Monday, June 25, 2012

Creative Skills Development: Final Showpiece

image courtesy ironmouse86.deviantart.com
Today is the last day of my Creative Skills Development class so I'll be posting the rest of my assignments for everyone to read. And by everyone I mean my 2 subscribers! This is my final showpiece for the class. We were asked to write a short story about anything we want at any length. The kids and I have been watching a LOT of Doctor Who recently so I came up with an idea that borrows a lot from the good Doctor and also pulls in many elements from other story ideas I have been working on with my daughter Harmony. 


Mr. Smith
Dylan is lying in bed holding a picture of her mother. She doesn’t cry anymore. She just hugs the photo and stares off into the past. The world turns around her and she experiences nothing.
Her father kisses her goodnight. He says some words but she does not hear them. She responds automatically but she does not hear her own words. Her door closes and she is in darkness.
As the hours tick on she does not sleep. The strange breathing sound coming from under her bed goes on for a full hour before she notices it.
Dylan's heart begins to race as the silence around the sound deepens. The breathing becomes everything. It's wet and slow. Then the smell rises to her nose. Its rank and wet, like a dog in the rain.
Fear begins to rise from deep within Dylan's stomach. As it reaches her chest it turns in to a scream. Just as the scream is about to reach her lips a hand clamps over her mouth, keeping the scream contained within her.
"Shhh," says a strangely calm voice. "You'll scare it."
The hand gently moves away from her mouth. Dylan turns to look at the owner of the gentle hand and there, leaning halfway out of her window is a strange and silly looking man. He appears to be wearing a fancy suit and a spiffy hat.
"Sorry for the intrusion," he whispers. "I hope I didn't startle you. Of course I'm sure our asthmatic little friend down there must have taken care of that. I wonder who that might be by the way. It's always fun meeting a new monster under the bed. Though I sure hope this time it's not actually a monster. Sorry am I rambling?"
Dylan kicks off her covers and pulls her knees under her. She scoots as far away from the side of her bed as possible.
"Monster," she asks. "It's not going to eat me is it?"
"Well," begins the strange man. "Not now that I'm here. Perhaps we should be making our departure."
The creature under the bed growls. "I believe our friend under there is getting a bit agitated."
He offers Dylan his hand. She looks at the hand. She's never supposed to talk to strangers. Never. And she is definitely never supposed to go anywhere with a stranger. Absolutely, never.
"Ah, yes smart girl," says the man. "Never go with a stranger. Very smart girl. Well, hi my name is- is Mr. Smith. What's yours?"
The growl gets louder. "I'm Dylan," she quickly responds.
"Awesome," he says. "Now we're not strangers."
The bed begins to shake. Dylan grabs his hand. "Time to go!"
He pulls her through the window. Dylan finds herself standing on a strange glowing multi-colored surface floating outside her window, which happens to be on the second floor. It's very smooth and seems to be changing colors. Mr. Smith is holding what looks like a TV remote control. He presses a button and they swiftly move away from the side of the house.
In the window red glowing eyes watch them make their escape. "What about my dad," exclaims Dylan? "He's still in the house! That thing is going to eat him!"
"Well, I don't think so," responds Mr. Smith. "Our friend has been in there all day and never attacked you or your father or even left your room. In fact I don't think it can leave your room. Yes, all the evidence suggests that your father should be just fine."
"Are you sure," asks Dylan.
"Yes, I'm sure," he responds. "Now let's get down below see who our friend from under your bed is." He presses another button on the remote control and a door rises from the surface of the ship. An actual door on hinges on a frame with a doorknob that could come from any house. It is a very strange sight to see this ordinary thing sticking out of a strange and unusual glowing, color changing flying object.
Dylan can't believe her eyes. She looks from the door to Mr. Smith. His smile broadens and he lifts his eyebrows, nods his head toward the door. Dylan steps around the door and looks at the other side. It’s just the other side of a door. It leads to nowhere. "Go on," says Mr. Smith.
Dylan cautiously reaches for the doorknob. She turns it and opens the door to a world filled with multi-colored plants that seem to be merged with extremely advanced technology. Everything is living and colorful, and massive. It seems to go on forever.
Dylan pulls her eyes away and turns to Mr. Smith. His smile broadens again and he says, "I know right!"
"What is that," Dylan asks.
"That's the inside of my ship," replies Mr. Smith.
"Is it safe," asks Dylan.
"The safest place in the universe," Mr. Smith answers.
Dylan takes a tentative step into the ship. The ground is soft, like stepping on grass. There is a soft rhythmic pulsing sensation beneath her feet. The air is warm and slightly moist. It's not unpleasant though. More like a warm tropical blanket. The sounds around her are like a mix of rainforest and the bridge of the starship Enterprise. Beeps and boops mingle with birdcalls and rustling foliage.
Mr. Smith enters and steps around her. The ship seems to come alive around him. Plants rise to greet him. They open their petals to reveal touch screen monitors which his fingers dance over. Mists rise and holographic images play through them. His technology is alive.
Dylan walks deeper into the ship. The plants around her reach out to her as if to greet her. Their touch is gentle and tingles slightly, like static electricity. Mr. Smith turns to her and smiles. "It's ok," he says. "She won't hurt you. This is my companion, Miranda. She's kind of like a space ship. I found her trapped on one of the moons of Agrifar 11. That's just beyond the Delta Expanse."
"Is that far from here," asks Dylan.
"Yes," replies Mr. Smith. "It's very far away. Thousands of light years in fact."
"Are you an alien," Dylan blurts out.
"No," replies Mr. Smith. "Are you?"
"No," answers Dylan.
"Well, aright than. Though I must admit I'm not from earth."
"But I thought you weren't an alien."
"What makes someone an alien? We're not from the same planet. But we look similar. We have different evolutionary paths. But we're from the same corner of the galaxy. And even if we weren't galaxial neighbors we're still part of the same Universe. So in a sense we're still part of the same family. Where I come from there is no such thing as an alien. We're all just life forms. We're all connected."
"Oh," replies Dylan. "Than what about the monster under my bed?"
"Ah," begins Mr. Smith. "I must admit that at first I had no idea who or what was under your bed. All I knew was that Miranda sensed technology that was not supposed to be on Earth. So we decided to investigate. That’s kind of what we do. We explore the Universe and when strange things pop up we try to help."
Dylan asks, "So do you know what it is now?"
"Yes I do," answers Mr. Smith. "Our friend under the bed is a Traxian Snorbot. Kind of like a dog. From what I can tell a family of Traxians were here on Earth sight seeing. Probably taking in the sights at the lake by your house. You see the Traxian's don't have liquid water on their planet. And the Snorbot probably wondered off. The Earth has not made any formal contact with other species so the Traxians probably thought it better to leave the poor beast behind rather than risk encountering any humans."
"So they left their dog behind," Dylan responds with sadness in her voice.
"Well," Smith attempts to reassure her. "I'm sure they are still around here somewhere probably probing for it using stealth tech. You see Sorbots are slightly psychic animals. They can sense emotions. Once one is imprinted on its owner it won't leave them unless it encounters an extremely strong emotional presence. I think that's why it was under your bed. I think the Snorbot could feel your emotions from far away. It sought you out and stayed with you under your bed, protecting you. That’s why it began to growl when I came near. I believe the animal was trying to comfort you."
"So it wasn't there to eat me," asks Dylan.
"No, Snorbots are vegetarians," answers Mr. Smith. "Humans aren't plant based are they?"
Dylan giggles her answer, "No, silly Mr. Smith we come from monkeys."
"Ah, primates," responds Smith. "No wonder your species and mine look so similar. We came from primates also."
Smith gets up and begins jumping around the ship like a monkey. Vines creep down from above and he jumps on them swinging around the ship screeching at the top of his lungs. Dylan laughs hard. It is the first time she's done so in a very long time.
Smith swings high up in the air. He lets go of the vine, summersaults in the air and lands at Dylan’s feet.
"Your weird," laughs Dylan.
"Why thank you," responds Mr. Smith.
"So how are we going to get the Snorbot out from under my bed," asks Dylan.
Mr. Smith responds, "Miranda has already sent the Traxian's a message that we've found their friend. They'll be here any minute. So why did the Snorbot choose your bed?"
"I don't know," answers Dylan. She looks down at her feet. Mr. Smith sits down cross-legged and motions for her to join him.
"Well, remember when I said the Snorbot responds to strong emotions," Smith reminds Dylan. "You see, there must have been something you were feeling so strongly that it reached out of your room across the lake all the way to the Snorbot's heart. It must have been a very strong feeling indeed."
"My mommy died," Dylan says in the tiniest voice in the Universe. Mr. Smith's face crumbles into despair. He lowers his head.
"Child," he begins quietly. "I'm so sorry. That is why the creature came to you. It wished to ease your pain. Though I know that it seems as if nothing will."
Miranda reaches out with her most lovely flowers and wraps Dylan with them. Warm tingles envelop Dylan and the plants begin to pulsate with light.
"You know Dylan," Mr. Smith begins to speak. "This Universe is a very conservative one. It wastes nothing. So when a living thing dies it is never truly gone. We all are made up of energy. Right down to our smallest bits is all energy. So when your mother left this world she did not end. She simply became her purest form. She is part of the Universe still. Though we may not be able to see her or talk to her. She is here. That is what you feel when Miranda touches you. Life. It tingles doesn’t it?" Dylan nods her head.
Mr. Smith continues, "Miranda is a special being. She is the evolution of life itself. She is powered by the energy that comes from us all. Right now your mothers energy is touching you. She is here with you."
Dylan closes her eyes. Her body is warmed. It glows with the light from her mother. Dylan's skin shimmers. She can smell the sweetness of her mother’s perfume. She can feel the touch of her mothers skin when she would hug her. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks and Dylan smiles.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith," she says as Miranda slowly and gently pulls away.
"It is our pleasure child," replies Mr. Smith. "We are all family in this Universe. And we are all forever."
A soft chime sounds and a flower rises above the rest. Mr. Smith walks to it and gently caresses it with his fingertips. It opens and he looks into it.
"They have arrived," he announces. "Let's meet our new friends shall we?"
Dylan gets up from the floor and straightens her nightgown. "I'm ready," she says. "Are they friendly?"
"Oh, yes," answers Mr. Smith. "They are very friendly. Remember they are just a family on vacation."
Mr. Smith holds out his hand to Dylan. She takes it and they open the door and step out into the night. Miranda has landed and they step down from her onto the nighttime damp grass. Dylan looks back at Miranda and stops. "Wait a minute," she says in shock. "Is she bigger on the inside?"
"Yup," responds Mr. Smith with a smile.
"Like on Doctor Who," she says.
Mr. Smith's smile broadens as he says," Just like Doctor Who! I'll tell you a secret, they made that show about me!"
"Cooooool," exclaims Dylan.
From high above them a star appears to get bigger and brighter. Dylan realizes it’s not a star at all. In fact it's not one object but several. As they approach Dylan can make out four distinct beings. They are tall. Extremely tall. The Telaxian's stand about ten feet tall. They are glowing from the inside out. All their limbs are exaggerated. Arms are long almost touching the ground. Their fingers have three more joints than Dylan's. Their heads are long and their eyes are huge and blink sideways. And they smile at Dylan.
The tallest lifts a long strange type of instrument to its lips and a beautiful melody comes from the object. From Dylan's bedroom window the Snorbot bounds into the air. It runs circles around the group as it descends to the ground. Light trails behind him. Dylan spins trying to watch it as the beautiful creature, which actually does look allot like a dog, bounds to the smallest of the Telaxian's. It jumps into its arms and they both begin to glow a warmer color.
The tallest of the Telaxian's waves its hand into the air. Light from its fingers "draw" symbols into the air. Something appears to dawn on Mr. Smith. "Oh, sorry," he says. And he pulls his remote control out of his pocket, points it at the symbols and presses a button. They symbols transform into letters that read:
"From our great and noble family to your great and noble family we send our deepest thanks and our Universal love."
Dylan smiles and performs the perfect curtsey. Then she blows them a kiss. The Telaxians, now reunited with their beloved pet, rise back to the stars.
Mr. Smith takes Dylan's hand and leads her back onto Miranda's hull. They rise back to her window. Mr. Smith turns to Dylan and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Well, my new friend," he begins. "I must say that the pleasure of meeting you has been one of the most rewarding in many years of travel. You are a beautiful child and remind me of why I love to come to this planet."
"Thank you Mr. Smith," replies Dylan. "And thank Miranda for me too."
"I will," responds Mr. Smith. "And remember we are all family in this Universe and we are all forever. Your mother is always here with you."
Mr. Smith's remote control begins to beep and glow.
"Oh, Miranda would like me to tell you she will miss you and that she would like to leave you with a gift," says Mr. Smith.
A small section of Miranda's outer body opens and a small platform extends out of her. Resting on the platform is a small normal looking pot. In the pot is a glowing flower. Dylan takes the plant from the platform and the flower leans towards her. She touches the plant and her hand tingles like it did in the ship. Dylan speaks one word, "Mother."
"So you can always feel her," says Mr. Smith.
Dylan runs to him and puts her arm around him. He returns the hug.
"Now back to bed with you," he says. "I'll be back from time to time to say hi. And when your old enough maybe you can come with me to see what's out there." He points up to the stars.
"Thank you Mr. Smith," says Dylan. "I'll see you soon."
Dylan climbs back into her room and puts her new plant on her nightstand next to her bed. She crawls back under the covers. As Miranda becomes a bright star in the sky Dylan feels better than she has in a long time. She closes her eyes and smiles.



Creative Skills Development: Online Journal #7

Today is the last day of my Creative Skills Development class so I'll be posting the rest of my assignments for everyone to read. And by everyone I mean my 2 subscribers! For this assignment we were asked to write a 6-8 page screenplay. Click on the pages below to bring up a larger view.









Creative Skills Development: Online Journal #6

http://sungat.ru/eng/files/other/Mafia.jpgToday is the last day of my Creative Skills Development class so I'll be posting the rest of my assignments for everyone to read. And by everyone I mean my 2 subscribers! This assignment was to write a story with only dialog.


"Are you going to kill me," inquired Joshua Shultz.

"Well, that's a question you may not want me to answer at this very moment," replied Joseph Spinelli.

"I see. Well if that’s the case, can I have a smoke," responded Shultz.

"Sure, why not," said Spinelli. "Here let me light that for you. There you go. Now the way I see things you have very little time left in this world. I'll admit I don't feel particularly good about that. You and I grew up in the same neighborhood. Did you know that?"

"Your the Doc's kid," replied Shultz. "Grew up on Theiriot. I lived about three blocks down on Wood. Donnie Dallas, Leroy Jenkins, and I whooped you and a couple of other guys in a game of Stick back in the day."

"As I recall it was us that did the whopping," Spinelli retorted.

"You and I remember different," said Shultz. 

"You got that right," exclaimed Shultz. "Ha, you know it's funny. I didn't think you would remember me! I mean I remember you took off from the old neighborhood when we was just kids."

"Got into a bit of trouble," explained Shultz. "Ran for a while. Ended up in the military. Spent some time in Black Ops. Turns out I had a knack for Capture and Infiltrate missions.”

            Spinelli responded, “Wow, sounds like you did pretty good for yourself! Though I don’t know if being Uncle Sam’s errand boy is really my cup of tea. I prefer a career with a little more flexibility. I’ve been working my way up in this business since I was a kid back in the old neighborhood. Now I’ve got power, money, and girls. I’m the boss. This is my town. Here, I’m Uncle Sam.”

            “What about the other Families,” asked Shultz. “Don’t you have to answer to them? Isn’t that the way it goes? You control the Bronx. They control the other boroughs. What happens if you get greedy and step on their toes? What happens when you’re not the boss they want in this town?”

            “What is this,” responded Spinelli. “You think you know somethin? Let me tell you solder boy, you don’t know spit! I don’t answer to the Families. This is my turf and I’ll do what I please. If my business takes a little detour than so be it. There’s more than enough to go round. And if they got a problem with that than they can bring it to the table. I’m not an unreasonable man.”

            “Is that so,” asked Shultz. “I hear Tony Morelli might have a different opinion on the matter. Or had might be the proper term.”

            “You rat bastard,” exclaimed Spinelli. “How the hell did you know about that? You know what it don’t matter. It was a fun reunion solder boy but I think its time for us to part ways.”

            “Your guns not loaded,” said Shultz. “And your boys on the other side of that door have been dead since before I walked in here.”

            “So, what did the Families send you,” asked Spinelli. “You come here to-“

            “Yes, I did,” replied Shultz.

Creative Skills Development: Online Journal #4

http://onebigphoto.com/uploads/2012/06/yellow-eye-of-a-nile-crocodile-thumb.jpgToday is the last day of my Creative Skills Development class so I'll be posting the rest of my assignments for everyone to read. And by everyone I mean my 2 subscribers! This assignment was to take another students set of questions from the Online Journal #3 entry and place that character into a 6-8 page story. We also had to include the following items in the story:

A turkey
An icicle
A bowl of quinoa
A bejeweled dog collar
Hydrochloric acid
A Gobstopper candy
The Cookie Monster
A Nile crocodile

I chose a students story where the character experienced early onset Alzheimer's at the age of 25. She lived in a beach house her dead husband left her. There were more details but those were the ones I needed to crack my story. And here it is:

As the sun set, its fading light sparkled off a sheet of high tide water.  The sounds of sea birds and of the lazy waves dancing up the sand mate with the sound of the cool sea breeze giving birth to a symphony born of the sea, land and sky.

The beach reached out for miles in either direction, empty save for a solitary visitor. A sixteen foot long Nile crocodile stood in the sand, salt water licking its feet.

Queenie watched this strange sight from the comfort of the porch of her beach side home. The rhythmic ticking of her rocker slowed and faded away as she made eye contact with the alien creature. A smile broke across her age face.

Queenie’s bare feet sank into the sand as she approached the visitor to her Florida beach front property. The crocodile lifted its head as the elderly woman stood before it.

“Hello crocodile,” said Queenie.

“Hello Beatrice,” replied the beast in a deep, soft, airy voice, almost a whisper.

“It’s a beautiful sun set this evening don’t you think”

“Almost as beautiful as the Niles.”

“Oh, have you spent much time in Egypt?”

“Some.”

Queenie turned her head to the side. Her eyes focused on the horizon yet her vision was much further. The crocodile watched her silently.

“I’m not here am I,” she asked, her voice tiny and forlorn.

“You are where you are meant to be. As am I,” replied the beast.

“I can’t remember tomorrow. Am I old now?” asked Queenie.

“Yes Beatrice. Seventy-five years old,”

“Seventy-five? My husband?”

“Gone. Five years.”

Queenie’s eyes glisten in the warm red light of sunset. A tear traces her lined face.

“A woman in a nurses outfit keeps calling me Queenie. I don’t like it,” Queenie confessed.

“She means well. She likes your teaara. Don’t be bothered by her. She’s there to help you,” replied the beast.

Beatrice’s face scrunches with frustration. She gnaws on her thumbnail.

“Why? Why do I need help? I’m a fit and capable woman! I can... I can do... things?” her voice trails off into confusion. She looks down at her hands. She turns them over, brings them up to her face. They are wrinkled. They are the hands of an old woman.

“How did I get so old?” she asked.

“You lived,” replied the beast.

“Lived? How? Why can’t I remember? How long as it been?”

“Fifty years. You were twenty-five when your brain began to erase your life. You fought for years. It was slow at first. You lived your life like normal, for the most part. You were forgetful but you were in the present. And than you slowly drifted backwards. Living days in the past, than weeks,  months and finally years. You have been twenty-five for nearly fifteen years.”

“I’ve lost it all? I can’t remember my life. Why are you here? Why are you telling me all this?”

“Your dying.”

Beatrice closed her eyes. She squeezed them tight. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“What are you doing?” asked the beast.

“Aren’t you going to eat me,” asked Queenie.

“I said your dying. I didn’t say I’m hungry.”

“Than why are you here?”

“To remind you,” replied the beast. “In your home there are six objects that will give you back your memories. You can’t get them all back. But you can see the moments that these objects represent. If you hold on to these memories tight enough you may be able to put all the pieces of your life after you forgot, back together again.”

“What are the objects,” Beatrice inquired.

The beast turned to walk away, “You’ll know when you see them. This next part is pretty obvious.” The beast slowly made its way deeper into the ocean.

Beatrice called out to the beast before it was gone, “I didn’t get to say thank you!”

The beast turned and replied, “I think that counts.” And the beast drifted slowly out to sea, it’s immense length swaying smoothly and silently in the distance.

Beatrice turned and walked home.

Inside she found the first item. A turkey. Staring back at her the flightless bird opened its wings.

Beatrice’s greeting was almost a question, “hello?”

The bird did not respond. So Beatrice approached it cautiously. When the bird did not flee or otherwise react to her close proximity she raised a hand and gingerly touched it on the head. One stroke. Two. And she found herself at Thanksgiving dinner with her husband.

The smell of deep fried turkey seeped into her nose and saliva flooded her mouth. Laughter rang in her ears. The warmth of a fire embraced her brittle and aged bones. Before her was a vision of the last thanksgiving with her husband. It was a rare day when she was lucid and had most of her memories. Their children had all been unable to come home that year so it was a quiet Thanksgiving for just the two of them.

Her husband wanted to experiment with deep frying the turkey that year. It was very nearly burnt but full of flavor and moist as a morning lawn. They laughed about the outwardly appearance of the cooked bird. This was the last time Beatrice was able to remember her husband before he died.

Back in her time Beatrice pulled her hand away from the turkeys head. Around the room she looked, anxious to find the next object. Instead she heard a steady dripping sound coming from the direction of the kitchen. Curious, she sought out the cause. Above the kitchen table a hanging light was affixed to the ceiling. Hanging from the hanging light was an icicle.

Bewildered, Beatrice approached the slowly melting ice. A small pool of water was collecting on top of the old wooden table. She held her hand under the icicle, palm up, and a drop of water splashed into her open hand.

The room was gone and replaced by white powdery snow. Beatrice could see her daughter licking an icicle like a popsicle. The warmth of the sight of her daughter washed over Beatrice despite the cold of the snow. The crunch of a snowball hitting the back of the little girls head reached Beatrice’s ears. She turns and sees her son hiding behind a snow bank giggling. A young Beatrice walks to the little girl and holds her, stemming the flow of tears. She whispers something into the girls ear and wily smile brightens her face. The little girl reaches down and gathers snow to make her own snowball. She runs after her brother throwing snow.

This was Beatrice’s favorite memory of her children, a family snow trip for Christmas. She then remembers that this was a memory that she struggled to hold on to for as long as possible. The memory faded fifteen years ago.

When Beatrice returned to her beach home she found the rest of the objects, each one taking her into the past to relive a memory that formed the foundation of her life. A bowl of quinoa took her to a dinner with her mother, a gobstopper candy transported her to the premier of Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. Each memory formed a web in her mind that began to draw other memories into her mind.

Exhausted from her trip across time Beatrice fell into her lazy boy chair. On the tv PBS was on. PBS was always on. Beatrice’s husband would always have it on and despite her lack of memory Beatrice would always have to have it on after he died. This time Sesame Street was on. Cookie Monster turned and looked right at Beatrice.

“Hello Beatrice,” said Cookie Monster.

“Hello Cookie Monster,” replied Beatrice.

“Are you ready now?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice closed her eyes



Reference:
Guy, Rodney (2012). OJ#3. Full Sail University Creative Writing Online Journal 3, retrieved from http://course.online.fullsail.edu/index.cfm?fuseaction=lms.activitiesDiscussion&activityId=746384&deliveryId=1497992



Creative Skills Development: Online Journal #3

Today is the last day of my Creative Skills Development class so I'll be posting the rest of my assignments for everyone to read. And by everyone I mean my 2 subscribers! This assignment was to look at the picture below and answer questions about the character as we see them. Most people in class saw an old widowed woman with Alzheimer's.




Here are my answers:


Q: Who is she?
A: This is Jimmi “Shakes,” a transvestite with epilepsy and a drug problem.

Q: Where does she live?
A: She lives in Las Vegas, NV.

Q: What does she want?
A: She wants to have her own headlining act at The Sands casino. The Sands was closed in 1996.

Q: What does she need?
A: She needs a chance to be understood, serious mental/medical care, and a sympathetic ear.

Q: What does she do and why?
A: She sings in dirty dive bars. She’s not paid. She just sings from a bar stool until they throw her out or some seedy patron with a pocket full of cash and a ball of meth convinces her to go back to a dirty motel. Her habit and dreams of a life that never could have been hers drag her to bar after bar, jumping from room to room and from fix to fix.

Q: Does she perceive herself as a success or a failure? Why?
A: She perceives herself as a success waiting to happen. She doesn’t realize how old she is or how bad her life is. She believes that every horrible situation she finds herself in is taking her just one step closer to her dream. Drugs, mental disorder, and sexual/emotional abuse, delude her into believing all this.

Q: What was, is, or will be her defining moment?
A: When she was 25 years old Jimmi fell in love with a “Made Man.” This wise guy secretly took Jimmi on as his lover. He promised Jimmi the world. He told Jimmi that she would have her own show and that she would headline every night. He gave Jimmi drugs to keep her quite and obedient. When Jimmi got impatient with unfulfilled promises she confronted Jimmi in front of some of his “friends” Jimmi repaid her by beating her into a coma. He never spoke to Jimmi again. Jimmi never fully recovered emotional from the attack.