Thursday, May 22, 2014

Dear Daniel

Dear Daniel,

I’m not sure what it is I did to deserve some of the success I’ve gotten. Nor do I pretend to know why it’s this blog that seems to be what is breaking me through to what every writer and filmmaker dreams of, mainstream success.

It all started here with a simple thank you a little over a year ago with the knowledge you would most likely never know about this blog or anything I wrote about on it. It quickly became so much more than that. It became a place where I could share my story, my memoirs about who I’d been growing up and I’d survived a brutal upbringing on the one side of my family. But thanks to my mom, (who admittedly needs a little help herself) and a stepfather (who, in response to the creation of this blog said he was making one too, only to call it, All the Lies Amy Tells in jest) who, if not always stable, were always warm and loving.

Mental illness runs in my family like Cancer does in others. Bipolar Disorder especially. I won’t name names because it’s their story to tell and some can’t even bring themselves to get the help they need. But maybe if they take a moment to read this blog they’ll see that medicines I take for it aren’t poison they actually give me direction, help me focus, make my dreams a reality instead of just grandiose daydream with my head in the clouds.

Ellen Eldridge suggested that I get in touch with the gentleman and driving force behind the You Rock Foundation. The You Rock Foundation’s mission is to help those deal with depression through music. My film, Letters to Daniel fits into that mission even if it is bipolar disorder.

I feel like I’ve been hammering at this wall in the film industry and this emotional honesty is going to be what gets me in, when all I ever really wanted to do with this project was help people.

This is all icing on the cake. The trip to Film-Com for possible distribution? Never in a million years did I think that would happen. To be talking to a distributor already. Holy CRAP!

Now You Rock?


I don’t really know what to do with the feelings these things conjure up. Last night I was crying. Not sad tears but, the, I can’t believe it’s not butter tears. The I’ve worked a long time for this and I can’t believe it’s finally here.

What I think is sweetest is that I didn’t get here alone. There are people who have always been there to support me or accept the path I was on even though they did not always understand it. And as sweet as this I know the climb isn’t over yet, that big things are in store for me and those who helped me get here.

I have to thank the inner circle. #1 Missy Goodman. The picture of patience. She isn’t a saint but she plays one on television. She is a talented author and blogger and screenwriter in her own right but she often follows what rabbit hole I go down to make sure I don’t get lost or meet some unfortunate end. When things were roughest in Texas and those first few months back in Kentucky she could have chosen to turn and run. I think, perhaps, I might have. But she didn’t. God only knows why she didn’t, but she stuck by me through thick and thin.

Then there’s team member #2 Pamela Turner. Also a talented author, blogger, and screenwriter/filmmaker in her own right. She is 333, only half evil, but if you cross her look out. But if you gain her friendship she is the kind of friend that you should be so lucky to have. When Missy has been unable to take me to the doctor’s it is Pam who has taken me. She’s paid for medicine I couldn’t afford, and along with Missy has made the documentary based upon this blog happen.

There are so many to thank, like mom and dad, Aunt Debbie and Uncle Frank, Danny Jones for the beautiful song that plays at the end of the film, all of my publishers, and Stephen Zimmer for his unending patience with me, or as he put it Amy on 11. Really everyone should be commended for that.

The You Rock Foundation is perfect for something like Letters… and the vision I have for it. So a special thank you to Ellen and You Rock because you too, are making my dreams come true.


Amy McCorkle

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