This entry will be brief and to the point. I'm rewriting a screenplay in order to submit it to a contest recommended to the screenwriters at the NW Film Center by the Center. Deadline is May 31st. I'm hoping the Film Center's recommendation makes the contest authentic and safe. There is one big prize and several smaller ones. The size of the prizes suggest that many scripts will be sent in with fees. Thus I have to keep at the rewriting task and keep this short. At least Ghoul World is done for now. The screenplay is still untitled. Excuse me as I've got a script to tinker with. PS: Also notice alterations to my bucket list.
This Beatnik Boomer is bushed and beaten and bumbed out. My age is showing. On Friday last, I had stones removed from my bladder. In the afternoon, I took pain pills that caused constipation, then a laxative on Saturday to cure the constipation. I had good reason for the pain pills. The diameter of my urethra was undersized and my urologist had to insert a tool and expand it. Yep, she had to tear open the "narrow fibromuscular tube that conducts urine and semen from the bladder and ejaculatory ducts, respectively, to the exterior of the body." My poor Willy was bruised black and blue for many days afterward and peeing was more than uncomfortable. Then the laxative kicked in and all day Sunday I trekked to the bathroom on a regular basis on demand of both terminuses of the path from my mouth back into the world. I did little from Friday afternoon till this Tuesday morning but lie around the house and visit the bathroom. I ate little because of the constipation. Thus I awoke this morning aching all over, and when I tried to fold a couple of tee shirts and bundle one pair of socks and hang up a shirt, I was literally exhausted by the simple tasks, and my brain absolutely fails to operate creatively. This simple listing of details is all it can do. A man my age should never be inactive for as many days as I was. Move even if it hurts.
Seventy-eight people looked in on The Silent Boomer yesterday. Hi, howdy and thank you. As for my bucket list item, I came across the news yesterday that Hollywood is snapping up sci fi novels like a snarling dog takes to a bone just as I'm just finishing my current rewrite of my sci fi novel, Ghoul World. In fact, today I finished it. Of course, Hollywood is looking for serialized novels. I set Ghoul World up so that it might be serialized, but I'm awfully far away from writing number two. Don' t know that I have the least interest in taking the serialization on. I'll know more later when I finish the screenwriting course on June 6th.
Grey skies above today. I'm tired of looking at grey skies above. It was 49 degrees and rainy in downtown Portland yesterday and the traffic hellish. Maybe it's all the new people pouring into town. Don't know, but they blocked cross streets like crazy. Very selfish drivers when all along I've noticed how cooperative drivers have been Portland. It's got to be the Californians flooding up here to escape the selfish drivers in California? OK. I know. Vast generalization. Sunny days ahead on Thursday. That's tomorrow. Can't wait.
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| Wouldn't it be nice? |
Nothing is more mysterious than our emotional apparatus. Mine included. I've been experiencing continuous days of happiness, sometimes punctuated with ecstatic joy. I'm not spending thousands of dollars on stuff I don't need, not flying off to exotic vacations on Caribbean islands. It's not the manic phase of a bipolar swing. Maybe it's the screenwriting course I'm enjoying extravagantly. Maybe it's the increasing number of readers of this blog. Maybe it's the recognition and publication of my poem Legacy in WA129 [Sage Hill Press] and the concurrent invitation by Poet Laureate Tod Marshal to join him and Clark County Poet Laureate Chris Luna and his wife Toni Luna for a joint reading sponsored by the Washougal Library two weeks back. Very good to be included among them. Perhaps it's Tod's warm appreciation of other of my poems as well. Part of my joy has to be the steady sunshine of my wife's love for me that warms and nourishes me, and the love I feel for her that opposes the constant goads of ego that we all experience. I'm blossoming like a petunia in the corner of a rarely visited garden of the literary arts. Maybe it's Portland itself. Whatever it is, I'm standing at the window of World Cup Coffee at the corner of 18th and Glisan in Portland on a powerfully sunlit day and feeling as successful and rewarded as if I'd just won the Nobel Prize for literature. Can something be awaiting my lifelong efforts? Feels like it, but, then, the emotional apparatus of the human species is mysterious as hell. Isn't it? And as far as I can see, no actual gold laden Spanish galleon rides the horizon.
Grey skies above today. I'm tired of looking at grey skies above. It was 49 degrees and rainy in downtown Portland yesterday and the traffic hellish. Maybe it's all the new people pouring into town. Don't know, but they blocked cross streets like crazy. Very selfish drivers when all along I've noticed how cooperative drivers have been Portland. It's got to be the Californians flooding up here to escape the selfish drivers in California? OK. I know. Vast generalization. Sunny days ahead on Thursday. That's tomorrow. Can't wait.