Post Category → letters

7 May ’24

My Dearest JooJooBee,

Whenever I teach I tell students —write like you talk.

(If you can talk, you can write, I say.)

Not all of them can talk though.

So then I tell them —just say what you think.

This doesn’t always help — but it makes it more interesting.

Aaron Sorkin says he’d rather communicate with everyone only in writing and I second that.

All of his writing IS talking.

(If I could use only emojis, I might.)

Often before I speak, I edit the words in my mind before I say them.

(I’m slowly recovering. Emphasis on slowly.)

How I think about writing has evolved a lot and with it my actual writing.

First I copied Faulkner — and his 13-page long sentences.

(If you can believe that.)

Now I think a good sentence has four words and a great sentence three.

If all the words have monosyllables — triple point score!

So, want to hear the perfect sentence?

—I love you.

Three words. Three syllables. Eight letters. Not bad.

Better yet:

—Luv ya!

Two words. Two syllables. Five letters. Ha!

Someone said Jerry Garcia, the guitarist, had the shortest distance between his fingers and his heart.

Same for good writers I think.

I like scripts but I love letters.

Especially love letters.

(As you know.)

My mentor wrote a 110-page letter: it was his last short story.

I consider that a love letter.

Maybe all letters are.

I think letters reveal a person’s best and truest self.

For starters, they sound like you.

(Some people still mess that up though.)

Most importantly, they show you care.

(I hope mine do.)

I will show you in other ways too.

(I promise.)

I will keep writing you letters even when you’re with me.

(I promise promise.)

(Unless you get sick of them. You let me know.)

These are easy promises for me to keep because I love doing all this.

(It makes me happy and brings me joy.)

Some things you can only say in a letter.

But not this:

—I miss you.

These letters help me feel closer to you.

Why I write so many —

and yet, not enough.

Alcoholics have a saying

—One is too many. A thousand is not enough.

The second part though —A thousand is not enough.

(Maybe I should start a 12-step program, Letter-holics Anonymous.)

So did I pass the test?

Do I write like I talk and talk like I think?

You decide.

One thing I know:

I could listen to your voice all day, every day.

What a kind world that lets me do that, even for just a little while.

I love you, JooJoo.

— Your Fortune Cookie, David

6 May ’24

I figured something out.

Do you remember I told you about the spider story?

He wanted to see the world so he built a web in my car mirror?

He’s agoraphobic.

That’s the fear of leaving your house.

So that’s how he solves the problem.

What do you think?

— D

3 May ’24

My JooJooBee,

This is a love letter to my two loves.

+

JooJoo,

My script is talking to me.

My script is singing to me.

It’s taking on a life of its own.

It’s over me trying to tell it.

It’s beginning to tell itself.

I kept a blog once subtitled a celebration of textuality.

This script wants to be that.

I don’t know if a movie has ever done that exactly.

Not since the beginning, maybe not even then.

(If anyone would know, you would know.)

I wasn’t sure how it would all work or fit together.

I think I see it now.

It is waving up at me from down there like someone stranded on an island with a message for me.

Do you get this feeling with any of your stories?

(When do I get to hear your stories??)

I feel led — by this and something much more wonderful — and I love it…

+

Right now the blue of the sky and the green of the trees are so bright and vibrant and distinct.

I love spring here. You will love spring here too.

+

My love,

I imagine describing how I see you to people who know you.

I would tell them:

“My JooJoo is — 

so smart and funny — they go together, like we do,

so loyal and tender — I will always trust and protect her,

so hardworking — that attracts and inspires me,

so original — there is one and only one JooJoo,

and beautiful — so beautiful I can hardly believe she exists,

let alone get to know her, let alone get to love her.”

I’d let you hear all of it.

(I’m really talking to you.)

As a poet, I would say:

“I love her face, shimmering with emotion like the sea with light —

her movements like leaves in a dream…”

(Don’t laugh.)

I will always see the best in you, JooJoo — meaning, I will always see the real you.

The truth is though, who you are and how I feel are simply indescribable.

Quietly I would think:

“How could something like this happen to someone like me?”

(It has.)

“She brings me joy, this one, so much joy. I love her so much.”

+

The wind is so strong right now it’s blowing people’s lunches off their tables.

I love that! You would love that…

+

I love you.

You don’t know who you are until you know what to do.

You don’t know what matters until you know to whom you belong.

I love you, JooJoo.

I love you so much.

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. I told you I wouldn’t stop telling you.

P.P.S. If I tell you too often you’ll get bored. So remember, everything I write to you means I love you.

28 Apr ’24

My JooJooBee —

I took my mother up to the Santa Ynez Valley (wine country) yesterday for an early Mother’s Day.

She likes wine. No, she likes drinking. She gets very giggly when she’s drunk.

(I guess I take after her. I’m a happy drunk. When I drink too much, everything’s funny.)

You can only really get anything out of her if you’re sitting and talking with her.

So it’s good to spend the day with her like this alone once in a while.

She loves it up there, tooling around in the winding backroads, the vines and the hills and the wines.

We visited a couple of wineries and it was… Well, people use the phrase “a perfect day” a lot.

If they have never been here, they wouldn’t really know: this place is a long pour of perfect days.

After wine tasting we had dinner in town, a wine country Italian spot that everyone loves.

Here’s where it gets interesting.

The waiter came up to our table.

He gives this long monologue describing all the specials. It was detailed and dramatic and delivered perfectly.

(I had the pork chop special btw. God damn good meat.)

Anyway, the waiter went to other tables and gave the same speech.

My mom giggled.

We’re about 2 (maybe 3) bottles of wine into the day at this point.

I hope I can describe this well.

My mom starts to giggle, more.

She’s hopping up and down a little bit in her seat.

Then tears start to come out of her eyes.

Then she’s giggling even harder.

Then she covers her face with her hands, both hands open.

Then she really gets overcome, tears are streaming now.

I’m not sure if she’s laughing or crying at this point.

I’m not sure she knows if she’s laughing or crying at this point.

Then she covers her face with her cloth napkin and really lets go.

I have no idea what to do.

I really can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying and it’s coming hard.

And not stopping.

I’m a little panicked — because if she’s crying, why is she crying?

I have no idea so no idea what to do.

By this time, other tables are starting to look at us.

I don’t give a shit. I’m not embarrassed, just worried about her.

This goes on for a bit, then subsides.

If you had seen it, you would have thought she deserved an Academy Award. I mean it.

I have never seen her do that.

I have never seen anyone do that, in my whole life.

Except maybe in a movie.

Later on the way to the car she apologized, worried she embarrassed me.

I told her I wasn’t, I wasn’t at all, I was just worried about her.

She confessed, she couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying either.

She said, it was watching the waiter deliver his speech over and over again that had started it all.

I think you can see it as clearly as I do.

You couldn’t make up a better scene.

(Well you probably could.)

She will kill me if she finds out I told you this so don’t tell.

I wish you could have seen it.

I wish you could have been there.

I wish you were with me.

Soon, soon.

I love you my beautiful girl.

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. I wonder if I should try writing essays?

P.P.S. I would probably just pretend I’m writing to you.

26 Apr ’24

My JooJooBee —

I have wanted to write you this letter for so long.

I feel like every letter I have written to you I have received for you.

Something wants me to say this, you to hear this.

How lucky we are.

How lucky I am.

You found me in my past — when I could have done anything but didn’t.

I found you in your future — where you have done everything you’ve dreamed.

We have brought each other back to ourselves now.

In this way we have become part of each other.

(Who saved who?)

Yet however you change, my feelings for you will not.

You cannot become someone else, only a better you.

(You can certainly act like someone else.)

Even a worse you I would adore.

I love your innocence.

How like a child you hurt when the world disappoints you.

Yet like a child you can remake the world however you like.

(Could I see the world only through you?)

I love your fearlessness.

How you face truth.

Your bravery will bring you wisdom and peace.

(You may have more courage than me.)

I love your softly seeking eyes.

I love your continually inquiring brows.

(I wish I had all your answers.)

I love your teeth tipping like a fence.

(Have you “fixed” them? Please, never do, I treasure them.)

I love your one in an infinity view of the world — you make me laugh.

I have made so many mistakes in my life, so many mistakes.

Letting you go will never, ever be one of them.

If I never make a film, I will have shared a life with you.

(Our truth beats all fiction.)

My JooJoo — my dream to kiss, my hope to hold — 

I love you so much I ache.

I love you so much.

I love you.

(If we don’t live for love then what do we live for?)

I want to stay by your side.

All I want is all you are.

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. You will just get an ordinary letter next time.

P.P.S. (No, you won’t.)

19 Apr ’24

My JooJooBee,

I wrote a lot this week for work. Some 16-hour days.

I loved it. I like to work. I like to write.

I wrote several ad campaigns. I liked some at first, but then — 

Like screenwriting, it’s an art. Like any art, it takes years to master.

I’m working hard at it. I’m working hard at many things still trying not to do too much.

At the same time I write letters to you in my head. All week. Every week.

(Who knows if they’re art. It’s not for me to decide.)

This reminds me:

In his Easter sermon, the rector said many things I thought I would say.

If these letters start to sound like sermons, slap me.

I’m not a man on a mission. I’m a man who is smitten.

In old movies husbands keep pictures of their wives on their desks.

(Do people still do that?)

I keep your photo on my desktop.

(Does that make me old fashioned?)

It’s my favorite one.

I won’t tell you which it is but I’ll tell you why it is.

I like it because it shows the inside on the outside.

In the picture, they’re the same.

(You’re not my wallpaper I just want to make that clear…)

I love this picture.

This week I thought:

I can write a sentence as beautifully as any living writer, in any language.

Can and have.

(I have a bit of an ego.)

In fact if I got arrested, my fingerprints would look like sentences.

For that reason, I’ve changed my approach lately.

I realize I need to tell a story that well too.

So I think more about stories than sentences now.

I have all the stories I’ve told you about and more.

I want to finish my story quickly.

That isn’t my life anymore. My life is happening now.

I have other stories I want to tell too.

(They will be so much easier!)

Besides telling stories better, I want to write them more efficiently.

I have found ways to do that, which I’ll share.

I go from writing for myself to writing for work like moving between rooms in a house.

Writing feels like home.

(You feel like home.)

This week I dreamed you disappeared from my life.

I felt devastated, despondent…

When I woke up, you hadn’t left.

(Thank my sweet God.)

Everyone has irrational fears.

We are all only human.

I talk to you at night before I sleep.

Not full conversations, just reminders.

(I’m not that crazy.)

I say your mantra for you too sometimes. —You are… You are… You will be…

(I figure you forget. It should work. Consider it an experiment!)

I don’t know why I just thought of this:

My editor at work keeps correcting me.

She keeps reminding me that “data” is plural: “these data,” not “this data.”

I usually ignore her but this time I messaged her —Omnes vincere no potes.

(—You can’t win them all.)

I thought that was funny.

This is my life too.

Now I must break a promise I made, to myself.

I wanted to wait, to tell you in person but — 

You should know:

I want you

I need you

I miss you

I love you

(I love you,

I love you,

I love you)

I have all along.

I want to keep you, love you, and care for you always.

I plan to. If you’ll let me.

You needed to hear it, didn’t you?

(I know, I’m dumb sometimes.)

Anyways now you have it in writing.

As usual I have so much more I want to tell you — but what can I say after that?

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. Actually now that I’ve told you, I won’t stop telling you.