Merry Christmas, xoxo, MF

Every Christmas, I watch this movie at least once. Some may not know this-- but the landmark musical film, Meet Me In St. Louis, marked the introduction of the song "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" to the public. The song was sung by Esther, who was played by the undoubtedly delicate and beautiful Judy Garland. The year was 1944.

That said, given the conditions of this epic historical period,  I find it to be probably one of the most beautiful Christmas Songs ever written and sung. I hope you do, too.
Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, lots of warmth, and love,

BLACKOUT NYC

On a cold Thursday night, my friend Kaylee lured me from my favorite pizza at Cafe Fiorello in Lincoln Center... all the way down to Lower Manhattan. I say lured, as it was during the recent blackout.  Apparently, I had to-- if even for a few hours-- experience and see what it was like.

Kaylee was staying with a friend at the Bowery Hotel, which was operating with only one small generator, and thus, minimal lighting in the hallway sconces only. For the most part, stepping foot into the hotel felt not much different than stepping into the McKittrick Hotel that houses Sleep No More. Only this was real life.

After one Old Fashioned, two glasses of red wine, three new friends, and several attempts to play Bach on the hotel's broken piano, we found ourselves at Gemma for a complimentary dinner. With the restaurant's famous gigantic candles lit,  a mere twenty people scattered throughout the restaurant, and the pure silence all around, one could mistake the normally buzzing restaurant for a big barn-turned-restaurant in the Catskills. The Chianti was poured, glass after glass, and we feasted on fresh tomato basil pasta, roasted veggies, bread, and salad.

By this point, our cellphones were dead (though I must note: due to the lack of cellphone service in all of downtown Manhattan, everyone in the room clearly forgot they existed to begin with).

And so we ended up outside. In the darkness.  Kaylee ran into friends, and they were attempting a journey to The Smile.

Someone had sparklers. And somehow, we all took part in this impromptu video.

BLACKOUT NYC from L.A. on Vimeo.

happy thanksgiving to all!

FIN - ending #1

Those of you who have stumbled upon this blog by chance:
I only hope you will find evidence of a story, a little bit of jewelry I call my own collection,  the things I have seen or have loved: inspiration which I hope will lead one to new ideas, and some of the most talented people who I have called...or still are... my friends. Take from it what you will. It started with THIS.

Because receiving an education is a lot like being a snake that swallowed a chicken egg: It's in you, but it's going to take a while to digest it. I had come to Sarah Lawrence after 12 years of Catholic girls school. I had thought it was the most ludicrous, antiquated, sentimental secondary education in the history of education. We were taught modesty, humility, and how to make a good white sauce. The white sauce I could have done without, but I'll tell you something: Modesty and humility go a long way when you are down on your luck. 

I had studied writing at the Iowa Writers workshop, I had studied writing at Sarah Lawrence College with Allan Gurganis and Grace Paley and Russell Banks. It wasn't  until I got to Fridays and I had to work the dish wash station because the police came and too the regular dish washer away- that I finally learned how to stare. And at the end, it was the staring that got me that novelists job that I had wanted. Because as I scrubbed out the soup pots and the margarita pitchers, I figured out that for me, "what now?" -- always going to be a work in progress. "What now" is never what you think it's going to be, and that is the thing that every writer, every person- has to learn.

 I came to come to understand that fiction writing was like duck hunting. You go to the right place at the right time with the right dog. You get into the water before it's light outside, wearing a little protective gear, stand behind some reeds,  and you wait for the story to present itself. This is not to say you were passive; you chose the place and the day, you picked the gun and the dog. You have the desire to blow that duck apart for reasons that are entirely your own. But you have to be willing to accept not what you wanted to have happen, but what happens. You have to write the story that you find in the circumstances that you've created. Because more often than not, the ducks don't ever show up. The hunters in the next blind begin to argue and you realize that they're in love. You see a snake swimming towards you and your dog begins to shiver and whine... and you think of this gun in your hands that belonged to your father.... And in the end, you will have written a novel so completely devoid of ducks, it will startle you.

 It took me a long time of standing still and being quiet to figure out what in retrospect appears to be a pretty simple lesson: that writing a novel and living a life are very much the same thing, and the secret is finding the balance between going out and getting what you want and accepting the thing that actually comes your way. If you're trying to figure out what what comes next, I urge you to turn off everything that has an off switch and listen. Make up some big plans and be willing to change them on a dime. Identify your heart's truest desire and don't change that for anything. Be proud of yourself for the work you have done; Be grateful for the people who helped you do it. Write to us, and let us know how you are. You are- every one of you- someone's favorite unfolding story. We cannot wait to hear what happens next. 

Ann Patchett's Commencement Address to my Class of 2006, Sarah Lawrence College

white oleander/girl interrupted scenes from sarah lawrence

sarah lawrence 2006:

lindsey doleshal and meghan farrell

did this really happen?

fran healy - buttercup

And here is a music video I had a chance to be a part of with my friend Fran Healy of Travis! He has been writing his own music for years, and recently has gone on tour to promote his upcoming album. Eug and I had so much fun doing this :)

prologue

she thought she would have swam today, but instead,  realized eight hours

and fourteen minutes had passed and the dawn that had once looked so promising

had silently turned to dusk. she told herself to take a breath.

the city holds promise, 

she told herself,

and the night, a mask for me to stand alongside the others.

the others- there were many. millions, like little ants, scurrying to get from place to place. exchanging tales and thoughts and bodies, marching to reach the top of the hill. trying to avoid a quick death, they were, and hoping to see the morning after a reckless night.

but she never felt like the others, no.  she was different. and although at times she felt the need to blend in, she was content in her ways. it brought her comfort.

she thought like that, in metaphors: animals, countries, people and objects-- connecting one thing to another.  making sense of reality in any way possible.

without closing her eyes, she saw it. the ocean looked beautiful in this light, the reflection of the lowering sun made the water appear darker than its natural hue. black, almost.

she was about to miss the sun.

without a thought, she unbuttoned her shirt, shed her jeans, and, willing her legs to bend, propelled upwards and forwards towards the black sea. the smell of the tide was pungent, and she felt the temperature drop as the winds grew stronger the closer she flew towards the water. feet accelerating, the sand blew upwards, burning her arms, flying into her mouth.

i must beat the sun.

crash, a four foot wave, smack against her body. pins and needles: the cold water against her entire body. 

and then, calm.

treading water, as baby waves so small the water looked almost like a sheet of glass, the sun inched lower. the water lapped against her lips. she took a breath, and began to lower herself into the sea.

the sun appeared to rise.

and then, stars.

back in her apartment, her eyelids slowly fluttered, dropping, nearly, into the possibility of sleep. it was night now, and the room once full of pink light was suddenly pitch black. 

without a thought, her muscles contracted, and she was suddenly standing. so instead of falling into a restless sleep, her legs moved,  arms grabbed her keys and bag, and she inched towards the door.

after 12 difficult years

final diagnosis: recovered

you're somebody even if nobody loves you

Buster

Upon graduating Sarah Lawrence, I was in an independent feature film directed by Lovisa Inserra for Governess Films. It was entitled Buster.

Buster made it to several film festivals around the world.

I was cleaning out my file cabinet and stumbled upon a dvd with a selection of scenes Lovisa had burned for me before the film was completed. Just thought I'd share, as this character is definitely a younger version of the typical MF. This is not the final take or edit. The background music (composed and sung by Björn Dixgård of Mando Diao)  was eventually removed. 

I was seventeen; no judge

meghan farrell