The Script Activist

This house is not a home

2012-02-05T15:39:00.000-08:00

Me, Mom, and Joe in front of the green bean trailer

I've wanted a house, a real house, one that's mine and fully attached to the ground since I could actually formulate a thought about it. When I was little, in Anchorage, we lived in a real house for a few years. It was yellow and had a basement, which I don't remember, and a nice family room/living room area that I still remember to this day, although we moved when I was about three years old.

After that we lived in a green bean trailer that my parents bought from some friends and it was plopped onto the five acres they bought in Wasilla, Alaska. Later, it was hauled miles away to Houston, Alaska, and backed into a shallow spot on the end of the road at the Far North Recovery Homestead on Heath Road. It had green shag carpet, dusty brown couches, and faux wood paneled walls, but it was a well-loved home. I actually burst into tears when I think about it. Partially because of all the memories of the people who walked that narrow hallway and sat around the heavily waxed kitchen table--some who I'll never be able to see again in this life--but also because leaving there was not done in the right way~~thanks, Dad :-(

My reason for reminiscing about the last time I've participated in home ownership is that this year, John and I finally had the means to bring my/our dream to fruition. We bought a house.

Last May, I found out that I'd been hired to replace the English teacher at my Charter school. When I called John to scream the news into his ear, he told me that he'd just had a good feeling about it so he'd called B of A we'd just been pre-approved for a home loan. It seemed like a dream...

All summer, we walked around, home after home, looking for the one. Then, when we walked into this one, we fell in love.

The crazy brick work, the cool updated floors, and bathrooms, the openness of it...it seemed PERFECT!

John had to even go "activist" on them and call Fannie Mae CEO, whats-his-name, to get the house when the man working the file kept asking us to sign a strange agreement to accept our offer. We stressed, we cried, we worked hard and we got the house!!!

I'll never forget the moment when our Realtor Kathy Pylman handed me and Elise the keys. By the way, Elise was actually the one who helped us unlock the key holder thing when neither Kathy or I could figure it out.

She and I walked in, I clutched the keys to my chest, closed the door, and I closed my eyes and cried real, heartfelt, tears. Tears not only for the grown-woman me, who thought she'd never own her own home because she wasn't worthy, but more importantly, tears for that little-girl me who always wanted a real honest to goodness house. She deserved it. Elise deserves it. All three of us do.

About one minute after we "bought" the house!

Here in lies the problem, the conflict, the irony. This home has never felt like MINE. We've been here for almost six months and when I walk in the door it still feels like I'm walking into someone else's house. I've tried really hard to make it MINE.

See--I've really tried.

I've slathered paint on almost every wall, adorned the windows with "dresses" fit for queens, measured for pictures, hammered nails, pondered over knick-knack placement, installed my own painted drawer pulls and knobs, rearranged several rooms several times, hosted holiday parties and Elise's birthday, but....I've. got. nothing. What is wrong with me? Why do I feel like I've made a huge mistake? Why do I suddenly want to pack the van with my prized possessions and loved ones and run for the hills?

I have no reasonable answer for this other than I may be too overwhelmed and have just shut down my emotions to protect myself, which would make sense. Has anyone ever experienced this before? What is this? Buyer's remorse? HELP!!!

Homemade deodorant: The best I've ever used

2011-01-23T14:27:00.000-08:00

This is all you need to smell great!

I have found the best deodorant known to man, or at least this woman! It's the kind of deodorant that allows me to raise my arms and hug people without worrying has my deodorant failed? like "she used Secret, and it told on her," when someone has that less-than-fresh underarm scent.

And here's the kicker...I made it myself with stuff I already had in my pantry: Coconut oil, baking soda, corn starch and lavender oil. Not only is it cheaper overall, but I know what I'm putting on my body is safe and free of toxins like parabens, triclosan, and aluminum, to name a few.

Does it work, you ask? Yes, it works better than any deodorant I've ever tried (and I've tried them all). The coconut oil is a natural antibacterial, the baking soda absorbs odor, and the corn starch helps absorb wetness.

Does it smell good? Yes, it smells a bit like coconut and lavender. I've asked people to smell it and they all love it and ask for the recipe.

So, here you go: The basic recipe:

1/4 cup of Organic Coconut Oil
1/4 cup of Baking Soda (make sure it doesn't have aluminum in it)
1/4 cup of corn starch or arrowroot powder
3-6 drop essential oil

First you mix the dry ingredients together and spoon in the coconut oil.

Here's when you can add the essential oil. (I like lavender)

Adding the oil to the dry mixture

Then put in in your microwave or set it on a warm oven for a bit until the oil softens enough to mix into the dry ingredients.

Then take a spoon and push the oil into the dry ingredients with a squashing motion.

During mixing

After you squash the two together long enough you will have the consistency of deodorant.

This is the right consistency to move into the deodorant container

I use an old deodorant container and spoon in my mixture until it's full. Usually the recipe above makes two deodorant containers full.

Viola!!! Your own homemade deodorant

Note:

I did have some dryness when I first started using this recipe. I also developed a rash that went away after about two weeks. I'm not a doctor, but I surmised that my body was releasing toxins from my previous deodorant. Now, I don't have any problems with skin reactions to the homemade mixture. One thing that might help if you do have a reaction would be to use lotion or Calendula on your underarms before applying the deodorant.

Tip 1:

During summer months store your deodorant in the refrigerator. Coconut oil melts at 78 degrees. Plus cold deodorant would be really soothing when you're hot.

Tip 2:

After applying the deodorant use your hands to rub the mixture into your skin until the whiteness disappears.

Safer Chemicals Healthy Families

2011-01-08T19:53:00.000-08:00

I was excited to see the article I submitted to Safer Chemicals Healthy Families published this week.

Here is the link to the site.

Remember, one person armed with determination and persistence can make a difference. Just don’t give up.--Shelby Rodriguez

Evacuated: Elise, Me, and Chip Chip

2010-12-21T10:43:00.000-08:00

photo by LEZLIE STERLING / lsterling@sacbee.com

Elise and I were evacuated from the Roseville Galleria last night. We were waiting in the line to see Santa when an announcement came over the intercom, "This is the Roseville Fire Department. The mall is now closed. Please calmly make your way towards the nearest exit."

This compilation of photos at the SacBee shows exactly what we experienced. I saw the man standing on the counter. I saw the people with musical papers standing all around. But instead of a "Random act of musical kindness," what they actually did was cost the city hundreds of dollars, and cause an evacuation that scared the bejesus out of my kid. Plus, she didn't even get to see Santa; and she was waiting, patiently, for over an hour to see him.

The first sign of trouble was when we heard a loud bang above us as we came out of the Apple Store. (Don't worry, my husband doesn't read my posts, so he won't know I was shopping for him there :-)

The sound of the bang did vibrate through the floor below to where we were standing and I heard people scream. But I looked up and no one looked scared or worried behind the glass walls. I figured it was a display case that fell over or something and we went on our way to see Santa. Then, again another loud bang, another vibration on the floor we were on. But once again, everyone looked calm on the top floor so I decided to stay put.

While standing in line I noticed a man standing in front of the escalator blocking people from going upstairs. Similarly, the man standing in front of the elevator was discouraging people from going up there as well. I was trying to read their lips and what I could gather was there were too many people upstairs and they were to try and get people to go downstairs instead.

I never saw a "flash mob" of people but it was suddely very busy at the mall. I did tell Elise, "honey, let's come back tomorrow." "Nooooo!" she begged. "Please, I know just what I'm going to ask him for." She was being such a good girl, playing with her little toy squirrel, Chip-Chip. I caved. We stayed and the rest is history.

Over by Santa there was just an orderly line of folks waiting, a few families eating popcorn, and kids starting to get ancy. But when we were evacuated, I had two choices. Our car was on the top floor of the parking structure next to Macys. But because of the fire back in October, there is a narrow tunnel that we would have to walk through to get to our car. And that's if were were brave enough to go upstairs, which I knew from reading the mall employee's lips was too full of people. There was no way I was going to risk my daughter being trampled in that tunnel.

The second choice was to walk towards the courtyard where Ruths Chris is located. That's what we did. As we made our way to the door I saw the "flash mob". There were thousands of people gathered under the food court. A man in a blue shirt was telling the crowd a joke. Although I didn't hear what he said, everyone laughed.

Once outside, I sat Elise down on a cold brick bench and decided we would wait until the crowd dispersed and then try to find our car. Luckily, my new SmartPhone has a "Where's my Car" app that I had enabled. From GoogleMaps I could see that we were on the opposite side of the mall from our car. I was scared that with all the commotion, we'd be hit by a car trying to scale along the perimeter of the mall to find our car.

Plus, Elise was hungry and thirsty. The jovial crowd began to fill up all around us. Holding musical notes in their hands, a shushing sound filled the air. The crowd hushed, all except for Elise, who was now crying, and shivering and begging to go home. Not even Chip-Chip could make her happy.

Was I scared? Yes, to say the least. I hate being in crowds and as a mother, there's that instinct that put me on high alert to protect my daughter. Although the crowd was in a good mood, all it would take would be one panicky scream, or a few people to start running and it would be over.

They began to sing "oh, come let us adore him". At the time, I was grateful because the singing calmed the crowd and I was worried that we could get trampled. Despite the fact that the singing was lovely, I pulled Elise out of there. Just as we left, a police helicopter flew above us saying we must leave for our own safety. The crowd thought this was funny. They were waving and cheering. But not me, I was out-a-there. Following the map, after a long trek through mall bushes and shrubs we made it to the stairs that lead to our car.

That's when I got an email from News10 that said the mall was evacuated due to a "flash mob" of people and that the walls may have cracked. Cars were lined up for miles trying to get out of the mall. People were waiting in their cars, standing around to wait out the line, turning off their cars and waiting.

"Come on, honey. Let's go find a restaurant to eat dinner at," I said.

Using my Navigator, I told it we were walking and it took us to the crosswalk and we made it to Red Robins. The wait wasn't even too long. The two of us, I mean three including Chip-Chip, warmed up and filled our tummies before walking back to our car and being able to leave the mall in peace.

What a night. All I have to say is, although the idea was nice, "A random act of musical kindness," it felt more like a random act of stupidity. Next time, don't try and meet on the second floor of a busy mall full of children and families. We are all lucky that no one was seriously hurt.

Was our night ruined? No. But it sure was a lot more difficult than it should have been.

Thanks, Mouse!

2010-11-14T14:11:00.000-08:00

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." -Ernest Hemingway

There was a company take over a few months ago. In the shuffle, 950 jobs, including my husband's, were outsourced to India. During the transition period, while the new people in India were being trained, they kept the call center open here in North Highlands. They required employees to be at work at 5:30 am. So, my husband started getting up for work at 4:00 am.

One morning I'm woken up by John screaming, "Oh my god, Oh my god!!!!!"

I ran out to the kitchen and my big, manly husband looked like the elephants on Dumbo who were running from Dumbo's mousy friend.

"There was a mouse on top of our stove!" he screamed.

"Where'd he go?" I asked.

"He went under there," he said, pointing to the hole that goes under the stove top from the burner.

It took us a few minutes to get brave enough to pop the top of the stove up. But, when we did, the mouse had vanished. He'd only seen the mouse because he was up in the middle of the night. How long had this been going on?

I've had mice in my house before as a kid but, as an adult I've never had to deal with this. My immediate reaction was to clean. And I did--for days--for weeks. I tore my house apart like a kid dumping toys out of a bin.

I sent John to the store to get a live trap because, as a vegetarian, I don't believe in killing animals. So, I put peanut butter inside the trap and placed it under my rolling hamper in the coat closet.

I ripped every thing out of all the closets. I completely stripped our office clean of the clutter that had accumulated in there while I was student teaching and writing my children's novel. Everywhere I searched I found evidence of a mouse. He'd made a home out of my linen closet. He'd nibbled my shawl in Elise's closet and made a comfy nest. He'd been on top of our refrigerator. But where was he coming into the house?

Like a good detective, I put baking soda on the floor in the kitchen and on the stove. Every morning there'd be new tiny foot prints but I couldn't figure out where he was coming from. It was time for expert help.

I called the office at The Arbors. The Old Big-Boss' Daughter answered and must have gotten much satisfaction from my admittance that a mouse had taken residence in my home, "I've worked here for two years and I've never heard of anyone having mice in their house," she said, snidely.

A few days later, an exterminator came to help. I wasn't going to be here when he arrived so I told John, "absolutely no poison, and no sticky pad. I've signed I-don't-know-how-many petitions against those sticky pads." If you don't know why this is wrong, click here.

But to my amazement, the only thing that man had in his arsenal was poison and sticky pads. :-(

He said,"The Arbors are filled with mice. That field over there has millions of 'em and they're hungry so they come to the houses to eat." Hmmm, so there, Big-Boss' Daughter.

But, what was I going to do?

The pamphlet he left us said that mice droppings can kill young children. It said they pee all over your house and leave oily marks on your walls as they scamper around at night while you sleep. Dr Greene said they harbor the plague. Let me repeat, THE PLAGUE!

I did the unthinkable. I went to the big-box store and bought kill traps. The kind that are round and slice the little buggers in half but you don't see it because it's black. I put peanut butter in there and placed one in each room.

After a week and a half, I'd washed every single item in my closets and had placed all of my blankets and linens in those plastic storage bags that get shriveled up by a vacuum cleaner. I'd cleaned every room of my house, including under the beds, behind the dressers, on top of the refrigerator. You name it, I cleaned it.

Then, one morning I opened the cabinet under the sink. That little mouse and his friends had made my cabinet their secret hide-out. Aha! This was the mothership! There was a hole near the back wall. That's where he was coming in. So, I took everything out, scrubbed it with hot water. My Active Ion was zapping germs left and right.

That same day, John came home with these plug-ins that deter mice because they cause an ear-deafening sound to travel through the electrical wiring of your house. Humans can't hear it though--only mice and maybe squirrels, or skunks. I plugged two of those in. One in the back and one in the front of the house.

I'd check the traps daily. No mice.

I'd check the closets. No mice poops.

"Victory!"

Then one day I decided to check that live trap under my hamper. I shined a flashlight on it and, to my surprise, I could see a skinny tail and a fat body in the chamber.

"John, there's a mouse in here!" I said. "I'm going to go let him out."

As I trotted out to the field behind our house that used to be a golf club but has now just become Weed City, I was wearing big yellow dish-washing gloves in case he tried to bite me.

I found a hole in the fence and ducked under it. Once in the field, I could see old dressers people had dumped, an old suitcase, some broken toys. But, spread out amongst the junk were pictures. My immediate response was, Oh, that's sad. I wonder who lost their pictures out here.

Because I'm nosy, I started looking at them. I'm holding this live trap with a mouse in my yellow hands when I see a picture of someone sky diving. Oh, I did that too! I thought.

Me skydiving, 1999

As I looked closer, I realized That's me!

I walked around and found pictures of: my cousin on her trip to California in '96; my Grandma Dottie and Grandpa George (who passed a way); my Great Grams, may she rest in peace, in her long house gown she wore up into her 90's; my first car--a red camero parked near the fence behind our four-plex in Atwater; John's senior-year picture; my friend Devone when she was pregnant with her oldest daughter, Karris.

How could this be?

Then it hit me. About a month before, John found the door to our shed wide open before he went to work. He had checked inside and nothing looked disturbed so he bought a new lock in an attempt to make it harder for anyone to break into it. But we'd paid it no mind since then.

I was standing vulnerably on a mountain of weeds with this captive mouse deciding that someone had stolen my old beauty college case full of pictures when John and Elise came out to make sure I was okay.

"John, help me pick up these pictures, they're ours," I said, matter-of-factly.

"What?" he said, shocked looking at hundreds of our photos strewn about like garbage.

I bent down and opened the top of the live mouse trap. Inside was a sweaty, gray mouse. As he trembled and turned to face me, I saw terror in his eyes and two white front teeth sticking out innocently.

"Go," I said, kindly tilting the trap to the ground.

He jumped out and hopped in the air three times before he found a little burrow to hide in.

I stood there taking in the moment. Elise and John were picking up pictures while I was on top of a weed hill getting poked in the foot. The look on the mouse's face was stuck in my brain. It was as if he couldn't believe I'd let him go.

Looking in the direction whereI saw him hide I said, "Thank you, Mouse!"

Some of you may be thinking, thank you? But, yes, if you think about difficult times hard enough, there is most certainly something to be thankful for.

In this case, I now have a sparkling clean and organized house. I have a system installed to keep mice at bay in the future and...I found the pictures that were stolen from us.

If that mouse hadn't moved into my house, if John hadn't lost his job and had to work earlier than usual, if I hadn't had a heart and placed a live trap, my irreplaceable pictures would have been ruined this winter out in that field. I never would have found them.

To some, that might be a small type of accomplishment, but not to me. To me it was a miracle.

So, I say, Thank You, Mouse!

I'd love to hear other stories like this. Something bad happens to you and then you realize you are better off after all. Share away!

To find out more about me and my book visit: http://www.shelbydrodriguez.com/

I've been Jerseyfied!

2010-11-13T13:55:00.000-08:00

If you go to Jersylicious's Website you can get a make over like this one.

What do you think? Have I found my new look?

In the one above, I'm Olivia's roomate. Below, I'm Gigi.

Yes. I should be grading papers instead of Jersyliciousing myself but everyone needs a day off.

OH! I forgot I have a blog :-)

2010-11-07T12:04:00.000-08:00

My blog has been like an abandoned amusement park for a whole year.
Sorry :-(
So, I'm going to give a rundown of the year for my own peace of mind so I can pretend that I've kept my readers informed (what readers, right!)
Right after my last post, my family and I were whisked away to the Montage in Beverly Hills for the Healthy Child Healthy World Gala.

Me and Chrisopher Gavigan Oct. 2009

It was Amazing! Magical! It was like I found the Mothership. People surrounded me who believed just as I did. It validated the whole year that I sacrificed to stop the tar roofing.

Me and my Mom,Sherrie, with my Mom on a Mission 2009 Award

Then I was in People Magazine and Lifetime's Remarkable Women's Series.

People Magazine Nov. 2009

Here's some behind the scenes photos. This was so much fun, but a lot of hard work. I always thought models had it easy but now I know better.

My Goose watching the People shoot

I'll update some more of my year when I have time. Onward to lesson planning for next week. Read more to find out...Did I become a teacher? Did I write my script? What happened with it? Are any producers interested in it?
Thanks for reading.

A new sense of peace

2009-09-25T23:43:00.001-07:00

I have taken solace in decorating my home. I love to collect found objects, especially second hand objects. This is one of my favorite groupings.

I haven't written in a while because I've been pondering what I now realize was me decompressing from the end of my graduate coursework at National University, the community organizing campaign and my two days a week at Elise's preschool which all ended the same month.

This realization came during a conversation with the director of the American Lung Association's Program Leadership team. I apologized for my lackluster participation of late. She assured me there was no problem and offered some advice.

"What you're going through right now probably has a lot to do with the ending of two huge projects in your life. You need to acknowledge that. It can't just be swept under the rug" she said.

I needed that.

When I was in extreme-busy-mode I was surviving on about four hours (or less) sleep a night and had developed a lump in my throat that my doctor said was a symptom of excessive stress. In fact, even after things settled down (or abruptly ended) in my life the lump in my throat, literally, stuck around until just a few months ago.

In my earlier posts I feel like I hadn't really come to terms with the fact that I needed this time, this down time, to heal emotionally, and physically, to let my mind stop spinning with a thousand details needing attention, and to figure out my priorities. I began to focus on trying to stay busy almost so I wouldn't have to decompress and face the reality of what I'd been through. Writing this script for me, as been tremendously healing and through reflection one really has a chance to learn life lessons.

What I've learned is about the interconnection between humans and the earth, the way we need it rather than the other way around. Before I became a campaign organizer, I hadn't really considered the pluralistic nature of our society; how we all breathe the same air, eat the same food, need a healthy environment to raise our children in, and need each other to take the same care in our environmental health to reap the benefits.

Knowing now how much easier it is to allow toxins into neighborhoods where the people don't have the understanding, the money or the resources to fight back I see the need for societal changes to make us a more environmentally just and equal society.

Despite that uphill battle I've been struggling with, I've been feeling this sense of peace and of purpose again and it came in the form of, oddly enough, a few drives in the country and a make-up girlie party earlier this month. I sat in a chair and closed my eyes while my friend put make-up on me. I had almost forgotten about wearing make-up for the past few months, (which I'd worn since I was given permission in the fifth grade). When I came home that day, I took pictures of myself because I felt like I was waking up from hibernation and wanted to document the progress.

Then, I had two job interviews, one with the Sierra Club and the other with a private Christian School. Neither of them were the right fit for me, but I realized then that if I wanted to become a teacher I would become one through persistence and that I needed to set that as a priority. I've come so far as it is and even if the economy is a barrier to finding a job in my current community, I might need to relocate. Somewhere out there I'm needed and I just want to be open to those possibilities rather than wallowing in defeat before the battle has begun.

Then, last but not least, I found out that I was one of two candidates for the Healthy Child Healthy World's Mom on a Mission Award for my work in the community on my No More Tar Roofs campaign. This couldn't have come at a better time because a few days prior I was walking Elise home from school when I came face-to-face with my worst fear—the roofers were back.

I walked down to the storage area behind the pool and confirmed that there was some work going on. The next day, I drove Elise to school and looked around the community for evidence that roofing had begun again. My heart skipped a few beats when I saw a home with roof work underway. It was like a flashback to when tar fumes were part of our daily lives and it brought back all of those memories and fears. That was until I realized that there was no tar, there were no toxic fumes and the roofing method they were using was the single ply membrane roof that I'd been asking for all along.

I couldn't resist. I jumped out of my car and asked the man who looked to be in charge, "what are you guys doing?" At first he was vague and almost perturbed by all of my questions.

I introduced myself and the realization of who I was hit him and anger shown on his face. We began a conversation that was, actually quite awkward. Reason being, my campaign to stop the tar roofing had been a huge imposition on the roofing company because they were contracted to complete the job they were given and were unable to finish because of me.

He actually told me he never intended to make anyone sick and apologized. I apologized too because I never wanted to cause him problems but explained my reasoning in that I became ill and was on inhalers for the first time in my life and was sure my daughter was headed toward the same fate. In truth, my campaign wasn't even directed at the roofers at all. My objective was to pressure the corporate owners to decide to switch roofing methods on their own.

"I had to protect my daughter" I said.

"Well, what you did worked" he said.

Even the workers were smiling and happy explaining that they don't get burned anymore, aren't covered in tar, and don't have to breathe toxic fumes.

When I drove away, looking at this clean looking modern roof, with the memories of the hard work that led to this moment fresh in my mind, I became so emotional. I felt like I had come full circle, that I had made a difference and felt a sense of accomplishment that made it all worthwhile. Not that I don't think about how lucky we are everyday, when I open my windows, or walk Elise to school, because I do and always will be grateful for clean air. I will never take that for granted the rest of my life.

Right after I found out I was one of two candidates for the award I was asked to be a guest blogger at Dr. Greene's green children's website and the blog writing was a also a good source of healing for me. My hope about sharing my story is that a permanent change will come to fruition. Sometimes we look at the tremendous global crisis and feel helpless. I have found my cause and will never stop until there are legal restrictions on this product.

During the Mom on a Mission interview I was thinking, well, this is an honor to have gotten this far and recognition in and of itself. However, just a few days ago I heard from the Director, Christopher, who told me that I was indeed the winner of the award. I am just so honored and grateful.

Sometimes I sit here wondering if I'm worthy of such an honor, but I am so looking forward to the experience and will be sure to share it as soon as possible. Thanks for reading.

Christina can handle it

2009-08-23T15:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, so if my script becomes a movie I think Christina Applegate should play the main character. Here’s why: she’s a vegetarian too; my character (uh, me) was also called (the virginal) Kelly Bundy cuz I was a scaredy-cat about S_E_X but I had big blonde hair, Believe it, click here; and I think she could handle a more serious role. She’s best known for her comedic roles but she’s got a deep side to her that she hides with comedy. But since her breast cancer scare (which was way more than just a scare—it was real) I think she could channel the feelings she had about her illness into the fear that my main character has about her and her daughter being exposed to toxic fumes. Plus, she has been a producer in the past.

I didn’t know about the petition to revive Samantha Who until now but Sign in here.

I found http://johnaugust.com/ on Twitter today. I think he’s awesome. I do believe he is the writer of “Go”. My favorite scene in that movie was when the blonde who works as a checkout clerk clashes with the beat-down mother about the bleach, when she realizes that her job has no where to go but down.

I’m passing this along because, even though his realistic impression of scriptwriting made me realize I won’t get to pay off my student loans, at least right away, if I sell something, he has tons of info about the craft and I’m going to spend some time on his site for sure—learning, absorbing and not trying to get bummed out.

PS. That’s my dog Connie, pictured above, who was the accomplice to my broken arm. She’s a stinky little sweetie pie who lets my daughter put hair bands on her noggin—super cute.

A productive funk

2009-08-21T00:21:00.000-07:00

So, this is me last year, all grumpy because I was researching asphalt roofing tar at the start of my campaign to stop the corporation that owned my community from using that roofing method anymore. I had sores in my nose, and a sore throat, from breathing tar fumes for a few months.

Here's part of my script:

EXT.street in front of new house-Same
Getting out of the minivan, Shelby helps her small daughter, Elise, out of the side door and opens the back hatch.

SHELBY

Elise,stay near me...oh honey what is that smell?

Shelby grabs some clothes out of the back of the van's hatch door. The clothes are still on their hangers and lumped together in groups just taken from her year-long borrowed closet.

Shelby squints her face and nose as if doing so will keep the smell from permeating her nose. Elise puts her fingers inside of her nose and closes her mouth tightly.

Shelby drops the clothes back into the minivan. Moving away from the van, Shelby walks a bit and peaks down to the end of her new court.

There she sees a filthy, red piece of machinery (asphalt kettle) smoldering with a fume cloud surrounding it and tar permanently dripping from its exterior. Up on the roof about three doors down she spies men, filthy with black tar on their clothes, hands, and faces.

With mops they slather the sizzling roof with hot tar while tar drips over the edge onto the ground making the ground littered with chunks of tar. As they work, the wind carries a sinister plume of white fume away from the roof they are working on and towards Shelby's new house.

SHELBY

Oh honey. Come here. Let's go inside.

ELISE

Momma, what is that stinky thing?

SHELBY

I don't know, baby, but I thought stuff like that wasn't legal anymore.

Walking briskly and holding her daughter in her arms she looks back at the men with a quizzical expression as if to say "this can't be right".
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Well, nobody is actually reading this blog but me, but if you come upon this I'd love feedback. Plus, I have formatted correctly, but blogger isn't letting me keep the format once I paste the work...

The self scale

2009-08-20T18:55:00.001-07:00

So, I just read my Master's research project for the first time since I turned it in back in April. Well, what I just realized is I'm not that person anymore. Somehow, between April and now I've lost, like, 50 points on the self esteem scale; most likely because I haven't been using my brain like I was when I was running an activist campaign and going to graduate school. Plus my daughter needs me less and less these days and all I can think about is how bad I suck as I watch our money dwindle and I'm not supplying any more to the pot.

John, my husband says, "you're being a victim right now…How's that workin' for ya"

I think, "it's not working but I can't see a way out right now". The self-loathing, the self-pity…it's not working for me.

But life feels like a journey too hard to take right now; as if everthing I want comes with a looming obstacle course as a prerequisite. Nothing has ever been easy for me and I don't know if I have it in me to pull off anymore great feets. I mean, ya, I've gone to school, I've earned degrees, My No More Tar Roofs campaign was successful (so far). I have a beautiful daughter but what have I done?

Well, a lot actually, but none of it has been worth much money. Does my self-esteem scale rely upon how much money I earn? It never had before. I've always been so self assured until now.

I've always said that I wouldn't give up this time I've been at home to raise my daughter for anything in the world. I consoled myself by beieving that when I'm 80 years old and looking back on my life choices I would have kicked myself for focusing on a career instead of on my daughter. But then I see others who definitely believe in the benefits of the daycare industry (and this person is so happy right now). She looks great with her professional haircut and her trips to the esthetician, and I have bags under my eyes and am constantly fighting back tears. Who made the right choice? Even while I ask that question I want to rip my hair out for the impertinence of it.

I mean, it's my choice whether or not to let all of this make me sad. I guess it's because I have this longing to just feel safe again, to know that everything will be ok and I almost can't remember the last time I felt that way. It must have been when I was very young. Well, there were a few months in 1999 in between when I moved to Sacramento and when I found out about my Dad's cancer that I felt truly happy. During those few months I really thought that there was nothing that could happen that couldn't be fixed. But having your Father die can really change that optomistic view point forever.

K, so sorry about all that. I've got to say that I've kept myself up late a few nights in a row writing my script. I really like the genre. I like the strict rules mixed with the freedom and creativity. I've got about 13 pages. Wouldn't it be cool if it actually got made into a movie? I'd be happier than a lark, (whatever that is) and I sure bet my self esteem scale would bump up into extra-credit.

After the fall

2009-08-14T14:06:00.000-07:00

Of Rome? No. Me, out of bed on Monday after my beagle harassed me with her puppy-claws and cat-wanting whines for hours in order to conspire to keep me from actually sleeping. After I'd had enough of her letting on about wanting to protect her food stored on the front patio from neighborhood cats on the prowl, I jumped out of the bed to let her out but when my foot hit the ground my leg was still asleep and collapsed under me.

Since my bed is one of those tall canopy beds, I hit the ground with the intensity of a mini-sized earthquake. I was somewhere in between a dream and a painful reality. The pain was so intense that it made me nauseated enough to nearly throw up. It was my arm that caught me, and for it's trouble, it cracked all the way through and across the bone.

I type now with a green cast kind of tapping my computer keyboard in an awkward fashion. Despite this humility, I've found some software to write my Activist Script.

If I had it my way, there'd be some Final Draft scriptwriting software all up in my hard drive (if ya know what I mean, wink, wink) but I'm a SAHM, so budgetary reasoning dictates my decisions. For this reason, I've chosen and downloaded Celtx, with the C pronounced like a K, MmmmKay.

So far, I like it but I'm at that stuck-in-the-middle position again. I'm too afraid to start writing because if I suck at it then the story I tell myself about how successful I'll become someday, and how happy I'll be when I have that glow which only comes from the serenity of financial security, will be banished out of my repertoire of comforting thoughts forever.

It's like when I was a stylist at Supercuts and I'd tell myself (and everyone else) that I only worked there while I was in college. This was true, but my subsequent thought was that I'd be something some day, someone I'd be proud of because of going to college. Then after all of my dedication and hard-work for over six years, I had this degree in my hand that meant absolutely nothing to anyone but me. Which is happening again with my Master's degree because even though I've completed it becoming a teacher right now in California looks like climbing a mountain only to find a black stormy cloud at the top.

So, just like 4:00 am Monday morning, I'm somewhere between a dream and a painful reality. But what I know is that I have choices. I've put my first bid on an editing job on Elance and I've downloaded the Celtx scriptwriting software. I've got some free time during the day while my little angel is in Kindergarten, and I've got an entrepreneurial spirit thus inherited by my Father, the Alaskan bush pilot, may he rest in peace.

Speaking of resting, have you ever heard of hypnagogic hallucination? It's a point at which being asleep and being awake actually overlap for a short time, usually about 10-30 seconds. During this time, the sleepy hallucinate sees objects like spiders, butterflies, or people moving about as if they are really there. It can be quite frightening, actually making one jerk out of bed, or hurt themselves or there partners.

For me, when it happens I just lie there and watch. I know it can't hurt me, it's just the beginnings of a dream to come...just like right now. Here's to script writing without fear--some pain and awkwardness while typing with a clunky vibe--but no fear. I promise. I really mean it.
Thanks for reading.

The Dream: One step at a time

2009-08-08T00:19:00.001-07:00

What I want more than anything in the world is to be a writer--Just throwing that out there into the universe with its infinite ability to help one find solutions to life-changing dilemmas.

One of my problems is, that I typed "how to write a script" into my browser and was subsequently told that I have no chance at being a scriptwriter because I didn't go to film school, and I don't know anyone in the business. So, I made a decision. I am going to put aside my idea for an episodic drama and try writing one of the movie scripts that I've been mulling over first. It seems that getting a movie script noticed is easier than it is getting a television spec script read for a show that is not yet in existence. (But my idea is really good so I'm not going to completely give up).

So, let's get down to business. What are my credentials? How do I know I can do this? I studied English in college, that's what my Bachelor's degree is in. I even wrote scripts for television while in college…they were just PSAs, and a documentary. They were written in the AV format, which I've found, by doing some research, is not really the norm for movie and television scripts these days. Getting an English degree requires some knowledge about drama, character development, plot, subplot, comic relief, and formatting, all of which should help guide me in the right direction.

As for my second question, how am I going to do this? I'm going to tackle writing and promoting my script with all of the drive that forced me into being a community activist this past year. In fact, my experience being an activist is what I'm going to write about. Here's me in the news fighting for clean air. I'll never forget when I was told by one of the Air District faculty that I wouldn't be able to stop it (the tar roofs). "You're just one person" he said. In fact, everyone from my Mother to my Doctor told me to give up. But I fought, hard. That's what I have to do now. I have a few months before student teaching and I'm going to give it my all.

I once saw a woman on TV who said that she had been through a horrible nanny experience. The whole ordeal was terrifying and afterwards she bought some scriptwriting software, wrote her script over a few days time (with no writing experience and I have some), and then sold her script on a website making six figures. Now, I can do that, right?? Hhhmm, Right!!!, I mean.

2009-08-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

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The Script Activist

2009-08-06T14:11:00.000-07:00

My name is Shelby The Script Activist. This blog is my attempt at holding myself accountable as I write my first script , find an agent, and become a successful script writer.

What I’ve only recently realized is that I’ve perpetuated a vicious cycle when it comes to my own happiness. As you’ll find out, I think I’m a great writer—in my head—in fact I know it to be true, as an unproven fact. I tell myself that all of my problems (lack of money, self esteem, and quality of life) will vanish once I sell my first script, or the novel that’s been on page 3 for the last year, or my memoires.

I tell myself this probable-truth every day in the shower while watching my dead skin cells fizzle down the drain, while folding (and not putting away) laundry, or while worrying about my student loans. But, I’ve never really tried to perfect my skills through practice and I haven’t because I’m afraid that if I fail, I’ll have absolutely no story to tell myself in consolation. I hereby declair that, “I’m done with that”. I’m done being afraid of failure or of success, and I want to pay off my student loans—in full!

So here’s the deal. For the last year and a half I’ve been working on classes to earn a teaching credential and a Master’s in Education. During that time, I also became and activist and community organizer. And most importantly of all, I was successful at staying home with my daughter, to boot. I finished my thesis and stopped a corporate polluter in my community by April of ’09. But because of a testing-block resulting in the need to retake two of my CSET subtests, I won’t be able to student-teach until February of ’10, (which is actually good news because I didn't want to put my daughter in daycare half of the day while I pay to teach anyway).

Until my student teaching begins (which, by the way, does not mean I will get a teaching job in our lovely, broke State of California) , I am going to persevere, as I’ve done in so many other times in my life, and this time I’m doing so to achieve MY dream. For, as Carl Gustave Jung says in his famous quote, “who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakes”.

As I start my journey, I have an idea for a new show that I know--if executed correctly--will work. In my personal life I have an almost-five-year-old blessing of a daughter to take care of, a husband who is ever-increasingly able of producing anxiety in me, and a hungry beagle. As for the first, I will rely on my English degree, creativity, and ability to make something out of nothing. As for my family, I will hope for support, love, and acceptance for my decision.

Along the way, I will go backwards, to my past to create characters I'm proud of, so that I can go forward, out of this stuck-in-the-center mode I've been in for a while, to find out whether I can be the writer I've built up in my mind. Will I be a success? I sure hope so! Come along, and find out!

Thank you for reading and, please do, keep in touch.