Dec 28, 2009

See...

Zoe Saldana in "Avatar." 
Heading home from the midwest.  After the icestorm, blizzard and freezing temps, I can't wait to hit the beach! Even 2,000 miles away from Hollywood though, I couldn't escape its influence.

After being snowed in more than a day, we decided to venture out to the theater in my sister's SUV. I was outvoted on which movie to see. Avatar 3D: 5 votes; Princess & the Frog1 vote.

The sci-fi flick tells the story of a blue-skinned tribe whose planet is threatened by humans. It follows two characters' journey from enemies to lovers.

When they first meet, the Na'vi being calls the Avatar/human man foolish. "You don't see," she tells him.

As I sat in the theater adjusting my 3D glasses, I kept thinking about that line for some reason.

James Cameron, the director who brought Titanic to the big screen, started developing Avatar nearly 15 years ago. Cameron said he couldn't produce the movie until now because, "technology needed to catch up."

Fifteen years from conception to realization.

"I see you," the Na'vi woman and the Avatar whisper after falling in love.
Zoe Saldana. Photo:  Plastic Pals
So maybe that's the point - love sees. Sees the craftsman who carries a dream for years without quitting even though the tools don't yet exist to bring it to life. Sees the pioneer who embraces the unseen, believing one day there will be a finished product. Sees the artist who, though the vision tarries, waits for it.

As we left the theater I thought, "I, too, want to see."

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Dec 13, 2009

Superheroes

Tobey McGuire stars as "Spiderman."  Photo: Oh My Magazine

"Can you be at the casting studio at 2:30?" my agent asked. "Sure," I said. Checking my email, I saw a problem.  The director wanted to see tall actors for a role opposite a Superhero. Though only 5'2," I knew I could nail the part: She's tough, lean and statuesque.  So I put on my 4" heels and strutted to the audition.

The director liked my audition. I would love to be cast as the Superhero. Who said crimefighters have to be tall? Tobey Maguire is only 5'8" and that didn't stop him from becoming Spiderman.

I was one of those kids who honestly believed that I was born with superhuman powers. Accompanied by my Superdoll, Dusty, I would climb the highest trees, whip bullies on the playground, race cars on my bike - all in training to save mankind.

I would tie a makeshift parachute to Dusty and throw her off a cliff into a pile of leaves (some stunts I knew better than to risk myself) to make her fly. 


One awful day, Dusty missed the landing pad. She crashed with a horrific snap on the concrete. Her head snapped off with a "pop" like the sound of someone prying off a bottle cap.

"Your dad came home to find you prostrated with grief," my mother recalls. "He got a shoebox and shovel and out to the backyard went gravedigger and chief mourner. The beheaded dolly was buried amid tears and deep sorrow."

She bought me a new doll but it was never the same as Dusty. 

That day I learned even Superheroes are mortal.

These days my definition of a Superhero is different. They're the ones whose faith births miracles.  Who love the unlovable. Who remain hidden so others can shine. 


Their courage produces a divine exchange: beauty for ashes; joy for sorrow; strength for weakness. Their names are Melissa, Steve, Phil, Esther, Jackie...friends who's hearts are set ablaze with a vision to rock the world with their gifts.

Oh, in my heart I still dream of whipping bad guys and ridding the world of evil. And if the call comes to play a Superhero, a less-than-statuesque physique won't stop me any more than it did Tobey.  Besides, like the world's top webslinger, I'm a journalist - already have the perfect cover.


www.facebook.com/shayholland

Dec 6, 2009

Rebirth

Looking out the window, I was surprised to see leaves falling from a tree. I live at the ocean surrounded mostly by palms and evergreens.  Early darkness is one of the only signs of the seasons changing.

I don't miss winter. 
Back in the midwest, covering the crime beat for TV news often meant spending hours outside in blizzard conditions; murders, fires, kidnappings - they don't stop for winter.

My photographer and I once got stranded in an icestorm when our satellite truck's mast froze in the air (a safety device keeps the truck from moving unless the mast is down).

No matter how hard Mike hacked away at the ice, the mast would refreeze faster than he could scrape.

We were stuck. Frostbite. Hypothermia. Possibly freezing to death...

We put in an emergency call to highway patrol. "The roads are impassable," the dispatcher couldn't tell when help would rescue us. "We've got to try to reach the accidents first."

We'd be ok as long as we had gas to run the heater.  A State Trooper eventually saved us.

We endured a brutal, fatal winter that year. I left soon afterward and never moved back.

Hollywood lately has felt like winter - barren. bleak. destiny choked under a mound of frozen dirt.

But watching those leaves fall reminded me that there's a season for all things. We survive the storms. Barrenness yields to rebirth. Hold on to the promise as long as it takes.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Dec 1, 2009

Love Affairs

Tiger Woods. Photo: The Guardian
I wish it wasn't true, all the rumors about Tiger Woods and his alleged lovers. I promised not to write about sex and affairs and the wreckage you see in Hollywood but the topic keeps coming up.

Actually, it seems most people I know are longing for so much more in relationships.

It's easy to fall in love in Hollywood. Problem is it's usually not real love. obsession. creative synergy. sex addiction...

But so few of us seem to know what true love is that it's hard to tell the counterfeit.

"True love is often unglamorous," my friend Karin said. It often can't sustain the passion, heat and intensity of lust or a love affair born out of birthing a vision with someone.

You may be making a feature film together or putting on a charity fundraiser - it's easy to fall for your co-creator. even if one of you is married.  Creative connection - the reason so many actors jump from one bed to another.

So how do you know true love versus the fake? Well, I guess we're going on a journey to find out.

And just for the record, I don't advocate whacking a cheating spouse with a golf club. Abuse is never right in any relationship. Tell someone if it's happening to you.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Nov 23, 2009

Cops, Robbers and Bunnies

We all know God could have stopped Adam and Eve from eating the forbidden fruit. But He didn’t. Free will

Choice is a tricky thing; Adam and Eve missed their full potential because of it. I know I’m not the only one who can relate.

In second grade I wrote a story about a bunny that my teacher submitted to a publisher. I remember the principal and teacher waiting for me in the hall. I thought I was in trouble.

Instead, they said the publisher wanted to turn my story into a book. “They want you to write about what happens to the bunny after he goes in his hole,” my teacher said excitedly.

I froze. Pitch black darkness, that’s what happens. Maybe the bunny dies down there

“I don’t know what happens,” I said. Second grade and already paralyzed by the fear of failure.

Years later as a TV crime reporter, I’d graduated from writing about bunnies to writing about burglars and bank robbers. The networks soon came calling.

“We have a position for you,” said Joan at CBS New York. Instantly, I was back in second grade. 

Pitch black darkness. Maybe the bunny dies

“I just started my job," I said. It’s too cold there.” Lame excuses.

“You have to write about it,” my friend Maria urged, “It's relevant. Overcoming fear is part of the process." 

Deal with it, she insists, "because something big is coming for you. I can feel it.”

So maybe destiny is more grace than choice - offering courage to overcome fear. Destiny. Free will. Opportunity. This time I will say yes.

Oh, and what was the bunny doing in his hole?  Dancing, of course.

Nov 17, 2009

Running Away

Maria Peterson Photography
Once when I was about seven years old, I ran away from home. Took my bike. And my little brother. Didn't occur to me we'd need food. or water. or money. 

I had found a place for us to live - an old, abandoned gym near our house. One of the windows was busted out and we could slip in through there. 

Didn't occur to me it was breaking and entering.

We made it to the building five blocks away before our older sister chased us down on her bike. "You're in big trouble," she declared triumphantly. 


The gig was up 30 minutes later.  

Funny thing is I really thought we'd be gone forever. Just me. My bike. And my little brother.

Lately I've felt like running away...one of those seasons where everything within is  screams for change. Movement. Breakthrough. 


Yet life feels confined. Limited. Stifled by lack of opportunity to fully engage the creative self.

Problem is when you're an adult, running away isn't nearly as simple as when you're seven and all you want is a bike and a companion. Adulthood complicates things. What about my apartment? My job? Where will I sleep? Is it really running away if the Facebook universe can find me?

So instead of running away, I wait for the vision to come to pass. Try not to despise the small beginnings. Cling to Faith. Being sure of what I hope for and certain of what I do not see. 


Besides, I don't think my brother would go for breaking and entering anymore.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Nov 11, 2009

Honor


Dear Hero,

I remember the first time I saw the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. I scanned the thousands of names. put my hand out. touched the smooth, cold granite. cried tears of relief at the miracle that your name is not written there. 


I'm so grateful you came home from the battlefield.

I can't imagine the sacrifices you've made for me to grow up free; in a country where I as a black woman can vote, drive a car, worship - freedoms I've tried not to take for granted.

When I was a kid, you would take me with you when you trained the Army recruits. You saw that I had courage (reckless at times!) and let me train alongside the soldiers.  Rock climbing, flying in helicopters, learning to handle a weapon...

Remember the day I fell rappelling? All you could do was watch as my body slammed into the rocks until the safety rope pulled taut. Miraculously, not one broken bone. You've been like that safety rope - pulling taut when I stumble but never stopping me from climbing.

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I asked what you would say if you had to address the nation. You answered, "God bless the USA." 


You've fought the good fight and today you would still die for this country. Major, you are an amazing man.

Happy Veteran's Day, Dad,
Your Butterfly

(2008 to my father who fought for our freedom for more than two decades and would re-enlist now in his '70's...if the military would let him.)



www.facebook.com/shayholland

Nov 3, 2009

Red Carpets & Cattle Calls

Cattle call audition - about as far from the red carpet as talent can get in Hollywood. Wisegeek calls it, "an audition in which hundreds or even thousands of performers vie for roles. The chances of winning a major role through a cattle call are notoriously slim."

I stood in line with dozens of actors and models crammed into the poorly-ventilated waiting room for a shot at a national print campaign - and a big payday. 


Knowing most of us would get cut in the first round, waiting almost didn't seem worth the cost of the Sunset Boulevard parking garage.  

Some actors left rather than sit around for hours.

This is the first time I've experienced the LA cattle call. As I debated whether to stay or not, a word popped into my head: perseverance.

"Someone's going to book this gig," I thought, "Someone who perseveres."


So I pulled out my phone, clicked on Facebook and waited for my few seconds in front of the camera. Number 1104.

It's been said Hollywood kills far more dreams than it brings to life. I'm not so sure about that. I wonder if it's just that far more dreamers quit than persevere.

"Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go." 

~William Feather


www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 30, 2009

Sure, Honey, I can Ride a Bull

Wedded bliss. Exchanging keys to each others'  hearts.  Everything's fresh and new. Feels like the honeymoon will last forever. 

Until deception kicks in. 

So my fake/actor husband, Dwayne, and I were auditioning for this national commercial and the casting director made us swear we weren't allergic to the product. 


My husband was probably lying.

Dwayne confessed to me that he's been dishonest before in auditions. One role he booked called for swimming in the ocean but the director decided to shoot Dwayne's scenes in a boat instead. 


Lucky for Dwayne. The truth is Sugar Daddy Dwayne can't even dog paddle

I asked Dwayne what he would have done if the director had wanted him to swim. 

"Well, no way I was jumping in the water!"  he said.  

He didn't even have an excuse ready, like he spotted a shark in the water.

Yes, people make up stuff on resumes. Happens all the time. Even though the potential to get caught is pretty high for actors, we still say,  "Sure, I ride [check one: ___skateboards, ___motorcycles, ___bulls] like a pro."

What if Dwayne and I book this gig but he has a seizure because it turns out he IS allergic to the product? We'll BOTH get fired because we were hired as a COUPLE.


So my advice, husbands and wives?  Don't lie. Don't cheat. Safeguard the keys to each other's hearts. Learn to swim. Forget bull riding.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 27, 2009

Mercy

I wanted to be honest in my blog so some posts like this one deal with violence, sex, drugs.

Second Chances
I'm trying to remember the name of that TV show about a girl who encounters God in the people she meets. Something like that happened to me recently.

I was at a Hollywood lounge to meet a friend and ran into a guy who'd tried to pick me up the first time we'd met - clumsily fueled by too much booze.

He was apologetic this time so we started talking. He thought that given my background as a crime reporter, I might be interested in helping him write new parole legislation.


"You honestly believe most criminals can be rehabilitated?" I challenged. 

"You don't?" he countered.

Jaded as it may seem, there's only one story I covered where I felt the criminal deserved another chance...

why did you kill that kid?
It was my first time inside a prison. I felt vulnerable stripping off my coat, purse and jewelry in front of security guards. Sounds of clanging metal bars.  Inmates cat-calling as guards led us to a cell for supervised visits.

My photographer and I were shooting a sweeps series about juvenile crime.  Prison officials had agreed to let us interview one of the state's youngest inmates ever to be sentenced as an adult.


Guards brought him to the room in leg and arm shackles. I was shocked. He couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds.  He looked about 14.

We didn't have much time so I got straight to the point, talking the street language we both understood. 


"What gang?" I asked. 

"Crips," he said.

"Why'd you kill that kid?" I asked. 


"'Cuz he shot my dog," he answered.

I didn't have any more questions.  We both got it. His unspoken words had told the whole story:  That kid killed the only thing that was mine

Street justice.

I stayed in touch with Anthony the next few years on the pretense he was a valuable source into the gangs I covered. Really, we were becoming friends.
One of Anthony's drawings about his life in prison
Anthony would draw to pass the time in prison. Sketches of cops handcuffing a boy. A pregnant girlfriend. Christ on a cross. A tearful boy becoming a man behind barbed wire fences.  

Images of his life. 

My stories with Anthony caught the attention of a college that thought he could qualify for a long-distance program for artists. Anthony gave me some drawings to say thank you.

making peace
Years later I wonder if I failed Anthony. I'd been one of his only advocates. When I quit the crime beat, I quit on him in a way. Sure, he owed something for the life he took but..."he shot my dog..."

"You have to make peace with your past," the man's voice broke into my thoughts. "Most of us who deal with criminals have to accept the fact that justice isn't always clear."


I think that man was Mercy. He was telling me it's ok not to know if Anthony deserved to live or die for his crime. Mercy doesn't even the score. Mercy clears the scorecard and forgives the past.

Anthony, I hope you made it.


www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 20, 2009

Popping Pills

Heath Ledger 1979 - 2008. Photo:  FanPop
Got quite a greeting from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in years. "I heard you'd become a drug addict," Julie told me.

Despite some pretty self-destructive behavior growing up, heaven must have assigned an army of angels to keep me from popping or injecting all the drugs I've been offered.
I've worked at TV stations across the country - yet I've never seen as much drug abuse as in LA, especially the prescription kind.

This Hollywood exec I know is a walking pharmaceutical ad: stress meds, anti-depressants, diet pills, sleeping pills...one accidental OD away from death.
She told me she wants off all the pills but can't cope without them. Once when she left a prescription vial on her desk, I wrote down the doctor's name. You know, in case she died. And there was an investigation...

I've lost track of her but hear through the grapevine she's doing alright.
The desire to escape. Most of us get it. So did Heath Ledger. Michael Jackson. Anna Nicole Smith. River Phoenix. Chris Farley. Kurt Cobain -  artists forever silenced by drugs. Anna Nicole once told a reporter, "Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and will always be." I hope she's finally found the peace no pill can offer.

By the way, Julie, the closest I've come to being a drug addict was auditioning to play one in the movie, Rent.  They didn't cast me.  Guess the director felt I wasn't really believable as a crackhead since I edited out all the foul language.

And thanks for the angel army, God.


www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 15, 2009

Eye Candy

photo by Favim
Some people are born for Hollywood: perfect specimens of the human race. As I was reminded at a recent audition, I am not one of them.

A woman with a tape measure met us at the sign-in table. Actors usually just fill out a size card: height, weight, bust, hips, hat size. 

Sometimes there's a scale in the room but that's rare. We're trusted to give accurate measurements because if we book the role and the wardrobe doesn't fit, there might not be a payday.

The tape measure felt like a judge. Everyone knows curvy women are seldom cast as eye candy and here I was having a full-sized flashback.

When I first started working in TV news, I honestly thought viewers would care more about my storylines than my waistline. I didn't worry about my size; I cam
e out of the womb BIG, the largest of five kids.

I lost weight after receiving some pretty humiliating comments from viewers.

Then there's hair and skin bias. Chris Rock's new film Good Hair reveals the ugly truth:  cain't be sportin' no nappy tresses or dark chocolate skin on TV.

Right after moving to LA, I saw a casting notice for a newscaster role.  I wanted to audition but the director only wanted to see "light-skinned" blacks. I pitched myself anyway and booked the part (Showfax magazine ran my story in an article here: http://more.showfax.com/columns/avoice/archives/2007_08_27.html).

So maybe I don't have the assets Hollywood covets:  fair skin. size zero hips. blonde hair. I'm ok with the image in the mirror. Oh sure, the booty's smaller these days but what's more important is the knowledge I do have:  no tape measure defines your value.



www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 9, 2009

Atonement

Long before Hollywood, my sights were set on a network news job in New York. I had no idea when I started writing this blog that moving into the present would require revisiting my past.

Soon after starting my first TV news job at a small NBC affiliate, I was assigned to cover a hostage standoff. Swat teams were negotiating with a man holding five children and a woman. Police thought the crisis would end quickly after the man, a family acquaintance, let one of the kids go.

As the standoff dragged on, I started drafting a script so I'd be ready to go on air as soon as it was over. A gunman has just released four children and a woman that he's been holding hostage in this house...I wrote, trying to get my headline just right.

Hours passed. Things grew quiet. The phone line went dead. After nearly a day with no response from the gunman, swat teams got ready to storm the house.


I don't remember exactly how we got the official word: "They're all dead."

The man must have herded the mom and kids into the basement and shot them before killing himself since no one heard any gun shots.

Escaping to one of the TV station's soundproof editing suites, I screamed, "No! That's not the ending I wrote, God!"

The murders pierced my heart with a pain I'd never known before. Somehow I felt responsible - not that I thought I was God and could script outcomes - but I'd expected the kids to come out alive, not in bodybags.

I had to meet with my producer but first I made a vow: I would never hurt like that again. Not for anyone. I willed my tears to dry up. From then on I would pursue justice armed with a news camera and a heart of stone.

Maybe I was trying to make atonement for those children's lives. Whatever the case, in time I, too, would become a hostage. Trapped. Unable to feel deeply. to cry. to love.

I opened the newscast on cue.  Six people, including four children, are dead tonight after a tragic ending to the hostage standoff we've been following.

I learned that day that a human life is worth a minute and 45 seconds on the nightly news.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Oct 7, 2009

Now You're in Love...Next!

Just finished a "go-see" (modeling audition) for a bank ad campaign. Nice gig that pays well if I book it.

I was supposed to audition alone but the photographer needed someone to partner with a male who might be cast.  Smart-looking, thin Asian guy, late 20s/early 30s. I was waiting for my audition so voila: petite black woman meet skinny Asian guy. 

"Oh," says the casting director, "you're in love."

First we had to pose in an embrace.  Awkward. We'd just met 30-seconds earlier.  But he was sweet and I liked him better than some of my real-life first dates. So we wrapped our arms around each other and smiled like we'd just had the best honeymoon sex ever.

Ms. Casting Director, however, felt we were stiff. "It's not a prom picture!"

Then she had us walk arm-in-arm, "Faster, faster!" she kept directing.  Not sure why; maybe we were supposed to be running back to the bridal suite?  

Amusing since my partner was about a foot taller than me even in heels.  I could barely match his stride without breaking into a horse trot.

The director seemed happy with our five minute audition, though. I've learned to let go of the outcome or the constant re-play in your head can drive you crazy.

Some actors hate auditioning but I don't mind not knowing what to expect in the room. I thrive on spontaneity, probably because of my breaking news background. Sure, I get nervous - especially on those days when LA traffic is snarled practically to Mexico and I'm anxious about getting to the casting studio. 

But those brief moments in the room help make the waiting and disappointment and hope deferred worth it. Next!

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Sep 28, 2009

Girly Girls and Tomboys

I'm still trying to decide whether to keep blogging. It seems a bit narcissistic and I'm not sure I want my thoughts archived for just anyone to read. Some friends have encouraged me to keep writing though, so here goes.

A lot of people told me it was crazy risky to head for an unknown future in Hollywood. Maybe they were right, based on some of the advice I've been getting.

So I've been advised to look more "Hollywood" - closer to how directors would cast me. 


The problem is my outside says "girly girl" - not just any girly girl, the PERKY one - but my inside still screams tomboy.  Don't let my curves and sweet demeanor fool you.

I was such a tomboy growing up that I'd charge girls a nickel for "protection" on the grade school playground.  For five cents, I'd threaten the boys with boxing moves my dad taught me if they tried to peek under the girls' dresses to see their underpants.

I was pretty intimidating. So strong and fast and TALL (early growth spurt) that our sixth grade teacher even gave me my own gym class along with her son. Brett and I were the biggest kids in school; teachers were afraid we might accidentally maim the other kids kicking a soccer ball or tackling them.

My self-image apparently remains rooted back on the playground (though I haven't threatened to beat anyone up. lately).  


Still, my acting coach is encouraging me to work on the girly stuff.  You know: wearing more makeup; slapping extensions in the hair; wearing more form-fitting clothes - the kind of stuff that matters immensely in Hollywood.  

And so I'm reminded of a viewer's advice at my first TV job. She'd written a note on a Kleenex saying: "Honey, blot your lips!"  

So here I am in Hollywood. Finally blotting.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Sep 22, 2009

Concealed Evidence

Funny how your past intrudes into your present in the most awkward ways. This post might seem morbid but it's not meant to be; in my heart is something redemptive but I can't fully articulate it.

Recently I was with some friends from college and we started talking about the Yale grad student who was found murdered in a campus lab. The murder at a sister Ivy League school left us speculating on a motive and whether the attack was premeditated.

"The killer would have come up with a better plan to get rid of the body if he had planned it," I spoke up. "He would have known blood stains are hard to clean."


Awkward silence. You could tell everyone was trying to figure out why I knew so much about hiding dead bodies.

As a crime reporter, I had spent hundreds of hours at murder scenes, talked to countless homicide detectives, interviewed dozens of victims' families. I was the first journalist invited into a Parents of Murdered Children meeting after covering a story about a girl whose body was found ditched along a California highway. She'd met the wrong person...

Back to the conversation about the Yale victim. She had been working on cutting edge medical research; she was getting married in a few days. 


As our group sat 3,000 miles away discussing her fate, it struck me that maybe there's a reason I've spent so much time covering horrific crimes. I don't know what it is yet but maybe there's something redemptive in those places of darkness.

Concealed evidence. 


Maybe our pasts hold clues about our destiny until we're ready to step into something greater.

www.facebook.com/shayholland

Sep 18, 2009

Blot Your Lips!

Photo:  Melran. Etsy
"Blot Your Lips!" is about living life beautifully - hearts set ablaze. Words. Images. Inspiration.  It's also about chasing an impossible dream that took me from a small Bible Belt town to Hollywood.

The name, "Blot Your Lips!" came from my first TV job fresh out of journalism school.  I was hired as a reporter at a midwestern NBC affiliate that was surrounded by cornfields. Really. 

On slow news days - when a tornado didn't rip through a mobile home park or a freight train derail - I would catch up on notes from viewers with our evening anchor, Pam. 

One viewer wanted to make sure she got our attention.  She had mailed a crisply-folded white Kleenex with these words written on it in bold, red marker: "Honey, blot your lips!"  Below the words, she had demonstrated the perfect blotting technique.

Instead of throwing the note away, Pam pinned it up on our newsroom  bulletin board. She wanted to keep it as a reminder to check each other's makeup and hair before we went on air.  Our station was too small to afford stylists so we were on our own.

Some nights we would simply ask each other, "Blot?"  It was our code for, "Do I look ok?"

Pam taught me that we don't have to be enemies even if we're competing for the same spotlight. And she taught me how to stay beautiful even when people do ugly things to pull you down.

I hope she kept that Kleenex. And I hope here you will find words, images, inspiration that set your heart ablaze.

www.facebook.com/shayholland