Thursday, June 9, 2016

Dear Daniel

Dear Daniel,

The last forty-eight hours have been a rollercoaster. Yesterday kind of a hair on fire kind of day. I woke to news that for perfectly legitimate reason my agent was not going to be available for the trip to Film-Com. It was an emergency for both of her because it dealt with the health of a family member and me because, well, Film-Com was fifteen days away and that left me and another person without a way to Nashville. Pam didn’t want to drive. Which is fine but we had no wheels. I called my Aunt Debbie who had been prepared to drive up there in Julie’s car. When I asked if she would drive her car if we left the VERSA for Frank and Jan to drive she said she wouldn’t be comfortable with that. With doors slamming in my face I could feel that hard earned spot at Film-Com slipping through my fingers. A place that could bring much needed funding to our project Letters to Daniel.

It made me mad. It pissed me off. It made me angry. The Letters film has faced a lot of hurdles over the last five months. I was at my breaking point. As a last ditch effort I contacted an old friend Shanni. I had known her when she attended the same church as my family and we shared living quarters. She had plans to take a road trip to Chicago June 23rd.

I asked her if she would drive me and Pam down to Nashville. That I would give her $50 in gas money. That she wouldn’t have to pay for the hotel room and that I could give her a badge to get into Film-Com. She agreed to take us and cart us around Tuesday and Wednesday and leave once we were back in the hotel to meet Missy when she arrived. Much to my relief.

At this point I had no DP for our short, or camera for that matter. Julie’s emergency prevented our plan to use Bill in the case we didn’t have a DP for the film at this point. I knew our film could not handle another setback. We priced cameras, lenses. It was all too expensive for the short we were shooting. I contacted my cousin Rebekah. She had a high quality camcorder which would work for our purposes. She said we could use it. We contacted Pam. Since it was a short shoot she agreed to DP, Letters to Daniel: Awareness.

Hair on FIRE.

Fires put out.

But the anxiety generated by those fires refused to dissipate. And when Dad got home he was hungry, amped and angry. When he realized he didn’t have enough food to eat he made an asshole out of himself. He snapped and yelled. And even though I said nothing he continued to yell and tantrum about how ungrateful I was.

It was like taking a verbal beating. I couldn’t even leave the room. I had company. Missy was there. Dad continued this attitude throughout dinner. Missy and I were about to make a shot list and costuming notes for our actresses when Debbie and Frank just invited themselves in. It was not something I really wanted.

No space. No quiet. No time to decompress. It was an impossible situation.

I wish I could kick him in the face sometimes make him realize his anger hurts and scares me. He has a right to his feelings but I have a right to mine too. He thinks I’m an ingrate, and that if I don’t worship at his altar of goodness and kindness that I’m not worthy of his better nature.

Yet for Sara and Brandy he’ll do just about anything.

But Dad when he’s fed and even tempered is a soft touch. On the way home from my birthday dinner tonight he bought me a McDonald’s coffee.

On the good side, the Action On Film Festival is allowing me to share my message of hope and recovery and my experiences with bipolar disorder. This is a huge step for me. Del and Theresa Weston have been awesome to me and I can’t wait to attend their festival. I’ve never been to California in my life. This will be my first time there.

Also a film studio head allowed me to use him as a referral to send several of mine and Missy’s scifi and fantasy features and television pilot scripts to their development department. So the last forty-eight hours? It’s been the best of times it’s been the worst of times. But all in all things are good. And I can’t really complain too much. And as always with this thing I always feel better at the end of the blog than I did at the beginning.


Amy McCorkle

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