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Taco Bell again?…!

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So, it goes like this . . .

Taco Bell again?…My son’s definitely a connoisseur of fine dining. Three tacos and a crunchwrap, please.

UGH Please!

xoxo

Belle

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And, of course, watch my Skydiving Video.

MOFILM First Place Winner, onto Austin, then Barcelona!

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So, it goes like this . . .

I have to tell you that last weekend was incredible!

MOFILM competition sort of fell into my lap last Sunday where well over 100 people came together To make a MOFILM Short Commercial for a hired client.

Sorry, I can tell you who it is.   ;-)

Do you want to know why?

Because we won FIRST PLACE!

And now we are going on to the competition in Austin at the SXSW level, and then on to Barcelona, Spain!

Hell-0-0 – I hear Barcelona calling me!

Yeh-eah!

Let me tell you how it went…

We showed up at 9 AM at location in Los Angeles

Where at approximately 9:15 we were told who the client was, what they were seeking, and who their market was.

Pretty cool!

But then the work began…

We had to form teams with people we didn’t even know! (Teams of 5 only)

We had to come up with an idea that would capture the client issues and needs

We had to formulate that idea into a script

We had to cast it

We had to go on location

We had to shoot it

Arturo Toledo and I in the shot for our MOFILM victory commercial

Arturo Toledo and I in the shot for our MOFILM victory commercial

We had to come back and edit it

ALL BY 4 PM ON THE SAME DAY!

HOLY CRAP!

Let’s just say that we, (I and my team of 4 others — Arturo, Bill, Christine, Marilu and myself! AAAAAh!)…

WE DID IT!

WE WON FIRST PLACE!

And, I won a Sony Camera… not too shabby!

Stay tuned!

xoxo

Belle

www.BelleKarper.com

FIRST PLACE WINNER - MOFILM Los Angeles, Next SXSW competition in Austin, then Barcelona, Spain!

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author

Finalist 2011 Top 25 Semi-Finalist Los Angeles Comedy Festival

Finalist 2011 10th FilmMakers International Screenwriting Awards (1st Round Qualifier — Still in Running)

Finalist 2011 New York City Gotham Film Festival – Final 5th Place Comedy

Finalist and 1st Runner Up Screenwriting Comp

Top 24 Finalist Los Angeles Reel Film Festival 2011

Contest Top 20 Finalist Atlanta PeachTree Film Festival 2011

Top 24 Finalist SkyFest Film Festival 2011

— Announcing  “PICKLED TINK” — Screwball Comedy Screenplay!   Belle Karper,

— Announcing  “MAKING UP WITH MORTELLA” — Dark Comedy about Good and Evil, the magic of MakeUp and the Beauty of the Heart.

Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com                         Email Belle@BelleKarper.com
WHY THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - The Ridiculous Escapades of Belle Karper on YouTube!

All on Website
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BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

And, of course, watch my Skydiving Video.

Music Jams it out in Calabasas, Yo.

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So, it goes like this . . .

Working on the music today, y’all.

Slamming jams this way and that!

Watch out for flying beats and crescendos!

xoxo

Belle

www.BelleKarper.com

And, of course, watch my Skydiving Video.

AAAAAAAAH!

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author  Bookmark and Share

Finalist 2011 Top 25 Semi-Finalist Los Angeles Comedy Festival

Finalist 2011 10th FilmMakers International Screenwriting Awards (1st Round Qualifier — Still in Running)

Finalist 2011 New York City Gotham Film Festival – Final 5th Place Comedy

Top 24 Finalist Los Angeles Reel Film Festival 2011

Top 20 Finalist Atlanta Film Festival 2011

Top 24 Finalist SkyFest Film Festival 2011

Finalist and 1st Runner-Up in Broad Humor Film Festival Screenwriting Contest

— Announcing “PICKLED TINK” — Screwball Comedy Screenplay!   Belle Karper, Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com                         Email Belle@BelleKarper.com
WHY THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - The Ridiculous Escapades of Belle Karper on YouTube!

All on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in! Add to Technorati Favorites
BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

Skydiving Free-fall — Shock and Awe! AAAAAH!

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So, it goes like this . . .

AAAAAAAAH!

xoxo

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winning Author  Bookmark and Share

Finalist 2011 Top 25 Semi-Finalist Los Angeles Comedy Festival (Still in Running)

Finalist 2011 10th FilmMakers International Screenwriting Awards (1st Round Qualifier — Still in Running)

Finalist 2011 New York City Gotham Film Festival – Final 5th Place Comedy

Top 24 Finalist Los Angeles Reel Film Festival 2011

Top 20 Finalist Atlanta Film Festival 2011

Top 24 Finalist SkyFest Film Festival 2011

Finalist and 1st Runner-Up in Broad Humor Film Festival Screenwriting Contest

— Announcing “PICKLED TINK” — Screwball Comedy Screenplay!   Belle Karper, Award-Winning Author, Screenwriter, Speaker, Humor, Comedy, Suspense, Tragedy www.BelleKarper.com                         Email Belle@BelleKarper.com
WHY THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - The Ridiculous Escapades of Belle Karper on YouTube!

All on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in! Add to Technorati Favorites
BelleKarper-AuthorSpeaker7.jpg picture by bellekarper

Entry 6, Chapter 2… Why The Widow Wears Black

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

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So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 6, Chapter 2

His overeating and his weight exacerbated that sleep apnea thing I am sure.

And, the cigars. All that smoking. Five or more a day?

Stupid, really.

I see it, now. The whole hindsight thing.

But, could I tell him anything?

Would he listen?

He had it “really bad.” The apnea. Documented in the “severe” category, 40-50 interruptions an hour.

40-50?

That’s almost one clog-up a minute. He had to wear this machine with tubes coming out of it, and it sort of looked like the robot from “Danger, danger, Will Robinson!” Lots of tubing. Bendy and lengthy.

He hated that machine. Hated the sound it made. Hated the way it made him look. The way it made him feel.

The eating part probably didn’t do a lot for his heart, either. I mean, he obviously ate everything. Anything. He would finish his plate, my plate, then the kids’ plates. Good thing we didn’t have a dog.

Yeah, he should have cut way back on that eating thing.

And, the smoking. Five cigars, I mean, really. . . .

“I smoked a two-footer on the way in to work today. I had to prop it on the steering wheel! You should have seen the looks I got—

Hilarious,” he’d say.

Yes.

Hilarious.

Right.

But, he loved it all so. Really loved it . . .

Read More…

Entry 5, Chapter 2… Why The Widow Wears Black

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

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So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 5, Chapter 2

We sat at a picnic table, eating roasted turkey legs. I only ordered mine so that I could make some silly remark about King Henry VIII, otherwise I hate those nasty things.

He has now eaten down to my least favorite part of the leg.

The tendon. I am sure you know about that one sinewy piece of meat that sits on the end of that giant turkey shank. That one bit of tissue with that attached transparent appendage, half hidden against the bone like a giant rubber hangnail.

Then, just at that moment, when I was staring at that thing, this grizzled blob of useless turkey fiber, my husband’s greased fingers plucked that leg clean with commanding authority, and without any further thought, he shoved it in his mouth.

Yuck.

I wince, as I can see his mouth trying to negotiate this thick rubbery band. I can visualize his teeth almost bouncing off this grizzled spring. Almost as if it is covered with Teflon, it bounces around in his mouth, and, finally, yes finally, thank God that gristle goes down. I swear I could see the bulge in his throat as he swallowed. Yes. I hate those damn leg gristles.

I can’t believe he actually ate it.

Now, looking back . . . since I have the opportunity . . . since I have the time to look back, now . . . the eating was a problem.

Read More…

POETIC PROSE: Entry 3, Chapter 2… Why The Widow Wears Black

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

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So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 3, Chapter 2

NO. I PERSONALLY do not know that air . . . not yet.

But, I will momentarily. It will become a part of my every day breathing.

In and out.

Watch out, it may not be dry yet, that venomous foam. I might accidentally breathe some “widow air” on you.

So, you will treat me gingerly. Differently. You might even be a little afraid of me.

It is not nice.

No. Nor does it seem fair. Death is not fair to our logical mind. Yet death is an everyday normalcy, almost an antimiracle that transforms us from touched emotional beings into slack tumbled statues with odd-colored complexions. Expanding even
though we are long past our last breath.

Careful.

Do you risk getting too close? Getting too close to this widow, this mourning.

Does blue become you?

Blue becomes us all . . . eventually.

The color of blue, how deceptively soft until it’s biting your fingernails and shading your lips. And, then boo-hoo.

Ah yes, blue becomes us all.

Read More…

POETIC PROSE: Entry 2, Chapter 2… Why The Widow Wears Black

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

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So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 2, Chapter 2

This kind of air is rarely chewed by youthful lungs, yet in and out it goes.

This air is special. Not in the way you normally assume the state of special to be.

But, it is special, all right. The density and the dark of it, almost too thick
to breathe. Like a wet foam you are forced to suck in, because there is nothing
else in the room to suck.

So you drag it in, this thick froth of death. Gagging  it in. Logically repulsed. And even though you exhale – to force the lot out of  you – buried it sticks.

Staking itself to the depth of you.

Part of you now.

Eventually, the little bubbles of foam slowly pop, revealing copious gasses
that will linger in your thoughts. Little by little this spume dries like
paint. Then you too, will be caked with this coating of primal casualty.

And now, this moment, this air has touched Scott in its own leaded way. Poisonous
and heavy.

The woman. The employee. She must have steadied him just in case he’s a “fainter.”

God, she must hate the fainters, man. Without notice, down they go, their heads
bouncing on the linoleum. “Crack,” sounding like hard boiled Easter eggs
whacked on the pavement.

And then, she must be ready for the “pukers” with a vomit bucket close at hand,
just in case he blows.

She must be used to this routine – catch the fainters and dodge the pukers. Her
suit is probably still spotted from yesterday’s viewing.

It must be as though she’s watching glass shatter every day – no longer shocked by
the calamity of it and bored of its cleanup.

No wonder there’s no carpeting in here.

Then she’s left standing there rubbing her elbow. Bruised from its perpetual
grabbing by relative survival.

She must be rethinking this “day job,” for sure.

Then she raises her arm. Reaching. Then pulling.

The air wafts as the coffin lid drops.

Almost abruptly it falls.

Whaaa-puff-thud.

And, it’s down.

How careless she is, this gal and her 9-to-5 employment.

That last bit of coffin breath has now puffed out onto him and he steps away.
Instinctively, he wipes it off his clothes like a layer of crumbs dusting him
from a deathday cake.

Casket wheezing. Such a chilly draft in that unvented little room.

That moment is now tattooed on him. The tangible whisper of that passing coffin.
Yes. Tattooed. Because that moment will last him a whole lifetime.

Coffin air. Void of any of the oxygen that he’s come to know. It could’ve tried to
smother him. To suffocate him. To smear the sparkle out of him. So, he hacks it
out.

What else can he do?

Though, click. It is locked there, like a cork in his throat.

Yes.

That casket closed with a thud.

And, thank God I did not hear it.

THE CASKET CLOSED with a thud, though I did not hear it.

Read More…

POETIC PROSE: Why The Widow Wears Black… Entry 1, Chapter 2

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

Bookmark and Share

So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 1, Chapter 2

THE CASKET CLOSED with a thud, though I did not hear it.

The gasp could be heard from the next room, but I did not hear that either.

But, I know where my brother Scott is. Yes. And, I know what he is doing. I have an imagination, you know.

Yes. I know what he is doing.

Scott’s propped there, I’m sure. Trembling. Alone with a stranger. An employee of the mortuary. Looking at it – at my husband – at Gabriel – at the body – when he finally sees what is left after the dying part is done.

How long it must have taken my brother to recognize him.

How different dead must look drawn on the face of the person that you knew. Yes, he takes just a little too long to focus on my husband’s leftover parts. Trying to discern the individuality of his nose, questioning the shape of those eyes that were normally seen open, verifying the rounding of his chin. . . .

And, then the jolt. The bam, back into the reality of that face.

That unbreathing face.

Yes. How different dead must look.

Maybe there was just a little too much clarity in that moment.

Poor thing, my brother. He’s probably fumbling and grabbing the employee’s arm as if she’s an able friend. And then . . . finally . . . yes, I’m sure that it was only a nod. Doubtless, Scott squelched a choke when he tried to speak. So yes, I am sure that it was only a nod he gave her. Only a nod of verification.

He takes a breath, to steady himself.

—–

Read More…

POETIC PROSE: Why The Widow Wears Black… Entry 2, Chapter 1

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It’s no secret that I am… was… a widow.

This is a thrust story of edgy survival, desperation, wit and humor.

An irreverant look at the death of a husband… my husband… my late husband.

This was then…  Real life.  Real death.

In Why The Widow Wears Black, my Award-Winning Book, will be posted in it’s entirety. This book is dedicated to my children… and their survival… And, to Jim, my new husband. Without their support this book would not have been written.

Be sure to sign up, so that you don’t miss an entry.

This is a True Life Story.

—–

Bookmark and Share

So, it goes like this . . .

Entry 2, Chapter 1

I turn the wheel. Tires grind and scrape. Their swivel serves willful on the spot.

Agonizing sounds a car makes when turning without the ease of moving forward.

Turning in position.

Abrupt and insistent.

But, because I turn the wheel, they twist. They have no choice.

So, they have to turn. Grinding against the friction of the still asphalt.

Abraded by the grit of the road. Roughened by the road ahead.

The road ahead…

My foot not ready.

It hovers still.

Stagnant.

Hampered.

My jerky movements… scared that I cannot trust them.

I am unsure.

Unstable.

The car pulls forward… as if on its own.

Like the steering wheel and the axle, it turns and has no choice.

We also turn, and have no choice.

Now… we have no choice.

Realization confirmed.

What we’ll turn into . . . this road of exits and accidents, breakdowns and toes tagged by innocent bystanders.

This carpool’s forward.

We stop at red lights. Green, we go.

Going.

Churning.

Emotions burning a hole deep into our family latter.

Nature failed us.

Reclamation premature.

The speed limit is unimportant. An unknown.

And, so we are going, though we do not want to go.

And, so he went, though he did not want to go.

—–

Read More…

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