The Academy Awards is my Super Bowl
I have constructed my Oscar acceptance speech everyday for 40 years. The show is my Holy Grail, my dream, and my one aspiration. I watch them each year with considerable effort, as I don’t possess a TV or have ever purchased cable. To me it seems a waste watching the mindless trap of TV programming. I’d rather write and read, experience life.
But once a year I need these evil devices to witness this bastion of celebrity. I devour every Nano second, on multiple channels, from the first red carpet walk until Elton John throws everyone out of his house and the Vanity Fair goodie bags disappear.
For my illustrious appointment with this writer’s main objective (aka Academy Awards); I have rented TV’s, stayed in hotel rooms, attended parties, stolen cable through the kitchen window from my neighbors box, conquered friends living rooms and even watched the entire show sitting in a pub. I’ll go to any length to see this gala, the preamble and post game panoramas.
But this year the Oscar’s depressed instead of inspired me. It wasn’t the hosts, winners or acceptance speeches. The gowns, jewels or commentaries. The controversy or back stage shenanigans. It was my acceptance speech.
I’ve been writing movies since I was 4. My Nana took me to watch the Sound of Music, I was captured. I wanted to tell my own moving picture. I wrote and produced family epic features, birth of puppies and a multiple of farm happenings. Every night as I lay my head on the pillow- I recite my acceptance speech. I see myself in a elegant gown, looking perfect in fancy hair and make-up. I’m as sure I’ll be on that stage one day as I am the sun will set each night.
My Oscar acceptance speech changes nightly. During them, those I’m mad at are omitted. Those I relish are acknowledged. There is always an inspirational portion for new writers. My opening is that I have been practicing this for years. There are no wardrobe malfunctions or stumbling. I’m the best version of myself when I give this speech.
I’ve written and sold screenplays. None have ever been green lit. But that does not deter me. Each day- I push for this seemingly unattainable goal.
Watching the Oscars, I witnessed that something was wrong. Not with the program- it had the same intrigue, problems and surprises that all the shows do. For the first time I could not picture myself up on the stage. I didn’t have the tingling moment of exhilaration as they called out the screenwriter’s name.
I was not in the show.
I could not see myself on stage.
The dresses wouldn’t fit.
I felt too old.
I thought my voice would not fit into their molds.
I was not part of the Hollywood tribe.
This terrified me.
I do recognize that now more than ever is when the real work kicks in. This is the third act plot point when the hero gives up. It is up to me to create my happy ending. I must see this goal fulfilled- this is the universe testing me to see if I genuinely want to do the work to get on that stage.
It is my time.
Even though I do not fit the Hollywood mold. I’m a Rubenesque middle-age woman who’s been an entrepreneur her whole life. Breaking barriers has been a specialty of mine and I’m going to break Hollywood’s.
Tonight my speech that I practice will include me — filled with gratitude for not giving up. For keeping the fingers taping when the spirit was broken and the soul abandoned.
I may not be part of the Hollywood mold- but I am part of the tribe of scribes that never gives up.
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Teri’s Culinary Erotic Book, Consumed is available at http://www.amazon.com/Consumed-Teri-Bayus-ebook/dp/B016DW85PA
