True Life

Memories of AFFs past

I don't know if I've ever posted this story before.  I am in the process of completing an e-interview for the Austin Film Festival to post on their website, however, and thought that it seemed appropriate to sneak preview-ify with a little retrospectacle from my first visit to Austin, TX.

After the Friday night screening of SHOP GIRL at the Paramount Theatre, I somehow ended up chatting over beers for hours with director Anand Tucker and stars Jason Schwartzman and Claire Danes.  I kept pinching myself.  I mean, whoulda thunk?  As I recall, I finally landed in bed around 2 AM.

I woke up feeling slightly hungover.  I also woke up feeling completely LATE!  I was scheduled to be on a panel at 10:15, and a quick peek at my cell phone informed me that was in exactly 25 minutes.  I didn't shower.  I barely splashed water on my face.  I think I brushed my teeth.  I threw on jeans and a T-shirt, and tossed a sport coat on for good measure.  I wanted to at least look, you know, somewhat “professional”.

Right as the panel was beginning, Kelly Williams, the film festival director walks in and taps me on the shoulder.

"Hey, Bill.  You're going to the awards luncheon today, right?"

Now...when a film festival director asks you a question like that, how are you supposed to answer?  "Absolutely!"  ...Right?

Not me.

"No...I'm heading out for a run and a shower after this panel."

Kelly got this look on his face.

"You sure?  It would be great to have you there in support of your movie."

"One of our producers, David Viola, is the guy with the actual 'film credentials',” I told him.  “I'm here on a panelist's badge.  I don't think I can get in.  Maybe David should go."

I grabbed my cell phone.  "You want me to call him?"

"No, no, no," Kelly insisted.  "David can do what he wants.  We'd love to have the writers from all the competition movies at the luncheon.  I’ll get you in.  Just show up."

All right, I thought.  I sighed.  The shower would have to wait.

After the panel, I got my run...sprinting across downtown to get to the Austin Club in time for the luncheon, that is.

I get to the door, and a very nice person working security informs me that my name is not on the list.  I try on a "Kelly Williams told me..."  No go.  After five minutes or so of trying to wrangle my way into the place, I turn and start heading down the steps.  It’s not gonna work.  Just then…

"Bill True..?  RUNAWAY..?"

Next thing I know, a very official-looking person holding a clipboard is grabbing my arm.  She's literally dragging me back up the steps and into the main ballroom.

A minute later, I find myself seated at this table right in front of the stage.  Across from me is the cast and crew from one of the other movies in competition.  These are the folks that were going to win, I thought, because they were sitting at the table closest to the stage.  I was very happy for them.

And then a strange thought occurred to me.  I was also sitting at the table closest to the stage.  And Kelly Williams had been acting very strangely when I said that I wasn't planning to...  Could it be?

Naaaaaaaaaah!

I put the thought out of my mind completely.  I sat back and enjoyed the free meal.  I had a glass of wine.  I chatted.  I got to listen to Harold Ramis talk about how some of my favorite movies of all time came to be.  I got to see Karl Williams win his legendary screenplay hat trick (I am convinced the guy can't write a bad script!).

And then someone got up on the stage.  And then they were talking about the "Narrative Feature Award."  And I was taking a swig of pinot.  And then, all of a sudden, I heard the title of my movie.

And then I heard nothing.  Because no one was talking.  It was like a bomb went off.

I scan the room, waiting for someone to rise.  Everyone else is scanning the room, too.  It felt like hours were passing.  Dawn was breaking quite slowly in the molasses of my conscious mind. 

I eventually turn to the guy sitting next to me and chuckle: "I think we won."

He grabs the wine glass out of my hand and starts slapping me on the back.  "Dude!  YOU WON!"

Oh, my god!!!  He was right!

I spring to my feet.  Now I feel like a real fool because everyone was staring at me.  But I dare not move, lest I be wrong.  I wait for some other screenwriter to head toward the stage to accept an award.  'Cause I don't win stuff like this, I reminded myself.

There are no takers, and the people at me table, like, pushing me toward the stage.  I still don't know what I am doing, but I decide it's safe to mount the stairs.  And then people are shaking my hand.  And then they put this thing in my hands that weighs about 15 pounds.  And then I'm in front of the microphone.

And as I scan the expectant faces of Hollywood's best and brightest, about to open my mouth and wing my first-ever acceptance speech, a profound thought occurs to me: I really wish I had taken that shower this morning.

The Gift of Exhaling

I have been holding my breath since I was 12.  For those of you in the studio audience who are counting, that's 31 years.  Three decades.  And [read with sarcastic tone] thanks for counting in the first place.

Whether you're counting or not, it's a helluva long time to wait to exhale.

One day when I was 12, my mom asked me to grab something out of her dresser drawer.  There, I found a picture: the smiling faces of three of my siblings as children--ages ranging from about 12 down to about four.  But there was a fourth child in the picture--a beautiful little girl about age 10.  She was smiling like the rest of them.

What struck me, though, was that she looked so much like my siblings.  Like she belonged.  Part of a set.

When I asked my mom about the little girl in the picture, she broke down in tears.  Over the next four hours, I heard a story that my 12 year-old brain could barely wrap itself around.  By the time my mom stopped talking, we were both exhausted.  And all cried out.

The little girl in the picture was my sister.

I won't go into all the details around her departure from my immediate family.  The past deserves to stay in the past.

But she was gone.  Strangely enough, adopted by the brother of my mom's first husband and his wife, which legally made her a cousin to my three other siblings in the picture.  Sometimes God has a wicked sense of humor.

Occasionally, I would hear reports about her from my siblings, who would see her at family gatherings of the "Mom's 1st husband's family" variety.  But I had never met her, never seen another picture.

Late last fall, one of my other sibling's called me and told me that she and my sister had not only been in contact, but had experienced a full-fledged reuniting.  They got each other back.  The four children in the picture were back in the picture again.

Then came the best part of the news: that my sister had expressed a wish for me to be in the picture, too.

The upshot of all this is tomorrow, after 31 years, I get to join my siblings--my sister included--at a family gathering.  Robbye, Zach, and I are going to my sister's cabin to meet her and her husband and all their kids for a day of fun and (apparently) of devouring every type of barbecued meat imaginable.

I am a little nervous, but in a good way.  To think of it brings to mind the final scenes of THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION.  The ones where Red is heading across the border to meet Andy Dufresne in Mexico.

"I hope to see my friend," Red says.  "I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams."

I hope, too.  And I am hopeful.

More than anything, I am grateful.  Finally...to exhale.

Happy New Year!

Hey, everyone.  It's been awhile.  Feels like we haven't touched base since last year (I never get tired of that one).

I know we have a lot of catching up to do.  I promise to dish on all comings and goings in short order.  Today, though, I just wanted to say hi and I'm back.

While you're waiting...Over on Facebook, this "25 Random Things About Me" list thing is all the rage.  I got suckered into it, too.  It was kinda fun, and I thought I would share my list here as well.  Enjoy...

1. I had both a pet squirrel named Frosty and a pet crow named Sidney when I was growing up.

2. I grew up on an 80-acre farm nearly three miles from the nearest tar road and about 13 miles from the nearest town. Most people don't believe me when I tell them this. They think I grew up in some suburb.

3. I have eaten field mouse fricassee, courtesy of my wildlife management college roommate, Pat.

4. I am a convicted thief. It's a long story.

5. My first name is not William--it's Wilmont. And to the best of my knowledge, my grandfather, my dad, and I are the only people in the world who have or had this as our first name. (update! my friend Brett informed me that there is an NFL player with the first name Wilmont.  I am NOT ALONE!)

6. I spent the better part of the first day I met my wife, Robbye, avoiding her at the harvest party we were both attending because I thought she was too young for me.

7. I lived in my car for a month when I was 19 because I wanted to experience what it felt like.

8. When Robbye and I got married, I changed my middle name to Austin, after my great-grandfather that came to the US from Ireland.

9. Although I went through most of my life as "Wilmont James True III", my birth name was really "Wilmont James True Jr.", the same as my dad. My dad didn't want me named after him, so my mom named me after my grandfather when my dad was away at work. As a result, the Social Security Administration thought my dad and I were the same person for many years. They still think my grandparents are my parents.

10. I turned down an offer to perform off-Broadway when I was 20 in the Tim Rice rock opera, BLONDEL. I'd been the title character in the US premiere, and Tim liked my work. I moved to LA instead to pursue an offer to attend the screenwriting program at USC, which I never ended up actually attending.

11. I was a 7th level letterman in choir in high school (my only letter), and I think I am still in second place for highest number of letter points achieved in the history of my school (the highest number, 10 more than me, was achieved by my friend Deb Berndt the same year).

12. I was a store manager for Radio Shack in the late 1980s. At the time, in fact, I was the only part-time salesperson every promoted directly to store manager. I attribute this distinction more to the fact that no one wanted to manage the store as opposed to my mad sales skills.

13. I have been general manager for two small retail chains: one for pet supplies and the other for Black Hills Gold jewelry.

14. My two high school jobs were working on the City of Isanti maintenance crew (where I painted all the fire hydrants one summer and managed the city sewage plant the next) and playing drums in my parents’ country & western band.

15. I am allergic to horseradish.

16. I begged Robbye to take me to see THE SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING PANTS 2. And, hell yes, I cried…just like I did over the first one. (“Why did Bailey have to die?!?”)

17. I am red-green colorblind. But it’s a rather insidious disorder, because I can see certain shades of red and green but not others. I have oft bought a piece of clothing I thought was grey only to find out later that it’s the crappiest shade of green. No wonder why it was 70% off.

18. I don’t like the sound of my own voice.

19. Amy Jo Johnson (the Pink Power Ranger, who was briefly considered for the role of Carly in RUNAWAY) was afraid to meet me in person after she read the script for RUNAWAY. When we finally did meet, she couldn’t stop laughing because it turns out I was “just a suburban soccer-dad type.” She is, btw, the only celebrity I’ve met that truly excited my kids.

20. I unexpectedly aced the ACT (35 out of 36), getting a perfect score on (of all things) the math section. The Physics and Math departments at my college both offered me scholarships to study in their fields. But I was a theatre major.

21. I finished the Twin Cities Marathon in 4 hours and 10 seconds. I would have made my goal to finish in less than 4 hours, but in a moment of K-2 proportions, I ran 50 yards back to retrieve my running partner, who had stopped running.

22. I am known for coming up with horrible titles for my own works (e.g., RUNAWAY was MICHAEL’S LETTERS, INCARNATION was THE ANGEL ON THE HORSE).

23. The only fan letter I have ever written was to Elvis Costello (via his website). And I was thrilled when he answered it!

24. I only recently realized I love sauerkraut, thanks to my wife, and that my favorite sandwich is a Rueben.

25. I almost died at age 17 from chickenpox, as they threatened to grow on my central nervous system. I missed nearly six weeks of school because of it and had to finish my junior year at the same time as I was starting my senior year of high school.

Gulp! (or…putting my money where my mouth is)

A month or so ago, I got a surprise email from Reilly Tillman at IFP Minnesota.  He said the buzz around town was that Dean and I were the hot ticket when it came to training people how to pitch movies.  I was flattered and a little taken aback.  I had been sought out!  Wow…

We agreed that Dean and I would present the same pitch training we did in Seattle and LA, as well as for MNWIFT, through IFP on January 31 from 10 AM – 3 PM.  I am quite excited about this, as I continue to get email after email from people who have either been trained by us or heard one or both of us speak, saying they’re getting meetings and reads and options and sales…and attributing a good portion of that success to our teaching.

This, of course, brings me great joy.

Bringing that value home to the TCs brings me even greater joy.

Okay…that means if you’re a screenwriter or filmmaker in or around (or passing through or flying into) the Minneapolis/St. Paul area on that day (January 31), click here if you’re interested in participating in our workshop.  IFP is capping the attendees at 20.  There’s already been a lot of interest expressed, so you might wanna sign up sooner versus later.

Anyway…as if that’s not enough, a couple of weeks later, I get this email:

Hi Bill,
My current beginning screenwriting instructor just informed me he won't be able to teach our beginning class this winter due to a major schedule conflict with MCTC, where he also teaches. Would you be interested in taking on this class?

I was double flattered and double taken aback.  And a little scared.

“Yes!” is what I wanted to say, but my stomach was a jumble.  I mean, it’s not as if I’m not…umm…busy.  Just slightly.  But I love teaching, and it’s been a dream of mine to teach a screenwriting class someday.

I didn’t, however, think that “someday” would arrive on my doorstep quite so quickly.

Robbye and I talked it over.  Or rather, Robbye told me to calm the hell down.

“This is a dream of yours.  Obviously, these people trust in your writing ability and your teaching ability.  You’re ready, and you want to do it.  Just do it.”

So…a deep breath later, and I was typing this:

Reilly,
I talked to Robbye about this.   She said, "You've been talking about doing something like this for years.  Go for it!"  So I am.  I would be happy to teach the class, and I am honored you asked.

I am truly honored.  See, unlike some others, I don’t subscribe to the old “those who can’t…teach” adage.  My take is that those who “can” make the best teachers.  Moreover, it’s my firm belief that those who “can” have a responsibility to share their knowledge with and lend a hand to the folks following in their footsteps.

I know that I have something valuable to offer these students.  That's that, I guess.

On a side note, I have selfish reasons for accepting IFP's invitation, too.  Because I also believe this: through teaching I learn.  I know that teaching this class will make me a better screenwriter.

Yet, I gotta tell ya…it feels a little like one of those dreams where you show up for school or work and all of a sudden you realize you don’t have any pants on.  It's certainly a more exposed and vulnerable feeling than when someone's reading or watching my work.

Time to put my money where my mouth is how it most feels.

On that note…if you’re in the Twin Cities on Thursday nights from January 22-March 12, and if you wanna join me on (what I think will be) a fun and enlightening adventure, head on over to the IFP website and register today.  They’re limiting the class size at 12, so hurry before it closes.

Yowsa.

Gulp!

Cool…

One moment, please...

There are moments these days when I glance at the Typepad bookmark button and sigh.  I wanna click on it.  I wanna post something.  But I am on the run.  Not a whole lotta time to think, much less put together a coherent post.

Just wanted to touch base with all of my OLU friends, though, and let you know that all is well.  Busy, but well.

We're making some big announcements at SagePresence right now, which is exceedingly cool.  And I need to pay attention to them and make them work because in both cases I kinda got us into these fine messes in the first place.

INCARNATION is going equally well.  It's hard to talk about progress at present because so much is still in the air and loose lips could quickly sink this particular ship.  I can say what I've already told the Facebook crowd, there is a faint glow of green on the horizon. The script is getting a great reception, with one production company exec stating, "The writing is *excellent*. Great characters, great story...reminiscent of an Arriaga movie."  And we're in the process of attaching cast.  I hesitate to write the words that I am about to write because I am superstitious about such things...but here goes: it's starting to feel kinda real.

But keep your fingers crossed anyway.

Trying to keep up with my writing schedule for MANIACAL ENGINEERING, but it's been tough.  I am a little behind, but still up for completing the first draft sometime in January.  It's been amazing.  Never before have I gotten so much buzz and interest on a title.  Me...the guy who sucks at titles!  (Case in point: MICHAELS LETTERS=I loved, everyone hated and it became RUNAWAY; THE ANGEL ON THE HORSE=I loved, everyone hated and it became INCARNATION)  One screenwriter friend of mine, who's just finishing up an assignment at Disney, wrote to me, "You know how I know that MANIACAL ENGINEERING is a *great* title? Because I'm mad I didn't think of it first!"  We'll see if I can follow through and live up to the excitement with...you know...the actual script.

All that said, bear with me over the next few days.  I will return.

I don't know what to think anymore

The problem, of course, is this…

What am I supposed to think?

A friend of mine sent me this link about a week ago, saying, “Just saw it again online.  As someone commented, ‘Looks sucktacular’. Couldn't have said it better myself.”

I know that as a card-carrying movie cynic I should feel the same.  But I don’t.

I found it…erm…fascinating, reading in a recent article in the Hollywood Reporter, “Despite ‘Trek's’ indisputable cultural brand and avid fan base, the filmmakers and the studio hope to bypass two potential obstacles on the way to blockbuster box office returns: the MySpace generation's unfamiliarity with the series and genre and the franchise's typically anemic performance in the global market.”

That struck a chord with me.  Then I realized they’re right.  My kids grew up with “Star Trek” meaning Captain Picard and then meaning that kinda lame series of shows and movies, most of which were over-fixated on this “Borg” thing or time dilation.  And it was never really a factor in their lives, save for the fact their dad was kinda kooky over it.  They liked it because I liked it and because they enjoyed enjoying things with me.

But that’s not what “Star Trek” means to me.  I was born into it.  The real thing—the universe of Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock—was high drama of Shakespearean proportions as far as I was concerned, and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  It felt real and a little scary, and, by god, it was, wasn’t it?  It was the future!

For me, “Star Wars” was the upstart usurper.  Yep, it captured my attention.  Yep, it eclipsed “Star Trek”.  Yet, its eclipse was of the “second love” variety.  Bigger, better, but always second.

You never forget your first love they say, and the 79 episodes of the original “Star Trek” series were that for me.  Pretty much everything else, save for “The Wrath of Kahn” movie, felt a little like a white lie.  We nodded and called it “Star Trek" because we wanted more, but we knew…

Then I caught a glimpse of these photos on IMDb, and something stirred inside me.

I looked at them, and I felt it…”Star Trek”.

Then I watched the trailer, and I felt it again.  Yep, updated.  Yep, slicker.  Yep, bigger.  But there was something there.

Funny...I didn’t even completely process until my second watching that the actors in the trailer were different than those I remember from TV.  I got it.  I bought it.  Done deal.

My friend, Mike, says that this new “Star Trek” looks like a community theatre production.  To which I say, “I know.  That’s part of what I like about it.”

It’s all the things I mentioned above and just hokey looking enough to feel familiar.  To feel real.  To wake up my inner eleven year-old and let him take a turn at the controls for a change.   And, of course, to believe.

But here's the rub: I don’t trust it.

By the way, the answer is "Yes": I know that I investing far too much energy and thought into all this.  Yet, I am not only familiar with the “Star Trek” universe, it is part of what defines me.  It’s important in the way that all cultural icons are important and more.  I was not only raised on “Star Trek”, but because of the nature of what it was—the morality play nature of it all—I was also raised by it.

If it’s true you can’t go home again, I am setting myself up for a fall.  Then these pictures and this trailer are like memory ghosts, idealized visions of the way things were and might have been.

If Mr. Abrams and co. aren’t as good as everyone claims they are, and the 43 year-old isn’t entertained alongside the eleven year-old…  Because that’s Abrams' challenge here, isn’t it?  It isn’t just connecting with the MySpace generation, which isn’t the real target audience (save for opening up opportunities for sequels) anyway.  It’s two audiences—eleven year-olds and 43 year-olds—caught in a situation of “Star Trek” proportions themselves…they occupy the same body.  And if this production can’t adequately deliver to those two audiences…

I don’t even wanna think about it.  Thank heavens it’s still six months away.  I can hide my head in the sand till then.

Relax... It's good for you?

I've been in a funk lately.  And not the cute sitcom kind where I sit on the couch for a day or so and fire pithy quips at the boob tube or whomever blocks my view during Oprah.

No...this has been a bonafide funk.  The real deal.

I've lived my life, sure.  Every day, though, has felt like slogging through mud.  Every action requires five times the energy.  And everything that comes out of my mouth seems lame.  Probably is lame, as the dead space between me and whatever thought I'm searching for, much less the right word, can be measured in astronomical units, and then there’s no guarantee that whatever I latch onto is right or appropriate or even coherent.

It’s really bugged me because I am at a “feet don’t fail me now” point in my life.  It’s not simply that there are a lot of things I want to accomplish; there are myriad things I need to get done.  You know…keep life integral stuff.

I make lists and then sit down in front of my computer (through which most of said work must be done)…and nothing.  Well, not if you count reading Yahoo! News or thumbing through my iTunes library.  I excel at those lately.

What gives?  It’s not only that I have to get these things done…I want to.  There’s so many things I want to do, and this goddamned funk—it’s mucking it all up.

For every day the list is swelling with the things I didn’t get done the day before.  Things small and large.  Overflowing.  Dropping onto the floor around my feet.  In pieces.  Which leaves another, more complicated and troublesome task to heap atop everything else: picking up the pieces and trying to put them back together.

And trying to keep forward movement—hell! ANY movement—going.

So far, I’ve been able to keep things reasonably together.  Things are fine.  The speaking has been going well, and things have been moving forward with INCARNATION.  But I know.  Inside I now that my performance is sub-par.  And there have been outward signs lately—the orbital decay has become apparent to others.

That sucks.

I am tired of hearing the whys and the well-meaning hypotheses, from me as much as anyone else.  I just want my energy back.  I just want me back.

The silver lining in this dark cloud is that when the world is quiet (or I succeed in simply ignoring it), I am experiencing some of the most creative journeys ever through my inner space.  The result is that the MANIACAL ENGINEERING story I’ve landed on is, I believe, pretty good.  It feels fresh and inspired.  As I work to put it together, I am realizing that it represents a real evolution in not just my storytelling ability, but in my story generating ability as well.

And then there’s the matter of the other thing that’s cooking in my head all of a sudden.  The stuff that Facebook entries like “Bill had an interesting creative realization Monday that set his mind a-whirring. Me thinks...it just might work” are made of.  I don’t wanna say too much about it.  I’ve bounced it off a couple of people in my inner sanctum and gotten the wide-eyed, smiling nods that tell me I am on the trail of something worthy of pursuit.

It’s important for now that I keep the idea close to my chest.  Not that I think it’s gonna get stolen or anything like that.  At the moment, it’s simply delicate, fragile.  It’s going to require a lot of TLC to grow into a strong and full-fledged concept, much less a great script.

But for the first time since the germ of this idea popped into being (which was a few years ago), scenes are playing in my head.  I am hearing characters talk, seeing them interact.  Dots are being connected between them.  The world and the path through it are revealing themselves to me.  That feels good.

And it’s a TV idea.  I’ve been wanting to come back to TV for over a decade now.  Even gooder.

Which leads me inevitably to this: do I just relax?

All the billboards along the Interstate warning us about the dangers of depression aside, everyone gets the blues, right?  I mean, please don’t misunderstand—I’m not demeaning the seriousness of depression.  I know it’s real.  I know it’s devastating.  I know it’s a killer.

Trust me.  I know.

My statement isn’t one of denigration or denial, it’s one of recognition, yet trying to get a handle on type and severity.  Of trying to identify whether or not I am on well-trodden common ground or somewhere else...somewhere lost and needing to call for help.

It’s not like I’ve never been in a funk before.  It’s not like I have never been flat-out depressed before.  And though this funk has felt more acute than others in the past, I sort of understand how I got here.  Take everything that’s happened in the last several years and line it up, and it makes sense that I would feel tired.  Yet, I don’t want to make the mistake of dismissing it out of hand because I know how slippery a slope these funky things can be.

Hmmm...  Well, I guess here’s where I stand (hence my “do I just relax?” comment)…I know that over the course of the past couple of weeks I've been feeling incrementally better.  I feel a little lighter. I know that through sheer force of will I am kick-starting myself and attending to a number of things that have been screaming for my attention.   These are good signs, adding up to a feeling of “I’m on the upswing.”

I know that all of a sudden I am writing again. That’s a good sign, too.

And there’s the rub.  I am writing again.  Harvesting ideas fertilized and cultivated in the manure pile of this funk.

I remember telling a psychologist once that I wanted to be happy in my life, “but not too happy.”  I worried that through the course of therapy I would lose a grip on my underlying angst.  That it might dissipate and be gone forever.  That would be a bad thing, I thought.  Tantamount to a creative lobotomy.

Well, fear not, self.  You have nothing to worry about.  Through thick and thin, your beloved angst hasn’t gone anywhere.  I doubt it ever will.  Then again, you know now what you knew then, huh?  It’s par for the course.  An occupational hazard, if you will.

Laborers have back injuries.  Typists have carpel tunnel and eye-strain.  Miners have black lung.

Writers…we have our angst.  Our funks.  In the end, I suppose it’s a good thing.  It is, after all, as much a source of our inspiration—maybe even more so—than our elation.  And, I must admit, there is an odd comfort in that.

Keeping it in check.  Keeping perspective.  Only heading so far down the rabbit hole.  Now that’s the trick, ain’t it?

Of Dreams

In a recent post, where I unveiled my latest ode to my beloved (and my muse), I mentioned that someday I would probably write and record a song that had to do with "something else".

That idea got under my skin.  I wondered, though, what that song might look like.  The answer was right under my nose.

I took my inspiration from INCARNATION, which has been monopolizing my time and mind and soul, anyway.  I decided to start from the standpoint of what would I do if someone approached me and asked me to write an end title song for the movie.  What would that sound like?

My vantage was Harry, the main character.  How could I capture an aspect of his internal stuggle and his journey musically.  Whether or not this song fits that bill is questionable, but It's clearly inspired by it.

I am reasonably happy with the outcome, though I find these songs are usually "finished" when I get sick of futzing with them versus being perfect.  I don't know whether perfect is possible considering my equipment, ability, time, and talent.  There are aspects of this one that make me cringe a bit--my vocals in parts and the drum track, where I had limited options for programming/editing to create more variety, in particular.  But I am satisfied overall--enough so to share it here to all of you.

That said, here it is.  I present to you: OF DREAMS.

Let me know what you think.

Of Dreams

Dreaming
I’m dreaming
Heaven weeps
While you sleep
And I-
I open my eyes again

I walk alone
A heart turned to stone
Eternity just laughs at me
And you-
You hang on my mind again

When all is said and done
Line up the setting suns
With endless nights
And I’m still left wondering
If they're all a simple waste
Of dreams

Turn around
O! You silly clown
The light of day
Is the other way

When all is said and done
Line up the setting suns
With endless nights
And I’m still left wondering
In all our “come what mays”
In all our passion plays
In the fleeting taste
Of all our ought to bes
Is it all a simple waste
Is it worth us to embrace
And live, in fact, in place
Of dreams?

The top of the mountain ain't enough

These were two good men in this race--two men whom I would have been proud to call my President.  Yes, I had my issues with John McCain.  Mostly, though, they were of the "scratching my head and wondering where the hell the John McCain I thought I knew went" variety.  But I knew in my heart that both of these good men truly put "Country First."

So...first off, thank you, John McCain.  Thank you for everything you have given to this nation--so much--and thank you for your continued service in its name.

Last night, monkeys tumbled off our great nation's back in droves.  So much history was made last night--I love the way David Gergen on CNN kept saying, "The significance of this night cannot be overstated."  Certainly, it is going to take this country, its citizens, and the world years to understand and then live into that significance.  It sure feels good, however, to be here today.

I am excited.  Strangely enough, it's not because we've just elected our first black president.  I clearly pay homage to this amazing milestone, but what truly excites me is how President-Elect Obama brought something back to many, many of us that it felt like we'd lost.  How, above all, he embodies this.

I feel like an American again.

When Michelle Obama said at the beginning of the year, "for the first time in my adult life I am proud of my country because it feels like hope is finally making a comeback," she took a lot of heat.  Of course, what those who seized on that comment didn't mention was that her remark was a follow up to this statement: "People in this country are ready for change and hungry for a different kind of politics."

How folks could misconstrue her comment as somehow un-American, was beyond me.  In fact, I took it as one of the most American statements of the election year.  I mean, since when did questioning our leaders and our political landscape demonstrate a lack of patriotism in this country?  Questioning authority is, after all, the foundation upon which this country was built.

More to the point, Ms. Obama's comment, In a sentence, it summed it all up.  I don't know if I could put myself as squarely in the "not proud of my country my adult life" as she was.  I felt pretty damned skippy voting for Bill Clinton in '92 and '96.  I felt like our country was moving in the right direction.  But these past eight years...

I had, myself, begun to lose hope.  How we could allow an election to be stolen.  How we could buy into politics of divisiveness and ideology.  How we could be at each others' throats.  How we could, in eight short years, become the "bad guy" in the rest of the world's eyes.  How we could move from relative prosperity to the brink of economic ruin.  And how, as Rome was burning, we were fiddling--still arguing and bickering as flaming pieces of our society fell charred and broken at our feet.

I felt like an alien in this place.  Or like I'd somehow waken up in a parallel dimension, in some strange Shadow America.  Like the evil Star Trek Universe: American Political Landscape Edition.

I woke up again last night.  Finally at home.  And my hope returned last night.  Not in the feeling of having bet on the right horse, but in Obama's first words as President-Elect where he told the nation:

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other.  Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, it's that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long.  Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.  As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, "We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection." And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

I was and am proud of our resiliency as a nation and as a people.  Of our ability to learn from our mistakes.  Of the renewed sense of purpose that seems to be taking root in our hearts and, more importantly, in our actions.

For the first time in a long time I stand on the road and look down it thinking, come what may we might just be okay.  Not because Barack Obama was elected President, but because of how he was elected President.  By people of all ages, colors, and creeds coming together under the cause of reclaiming our unity while celebrating the diversity this nation--a nation of immigrants--was created to celebrate.  Because for the the first time in a long time, it seems not about how "I'm right and you're wrong, I'm good and you're bad."  Rather, it seems to be about "how can we lift each other up."

I can get behind that.

That said, I woke up this morning feeling only mostly good.  The world didn't suddenly change over night, though we would like to think it somehow did so magically.  We face the same problems waking up this morning that we faced yesterday and the day before--and not just the tangible ones, like the economy or the war in Iraq.

I am talking here about the harder to peg, much less resolve, issue of defining ourselves and each other by our differences as opposed to our similarities.  I'm talking about the thing that gives us permission to de-humanize each other and knock each other down.  The thing that puts me and my agenda above you--sometimes at any cost.

That didn't go away last night.  Truth be told, in some ways, the potential for it to raise its ugly head even higher was kicked up a notch or two.  That makes this time one of great potential, but as I've told my kids time and time again, potential is a double-edged sword.  Because from this vantage point, I can see how we can go either way, folks.  This could lead to our darkest hour as easily as it could lead to our brightest one.

Achieving our potential as a nation won't just happen; it requires great vigilance and patience and sensitivity and action on all our parts.  It requires each of us reaching across the divide.  Graciously and humbly.  Everyone...no matter who you voted for.

Yes...I want a healed economy and a healed international landscape, but even more I want a healed country.  A country of healed hearts and spirits--across the spectrum.  If we're ever going to live up to our claim of "one nation under God", we need that.  All of us.

So, President-Elect Obama, I congratulate you.  And I call upon you...to be your word.  To be the leader we all pray you are.  To really be President to all of us, as you promised.  And to lead us not merely to the top of the mountain, where the view is great.  Yessiree.  But also to the other side, where, as Martin Luther King envisioned, "all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, 'Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!'"

Can we do that?

This I believe: Yes, we can.

Did you?

If not, whatcha waitin' for?

VOTE TODAY!