Oh tears! From father/son dynamics to the interaction between males who share no blood but maintain friendships that cannot be broken no matter the time, distance or situation, loyalty is one of the best traits of male relationships. Even in the movies, it’s this ride-or-die, male-to-male gush that tugs at my hearstrings every time.

According to Kirk Lazarus, the work of creating a scene this impactful is all about “emotionality”…

Another scene that conveys emotionaity comes straight from the pages of real world experiences.

Team Hoyt, a father and son pair from Boston that used racing to defy the limitations of a severe form of cerebral palsy, chose to script a better storyline than what doctors or opinions said was possible. By commanding their situation be defined by what they believed was possible, the Hoyts endured and struggled together to embrace a future many surely doubted could ever be accomplished.

But that’s what happens when one leaves the safety of the shire to chart his own course.

GoodGirls have their fair share of critics. Whether it be from males, where comparisons of strength, accomplishment and ability range from kindergarten fodder to the ultimate in high school obscenities or females whose insecurities aka jealousy drive the proverbial search for cracks in the armor, very rarely, if at all, do critics, trolls and all-out haters take a moment to eschew their judgment and acknowledge the training, sacrifice and preparation required to reach a platform of success.

In the world of social media, the comments often read like a piece of dialogue from The Hater’s Ball.

These days, I pull inspiration from Ronda Rousey and Serena Williams, two thoroughly competent and well-trained individuals. But for every fan impressed by Ronda Rousey’s amazing UFC record

or Serena Williams’ dominance in the tennis world

there is also an equal amount of critics that cling to a litany of perceived limitations, falsehoods and thinly-veneered, well-intended suggestions. A quick scroll through the comments section of just about any post is a fair introduction into the bile.

Still, one cannot deny that the work of sacrifice and and preparation are necessary for any measure of success. Sometimes this work is visible and very public. Sometimes it goes unnoticed until it’s true splendor is developed.

Even as a teen, grown men took the liberty to hurl insults – like Predator – at a growing & developing Serena.

In my quest for the keys to the GoodGirl kingdom, let me be mindful to use the right mix of mirrors and glasses when viewing my progress against colleagues and competitors – mirrors to examine my own accomplishments and shortfallings and glasses to perceive just how much work I must endure to reach my goal. Let me also be mindful to respect their training and sacrifices as much as my own. We all have a cross to bear and no one’s struggle should be minimized as having been any easier.

As for the haters…well, why not try a little love?

9 innocent lives lost & incredible acts of forgiveness

Scotus supports disparate impact

SCOTUS upholds Affordable Care Act, again

Marriage Equality aka You Too Have the Right to be Miserable

Senator Pinckney’s eulogy and the moment we all wondered if Obama would hit the high note in Amazing Grace

Calls for the removal of the confederate flag…and action ala Bree Newsome

The killing and capturing of two escaped convicts, both measuring approximately 70 inches tall

A rash of suspicious church fires has recently occurred – is it arson or random acts of extreme happenstance?

Trivial as it is, there is another troubling event to add to the list, though the strategy has obviously been in the works for months. The United States and Cuba have agreed to re-open its embassies but Heinz and French’s now have a beef?

The condiment marriage that has been Heinz ketchup & French’s mustard is now a thing of the past, with Heinz looking to encroach on the 400 million dollar market share that is French’s. French’s, in a “turnabout is fair play” move, is also looking to dive into the 749 million ketchup market, leaving one to ponder if there is any institution that will remain unaffected in these times.

Goodgirlonline was to be the sanctuary for all the thoughts running around in this lightbulb shaped head of mine. My, “No matter what, always write for me!” space. Who could’ve imagined the twists and turns that are this thing called Life?

It’s funny sometimes the promises we make to ourselves.

When I was about 14 or so, I promised to keep a list of the best music of my teenage years. For some reason (probably because I cried after listening to Tender Love in its entirety for the very first time), it seemed only responsible to chronicle the soundtrack of my life. I pulled out my notebook (where I kept all my important documents like the name of my first child) and started my list. Among such honorable mentions were:

Shake You Down – by Gregory Abbott
I Wonder if I Take You Home – Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam (I thought Lisa was badass cause she had that one-eye-covering-the-band thing. Plus she was Puerto Rican and had what looked to be two nightclub bouncers as backup singers)
Didn’t we Almost Have it All – Damn, can’t believe she’s gone. I cried like a baby when she sang the Star-Spangled Banner.
I Miss You – Klymaxx. If I have to explain it, you just don’t get it
If I was Your Girlfriend, Sign o’ the Times, U Got the Loo- Prince, His Royal Majesty, that guitary-love symbol, SLAVE, the man who should be broke from child support payments he created so many babies…HIM. For the aforementioned reason that again, his name is Prince

and so on…

I lost my notebook shortly after college yet I still remember much of the content inside as well as my scribbled promissory note – No matter what, always write for me!

If I really focused, I could probably estimate that I stopped writing the month my father passed away. Time is still a bit fuzzy whenever I think about the weeks after his death.

I’m glad to be writing for myself, truly writing for myself again. My blog is like my home, this is my sanctuary. If anyone chooses to stop by, so be it, but understand my home has been designed to meet my needs. I make no apologies for that.

I also make no apologies for crying over Tender Love. Heck yeah I cried. It was hopeful and understanding and had a depth of meaningful communication from the creatures called men.

But they are not.

After all NRA, protecting gun rights IS what your organization promotes. This man selected a gun from a retailer who sells guns in a gun-friendly state. One could imagine Mr. Crawford would have purchased said gun had he been alive to complete the transaction. But he’s not.

It appears the NRA is missing a great opportunity to support and discuss 2nd Amendment Rights. So I would encourage all, especially us Good Girls who have had to, on at least one occasion, wrestle a toy gun from the hands of our sons, to contact the NRA and ask them to support their mantra and John Crawford’s family. After all, there is an NRA Civil Rights Defense Fund for utilization. The number happens to be (703) 267-1250

While we’re at it, contacting Wal-Mart to express our concern over what might happen to our sons should they happen to pick up, play, hold or pretend-shoot a gun in their stores might be a good as well. Wal-Mart corporate – 1-800-925-6278 or facebook https://www.facebook.com/walmart. A poster by the name of Tex Ritter has already informed the company that she will no longer shop at Wal-Mart. Good Girl Tex Ritter!!!

Some points to consider as stated on the NRA Civil Rights Defense Fund’s website, http://www.nradefensefund.org/eligible-cases.aspx
– Civil actions against federal, state, and local authorities who, while enforcing unfair gun laws, violate citizens’ rights under the First, Second, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Fourteenth Amendments
Challenges to administrative interpretations of federal, state, and local laws that infringe the right to keep and bear arms guaranteed by the Common Law, the Constitution of the United States, or the constitutions of various states
Challenges to administrative actions denying or restricting a citizen’s right to possess or carry firearms.

Except that this morning, after writing a passage that required the reliving of the worst funeral I ever attended (my father’s) I noticed a tear drop on the shift key. It gave me pause that, if nothing else, my heart had been poured into the dialogue. That each character was colored with the honesty and stomach-churning authenticity of the moment and that maybe, just maybe, some agent or director or producer or fellow writer will one day pick up my script and feel as nauseated about the scene as I was writing it. I gratefully take a break from this morning’s schedule to return to Alyric the person and bid goodbye to Alyric the conjurer (for now) so that I may figure out a way to stretch my dwindling savings to cover a prom dress, class ring and gymnastics fees as well as filling up three tanks of gas.

A sign. Any sign?

The Good Girl Online Magazine extends special thanks to Sharon McClain, Charlene Jackson, Sanjay Joseph, M.D. and Miss Kay Robertson for welcoming our camera and our questions!

A perceptive doc about a great film made by a great director, can Kubrick’s work be seen as genius within the cocoon of his other not-so stellar moments?

Following the film’s completion in 1971, Greaves attempted to find mainstream support, seeking a theatrical release. Unfortunately, distribution channels proved reluctant to back his work, especially because no one seemed willing to back it due to its experimental nature and bizarre content. Undeterred, Greaves held onto the negatives This put a crimp on Greaves’s further plans do four sequels to his work which would fill out the five-film arc he had planned. With no other options, the film fell into obscurity.

Greaves held onto the original print negatives and toured the film as much as he was able, showing off his work at film festivals and museums. Gaining a cult status from those individuals who were able to view it, the film eventually caught the attention of actor and filmmaker Steve Buscemi, who caught a screening of the docu-drama at the Sundance Film Festival in 1993. Seeing the film’s potential, Buscemi worked to secure financing for a sequel and the wide-release of the original film. In 2001, after thirty five years of post-development limbo, the film, re-christened Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One, saw a wide release in theatres and a DVD released in 2003 alongside its new sequel: Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take 21⁄2, which focused on two of the actors from the original and picks up the narrative of the original film some thirty five years later. –

Talk about perseverance!

Gas? Check. Wallet? Check. The perfect roadmap? Yet to be invented.

Cleveland Heights was urban american’s retreat for the aging hipster. It was a snapshot of America that was more likely to be seen on Haight Ashbury. Just as kind and gentle but a little smarter about how it chose to speak to the world. While it still places flower blooms into barrels, it recognized that structure and regulation had some merits. It was the hipster’s admission to Mom and Dad that maybe, just maybe, some of those fervent rants had some merit.

I sat in that Cleveland Heights’ coffeehouse admiring the director’s back story and the body of work I did not yet have. Imagining how creativity and clarity must swell for her with such purpose and fury. She appeared so confident, so self-assured. I thought, I wanna be just like her. Only better.

It was that meeting that drove the imagery of launching a successful career as a writer and producer. Its angst tactically pursued me. It provoked the inner me, identified my weak spots and declared to the part of me hidden under my lungs and my spleen and my intestines – if you want this, you can no longer be afraid of failure.

I freaking hate failure. I hate it. I am a sore loser and I admit it to no one but you. I want everything that I want, and I will not be a big girl about it. This doesn’t mean I’m spoiled or high maintenance, does it? Because there are so few material possessions and milestones I actually crave from this world. Most vices and haberdasheries and gadgets I can do without. But there is this one exception that is so titillating, I can’t bear to do without. It’s like a drug, my hit.

It’s called the art of filmmaking. When I was ten years old, I called it my special occasion. During my teens, it was my reason to curl my hair and wear red lipstick. My shh, the curtain’s opening moment. Those buckets of crunchy perfection were like tubs of amnesia. Schoolyard problems, even the freezer-like settings of the theater, were nonexistent once the credits rolled. I submerge into a world where Leia is cloaked like an angel in white and headlights suspiciously trail in Karen Silkwood’s rearview mirror and where Carrie glides through the frame with such joy it appears she is floating. She mouths the words thank you, accepts the roses, the crown, this one good moment, oblivious to what is waiting in the rafters. She sold it the audience, she believed. She believed!

But then as the pig’s blood dribbles into her hair and over her mouth, we as the audience are allowed to think. We’re allowed to question. We’re allowed to see the ugly human side of ourselves. Our stomachs gurgle and ask if we like what we see.

Quality writing, good visual direction, dedicated storytellers all combining for a memorable production. Yep, these are the destinations circled on my map. To join the band of brothers and sisters who do it again and again, with each attempt also striving for better. Maybe next time a dark comedy instead of a psychological thriller. Maybe a different locale of modern day Dubai instead of 1950’s Vegas. Perfecting the art of consciousness as old as Greek and Roman mythology, African folklore, Asian legend. The art of understanding. The art of storytelling.

As we sip our beverages, I gaze into the eyes of a woman who does not know me, who has no reason to believe one syllabic tone that comes from my mouth. Who may be suspicious of the type that underestimates the toll of the long road and merely focuses on the destination. I hope she sees a little bit of herself in me, especially the part that recognizes that this work will require sacrifice.

As I reflect on the past years of struggle and weigh where I am versus where I want to be, if there are any memorable landmarks to take note of, it is near mile marker # 3 – you will learn you are on the right route when you willingly look into your fears and move forward anyway.