For moi?

Valentine’s Day has always been my favorite holiday.  Some years it’s been high and some years it’s been low. 

I still remember the shoeboxes I decorated with paper doilies and red construction paper in grade school and the optimism of what they could hold.  (In retrospect, I guess there was something good about wearing those “saddle-shoe” orthopedic nightmares; the boxes were bigger and sturdier.) 

When I was the new kid in fifth grade I left my lacy box on the end of my desk while I passed out the Valentines I’d made for every kid in my class.  At the end of the day, I had a pretty bad feeling when nothing rattled around inside, but thought (hoped) maybe the Valentines had somehow gotten stuck within.

Well, you know what happened.  If you haven’t seen the ABC’s TV show, The Middle, check out the character of the daughter, Sue Heck.  I was a lot like her (sans braces). 

I’d like to tell you my mother made up for that loss with a plate of after-school brownies and milk, but the truth is I threw away my empty box and told her I left it at school.

(On the flip side, there’ve been some exquisite Valentine’s Days that weaken my knees just recounting them.)

What made this year’s 14th day in February so perfect was the feeling I woke up with after finishing a screenplay the night before.  While it’s not about Valentine’s Day, it is a romantic comedy that leaves me in smiles. 

Ring My Bell introduces Fanny Wylde, a woman struggling to let go of her past and move into her present.  Ironically, I can’t get that tune by Anita Ward out of my head.  Yes, it dates back to disco days and yes, I was there.

I started this blog to hold myself accountable to write at least five pages a day.  That hasn’t exactly happened on schedule, but sometimes it averages out.

Ring My Bell began as a ten minute play for a friend who wanted something fresh for an acting class.  But it nagged at me to go further—into a full-fledged screenplay.  I added ten pages a couple of years later, but then… I got distracted—for another few years.

A couple of weeks ago I had a serious talk with myself.  As a result, I sat in my room at my desk and I wrote—the rest of the screenplay.   And you know what?  I moved from my past into my present.

Finishing a piece of writing is the most satisfying feeling because… when I write something I care about, it’s an expression of love.

Another expression of love is a husband who supports my efforts with an early morning cup of my favorite java and a Valentine gift awkwardly wrapped in Christmas paper. 

Nothing trumps that.  ~ JD here.