BOOK 'em!

No sooner have I hung up my "Writer Available" sign than I am swamped with assignments from the four corners of the earth. I'm working on newly signed singer Lynett's press release-she's a 14 year old prodigy. A Mariah Carey sound-alike and Jennifer Lopez look-alike, this kid is making noise and bound to make more of it. I'm revamping my website and helping Bylli compose the text for the new Funusual website. I'm Interviewing him for a Nomasohna music magazine article and preparing for one requested of me. I've been working on my own project (my memoir) here and there as I'm able.

Christian was home sick today, but is doing much better this evening. I feel awful myself, nauseous, dizzy, weak. While I'd love to have spent the whole day in bed I am instead propped up in front of the computer. Must focus. Focus. If I don't drop dead I might get all of this done.

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Ian is writing a "nonfiction" book. He's mysteriously secretive about it, says his mother Roberta.
"He won't tell me a thing! I keep trying to sneak a peek and he snatches it away!"

Should we be SCARED?

He already knows he's in mine and that it's very personal. He's read some of it, and as revealing as he found it, still gave me his blessing. "I'm not worried", he reassured me. "I trust you."

I am admittedly shocked by the support I've recieved from most of those mentioned in the book. I've contacted as many of them as I could-often years after I knew and had any dealings with them. I didn't want anyone to be in the dark. I wanted to spare feelings, protect friendships. When I actually offered to change the names of some, to protect both professional and personal reputations, I was more often told to leave it as it was. Let the truth be told, was the consenses. I think they understood I wanted not for it to be a hurtful tell all expose but an honest look into the real life workings of this often bittersweet industry in all of it's grit and glory. I wanted the real people to step out from behind the public personas. (The interesting and wonderful thing is, those people are perhaps more extraordinary in the graceful and determined way they deal with their own demons and less than ideal circumstances.)

Some-like my male supermodel ex, "Johnnie" the R&B singer, the well known Canadian rock singer with whom I shared a brief but passionate romance and my first manager-wanted fictitious names in place of their own. The model is in hiding-from a stalker who's already once succeedded in shooting him and the manager I could not reach to speak to about the sensitive subject matter pertaining to him. (The rock singer and I met while I was still legally married and he was engaged so it goes without saying that it would be professionally and personally embarrasssing for both of us had the affair gone public.) Some-like a world famous cartoonist I knew and a notoriously handsome headlining Hollywood actor friend of Ian's simply preferred any details about their personal lives not to be mentioned at all, and I agreed. They are wonderful people. They haven't anything incriminating to hide. It's simply a matter of privacy-which is both hard to come by and hard fought for in this petrie dish of a business. (That's a reality few lay people realize.) I've no desire to step on anyones toes! I'm just the storyteller, and the subject must be willing.

The vast majority were more than anything, flattered to be named. For example, Recording Artist Joey Kid (from Trilogy and C&C Music Factory) was tickled that I not only remembered our single smoldering kiss years ago but cherished the moment enough write about him with such affection. For Ian-third cousin to the late silent screen legend Rudolph Valentino-the memoir serves as a biography of his own career, following him from his early efforts to eventual success as an actor, model and singer-songwriter years later. For my son it is a keyhole, through which he can travel back in time. He can see his mother in her youth, starry-eyed, scared, human. (Note to Christian: Do as I say, NOT what I've done. I never said I did it right.)

I have tried to write my book with honesty, integrity, sensitivity, admiration and respect for these remarkable individuals, who have made my life more interesting and enjoyable than I ever deserved it to be. It is my sincere desire that my work will be recieved with the same love with which it is written.

Bellydancing WOULD be 'fUNUSUAL'

"Bellydancing", I said. "I say you need a bellydancing division!"
Funusual World-which encompasses Funusual records, publishing and publicity-CEO and recording artist Bylli Crayone knew I was kidding, bubbling over with excitment. (His real name is William Buckland.) I've been assisting Bylli in small ways to organize aspects of the now revamped, renamed and rapidly expanding "LawTown Music" . After two years of "internship" with the company-writing web content, press releases (that were published in The Boston Globe), CD liner notes, biographies, and faxes (that went out by the thousands worldwide), I have been offered an offical job!
You're looking at.... uh, I mean...reading the blog of their new "staff writer in charge of US/UK publicity!"
"You've been a part of it from the start", Bylli explained. "And you should be a part of it's future success. " *Pushing chest out, smiling and feeling important for about 3 seconds, feeling like Dennis Finch from "Just Shoot Me" after being dubbed Vice President of answering phones.*
So I am stoked. Giddy. Honored. Relieved. The hard work finally pays off. I intend to give it my all. I'm going to be the best damn pr writer Funusual ever had! (Even if I am the only PR writer they ever had!) WOO HOO!

Having fun and getting paid for it. Can life get any better?

The Dirty Work

[I have decided that this blog will not only be used for writing on specific subjects as I feel inspired but as a day by day account of my activities and life for anyone who cares (anyone?). What this means is that unlike my "refined" articles and my books, this will be a raw diary. Hopefullly it won't bore you too much. ]

"So, what are you doing with all of that talent?!", my long ago ex-boyfriend, recording engineer and artist Donnie Anson cheerfully opened, calling from New York the other day.
"Scrubbing the toilet at the moment", I replied, to which he laughed. Did he think I was kidding?

I've become so domesticated. Part of that is required of parenthood. Part of it demanded by marriage. I certainly can't afford to hire someone to do my dirty work, although it is a struggle on my own, esp when my ocd is acting up. (Sometimes Mom will come for an hour before work and help me.) One scrub of the toilet can turn into four and tasks become twice as tedious. I can be a 'bit' of a hoarder and so cleaning around the clutter is hard. If there is one gripe people have with me it's the mess-a continued source of embarressment and frustration. It does me great good to finally be dealing with it.

I've accomplished a lot in terms of ridding myself of excess belongings in recent months, before and after Michael's departure. I rid myself of a $30 a month storage space and went through boxes upon boxes of items. I had a yard sale. (It was hardly worth the trouble. I made about $8 and the permit cost $10.) I gave away bags of clothing to friends and once picked through by them, what was left went to the thrift store. I donated still more, as Michael filled the car with spare computer parts, extra shoes, old toys and duplicate household items we'd aquired in all of our moves together and apart. We gave away a table and chair set, a desk, a small bookshelf, a twin bed, a complete weight set and a microwave. And there is still a great deal to go through, mostly paperwork at this point. My apartment is neater, more spacious and after the first leg of the clean-out I redecorated, hanging border and new photo collages on either side of a sparkling new mirror in the living room. I bought a dart board for the living room, and added a few lovely bright green plants. I put down a new rug and lit a scented candle on the glossy green make-believe marble table. It earned wows from nieghbors, the apartment manager, and my parents, when they came over Christmas. (I think Michael thought things improved, but he is notoriously picky and hard to please.)

So while I haven't moved any moutains, won any awards, or embarked on any grand adventures abroad in recent years, I am doing what needs to be done and it will ultimately result in a happier, healthier me with less stress. And my son, husband and I deserve that.

On Life And Growing Up

Ever recieve a backhand compliment? You know, those sort of unintentionally off center accolades that begin with things like "Did you really write that?"
"Why?" I respond, worried. "Is it bad?"
"No, it's really good." (As in "you ussually suck old gym shorts". )

I wasn't insulted when my friend Mary Ellen commented on some of my new work. We hadn't spoken in several months, both of us busied-she with her job, I with my family and family affairs. She hadn't read anything I'd penned in the past few years. So, if anything I am very much relieved to know I've improved since our high school writing class.

I was thrilled to hear from her-remembering my birthday touched me. She always was a thoughtful person, one of my best friends during a few of the worse years of my life. I was years ago suffering from anorexia, bulimia and dibilitating anxiety. Actually to think of me then I realize I have grown and improved in a great many ways. I am no longer a troubled and tormented teen, but rather a resilient survivor in her 30's, married with a son I adore more than anything in life. I am recording music again after years on hiatus. I have been preapproved for a home loan and plan to buy my first one in 2005. I am finally making some signifigant progress in my efforts to finish my book(s). For the first time I feel a wee bit in control of things, which feels very, very good. Wow, I stagger. I'm a grown up. And you know, being a grown up isn't nearly as hard as it was becoming one . That is a process that hasn't as much to do with age as it does maturity. The task involves not only sorting out who you are, but what makes you happy, and living life on your terms irregardless of what others think about you. I was terribly insecure. Too many years were spent trying to impress my peers or trying to prove to my parents that I was in fact, worth the food and shelter they'd provided me growing up. They loved me. I just felt unworthy of it. Too many years were spent fussing over frivilous things and not appreciating the true blessings of life. Like, my parents. Like, my husband and son. Like, my friend Mary Ellen and others, who through thick and thin have been there for me. Like, being comfortable with who I am, faults and all. None of is is born superhuman, but rather, naked, crying and confused. The fact that any of us gets anywhere in life is a miracle and an accomplishment for which we can all be proud.

NONSENSE

DOWNRIGHT ADDICTIVE.

That's what blogging is. Journaling, only easier. I have no excuse for not keeping up with my diary any more. The bad thing is, it's so much fun I find myself wanting to write when nothing particularly interesting is going on. Like right now.

I sit at my desk, sipping from a glass of juice and adjusting my nickers. Panty hose are a curse created by men. (Same guy who thought up high heeled shoes, I bet.) Why do we case ourselves up like salami on toothpicks to the point we can hardly breathe, hardly walk and hardly see through the mask of makeup and mascara? For the benefit of our men we head out like scantily-clad circus freaks. Oh yeah, I feel sexy. Take me. Take me now. (Quickly, before I fall and break something!)

See what I mean? Nonsense. But it looks so damn good in print.

Inlaws From Heaven

I have told my husband he can't possibly divorce me because I won't give up my mother in law.

No, I'm not drunk, insane or paid off. I don't wish her dead or departed. I don't want to see her her bound, gagged and thrown into a lake. She doesn't deserve any of the cliche ends the stereotypical dreadful mother in laws of the world too often find in comics and movies. When friends gripe about their in laws (wishing them to the moon or worse) I wish mine lived nearer to us. When they hide the photos of theirs away in a forgotten drawer, I display mine with pride. When they stare at me in utter confusion I smile.

My mother in law Lilianne is rare and wonderful.

She may be physically many miles away in southwest Germany but she is never far off from our hearts and minds. She's gentle and wise, talented and funny and I'm sure my husband got his good looks from her as well. She listens patiently when I'm upset and rambling on for $15 euros worth of phone time. She calls me back so it's on her bill. She always remembers my birthday. She has faith in me when I lose it in myself. When she came to visit us here in Oklahoma she criticized neither my cooking nor my cleaning efforts-and I am hardly 'housewife of the year'. She and my sister in law Inja so kindly sent all of us a big box of presents at Christmas-including gourmet chocolates and a ton of other German edibles (which we feasted upon until we couldn't move off the couch without the aid of a crane). When my husband and I separated she assured me we would stay in touch for she loved me not only becuase I'd married her eldest son but because she enjoys my sense of humor and thinks I'm interesting in my own right. She's alsolutely wonderful and I love her dearly.

So you won't find me directing her into heavy traffic, pelting her with poison darts or swearing her into tomorrow. I honor her for the treasure she is. I know I was blessed first to have met my beloved husband and my inlaws have truely been the frosting on the wedding cake.

Love Forcasted In 2005?

2004 was brutal. My sons father passed away after a long battle with cancer. My dog died. My new husband left me. And my not-so-nice nieghbor tried to have me thrown out of my apartment because she hasn't anything better to do than to compound peoples misery.

2005 must be better. It has started on a good note. My 34th birthday. Man I'm old. When the heck did that happen? Last time I checked I was what, 24? I suppose it's better to be over the hill than under it. I'm not over it yet, but I'm certainly creeping towards it. My parents gave me a new computer for Christmas, with which I will be completing the first of my books and recording a new dance cd. My husband Michael came to visit from Texas for a few days over the holidays and things went remarkably well. Mikey likes me! He still likes me! He wants us to move down there but I not ready to make such a drastic move. My son is in school here and getting good grades. After the awful year he has also endured I don't want to yank him away from his friends and my parents and everything else familiar to him. Stabilty is key.

But I don't want to lose my husband and he is pretty stubborn about not moving back to Oklahoma. He has a job down there now and well, he just finds this place boring as hell. I find that with a good internet connection I can do a lot of my work from anywhere. I lived 26 years in New York and it was surely exciting, but stressful and costly as well. There is good and bad in all cities, just as in people. Being with those I love is most important. So I need to figure out how to work it out.

PHOTO OF MELODY FROM 2003

Melody in 2003