Memoir newspaperpeople day 10 Nanowrimo 2021

Newspaperpeople

  1. Two years pass, and you are graduating UCSB, not tangled up in love, strongly focused, the proudest day of your young life, donning the cap and gown. In women’s history as an elective, you had been asked a question. “How will your life be different from your mother’s and grandmother’s?”

Years later you know the answer.

It’s going to be sad.

You won’t get to have children.

Men control what we can and cannot do.

They do.

I wanted a child. But I knew I never wanted to be like my mother, trying to raise children after a divorce. I wanted a solid, strong father for my children. By 28, that clock was ticking so loudly it screamed in my head. My best friend, and I, at fourteen, down on the beach at Butterfly, talking about how we would be pushing our strollers, wearing all that vintage lace we wore then, lace floating into seafoam, girls wearing periwinkle shells for necklaces just to be different from the puka shell girls.

By then, and I don’t think either of us had marriage as a goal in. High School, we had navigated the shoals of terrible relationships that had broken our hearts. Having fathers might have helped us. We didn’t that summer of 14.

Twenty eight and suddenly Alan is grabbing your jelly sandals at work and tossing them back and forth to Tony on the back dock. He’s so incredibly handsome, with a badger stripe of white down the center of his sandy dark hair.
What happens between you begins slowly and flirtatiously. You remember seeing him when you had worked in the cage, once, with the woman he was dating at that time, and thinking it, the handsomeness. On the floor, you’re all just friends, those breaks on the back dock. Flirty. Alan and Cathy. Suddenly, in the cold winter nights, warming up your Audi, the two of you look over at each other in the parking lot, night after night.

You didn’t know he had been married twice before then.

Margaux flirts with him. All the women do. It’s that body he had.

The best looking man in the entire place.

You knew he didn’t love her.

The typists hated her. That night at Wendy’s, after which they call you a food snob for liking the French food at Charlotte, better than their smelly Picadilly burgers, they raked her over their steely coals. Her clothes were too tight and she wiggled and jiggled in all the right places in the way that women do. He had lifted her out of her marriage, I suppose.

You realized then, the power of the women in that typing pool, all that cluck and peck.

After the two of you start dating, the gossip must have gone off the charts, with all of them. Suddenly you have the handsomest man in the whole building.

They didn’t like it.

By then, Harold was gone, and Gabe was dead. He’d had a heart attack, after he was dumped by the plastic pocket protector shortie that came out from Florida to run things. Mr. Catamaran. He likes to make fun of your gorgeous designer clothes, from behind, and he is the first shit you will meet during the years of the newspaper shuffle.

He promotes a machinist into position. Hurtling him to what will be the top with lightning speed.

Sharon, in her masculine chinos, says, “Well, I guess you found somebody to pay off your student loans now.”

The hatred was so pure, out of her. Those slitted eyes. Her angry everything. She must have really hated me, that day they sent me the credit card from American Express and all the guys on the Floor laughed.

“Are you a graduating senior making more that $10,000 a year?”

Suddenly I had the same card my Grandfather and Uncle had.

Little did she know I was responsible for paying off my debts, myself.

No wonder I wanted to be up in Editorial.

I pined for it actually.

For one thing all the women were fashionable especially Cissy. She was married to one of the best photographers who taught at UCSB, and Gary, all leather jacketed and cool. They were hip, and things upstairs were about to change.

Linda was brought in from outside and she pulled Gil the Gardener’s column.

It was tragic.

Suddenly we weren’t a small town paper.

At Robinson’s I ran into Joan in the dressing room, where we were both trying on clothes. She was shaking. That’s how it was in those years, with the kind of meanness that was saturating the entire place. I don’t know how most of us took it.

We formed pockets of friends in corners, those years.

I will say Mr. Catamaran did one good thing. He gave Wenke a gold watch for retirement. Like the Newspapermen were supposed to get.

They broke up the associations by making promises of big money.

It was the era of Wellness.

Suddenly the fantastic insurance we all had?

Was split into plans. There were four to choose from, and the executives had the best one. Suddenly we were in the era of Middle Manager, upon Middle Manager, like tiers. Most of them were pretty stupid and how they got there?

Was by kissing ass.

I was never going to dress like some of the women at the paper who were using their sexuality to climb the corporate ladder.

One of the reporters upstairs, who was a clone looks-wise for Hefner’s Benton, those mini dresses and boobs on parade? The men in Composing nearly fell all over her. All she did was bend over after bend over near them.

All of us watched.

All the women’s eyes collectively rolled.

Most of them had kids, or were single mothers and those were the only women the men actually respected.

“The best thing you could do is marry him,” Joby warned me.

It was three years of push and pull to give up my freedom. I knew that once I said yes, my whole life would change.

Harvey became our boss.

The feelings we had after Gabe was gone, would be impossible to explain, all that Italian charm he had. Harvey was the opposite. His father ran the Camera Department and he was a small town boy. Harold was gone and suddenly his wife Vicky was running Sue’s old job of dummying the paper.

They concentrated on busting up the unions we had in Pre-Press and Press and Camera and Composing. The company back east who bought the paper was very famous in New York. Suddenly they were bringing in people from all over, not Santa Barbara people. It had always been a small town paper and not like big city style. They were buying up papers all over.

Do you know what Harvey did to me?

He ruined my wedding.

One of the first rules was that no two people could be off on the same day in Composing.

So that meant no honeymoon.

Can you even imagine that?

Getting married and you can’t have a honeymoon?

That is how shitty it was.

Suddenly we were being ruled by a machinist who had come up from the dirty, greasy bowls of the building down in the basement.

Of, course, his father was happy.

He was a small town boy, and his dad got him the job.

Again I faced being terrified in a man’s world.

By Harvey.

Do you know what he said to me?

I went in to tell him we were going to be married.

“You let me know the date, and I’ll let you know your options,” he said, with a sneer.

I never had any proper wedding pictures. We had one day off, and it was right back to work. I had resisted, at first. How could I have understood what it was going to be at 28?

By then they were selling off the Goss.

George Anton was gone.

George who had made me my Pressman’s hat.

George whose Louisiana rumble and laugh, the best Pressman ever, so warm and so kind, chasing those pages night after night the way we did, never a mistake, we caught them all.

He made me a hat from the cartoon insert, on a Sunday.

All the decency of the paper was gone. Toward the people.

He was in his early 30’s then.

I was 28, and my husband was 42.

After we married the phone calls started coming.

It was Margaux, and Carol his second wife. She worked there upstairs, running the Library. She and Sue.

Most of the time we were on separate schedules, and we didn’t have the same days off.

Joby became my closest friend in those years, and a few of the typists, like Myrna. She would be going to Pacifica, too. Down the road.

Tony had planted himself in my apartment, and he didn’t want to leave, so, I had been taking pottery as an art class down at Schott Center, with all the finest teachers, after UCSB. I went trough a full range of all the Studio Art classes at City College, and he bought me a Brent.

I still have it.

Barbara my teacher, said “he must really love you,” to me.

It would be all the potters in the class who threw me a Bridal shower.

I never had a chance to have a wedding, really. We married standing on the compass rose in the tower at the Courthouse.

Three years from the day he sent me three dozen peach roses at work. When they came into the Composing Room it must have been a first. The gasps and sighs from the women at the sight of them. I married a gentleman. Our first date at Jimmy’s, he ordered a Martini.

You will learn it takes many years in a marriage, to know your husband.

I had married an artist. I had married an intellectual, and he was an Englishman, to boot.

Newspaperpeople Memoir by Adrienne Wilson copyright November 10, 2021 – all rights reserved

Memoir #Newspaperpeople #preptober #nanoWrimo #poetry readings

So I am looking at this memoir, as a small slice of time, and inciting incident. I was really a stupid girl in 1980. I was in college at Santa Monica College as an Art Student. My art teacher wanted me for a muse, and then he got me. There is only one problem. It was one of the #MeToo horror stories. For what he did. So I was looking at a link yesterday, and since I am so many years away from this experience, now, and can write this book – the inciting incident is used to explain how one survives a breakup.

At UCSB Edgar Bowers was my poetry teacher. I wrote a lot of poetry around this relationship, and I don’t think I still have many of those, especially one that was my favorite called “Hyacinth Gaze” — but, they were all poems because I was deeply in love, at 22. I’ll be writing the novel live, into WP. So, I am going to use the Spotify Anchor deal to record! As in like yay and thank you to WordPress and Spotify. Come to think if it, there are many poems in my old blog Valentine Bonnaire I can record along with lots of Depth and Ecopsychology things I wrote over there, but anyway, two more poems from the time I was in a terrible relationship in my twenties. The kind that scars your heart very deeply. Sears the soul actually. So that link is here: https://valentinebonnaire.com/2015/05/10/pieces-of-silver/ for the poems I will read today.

The three poems I could find are here: https://valentinebonnaire.com/2016/09/05/trois-poemes-dune-rose-shattered-1981-where-i-laid-me-down-to-sleep-for-novel/

The last novel I wrote in Nano was 2013, and also relates to this time.

So I wrote these poems, looking out to sea.

#1

Inside this sargasso sea of strangers

a couple pairs

off a couple the eyes tend to meet

then lower

these minds met one unlocking the other

slowly letting the facts sink in

one taking the lead one following

one decision was reached when we

sped down freeways laughing

sped around looking for any destination

I fought the pull as long as I could

other people’s histories are so charming

this kind of curiosity tends to kill

maybe it was your BMW your hand

shifting gracefully in time to

blasting

blast me apart yes it was the way you

drove and drove me to this

I guess I knew that you would

make love to me the way you drove cleanly

slide inside your kind of knife

leaves only invisible scars

these kinds of wounds heal by themselves

in time

or maybe it was your camera a dangling

appendage most powerful its own kind

of magic that must be it I thought you were

some kind of well-traveled magician

well versed in the arts are you just like me

in that you always get what you want no

matter what the cost?  I love the fact that

only certain people meet only certain people sleep

together out of need  why out of all the other

people in the world certain people slip into each others

or maybe it was San Francisco never mind the

east coast that always held the greatest fascination

beatnik dreams never mind if you were

too young at that point it’s really fun to absorb

someone else

inner secrets inner core the inside of a

chambered mind never mind the heart because

osmosis that’s it everyone wants that kind of

total immersion that kind of meshing that click of

gears the hum of the motor telling you you’re

alive again I don’t blame you for that

just when you drive in the spikes of truths

those kind of thorns do it slowly and savor it

because I will be if we get lucky

it’s too bad we can’t turn it around and just go back

to LA freeways when I didn’t know you so well yet

just to the point when I began to want to want you

a little for the thrill of it

how much are you going to cost me in the long run

now that we’ve paid the price of admission?

~

*so, that was written when I had moved north to get away.

And:

#3

“come winter I will teach you how to prune the roses”

will it be that way before harsh weather

when the frost sets in before the fog and the city

smiles for christmas

coming

will it be that we hold hands and laugh and decorate

another bed in a different space across the pages

of our lives & Times

will it be that you will still be laughing

striding in the sun grey with the rain

I’ll bring the white birds out

I’ll bring the box with lights, the symbols

maybe we might wish together once again

amid the wrappings and unwrappings

by the lights of other candles

will it be that we still care for tastes of tongues

and softened lights and softer words

i’ll go out into the garden planting

all kinds of bulbs they’re going to flourish

under my hands they will in every shade of rose

and when the skies grow deeper black before the morning

will it be that way

will it be that you are there to chase away the cold

and colder silence of alone-ness

will it be that i will find you watching

my movements through teh rooms with sadness

will it be that you’ll be sitting

obscure (a little anyway) in light

outlined in silhouette against the glass of

other windows

ringing in another year

~

*this poem was written in January of 1981.

That year, I had my first Christmas tree in college.  With him.

So as a writer, when you look back at older work, I mean. That’s right where you were. My journals tell the tale. Call me Ishmael.

HEART OF CLOUDS – novel to screenplay adaptation Mr. Honeygarten/Teenie apples

red apples

HEART OF CLOUDS

by Adrienne D. Wilson

copyright 2009 by Adrienne D. Wilson, all rights reserved

Screenplay by Adrienne D. Wilson

copyright 2020 WordPress.com all rights reserved

for Walter Halsey Davis

of the Santa Barbara Writers Conference

CONT.

EXT. DRIFTWOOD HUT. BEACH MORNING PEARLED LIGHT

Teenie leaves Devlin a note, under three beach stones, she has walked beach, dreamlike, to gather them. Close in on her drawing him a heart surrounded by clouds, with “Who are you?” then a seal’s head pops up from the waves as she walks away, smiling.

EXT. MR. HONEYGARTEN’S HOUSE. BRIGHT SUN, DAY

Teenie parks her bike by the old fence. MELLOMAN his dog is so happy to see her, clowns at fence, wagging and jumping. Birdsounds, Bluejay with peanut, landing.

TEENIE

Mr. Honeygarten are you there?

HONEYGARTEN

Just a minute, dear, let me get my staff. Well, hello Teenie dear how very nice to see you again

TEENIE

Mr. Honeygarten, I was wondering if I might be able to have some of those apples on your trees. I want to make a pie

Mr. Honeygarten smiles dearly at Teenie and begins to pick some flowers for her. Close in on his aged face, smiling eyes and warm smile, as Teenie pets Melloman.

HONEYGARTEN

You do? I see. Well suppose you help me pick them, and of course you can. I seem to have plenty to spare this year.

TEENIE

I want to share it with you Mr. Honeygarten

HONEYGARTEN

Oh my, I haven’t had an apple pie for a very long time

TEENIE

Neither have I, not since Dad left

HONEYGARTEN

You must miss him very much Teenie

TEENIE

I do. Every single day.

HONEYGARTEN

(old hips aching, puzzles)

Well let me see, we’ll need a basket and the ladder. How about if you go around to the garden shed and collect those for us and I’ll meet you by the trees.

Melloman and Teenie meander through English garden style flowers to the old shed, Honeygarten limps with staff toward the trees- lilting music, uplift close in on her hands picking apples, while he watches, Mellowman by his side

MONTAGE FLASHBACK – ESTABLISHING

Close in on a FOR SALE sign, Teenie’s parents working for a newspaper, bustling business – The Village Crier. Teenie’s parents at work, secretary and reporter. Out of business signs along streets. Teenie’s old house FOR SALE SIGN. Teenie in beautiful bedroom, packing, overhears her parents

INT. NIGHT, TEENIE’S BEDROOM

JAX

They closed it, everything. Lock, stock and barrel.

CHRISTINA

What are we going to do?

EXT. BEACH – DRIFTWOOD HUT – SUNNY, BRIGHT DAY

Heart of Clouds – my book to screenplay adaptation

Hi, I think I got a phone call yesterday, but the message was garbled saying they sent me an email. I get so many emails I would not know where to look? Omg. It is fine for you to leave a contact by leaving a comment on my blog if you want. That way I can find you. So I have been following the press on this: https://www.scmp.com/week-asia/opinion/article/3101740/disneys-mulan-tells-women-if-they-know-their-place-they-can-have

My character TEENIE in Heart of Clouds – this is a twinned hero journey, of Boy and Girl – you will see how she emerges as strong, and so does he. One of the things I wrote about was climate change, in terms of the ice melting. That is what THE WAVE is. So, the children such as Greta all over the world need to see HOPE. They absorb from the adults around them. The feelings and so forth. So on we go. I may put that page thing to take a donation, just not sure how. I am posting the images that are the actual pages in my book as I do the rewrite. So, I show the mother as antagonist. She was my hardest character to write, but, we will soon see her. Like all people, we face things in life, not just in childhood, but all our lives, as we look back across our lives we can see how we coped, this gives us empathy for others.

Your feedback as comments right here in my blog means everything to me. That you also would understand these characters, and the themes.

The first two scenes are here: https://adriennedwilson.com/2020/09/14/adaptation-novel-to-screenplay-my-heart-of-clouds/

CHAPTER ONE – DRIFTWOOD (establishing)

HEART OF CLOUDS

Copyright WordPress September 2020 by Adrienne Wilson, all rights reserved.

SCENE THREE – INT. MORNING. LIVING ROOM – TEENIE’S HOUSE

In gray light, grey and drab, the living room is quiet. Teenie’s mother CHRISTINA is sitting wrapped in grey light, drab old comforters watching TV. The news drones on about the melting Icecaps at the North and South poles, we close in on the footage. Close up to her mothers face, expressionless, somber. Her father is gone. They do not speak. Teenie silently lets herself out. On the side table by the couch are pill bottles, for depression. A sense of complete hopelessness.

SCENE FOUREXT. MORNING. DRIFTWOOD HUT – BEACH

Teenie approaches the Driftwood structure as if it is a marvel. No one is on the beach. She throws herself inside it, finding it has been grace. Close-up on her face, as she watches the sea, then tears.

TEENIE

(sadly watching the sea, whispers)

Maybe I could just live here forever. Maybe whoever built it wouldn’t mind.

Teenie watches the sea and a line of brown pelicans appear. She reaches for the book and pen her father gave her, and begins to draw. Suddenly a heart appears in the sky as a cloud.

TEENIE

(drawing a cloud, shaped like a heart in her book, tears the page out and folds it into an Origami bird, tucks it in the rafters of the driftwood hut)

I love you, Dad

EXT. MORNING BEACH. CLIFFS. DRIFTWOOD HUT

High on a cliff stands a boy 14. DEVLIN UNDERWOOD. He has been watching a girl cry, in the driftwood hut he has been building, close in on his face, puzzling why she is there. He watches as she tucks something in the rafters of his structure, watches as she exits down the beach. Devlin makes for his seahut, to see what she has done. He finds her note and puzzles at the bird shape but doesn’t open it. We see him climbing in and out of tidepools on the hunt to leave something of the sea for her. An abalone shell.

Great yarn!

Working with this fabulous yarn from Scheepjes has taken my mind way into a land of special beauty.

But I am writing screenplay and I don’t understand why I got this message behind the scenes from WordPress? So I took a screenshot. I could crochet right now, or I could write. I am writing an adaptation of a novel I wrote back in 2009 in Nanowrimo that I worked very hard on. The rewrite to a screenplay is something I want to use my blog for?

I am not clear about Gutenberg?

Is this artificial intelligence?

I have never seen a message like this until the other day.

For writers WordPress is the best thing that was EVER invented. Not kidding.

I bought the premium version so I could write here?

In November I may write a novel here, when Nano starts again. I used my WP blog endlessly as my nom de plume Valentine Bonnaire, but this is the real me. I designed the book cover for Heart of Clouds myself, and the image is a shot of the clouds off Summerland Beach. WP would not allow me to link it from my old blog and I don’t know why!

This is what a screenplay looks like:

EXT. DAY. Summerland Beach

We see a giant thin cloud rolling across the sky, then a close up to a dolphin jumping.

That is what I was about to start writing.

I got this:

I have loved WP since 2007.

So I never mind talking to them right here in my blog.

xxoo!

Adrienne

here is a screenshot of behind the scenes just now:

It doesn’t want me to link to my OWN BOOK COVER. So I will crop it in Preview and try again. You know I love WordPress, because it has been so seamless since 2007. Everything was always easy and that is because of Ma.tt and all the people who work on this out of their hearts. Anyway tries again. What you are going to see is TEXT that I wrote, from a book I wrote in 2009, translated into what a screenplay looks like.

Hugs.

Here is what the book cover looks like.

I just went to check the news and took a screenshot and saw these. Just know I ❤ WordPress.

I also TRUST WORDPRESS more than any other site. I trust two companies. Firefox and WordPress. The others? Nope.

Hugs.

That is a portrait of my self, and my dog Odin. If you want to see the last thing I wrote in my blog Valentine Bonnaire, you can. I adopted him. These are the beaches we walk all the time and this is what SoCal looks like!

That is Summerland beach, the location for my novel Heart of Clouds.

So there you have it, you see?

Now I can retype the whole thing as I write the screenplay, or just photograph each page.

I’m debating putting a donate dealie on my page in here, and just yesterday I read about that? In the WP Reader. Because this is going to be one of the most beautiful books you have ever read, you see?

It is.

It will also be one of the most beautiful films EVER MADE.

xxoo!

from the WRITER

Adrienne Wilson

The summer of our discontent

How to even begin, with the world in this kind of state?

I would not know.

Except for one thing. I am furious with a ghost. It was my screenwriting teacher Walter Halsey Davis from the SB Writer’s Conference who passed away last summer not long after the Conference ended.

They say it isn’t right to speak ill of the dead, except, what he did to me was unfathomable, but not if you understand the kind of shit Hollywood can be made of. From 2006 until 2019 he was my teacher, and I waited. Twice when I was published under my nom de plume I handed him the books, so that he could see I was a published writer, so that he would take me seriously. Then I handed him my children’s book Heart of Clouds, which I wrote (as a Depth Psychologist from Pacifica Graduate Institute) to address core woundings and how to heal them. I was taken with his film “Do You Remember Love” that starred Joanne Woodward who is one of my faves as an actress, especially for her films like Rachel, Rachel and The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds. Are those links in youtube? They might be.

Never put all your eggs in one basket. That’s something my grandmother used to say, and I did.

The last thing I ever handed him was a copy of my play, Vanilla Suede.

One dirty trick he pulled on me?

At the last night dinner at the Conference the teachers hand out prizes to the writers who have been in the workshops. Well, I handed him the assignment, do a screenplay using cliches. It was a Rom Com, and funny as hell. I thought he actually meant it, as a teacher. I have had many many teachers in my life. He never said ONE WORD to me, about my writing. He never said ONE WORD about my screenplay. He never said ONE WORD about the book to go to film I wrote that was dedicated to him. Here is what he said in class. “Does anyone have something they want to pitch to me?” I was so in awe of him that it took me three years to work up to that.

What a mean, sorry piece of shit he was.

So here is the deal.

The last sentence he ever said to me was “Let’s go to France.” That was by the pool, when I bought him a drink at the Conference and got him a plate of food. “I need red berries,” he said. In two months he would be gone.

I still have a bad taste in my mouth from those berries.

Last summer I asked a priest at the Mission to bless the book, and I handed it to a bookstore owner here, to ask him what he thought. He loved it. He saw it as a film.

So here is what I am going to do. Right here, in WordPress, copyright to me, I am going to rewrite the book as a screenplay. I am finished with writing under noms, forever. The book has themes that are important to children in it. For survival. So you can help me out here if you want because I would love feedback from the global audience that reads WordPress. The kids need a feel good film. They and the audiences need to see HOPE, and I wrote that for them.

“Let it go,” my husband said. “Just let it go.”

He cannot possibly understand the level of hurt Walter inflicted on me. He can’t. Chalk it up to the men in Hollywood being Weinsteinesque.

They aren’t the only men in the world.

I’m still in a bad mood, and we are a summer past last year.

Good thing I have WordPress, huh?

I grew up on the finest films that ever came out of Hollywood. In fact both my uncle Spencer Crilly and my dad Don Brown were both filmmakers. Yeah, they were. You can see pictures of both of them over in FB. Heart of Clouds is a charmer of a story about two kids on a beach, one summer, like the kind of childhood I had, which was sweet and full of good people. I set the place as Summerland, here in California, and so in the book when I refer to “the village” that is the setting for the location.

End scene from the film Rachel, Rachel is here:

Here is the film Effect of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds

xxoo!

from Adrienne

(who can go back and even see the notes in my old blog from the years I wrote it, in Nanowrimo)

C.S. Lewis came to me in a dream the last few days of the writing of the novel. It was fab. As I wrote the scenes for the book I had favorite actors in mind for the parts. But there are lots of actors and people in Hollywood who can play them, no? So what I write are called character studies. Those are the kind of classic films about people my generation grew up on.

Who were the actors I had in mind as i wrote the book?

One of them lives here in town. Jeff Bridges. I had the part of Grandpa Jess in mind for him because when I was a little girl, just a teen, I saw one of my favorite films on earth, “The Last Picture Show.” Here it is from youtube:

I have seen nearly every film Jeff Bridges ever made. I wanted to write parts that can win an OSCAR. Walter, my teacher WON THE HUMANITAS PRIZE. It matters. But the really big part in the film goes to the character Mr. Honeygarten, because both these characters are seminal in the story. I was just a kid in High School here in Santa Barbara when I saw The Last Picture Show. I wanted the part of Mr. Honeygarten to go to Robert Duvall. These are two actors that I love, for all the years they have been in film. Both these guys are BELOVED. In fact last night on TCM I watched Duvall in Altman’s MASH. I never saw that as a kid, wow. It was on TV, but what a film. Altman’s “Short Cuts” is one of my all time favorites. So, what the kids are watching in 2020 does not have the innocent beauty of stories like we grew up on, or even films we saw. As kids we grew up on a very different Disney.

I went to school with the Bottoms Boys. In this film. I saw it the year it was made on the big, big screen. What a film. It just so happens I grew up in this town, where SBIFF is. So here is Jeff Bridges a few years ago. Walter should have taken me seriously.

Look what Jeff Bridges is up to!

The character of Grandpa Jess plays a stringed instrument. Check it out!

Labor Day 2020 – American

Where to begin?

I have much to say about work in America, and the very most to say about American Newspapers, like say the one I spent 20 years working for. You will never guess who owned it, and this won’t be genre by a long shot for me.

I seem to have many people from China reading my blog. Well since you don’t like what Disney did with Mulan perhaps you might like my Heart of Clouds better. Personally I grew up on the original Walt Disney and all the great films that came out of Hollywood at that time, saw when Disney had built the original Disneyland here in California.

So Nanowrimo is on the horizon once again and it helps to have deadlines, like we used to in the newspaper industry. I’ll just give you a sneak peak about what it’s been like in American companies, no? In this little shorty I wrote once called Human Resources. It’s at my old blog, and I can’t believe I wrote that back in 2009. I did. https://valentinebonnaire.com/2009/03/09/human-resources-a-short-story/

That is where I will begin the book, and we’ll just go from there. What it will be about is how women were treated by corporations here in America, in the years 1981 to 2001. Many of the characters you are about to meet have died, so when you see them as characters, they will be UNIVERSAL as writers like myself grew up on the finest Literary writers there are.

Do universal people share universal traits?

Oh hell, yes.

You know it.

Anyway, I’m sick of the selfish greedy bastard who owns the multibillionaire “outlet” that sells books so I didn’t put my Heart of Clouds anyplace near him. NOPE. You can buy a copy of it here and learn something of American life for yourselves.

$3.99 in American dollars is 6.84 in your yuan. That seems right.

Did I tell you that one of my bosses sold the printing press we had to China in the late 80’s?

He did.

It seems to me we all saw Tianamen Square on TV in those years.

Here is your easily translatable Wikipedia on all that: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_Tiananmen_Square_protests

Let’s see if China is willing to read an American book. I need to work on the screenplay but it is too hot here right now, so hot we can’t even think. So here you are: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/heart-of-clouds-adrienne-wilson/1118229068?ean=2940148168928

In the meantime, I just bought some fab yarn from Scheepjes, which is made over in your country. At least it has cotton in it, and the colors are gorgeous.

I let you sample some of my short stories for free, but I should like to sell my kid’s book. It’s going to bring TONS of hope to the children of the world, it really will.

Going to make something really gorgeous with that yarn. This! https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/dhistoire-naturelle-scheepjes-cal-2020

xxoo!

Adrienne

(this is actually a test to see if I will get paid for my book).

Heart of Clouds, Summerland magic

The unexpected magic yesterday of being down on Summerland beach. The last time I was there was at this time last year, after Walter Davis, my screenwriting teacher at the SB Writers Conference passed. Two writers who were important to me passed last year, he and Kate Braverman.

The last thing Walter ever said to me, was, “Let’s go to France.”

I spent a great deal of time last year at the end of summer on the beach there, with the driftwood structures, as those are a main theme in the book I have written for children. Well guess what? I met the artist on those, and is there ever a fantastic one there now.

Funny how life works, the passage of one year. The Conference wasn’t on this year because of the Covid.

I feel better in Summerland.

So Odin and I went, after a whole year almost, at Sunset. Today I am taking the book down to them, to see what they think of the themes. It is great to meet people like that, in such a sacred, sacred place to me. Most of my location shots last year were down in that area all the way to Loon point.

It was written to go to film and in scenes. I may just write that right here in WordPress, like I did the play before the Conference last year. I took a short story and simply converted it over into a play. From Walter I learned to write character studies, as that is what he did, and my book was an answer piece to his film “Do You Remember Love.”

Well, I know those guys I met on the beach are going to love it, because it is the local childhood I wrote that exists here. My heart went into that book, and all my training as a therapist, as well. The thing is Walter didn’t even care. Well? I may put that book for sale right here in WordPress I am so angry that he couldn’t even bother to get back to me. My opinion of Hollywood isn’t that great. Anyway, my best year at the Conference was a few years ago when I got to meet Janet Fitch who studied with Kate Braverman. Her “White Oleander” went to film and is one of the classics.

There is more to life than crochet, perhaps. Or anger. Seeing that driftwood structure made my day yesterday, it really did. I shot the cover for the book right off the beach there.

I said, “You can design Devlin’s hut. My god look what you have built here.”

I asked him if he did the ones last year and he had.

How incredible is that?

xxoo!

On the crochet front I am working on something called the Fruit Garden CAL that reminds me of Brideshead Revisited, a series I loved very much once, back in college years. The character of Sebastian and his Teddy. I love Waugh and other English writers. Always have. CS Lewis came to me in a dream that last few pages of my book.

All the pix of what I saw on the beach last year are over in FB and I’m not. I’m giving it a wide berth. The other day an old friend called and said the rumor on FB was that I was dead. Not yet.

Here is some crochet. I have not done things like this since I was 13 with my best friend, not kidding. I had to work in corporate hell, and maybe the next book will be about the newspaper years and what it was like for women on the job. Today is going to be fun.

If this isn’t the most gorgeous design what is?

Janie Crow’s Fruit Garden CAL in Ravelry and Youtube

I didn’t have one of her kits, with her colors, drat.

I am going to finish this, yep.

I plan to.

Hope all of you are well. This virus thing is so hard on us. To be at the empty beach yesterday was fabulous, and Odin my dog loves that beach.

Today, again.

Seeing people who will love the book.