Book, fiction: The Year of No Fear
Status: Writing
"Look, Mom, she wants to be your friend."
...but she doesn't want a new friend. She's 93, for crissakes. Trapped in her head thanks to this god awful disease. Dementia? How can it be. She remembers everything exquisitely, she just can't express if it. If she could she'd tell her daughter, spill her soul, bore her with the glorious details of a time some fifty years prior when she had a friend, the best one. . . when the whirl of one's 30's with weddings and babies tumbled into the decade of one's 40's—when things started to get real. When life tossed the riddle of raising teenagers, plus skin turning crepey and hair whitening daily, and why did it feel like everyone was either getting cancer or divorced? Through it all, Josephine and Jules had each other. For encouragement. For support. For laughing so hard they started crying, especially as they sat together weekly at any multitude of their children's activities (ones they'd both barely made it on time to in the first place). Sometimes, the crying/laughing order the other way around. . . they were so lucky to have each other, if only for that one last year before everything went so wrong. . . and now, her daughter wants her to befriend this peach? Toothless and smiling? A raisin in a purple bathrobe new to the dementia ward, just because she's sitting near her during bingo and looking this way? No thank you. She is fine with life how it is. She had a friend. The best one. She, remembers...
In the spirit of Fannie Flagg's "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe," an elderly woman recounts her heartwarming adventures as part of a long ago duo, reminding us of the importance and beauty of a friend.
*
Book, fiction: The Matriarch's Manifesto
Status: drafting
The matriarch of a once tight-knit Italian family reflects on their evolving estrangement and ultimate demise, and proves that when the past does not get buried, there is no resting in peace.
Fiamma Lanza loved a good funeral. The drama. The antics (who was going to throw themselves onto the casket and holler "I'm coming with you!" this time). As the matriarch of a big Italian family, funerals were another chance to get everyone together. Her favorite part was after, of course, gossiping with her sister about how everybody looked, like the time that show-off Angela Francis kneeled in the front of the room—suddenly, all holy—and had TJ Maxx stickers on the bottoms of her shoes! But this funeral is different. It is her own.
*
Book, fiction: The Friendship
Status: One day I will write this...
When a woman befriends her young son's teenaged [some team] coach, the whole town starts whispering—then explodes. They don't understand the nature of the relationship, platonic, she, a young mother grappling with fear and isolation, he, a precocious young man who has experienced profound grief in his lifespan, leaving him wise beyond his years...Here is a story about secrets, innocence, and the danger of presumptions.
*
Screenplay: Snow Day
Status: Complete
"A woman stuck home with her kids on a snow days texts with her four college friends. As the snow melts, complexities get revealed in this exploration of motherhood, marriage and past and present selves."
It's like Tully meets Sex and the City, with a little bit of The Hours, without being 100% depressing.
*
Screenplay: Me, You and the Winter
Status: I'll write this next winter. If I don't leave my house and let my kids microwave their own mac-and-cheese dinners and not raise their eyes from their iPads, it will take me one week.
"A woman at odds with her teenaged children after announcing separation from her husband adopts a mountain dog. In trying to teach the dog how to behave in society, she learns how to live with those within her home."
Status: Writing
"Look, Mom, she wants to be your friend."
...but she doesn't want a new friend. She's 93, for crissakes. Trapped in her head thanks to this god awful disease. Dementia? How can it be. She remembers everything exquisitely, she just can't express if it. If she could she'd tell her daughter, spill her soul, bore her with the glorious details of a time some fifty years prior when she had a friend, the best one. . . when the whirl of one's 30's with weddings and babies tumbled into the decade of one's 40's—when things started to get real. When life tossed the riddle of raising teenagers, plus skin turning crepey and hair whitening daily, and why did it feel like everyone was either getting cancer or divorced? Through it all, Josephine and Jules had each other. For encouragement. For support. For laughing so hard they started crying, especially as they sat together weekly at any multitude of their children's activities (ones they'd both barely made it on time to in the first place). Sometimes, the crying/laughing order the other way around. . . they were so lucky to have each other, if only for that one last year before everything went so wrong. . . and now, her daughter wants her to befriend this peach? Toothless and smiling? A raisin in a purple bathrobe new to the dementia ward, just because she's sitting near her during bingo and looking this way? No thank you. She is fine with life how it is. She had a friend. The best one. She, remembers...
In the spirit of Fannie Flagg's "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe," an elderly woman recounts her heartwarming adventures as part of a long ago duo, reminding us of the importance and beauty of a friend.
*
Book, fiction: The Matriarch's Manifesto
Status: drafting
The matriarch of a once tight-knit Italian family reflects on their evolving estrangement and ultimate demise, and proves that when the past does not get buried, there is no resting in peace.
Fiamma Lanza loved a good funeral. The drama. The antics (who was going to throw themselves onto the casket and holler "I'm coming with you!" this time). As the matriarch of a big Italian family, funerals were another chance to get everyone together. Her favorite part was after, of course, gossiping with her sister about how everybody looked, like the time that show-off Angela Francis kneeled in the front of the room—suddenly, all holy—and had TJ Maxx stickers on the bottoms of her shoes! But this funeral is different. It is her own.
*
Book, fiction: The Friendship
Status: One day I will write this...
When a woman befriends her young son's teenaged [some team] coach, the whole town starts whispering—then explodes. They don't understand the nature of the relationship, platonic, she, a young mother grappling with fear and isolation, he, a precocious young man who has experienced profound grief in his lifespan, leaving him wise beyond his years...Here is a story about secrets, innocence, and the danger of presumptions.
*
Screenplay: Snow Day
Status: Complete
"A woman stuck home with her kids on a snow days texts with her four college friends. As the snow melts, complexities get revealed in this exploration of motherhood, marriage and past and present selves."
It's like Tully meets Sex and the City, with a little bit of The Hours, without being 100% depressing.
*
Screenplay: Me, You and the Winter
Status: I'll write this next winter. If I don't leave my house and let my kids microwave their own mac-and-cheese dinners and not raise their eyes from their iPads, it will take me one week.
"A woman at odds with her teenaged children after announcing separation from her husband adopts a mountain dog. In trying to teach the dog how to behave in society, she learns how to live with those within her home."