A few years ago, while studying poetry in San Jose State's MFA program, I began writing a collection of short stories titled, "We All Tell Stories Well." The theme of the collection had to do with the "power of lying" and why people tell lies. In writing the stories for this collection (so far I have two) I didn't want to dive too deep in the muddy psychological or philosophical waters of why people lie (childhood trauma, compulsion, called "fat jelly bean" too many times in elementary school). Rather, I wanted to focus on stories where people lie and the great fabrications that people of all ages can come up with when trying to achieve some goal.

After attending the Screenwriting Expo in LA this past weekend, I started thinking more about how lies that characters tell make up the bedrock of so many great conflicts in screenplays. Think about the last movie that you saw, wasn't there some sort of lie involved? Often times we think of a lie as being malicious; a falsehood that people tell to avoid trouble or to crawl their way out of it (outer journey). Still, not all lies have a malicious external impact. Many people tell lies to escape inner pain or heighten the joy snuggled on the inside  (inner journey). I would agree with the large number of active screenwriters and Hollywood film consultants in that the inner journey and outer journey must work with each other, further, external lies are not amorphous and usually reflect something deep (a lie) embedded within.

Hopefully, I'll find time to get back to We All Tell Stories Well, but for now, I'm trapped in the tangled web of my screenplay, The Whiskey Runner -- loving every minute of it.

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Over the past couple of months, I've moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles, re-embarked on a solo music career, challenged myself to write my first screenplay in 3-months, and met some amazing people that have helped me to refocus this blog, yet again.

In the process of shedding off all of the crazy band experiences that I've been in and the ego-filled and humble-less musicians that I've worked with, I realized that the only time that I was truly happy playing music was when I was a singer-songwriter, banging songs out on my acoustic guitar. Back in 2000, I begin playing the guitar after begging my father to buy me an acoustic Alvarez from Sam Ash (I was obsessed with Ani Difranco back then, so I just had to have her brand of guitar). My father never failed to indulge me and I thank him for that; and I thank my parents for indulging the awful sound of some badly written tunes. I literally played til my fingers bled, but out of those 6hr-7hr stints of just banging and playing and banging, my voice truly came through and grew. I met a dynamic writing partner and thinker, Hakhi Alakhun, who I want to thank for helping me grow as a singer, thinker and overall musician.

So nine years and four-to-five bands later (I've lost count), I'm back at the guitar, banging it out and trying to get my callouses back - and it feels like I've never left it. The songs are pouring out of me, maybe because I've found true love in my husband, Michael Martin (I give thanks), maybe its because I have refocused my poetic hand to screenplays and loving every minute of it (I give thanks), maybe its because I'm digging into my soul and uncovering beautiful crystals and moons and "pluto is a planet" and the truh over the truth over joy over joy (I give thanks). Maybe its just that I've accepted that life is a spiral, circling upwards and upwards. It goes with out saying that change is a process that can hurt deeply, but I give thanks that in the process of change, the soul is being refined. And in the process, my fire has never died.

I am currently working on a solo album called, "Wishful Thinking" and a screenplay entitled "The Whiskey Runner."

"Write at least a song a day for 30-days then come back to me with last 3 you've written" - Music Industry Exec. that I met in 2006.