Forty Pounds

Holy heifer... I won!

Pauline Campos, our very own @aspiringmama, is running an essay contest on her Aspiring Mama site for mothers to share their stories of postpartum weight loss.  Gee, an opportunity to reveal how fat I got... how could I resist?

Apparently, I was either the best essay writer, or I gained more weight than any other entrant.  Regardless, check out my jiggle journey and read for yourself:

Baby F(Ph)at Winner #1: Forty Pounds

If you're a mom with a story to share, don't forget to enter her ongoing monthly contest.  Let the phat mama reign!

I will not read your f*cking script or manuscript... until June

By now, I’m confident most of you have heard about Josh Olsen’s blog in The Village Voice, “I Will Not Read Your F*cking Script”.  While I find his lack of tact or ability to give back distasteful, I’m going to join him in saying “no” to reading your f*cking script (or manuscript)... for the next six months.

I need your help in keeping that promise to myself.  I can’t do this without you.

Here’s the deal: I am a disease-to-please, insane giver.  I didn’t come upon the title of Twitter Pimp Angel by being selfish, you know.  It’s because I promote others, put fellow writers’ needs first, and give of myself until my pimp feet ache that I am in the position of spending hours a day reading and giving feedback to my posse of wonderful and talented writers. 

The reality is, I have a May deadline to submit the script Doug and I are writing to the Sundance Screenwriter’s Lab.  Our adaptation of Doug's Pulitzer-winning Slavery by Another Name has to be my number one priority.  At this juncture, it is essential to my well-being and professional goals to be selfish. 

Sure, being one of twelve scripts selected is a long shot, but if you know me at all, you know odds don’t scare me.  I believe in the impossible.  Danny Brown recently taught me that “IMpossible” should be interpreted as “I’M possible”.   In order for me to reach my goal, I can’t stand in my own way.

Therefore, Doug and I are going for the brass ring.  If we don’t get Willy Wonka’s golden ticket, it won’t be because we didn’t eat every chocolate bar in sight while writing our fingers to the bone.  Submitting a polished, moving script to Sundance is more important to me than a big, feathery pimp fedora.   If you have any doubt how committed I am, please know I have tears in my eyes as I write this.  Not being able to fully support my fellow writers is extremely difficult for me.

So if you love me; if you want to see your pimp succeed, please, I beg you, don’t ask me to read your f*cking script.  Hold on to it, and I promise I will consider reading as many as I can in June.  Above all, know that I do support you; I do love you; I do want you to be the best writer you can possibly be, but I can’t give any more of myself than I’m giving at this moment. 

My brutally honest, raw feedback will be here waiting for you… in June. 

It ain’t easy for a pimp to ask for help, but I’m asking.  Help me.


*I haven't completely gone on the selfish, self-obsessed train ride... I still want to read all of your blogs, so @ me on Twitter with your latest posts.  I'll read, comment, and pimp until my hat falls off.