs to be put together from scratch.
When I was married, I rarely sent them because my ex-wife frowns upon humorous holiday cards, and quite frankly, I think the whole point of sending Christmas cards is to contribute to the joy of the season by giving one's friends a laugh.
I've never understood the logic behind a card that mirthlessly says "Happy Holidays". Oooh! A rosy-cheeked snowman card that says "May Your Holidays Be Warm and Bright!" Forgetting for the moment the irony of a rosy-cheeked snowman, why on Earth would a snowman ever wish anyone warmth and sunshine? I refuse to fill friends' mailboxes with suicidal snowmen.
If I'm going for the generic holiday wishes, I'd much rather send one of these:
"Hathy Holidayth!"
On the other hand, my ex-wife refused to put her name on anything that was even remotely funny, and she didn't seem to appreciate the humorous cards we received. No doubt, anything with a sharp edges and a sharp wit is hard to put where she can read it.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Kicking and Screaming
Last Sunday morning, Sihaya asked me why I haven’t written anything here in a while. I told her quite honestly that I didn’t have much to say, and that there wasn’t much time to say anything I did consider worthy of a note here.
For that, I apologize. One of my blogging friends wrote to me several months ago to say that she hadn’t posted in a long while because she was happy, and mused that her inspiration to write must have come largely from her earlier unhappiness. I suppose that’s been true of me, too – I wrote from a sense that not writing left me incomplete somehow.
This is not to say that I am suddenly complete and now no longer need the soothing effect that comes from slathering words on a page, it’s just that, well, now that I have someone with whom I can share those thoughts as they occur, I’m not so likely to throw my thoughts out into the void.
For this, I apologize. I feel as though I haven’t been a terribly good friend.
On the other hand, the lack of “Where are you?” e-mails seems to indicate that my erstwhile readers have drawn the conclusion that I have wandered off on a happier path, and presumably all wish me well and so haven’t felt a pressing need to send out a search party. I am not, after all, unaccounted for.
There is another aspect to my silence: my steadfast refusal to finish the last topic I started. Richard Bach once wrote that he hated writing and that an idea had to drag him kicking and screaming to the page and jam a pencil in his hand before he’d put words on paper, and I know exactly how he feels.
It was a post about old fears and their effects on new relationships, and it remains unfinished, perhaps because the lesson it chronicles is still being processed. I am deeply grateful for my Sihaya’s patience – and perhaps that is all that needs to be said on the subject.
So, for those of you who wondered – I am still here. Almost as importantly, I am happy. I’ll write more soon…I have a couple subjects I feel are worth writing about…but for now, thanks for checking back.
For that, I apologize. One of my blogging friends wrote to me several months ago to say that she hadn’t posted in a long while because she was happy, and mused that her inspiration to write must have come largely from her earlier unhappiness. I suppose that’s been true of me, too – I wrote from a sense that not writing left me incomplete somehow.
This is not to say that I am suddenly complete and now no longer need the soothing effect that comes from slathering words on a page, it’s just that, well, now that I have someone with whom I can share those thoughts as they occur, I’m not so likely to throw my thoughts out into the void.
For this, I apologize. I feel as though I haven’t been a terribly good friend.
On the other hand, the lack of “Where are you?” e-mails seems to indicate that my erstwhile readers have drawn the conclusion that I have wandered off on a happier path, and presumably all wish me well and so haven’t felt a pressing need to send out a search party. I am not, after all, unaccounted for.
There is another aspect to my silence: my steadfast refusal to finish the last topic I started. Richard Bach once wrote that he hated writing and that an idea had to drag him kicking and screaming to the page and jam a pencil in his hand before he’d put words on paper, and I know exactly how he feels.
It was a post about old fears and their effects on new relationships, and it remains unfinished, perhaps because the lesson it chronicles is still being processed. I am deeply grateful for my Sihaya’s patience – and perhaps that is all that needs to be said on the subject.
So, for those of you who wondered – I am still here. Almost as importantly, I am happy. I’ll write more soon…I have a couple subjects I feel are worth writing about…but for now, thanks for checking back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)