A Script Query Letter that Worked

This is a query letter that resulted in a couple of dozen requests to review the synopsis or the full script of THE KNOLL FRAMES. One request resulted in a solid relationship that is still moving forward. It also generated a couple of requests to read more scripts. Thought I'd share how brief and to the point it was.
Peggy

Title: 'THE KNOLL FRAMES'

Genre: Suspense/Thriller

Writer: Peggy Eldridge-Love -
plovewriter@gmail.com

Watching the president's motorcade from the
janitor's closet wasn't
exactly what young Myra envisioned.

Neither was spending the next few decades of
her life cowering in fear.

THE KNOLL FRAMES is a suspense-filled thriller
about secrets, pride, deception, greed, and insanity.
It's the story of white lies and small
deceptions becoming national secrets and major
catastrophes. It's what happens when you
underestimate, but what unshakable love can almost
certainly overcome -- almost.

I am a screenwriter who made the semi-finals in
the Chesterfield and the second round of the
Monterey County Screenwriters Competition. This WGA
registered screenplay was a winner of the
CinemaTalk Screenwriters Competition at the Kansas
City Writers Place. I am an award-winning poet
and a produced (staged-reading) playwright.

I can provide the script by either e-mail or
postal mail. If you'd desire
more information, please contact me...

Taking the Hill

Chin in hand, elbows resting on my desk, I realized that I had drifted away for a bit, and, when I returned to the present, it was with a sense of disquiet.

Life has been quite peculiar of late. All manner of difficult to fully comprehend circumstances here and there. Historically, when life begins presenting a host of situations that require more than just passing attention, I'm being prepared for another level of existence - whether I want to be or not. I've certainly hedged before, tried to ignore change, to side-step hard decisions, to sugar coat pain or injustice just so I wouldn't be required to do anything about it. But I try not to stay out there - head buried in the sand - too long now - it's a part of the being authentic thing that I promised myself I always want to be. So, I'm going to just swallow deeply, and listen intently to what my life is telling me. It might be something as simple as lose ten pounds, or it could be something that requires much more disclipine. Regardless, I'm going to be true to myself. Truth and trust go hand in hand,especially when it's with yourself.

Wow!

LiseLotte-Morguefiles.com

You crossed my mind with a wand of color
so rich I spun around in a blur of need
trying to catch a whiff of your
momentary presence.
Thank you.
©2006 Peggy Eldridge-Love - All Rights Reserved

Watching a Princess Reign

When you encounter someone who just never stops giving you can't help but notice the quality and quantity of their own existence. That's how it is observing Linda Dominique Grosvenor. If she's not creating a venue for aspiring writers to interact and met other writers who are at various stages of their own writing careers (ProlificWriters Yahoo Group), she's teaching new writers the ins and outs of promoting their works (Bestselling Authors Know Promotion aka Guerilla Promote 101), or, most recently, she's giving them a showcase on her newly launched Princess Dominique Show!

The interesting twist to this is that she somehow manages to continue to write and deliver a host of bestselling works of her own. She's the author of The Hamptons, Pretty Boys, Fever, Like Boogie on Tuesday, Sometimes I Cry, and a collection of poetry entitled Love Lingers and a relationship manuscript entitled The Plural Thing. These are some of the works already in print and I know that I've no doubt forgotten something and am aware that there are a few other projects currently in the wings.



She's affectionately referred to as princess by many of us who know her, but I'm compelled to say that this is one selfless lady that long ago graduated to the rank of a Queen.

Java Caper

I just enjoyed an excellent cup of coffee, probably my hundredth since the great java caper that took place a couple of weeks ago. It occurred on a day when I was short of time, short of patience, and, at the moment, short of ready cash. I remembered at a late afternoon moment that I'd ground the last of my Columbian beads that morning and would be out the following morning unless I broke from my writing and went to buy some. That was a frightening thought.

Two immediate issues arose though. I'd put myself on a budget that I'd already exceeded (I'm trying to focus on saving money now rather than spending it) and not every nearby store offered coffee beans rather than ground canned coffee. Another fact was that recently, even when I traveled to my favorite grocery store, the coffee I preferred was often sold out. I needed to come up with a creative solution that would circumvent unnecessary travel, fit within the cash I had in my weekly reserve, and meet my taste bud's demands. It occurred to me that the closest place might be a nearby hotel/shopping complex known for its trendy shops and restaurants. They had to have a Starbucks, I thought.

Turned out they didn't. Still determined to find someone with some beans I stuck my head in several of the coffee shops and bakeries located throughout the complex. Finally, one young employee said, "oh yes, we sell coffee beads, but I need to call my manager because I don't know how to do it."

I didn't want to create a problem for her, she was in the shop alone, so I told her that was okay, and decided that I'd better just go on to my grocery store and forget my not-so-good idea that I'd find coffee beans in the hotel. Before either of us could speak the "manager" walked in, a nice young fellow, all smiles, and he said he'd be happy to help me. I told him a pound of Columbian would be just fine and then both he and the young hostess revealed that there was another employee who normally handled the coffee beans who was out ill and neither of them really knew what they were doing. He did know the price of a pound though. It was $11.28 and while I paid him he instructed the hostess to go get my beans.

As the cash register rang out my sale she asked him what bag she should put the beans in. He told her one of the white ones. In a moment she came to the cash register with my purchase and proceeded to staple the bag closed but it was so full she could barely close it. I laughed and said, "Oh no, there are far too many beans in there! That's a lot of beans!" The manager just smiled and nodded. "Our problem," he quipped. "We don't know what we're doing, so this is what you get for your money today." He wouldn't hear of my continued protests and ushered me kindly out of the shop.

I'm a keeper, so I had a few vacuum coffee bags of my own at home. When I got there I began to fill a few of them from the now bursting at the seams white bag. A few turned out to be six coffee bags -- filled to the brim. I'd been given no less than eight pounds of coffee for the price of one. It wasn't Columbian, by the way, but it is a divine flavor that I assure you is now my favorite. Still, as much as I enjoy and have enjoyed every cup, I do so with a sense of guilt. But ah, the aroma and taste of this guilty pleasure!

Refreshed and Ready!

I'm excited. I've gotten a project completed that I had no idea was taking up so much of my person. When I put the finishing touches on it in the wee hours of Sunday morning and hit the send button I could literally feel my contenance lift! I've spent time since resting in an unusually peaceful way, then rising with great energy and a zest for polishing and dusting, stirring and cooking, and laughter and conversation.

My next project looms, definitely, but I'm really anxious to get back to it. It has new momentum. Someone is waiting on its completion, and, if I'm capable of putting just the right dash of humor into this otherwise very dramatic screenplay, it will probably be a go. That was the recommendation over a year ago after the screenplay received a very good analysis and recommendation by a key producer. I put it on the shelf at the time behind the just completed project which seemingly was then on the verge of taking off. I am very, very fortunate that the interest still prevails. That surely is not always the case. I won't sit on it this time. I'm more than ready to go!

Writing Partners

I did the 'restore' thing with my computer this morning. I took it back to the past to a time when my Internet Explorer didn't crash on me every ten minutes and I didn't have the type of deeply intimate relationship I have recently developed with my virtual memory. It's a little eerie really. All the instructions assured me that anything I've done after the date I took it back to would not be affected by this procedure, but my poor computer is in crisis. It doesn't know which end is up!

I really don't have to go through this trauma. I can go downstairs and use my husband's computer, but I don't want to. I want to use this one. This is my comfort zone. All my junk surrounds it. All my favorites are in it, not to mention my addresses, my research links, and the trillion other little nuances that I've taught it this three or four years we've been together.

I'm hopeful that the restoration will buy us a little more time as a couple. I've got about a dozen projects in various stages of development nestled within it that I'd sure like to see through to completion. But, I guess it's time for me to start hinting that it's time for a

new computer

(I didn't want to say that too loud) to friends and family. Maybe if a new one just shows up I won't feel like I'm a betrayer. So, hint, hint, hint. It's just about that time.

Tom

The real world has encroached and crowded out my worlds of fantasy for now. The unexpected death of a close relative made this a most challenging week. As always with death, I become introspective, and then realize how selfish that response is. I selfishly feel sorry for myself because of how much less of a world mine will be without this loving soul here on earth to love me, I selfishly evaluate the contributions I've made in comparison to the volume of meaningful contributions this loved one made and gave, and I selfishly determine to reach down deeper and come up higher with whatever I think I'm purposed to give and be until my own day arrives. I berate myself for these selfish responses until I remember how often and how intensely Tom and I explored the elements of the lives we were priviledged to live as children of an evolving world, particularly an evolving world of color, and how certain I am the world is a much, much better place because my precious cousin Tom was in it.

Until we meet again...

My One Nerve!

Wow! This has been a rough one. Countless little things nipping at my heels like a rabid Chihuahua! Stuff has nearly driven me to the brink this day. It seems as if I drifted off into the land of pettiness, which has to be close to the village of condesention, which is no doubt surrounded on both sides by the sea of mean-spiritedness. The truth is, folk have really gotten on my nerve today!

©Nudgies

For a couple of years I've dealt with a group that consistently implies that you have not done what you say you've done, or have not provided what you say you've provided. They will take you to the mat arguring, signifying, and berating you until you simply provide them with the paper trail that clearly details that every insult they have leveled was unfounded, and that they, not you, are unorganized and inept. This has absolutely nothing to do with money, nothing to do with employment, bills or credit -- this is something voluntary and uncompensated that has other positive ramifications for more than just me -- which is why I continue in it. Today was another bout with the crazymaking nomes. I think I won, but, what an unpleasant battle. Don't know how much longer I'm good for this!

So, having dispensed with them all should flow smoothly, right? Nada! A couple of affiliates apparently decided February 1, 2006 was the date to send out the rah rah letters. Affiliates? I'm not an affiliate savvy type of gal! Heck, these are affiliates that I must have signed up with when I first jumped on the net a dozen or more years ago because I no longer even recognize the email address that they are sending their "you're not making that much money for us" letter to - because it's one that forwarded to a forward to a forward. It has me scratching my head.

When I finally realize I have absolutely no idea who they are or what it was they were selling or even if I'm truly an affiliate, I also realize that I abhor the tone of their letter. Obviously, it's a marriage (if there ever was a marriage) that needs to be immediately dissolved, based on the whinning, and, of course, that is exactly what I do! Now that I think of it, I think these were a couple of people who were around when everything on the net was free, you know, before the net came crashing down around all our feet and a Palo Alto garage that used to rent for $400,000 went back to costing $150 a month.

It's senseless to continue with this complaining, even though these are just a couple of examples of the nonsensical stuff my day contained. I choose instead to salvage some part of this day to tip things back in a positive direction. I'll make myself a late pot of coffee and steep myself in the horrific events of the day on cable news for a few hours. That ought to do it. That ought to make me feel like my problems are few and I have no reason to complain about anything.

Mother Wit

THE GIRL AT THE BUS STOP

Issues? Now she's got issues;
stair steps months, not years apart,
half-a-dozen
shades from olive
to blue black
evidence of the multiplicity
of advantage taken
of this too ripe child.
Take your pick;
close relations, family friends
half-a-dozen
irresponsible men
leaving her with issues;
stair steps,
door mats
of society,
lined up obediently
against the backdrop
of her confusion
waiting in the rain
for change to come.
Issues.

©Peggy Eldridge-Love 2004 - All Rights Reserved

---

I listened to the story of the woman from Georgia who refused to ignore her gut instinct and persisted until she satisfied that gnaw inside that a child, a baby, was in peril. It was an "Anne Frank" moment for me, a reassurance of our goodness at a time when our hedonistic nature has appeared to be at its all time greatest. This woman crossed all limits and boundaries to rescue this little girl. She didn't care about being a nuisance, she wasn't concerned that some overworked policeman might want to relegate her to the pile of hysterical women he might think he talks to all the time, she didn't accept the first answer that everything was all right! No, no, no! She followed that superior machine within -- her gut -- and she prevailed.

It caused me to think about moments of my own. Times when I've seen things or heard things that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let me go. I wondered if I acted upon them as I ought. Had I left anyone in the lurches that I might have helped? I searched my self and couldn't come up with any situation that I might genuinely have changed, but I did come up with faces, with eyes, that stayed. Like the girl at the bus stop on 31st and Troost a few years ago. I wrote a poem about her the day I saw her, and I have driven by that corner many times since looking for her ... and hers. I've never seen her or them again, at least not in the flesh.

I'll be more attentive in the future. I think the majority of us, at the least the majority of the women, who heard the story of this selfless woman from Georgia will be. I think it was a call to women in a way. A call to the return of that part of us that protected our families because it was continuously tuned in, that part my mother, aunts and the elders called Mother Wit.

Winter Has Two Ends

---

So, this is Winter 2006, isn't it? I was surprised when I happened to take a peek at the overview for the newest issue of Lorraine and James ,(Vol.1, Issue 2), on their site last night and found that my work was included. I knew I was going to be a contributor to the Winter 2006 issue, but - duh - for some reason I thought it would be next winter - December 2006 - not the beginning of the year.

Lead times in publishing are normally very long. I think that was one of the hardest things to come to grips with when I began to get published. First, the wait for a response once a work was submitted, second, the wait for actual publication when something was accepted, and, finally, the wait for the check, if and when there was a check! Finding something is in print much sooner than anticipated is, as you have already no doubt deducted, a very pleasing turn of events.

When Didi Critiques...

PROGRESS

St. James Avenue has six corners
and runs down under James Street
for half a mile before it dog-legs
a mile south of the boulevard
where you left me
so long ago;
the trolly no longer
stops at James,
any James,
any where.
©2005 Peggy Eldridge-Love - All Rights Reserved

I contribute to Cafe Cafe and have to admit that some of my very best poetry has been drawn from me whenever I've dared to expose my wares in a venue hosted and critiqued by Didi Menendez and her band(s) of excellent poets. 'Progress' was a piece I wrote while workshopping a couple of poems there in June of 2005.

Didi is many things literary and otherwise creative. MiPOesia is one her flag ship publications and it is truly, in my estimation, a feast. A couple of my poems ('Turquoise Traders' and 'Restitution') appeared in one of her other Avant Garde publications, MiPo~Print, in 2003! I think that she folded MiPo~Print into one of her other endeavors about a year ago, but little has made me prouder than crossing that publishing threshold!

I haven't had much opportunity lately to contribute on Cafe Cafe, but every opportunity I get I creep in to savor some of the magic that's there for the taking. Today I kept thinking about my poem 'Progress' and realized it was time for me to make some poetic progress of my own. So, I'm going to sharpen a few pencils (with soft erasers) and ease myself back into the mix.

Down Time

FreeFoto.com - Ian Britton

I'm not feeling quite so buoyant lately. It's a bit difficult to keep myself aloft, so for the last few days I've been trying to bring me in for a graceful landing by getting some much needed rest. I've had an unfriendly visitor a couple of times already this season, a cold, and that is never fun. The only good part of it is, for some reason, when I get a cold I get very reflective and tend to focus on energy that might have gotten stuck in unproductive places within and I'll probe and prod until I'm able to pry it loose. Hum, I wonder if recycling my own energy for later use makes me an environmentlist?

Fade In

I'm wrapping up my novella for the anthology. It has been a true labor of love, not without its upset and pitfalls for sure, but ever moving forward, ever making me and those I'm working with stronger, better and wiser. Go ladies!

Soon as I dot the last "i" and cross the last ... well, you know the adage, so I don't need to go there. When I finalize my novella I'm picking up a script that has been adrift on the high seas for quite a while that now just might be coming into port. For real real. I've had a bit of dialogue with a respected producer familiar with the work and I'm very encouraged to pick it up once more and go for broke. Some recent industry changes -- broadening prespectives actually -- have made a significant and crucial element of my story more plausible. Perhaps its time has come!

Thinking Aloud

Last night the strangest thing happened. I went to bed earlier than my husband and was asleep when he finally came upstairs and climbed into the bed. I awoke to the -- I know this sounds some kinda way -- to the sound of his thinking! I'm serious, he was thinking so loud and his thoughts were so heavy they woke me. I surprised him by suddenly asking, "What are you thinking? I hear your thoughts."

We've been married long enough that he just laughed, and began to tell me what he was thinking. They were very poignant thoughts about a loved one we lost not very long ago. As he unburdened himself, I heard his being quiet and knew he'd found a peace that only that conversation would have allowed. Very shortly thereafter, he was asleep.

I realized that it was that same sixth sense that brings my characters to me that had tapped me on the shoulder for him. Don't get me wrong. I'm very intuned to my husband on an ongoing basis - I can sense his needs, moods, wants, and desires with a simple glance - but this was different. I think my muse nudged me awake this time for him. That's a real good sign, because my muse isn't known for either being generous or compassionate when it comes to me and my time. Maybe s/he's mellowing with age.

Ring Tones

I've been somewhat driven the last few years. Driven by things that sort of wiggled themselves into my daily routine as necessities. I can't tell you when I added most of them, when I stopped wondering if I could afford them, or when they became so ingrained they also became somewhat invisible. Cell phone, PDA, home fax, second telephone line, second, third, or fourth computer, digital camera, digital video camera, you know, the constant progression, the constant stream of 'things'.

One of those 'things' has been the package I selected years ago for my telephone service. Call waiting, call forwarding, caller ID, three-way conferencing and a few other features I have never used. One that I thought was invaluable, a true life saver, a busy person's friend, was the ID benefit. Knowing who was calling and being able to determine if now was a good time to take that call seemed so utterly vogue in the beginning, but before long it became something else, a means of discriminating, short changing, even dodging people and things. Ingrained and invisible, unknown to me, it had also become an issue of great stress.

I might not have realized that had not something happened, some snafu, some malfunction, that zapped my caller ID system about a week ago. At first I was like, 'oh, no,' now what do I do? And, of course, day one I let most calls roll over to voice mail so identity could be established and I could make that ever so important decision to talk or not to talk.

Day two, nothing was more important than getting that ever loving thing fixed. Only, I got busy, and I forgot until it was too late to sit on the telephone for an hour waiting to talk to someone about getting it resolved. Day three, because there were a couple of significant calls I was waiting on, I started to answer the telephone -- without benefit of pre-knowledge. By day four, I felt a subtle change taking place in my life. It was a change linked to expectation and excitement. It was a return to the thrill of the unknown - simple as that - the unknown thrill of not having the foggiest notion who was on the other end of the telephone when I lifted that receiver.

So, what else have I jockeyed myself out of by just falling into rhythm with the drone of the world? I don't know, but I think I'm going to give myself a chance to find out. Heck, I might even go outside the next time it rains, get myself a small shovel and play in the mud. I used to make a dynamic mud pie. Might be time to go back to that starting gate and work my way back this way again.

Rudimentary Senses

Promotion is so important now if you are a writer. Self-promotion. More and more I'm hearing from both agents and writers alike that it's a writer's willingness to hussel, to get out there and pump, to push and sell their own books, that is almost solely determining new book contracts and contract renewal decisions. I've seen it work both ways (new deals or non-renewals) recently so I know there is a lot of validity in that premise.

Having seen and heard so much of that line of thought, it was very refreshing when I received an email the other day from an agent who just wanted to share a clients' newest work on a personal level and to step off the push, push, shove, shove bandwagon to simply say what a gifted writer the author was and what a remarkable work she had crafted.




I didn't remember immediately that the author was already celebrated. Forgot at the time that much of the author's work, like this gem, COPPER SUN, was young adult fiction, or that not long ago I'd seen something else about her (Sharon Draper) having been nominated for or receiving some significant award for another work. All I knew as I read through the email was that Sharon had someone who really, really believed in her who was committed to helping make her literary dreams come true not only because if Sharon made money she'd certainly continue to make money too, but for non-tangible reasons that have become almost rudimentary in this 21st century. Her agent respects her talent.

I've been on the other side of the table; not as a literary agent, but as a personal manager for recording artist, and I know you must keep your balance and perspective in a safe, often non-personal place to be able to consistently make good decisions for your clients, but not always. Anymore, clients and agents often never actually even meet. They are only voice mails, emails, PDF files, instant messages and an occasional Fedex to one another. But then, I've been seeing ads recently that will allow you to get your M.D. online -- so, what the heck am I complaining about?

Take a Deep Breath, Close Your Eyes and ...

I'm celebrating my birthday today. One of my friends sent this wonderful flashing collage of my most recent projects this morning in celebration. She's an engineer turned author (I have a couple of friends with that same resume) and one of the most creative and generous spirits you could ever encounter. Matter of fact, she just let a few of us know of the signing of her own first book deal on New Years Eve. I'm not sure she's made a public announcement yet, so I won't spill the beans, but she's a truly great writer and deserving of the honor.

My husband wanted to know where I'd like to go for dinner this evening. It's winter here in Missouri, but I told him I thought I wanted one of his extraordinary Porterhouse steaks on the backyard grill. At first he agreed, but when he asked if I was sure about a dozen times I realized he was wondering if I was still thinking straight in my new old(er) age. We have grilled late into the season, but not this late. I finally opted instead for a nice dinner at the Peachtree, one of our favorite spots. He seemed please.

That reminds me of something. A couple of years ago he surprised me at another favorite restaurant with about 30 family and friends on my birthday. I think I earned his undying respect that night. I made a wish and blew out all the trick candles on my birthday cake. Our relationship kicked into a new gear after that! I never told him what I wished for.

Nudgies® 2006

You know, ever now and again you evaluate what's meaningful in your life and what isn't. I have an antique sheet music cabinet that doubles as the place where I hide my little treasures. Things that, in most instances, only have importance to me. Not long ago I was going through it and remembered that about a year ago I'd stumbled across this letter that I received from Oprah Winfrey in 1988 thanking me for sharing my greeting card collection - Nudgies® - with her. Nudgies®. My little card line had finally taken off and, it seemed at that moment, that it was about to blast straight through the sky. Then...

Well, then real life called. We owned another business. It needed all our time and attention, not to mention our money. So, my dearly beloved little Nudgies® had to go sit in the corner for a decade or so.

I guess I'm thinking about Nudgies® tonight because it is a brand new year and a few days ago I had occasion to talk to someone who a few years ago commissioned a number of Nudgies® prayer boxes from me for a major greeting card company. They flew off all the shelves in all the test markets she placed them in (Texas, Missouri, California), but - once again - Nudgies'® timing was off. That greeting card company was going through a major internal upheaval and - as well the Nudgies® boxes had tested - they got lost in the shuffle. The independent shops kept reordering, but that big, big thrust didn't materialize. To my surprise, the conversation we had a few days ago was one in which I was told the interest in those boxes was (yes!) still very keen!

So, perhaps in some cultures 2006 is the year of the dog, but I'm thinking it just might be the year of the 'stick man'! Okay, Nudgies®, I'm good for another round if you are!

Catalyst of Change - Not Its Victim

Absolutely no resolutions. I mean it! I will not be making resolutions this New Year. Rather, I will be reassessing my world and its contents, and, where necessary, I will be making changes over the next few days.

I wrote myself a 'get out of jail' card about two months ago. I've flashed it at least two dozen times to avoid doing things I otherwise would be compelled to do. But, tonight, I mentally tore it to shreds. No more excuses. Back to the grind stone, or whatever I must call it, because it is time for me to become productive once again. Time to finish everything that is left on my plate from 2005 -- and that is no small task.

I have a world to create. The world in which my character Cari Pompey resides. I'm in rewrite and I realize that I've tried to put Cari in 'this' world and she doesn't fit. She needs her own world, a world in which she reigns, a world in which everyone else exists because they are perhaps figments of 'her' imagination - not mine. While I might not go to that extreme (note I say might not) at this stage, I do really need to spit and polish it all to a fine sheen before I'm happy.

Within the next three weeks I must deliver another character for sanction or rejection. I really dug her just the way she was. Edit notes after the readers' first read thru suggested that the character was pretty doggone solid, but, there are a few areas that leave gaps that leave questions that are better answered ... you get my drift. I've been trying to get an audience with her, my character that is, especially since we are approaching a deadline, but, well, I'm going to have to force the issue. Maybe I'll approach her with that old "I'm all right, you're all right" line so I can get her off the dime and we can finish putting this project to bed! I've made a commitment to her, though. I've assured her that regardless of where the current project falls (and all indications are it will be very well received) she will see the light of day - one way or 'tother! All I can tell you about her right now though is her name is Rowena. Rowena takes no prisoners and gives no quarters! Truth be told, Rowena has earned my deepest respect!

I won't even go into what else remains. I'll just say June 2006 is far too close. So, no resolutions - just life changes. They just happen to be occurring as the old year ends and the new one begins.