First, a disclaimer: This is not a paid advertisement. I don’t need the FTC breathing down my neck. I’m not that big an influencer.
Now, onto the goodness. Earlier this week, I received my Erin Condren monthly planner — the “Life in Little Squares” edition — which was customized with photos of my own choosing. The photos show several facets of personality: my love for L.A., for film, for food, for Rihanna. There’s a photo of me showing a little school spirit, throwing up the “U” as I stand in front of the U Statue at the University of Miami’s Rock Plaza.
Other pics: the evolution of my first novel, Guestlist; a Lamborghini; a cold, delicious beer at a golden-hued bar; and one of the last photos of my mother and I.
Continue reading “I Really Dig My Erin Condren Planner”
I’m so sorry, Prof. Capewell. I truly apologize.
You see, George Capewell was one of my film professors at the University of Miami — in fact, he was my very first one. Intro to Film or some such was the course. And, being the big-ass film geek that I am, I did pretty well in his class. And, also, being one of the very, very, very few Black kids enrolled in the university’s film school at the time, I was, well, a standout.
Capewell and I developed a great relationship, and so it got to the point where I asked if he would read my recently completed screenplay, Music City Rhapsody. Despite the title, it was not a musical paean to Nashville; it was, rather, an American Pie-esque teen comedy about how I lost my virginity.
*sigh* Yeah, I know.
Continue reading “I’m Sorry, Professor Capewell”