Monday, February 4, 2013


When I was a child I dreamt of acting in the movie. More importantly, I dreamt about winning an Oscar, of breaking the bonds of my little life, of proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was special and worth watching and listening to.

And then I dreamt of singing in the movies, though I knew that musicals never won Oscars, I thought I could be one of those rare double threats – an actor and a singer. No slashes. No privileging one talent over the other. I would be an amazing singer. And I would be a compelling actor.

That dream eventually mutated into writing. Meryl Streep faded into Diablo Cody. A screen play or an adaptation - either would be fine, as long as I got to wear a beautiful gown, walk the red carpet, and have my talents recognized.

I love the movies – I love the move-going experience. The big screen, the popcorn, chocolate snacks that you can pop into your mouth by the handful. But always and forever there’s a little piece of me that gazes up at that screen thinks ... that could have been me. I coulda been a star.

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