It may be frosty out there but spring is coming. See? These are in front of Jenny's house. It's warmer there, evidently.
Even though neither of us were uber-inspired by our Bananagrams words, I still enjoyed writer's last night. I hope you did too. I believe every little exercise, even the not so successful ones, pushes me closer to being a better writer. Today the pitch synopsis gets it! I'll post it later this weekend for comments, so Jennifer and Jenny, be ready.
March 20--Amadeo Modigliani, Paul Guillaume, Novo Pilota. Paul Guillaume walks around the city in his black suit and fedora, his shirt is very white and held in place by a generously tied necktie of muted navy and red. Nothing splashy about him but still he catches the eye. Maybe it's the cut of his suit, "so narrow and Italian," Jean says to her friend Beth with a sigh, as if Italian suits bestow a certain extra sex appeal on the wearer. Maybe it's that hat cocked at the tiniest of rakish angles giving lie to the overall banker-ish look of the man. Or maybe it's his strong cheekbones and chiseled chin or the cigarette held too long in his surprisingly thick fingers. No one guesses that Paul Guillaume, mystery man, is really Paul Williams from White Lake, a little town up north, who graduated one-hundred thirty-seventh in his class of one-hundred forty-two, wearing his uncle's suit and hat, and in town to interview for a job at Happy Harmon's Ten Pin Tap & Airfield.
I think the painting looks like Johnny Depp. He's so little and naughty looking. *sigh* Stay warm and happy first day of Spring!
--Barbara
Even though neither of us were uber-inspired by our Bananagrams words, I still enjoyed writer's last night. I hope you did too. I believe every little exercise, even the not so successful ones, pushes me closer to being a better writer. Today the pitch synopsis gets it! I'll post it later this weekend for comments, so Jennifer and Jenny, be ready.
March 20--Amadeo Modigliani, Paul Guillaume, Novo Pilota. Paul Guillaume walks around the city in his black suit and fedora, his shirt is very white and held in place by a generously tied necktie of muted navy and red. Nothing splashy about him but still he catches the eye. Maybe it's the cut of his suit, "so narrow and Italian," Jean says to her friend Beth with a sigh, as if Italian suits bestow a certain extra sex appeal on the wearer. Maybe it's that hat cocked at the tiniest of rakish angles giving lie to the overall banker-ish look of the man. Or maybe it's his strong cheekbones and chiseled chin or the cigarette held too long in his surprisingly thick fingers. No one guesses that Paul Guillaume, mystery man, is really Paul Williams from White Lake, a little town up north, who graduated one-hundred thirty-seventh in his class of one-hundred forty-two, wearing his uncle's suit and hat, and in town to interview for a job at Happy Harmon's Ten Pin Tap & Airfield.
I think the painting looks like Johnny Depp. He's so little and naughty looking. *sigh* Stay warm and happy first day of Spring!
--Barbara
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