S —

I fell so hard for her so quickly.

I wanted to start a new life with her.

I thought I’d met my perfect match.

I thought I’d met my wife.

I planned to propose in August.

— D

My JooJooBee,

You can spend a lot of time thinking about changing.

(improving)

As I have.

You might feel like you haven’t made any progress.

Then one day, something inside you shifts.

Like a gear lurching forward in a clock.

You move that one step.

Now you can focus on the next one.

So it goes.

(I felt that today.)

Trust your inner workings.

Surprise yourself.

You will.

Have patience.

Never force it.

(You can’t.)

Treat yourself like a kitten.

(Me too please.)

Oh and:

Always let me love you.

I always will.

— Your Fortune Cookie

P.S. Plus things like you can happen.

My JooJooBee —

Names matter.

I spent my morning thinking about character names.

I keep a list of them to use in stories.

(A favorite from Pynchon though:

Mucho Maas — like us all, truly much more.)

We define names, but also, names define us.

So it bothers me when characters have no names.

(Lazy writers.)

My boss shared this story:

She said, her boyfriend dreamed they had a dog named Pancake.

So when they get a dog one day, they will name it that.

(love)

I had two dogs once, rescues, so I didn’t get to name them.

(Duffy and Lolly, if you want to know.)

If I got another I might name it Dog.

I’d use that more than its real name.

(—Here, Dog. —Dinner, Dog! —I love you, Dog…)

I love the simplicity of that.

I also love the complexity of nicknames.

(I have a talent for them.)

That can quickly turn into a Seinfeld though — Schmoopy Doopy!

I do not approve of letter hogging:

Abel, Andrew, Arthur…no, no, no…

Names need not always have profound meanings — but why not?

For example, in Penpals, the protagonist is a letter writer so his name is Liam.

(L I A M <=> M A I L)

(He is also very male.)

Liam means “strong-willed warrior” and “protector.” This fits.

The female protagonist is mysterious so her name is Violet.

Her name means… nothing.

This fits if you know her arc.

(The real life Violet’s name also began with a “V.”)

I need names for two new scripts I’ve started.

(I have a confession:

Both have you as the lead.

You inspired both characters.)

Incidentally, my three names mean:

— the highest one

— poet

— teacher

(That fits me, don’t you think?)

Of course I looked up your name too.

If I did it right, it means:

— incredible person

— precious

(That absolutely fits!)

The moment we met I thought those exact two things about you.

(Haven’t I kept telling you that?)

I love you, my incredible, precious person.

— Your Fortune Cookie

Cali in spring:

it rains some nights.

Sleeping feels like

floating —

white dives into

black.

I can’t tell drop

from dream.

— D

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

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

I love you.

— D

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.

I told myself I would not write again so soon but —

I changed my ending to the Penpals script.

I didn’t think I would end it this way.

It will absolutely fucking rip your heart out.

I think you will love it.

— D

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.