If you want to make points with a good love letter, here are a few tips to get you started.
it’s not about you. It’s about the person you’re sending it to. Here’s your chance to show you are (or still are) paying attention. Everyone wants to be noticed, seen, and loved for themselves.
Make it relationship-appropriate. Don’t get into body comments or sexual stuff unless you are in a relationship and already know s/he wants to hear what you think of his/her butt/chest/etc. Leave out what you want to do with said body parts unless you know for sure s/he wants to hear it. For sure. Don’t guess here.
Short, simple, and sincere. A short letter that shows you really have been noticing, listening, seeing beats a long, flowery, generic letter that doesn’t sound like you.
Still stumped? Pick something you love about that person, for example, the way s/he smiles. They way s/he treats people. How does that make you feel?
“Dear (name): when you smile at me, my heart feels like a balloon about to rise into the sky. You are so kind to people around you and make them feel important. Just by being you, you add something wonderful to the world.” Say something you honestly feel, specific about that person, that you admire.
Remember — love letters aren’t just for romantic love. Your mother, grandfather, friend, etc. also want to feel appreciated. That teacher who went out of his or her way to help you would probably love a note saying thanks for teaching you the mysteries of algebra or the difference between “it’s” and “its.”
When you express love, you get to feel it yourself. It’s good for you and for the person who receives your note. Don’t be afraid to tell people you care about what it is about them you appreciate. Happy Valentine’s Day!
We made the quarterfinals of the ScreenCraft Cinematic Book Competition! (Update… we made the semifinals!)
Just got the word that we made the semifinals of ScreenCraft’s competition for “cinematic” books, which means script readers could see this as a movie.
There are a lot of great books that wouldn’t make good movies. To be made into a movie, a book needs a visual language. Long ago, we took a series of classes from Dale Wasserman, who wrote the play “Man of La Mancha.” He wrote the “book” of the play (as opposed to the music and lyrics — although he maintained some of the lyrics were lifted from his text). He also wrote for film and tv as well as theater.
He said that books are the most literate art form, then plays, then film, then tv. It wasn’t an insult — it’s just that film and tv are more dependent on visuals than language. Language matters in film and tv, but first, you have to have pictures.
Mark and I have placed in screenwriting contests, and Mark writes in pictures. He’s good about prodding me to look at what I’m writing and think about what it looks like. “It’s a movie in the reader’s head,” he told me one time. “When I read, I see it and hear it.” Plus, he trained me in producing for radio, where creating mental pictures is what it’s all about. It’s something I still work on… as you can tell, I tend to be verbal.
Lots of writing is you alone with your thoughts and your computer (or notebook, or…). I talk to myself when I’m writing, wondering if anyone but me will understand what I’m trying to convey. There’s no way to tell until someone reads it. First we had beta readers, then did live readings, then got feedback from a reviewer, and at every stage, examined what was working and what wasn’t. Every time a reader says they enjoyed it, and tells me what connected with them, I want to cheer. Now we’re querying it. It’s a terrifying process.
I overwrite, then have to cut like the villain in a slasher film. There’s always a struggle to cut what is “extra” without taking all the juice out of it.
To know that the ScreenCraft readers, who have never met me and don’t know what I sound like, “hear” and “see” this novel is a joy. Congratulations to my fellow semifinalists, and to everyone who completed a novel they were proud enough of to enter it in a competition — that’s a big achievement right there.
This has been a year, hasn’t it? I mean, they all are, of course, but this one seems to have had more than 12 months in it.
We had to spend the first eight months fighting to protect our little family. Someone got it into her head to try to take our puppy away from us. Lots of drama, strangers being sent to our door, the police sent to our house (first time that’s happened), going to court… in the end, Good won, Evil lost, and Gingeroo is right where she belongs — with us.
It chewed up months of our lives. Our birthdays, our anniversary, everything got swallowed by The Battle For Gingeroo. But in the end, we found out we have a few really good, true friends who were willing to help us, we met an absolutely genius lawyer, and we reaffirmed that Good can triumph, if it’s willing to keep fighting and take good advice.
We finished our novel, and saw it getting favorited on Amazon’s new book program, so much so that it made the “hot list” several times — but then Amazon ended the program. Oops! Back to square one, so we’re shopping for an agent, while writing three new books. Meanwhile, the first novel has done well with beta readers and in live readings, in addition to the love it got during the Amazon program, and a great review. So we know there’s an audience and just have to keep plugging away.
During the process, we’re learning a lot about querying, social media, all the stuff that comes with being an author. We’ve been writers (magazines, newspapers, radio), but now we’re becoming a brand. Which feels odd. And requires learning lots of new skills, which is actually more fun than I thought it’d be.
We lost two of our friends at the same time, people who had never met but who both left our lives at almost the same moment. This is an experience I’ve had before — my mother and grandmother died 30 days apart — but is also one for which you can’t prepare. We’ve lost people slowly, and lost them quickly, and there is no “better” way. You’re never ready to lose someone you’re fond of. It still doesn’t seem quite real that both John and Kathleen are gone.
But we’re taking what they’ve taught us into the world. Kathleen was an enthusiastic, generous person. She loved to shop. I’m not much of a shopper, so I don’t have the skills a talented shopper has. Kathleen was great about sharing tips and tricks. I recently used some things she taught me to score something Mark and I wanted, on clearance, free shipping… Kathleen would have understood why I was trying to “high five” myself (for the record, I still haven’t found a way to do it that doesn’t feel lame).
John was a singer/songwriter, a musician and music producer. Music was his life, and he was really good at it. He was also funny, generous and kind. Even when illness was bringing him to his knees, he played benefit concerts. If he couldn’t play, he sang. Every holiday season, we would visit and join John and his wife (a lovely, fierce, wonderful lady who hadn’t planned to be a public person but fell in love with John, so I won’t put her name here) for dinner. Mark and John usually talked shop — music, audio, recording. They agreed about a lot, but had some things they didn’t agree on that became running gags.
His wife and I would catch up on family and friends, and just, y’know, chat, the way you do with a friend. Mark and I would get tickets for the benefit John was sure to be playing, and the shows were always great, but the best memories are of the four of us around a table, eating and talking.
One time, we went to Barton G’s in Hollywood. It was hilarious. They brought out the food with props. Popcorn shrimp in a big popcorn machine. Sushi with a sword stuck into the platter. The best were the desserts. John and his wife ordered an ice cream sundae that came in a pirate’s treasure chest (a big one), surrounded by edible gold nuggets, graham cracker crumb “sand.” John looked at the shovel sticking out of the sundae, started laughing, and said, “Do we eat the shovel? I can’t tell what’s food and what isn’t!”
Our dessert had a cotton candy bouffant hairdo on a wig head, with candy stuck all over it. The four of us found ourselves acting like sharks, nibbling random things just to see if they were edible.
Before we left, they invited us over and we met the sister of John’s wife, who was charming. John played tracks of songs he was working on and told scandalous stories, and we all just relaxed.
Thinking about all of this has me more than usually aware that I need to be fully present when I’m with a friend. Not distracted by things I want to get done, or things I think I should be doing. Someone once said, “If you ain’t where you is, you ain’t nowhere.” I’m going to try to be where I am in the new year.
I hope wherever you are, your “where” is good to you. Happy New Year!
When I go to a theme park, I have to use an ECV (electronic scooter). I see a lot more of them in the parks, and a lot more near-misses and accidents. Often, this is because people don’t see you when you’re in a wheelchair or ECV. How can they miss you? Because there’s so much to look at.
A theme park is a case of sensory overload, especially at the holidays. Lights flashing, decorations, brightly-colored rides and attractions all distract people walking through the park. Add to that the new park apps that have visitors looking at their phones even more than they were already, and you have a recipe for disaster.
I’ve had a lot of incidents in the past. Once, a woman was backing up to take a photo, not looking behind her (where I was sitting, still, in my ECV). She toppled into my lap, glared at me, and shouted, “Watch where you’re going!” She had no idea I was there.
And people abandon any of the traffic or pedestrian rules they use outside of the park. They stop suddenly, change directions without looking, cut in front of you… their brains are overloaded, overtired and overstimulated.
The worst are the ones who play “chicken.” They see you, but they want to go around you, or cross in front of you, so they glance your way and dart out, not making eye contact. They don’t realize that most ECVs (especially rented ones that are often not in peak condition) don’t stop on a dime. Or a quarter.
One I had was supposed to apply its brakes as soon as I quit pushing on the switch to make it go, and it did… after rolling backward about three feet. Another, when I started it, leaped forward, ignoring the speed it was set to. Yet people would run across my path, or crowd the back of the scooter, leaving me to yelp at them to get out of the way before they got hurt. Often, the are trailing their little kids behind them. Mom or dad gets clear, but the kids are lucky to escape intact.
First, I added a bicycle horn. Mark and I stood around, honking horns, until we found one that sounded sort of like Harpo Marx. My horn has an irreverent, cheerful toot. Even so, many people resented it when I sounded my horn to let them know they were about to trip over me. This year, since we were headed to the parks during the holidays, I added decorations, and jingle bells. This turned out to be the magic combo.
We bought plastic and tinsel wreaths from a dollar store, outdoor ribbon, and large, jangly bells, packed in my suitcase with plastic zip ties and strings of outdoor-safe, battery-operated lights. Once we picked up the scooter at the hotel, we attached all of these with zip ties, including a dangling ring of jingle bells. Whenever I needed to let people know I was there, I jingled the bells.
It worked like a charm. One man, talking on his phone while walking through a crowded park, almost fell over me without noticing I was there. I jingled the bells and he looked around, spotted me, realized he was about to trip over me, and apologized. “Thanks! I didn’t even know you were there until I heard the bells!” He apologized and we parted on good terms.
I made it through six theme parks without an accident. A couple of near misses from people who clearly saw me and still ran in front of me, but for the most part, it worked great. At night, I turned the lights on. People smiled when they saw me, told me how much they liked seeing the decorations.
One little girl, about four years old, spotted me and grinned. “I love it!,” she told me. “I love you!” She then ran forward to show me to her sisters.
I’m an introvert, so calling attention to myself non-stop for almost two weeks was exhausting. It’s like traveling with a celebrity. People said nice things, and smiled, and I smiled back, even if I was tired. It was worth it. Very few negative interactions and many positive ones. And no accidents.
Did I feel silly? Sure, quite often. But I also was able to get through crowds in a reasonable amount of time, and without unpleasantness. If the choice is safety or dignity, I don’t mind looking a little silly.
And it’s great not to have strangers falling on me. Makes for a much better trip. Now the bells and such are back in my suitcase, ready for next time. Happy holidays!
