Category: Journal

First things first…I started this website so that years down the road, from atop a pile of gold or from a status of not weathy at all, I could look at my journal entries and go “Gosh! Look at all that stuff that happened.” It was a way to record life events but focus mainly on career…as I’m a firm believer that one’s writing is a direct result of life experiences. This next bit is life experience.

I really wanted to remember every tiny detail of the life experience that follows but 48 hours and very little sleep later, some of the details are blurry. Thus Mel’s rendition of what happened might be slightly different from mine. But look at it like the Gospels. Even Matt, Markus, the Lukster and Johnny had different details.

At 8:15 on Tuesday morning we went to the doc for our last visit; only to find out we were 30 minutes early. So we went to grab a jamba juice with their trademark “Boosts”. Mel got a fiber boost and I got that one that increases sexual prowess.

Later at the doc everything went great. Mel and Izzie Rain were both still amazingly healthy although Mel was still sitting at 3cm and 80 percent effaced. Two weeks of inconsistant contractions and not one budge. We were scheduled to hit the hospital two days later. Thursday at 7AM to look into induction. So, Mel and I were about to walk out the door when Markusen (that’s our doc) threw out a “by the way”…had Mel noticed any leakage? It’s a standard question. Sometimes water breaks and there’s a gush. Other times there’s a small rupture which results in a small trickle over time and that’s what Markusen was inquiring about. As a precaution she gave us a last minute ultrasound and thought the fluid was a little low. So she sent us to the Hospital for an Abooma-fluid test. See it ain’t really called “Abooma” but this is one of those fuzzy detail moments. I recall the word started with an “A” and I’m too tired to do the research.

While Mel was getting strapped in I ran out to pick up the in-laws at home and on the way ran into a couple from our birthing class. Can’t remember their names as one of my few flaws is that I tend to be disinterested in names that are not mine. They’d had their little boy two weeks ago and had been in labor for 24 hours which didn’t raise my spirits. They also told me that their child came out with a conehead and looking slightly alien. They wanted me to be prepared for that and not to worry that all would eventually fall into place. So then I rushed home to pick up gramma and grandpa.
Around noon we had the test and there was no rupture. No water breakage. But we were there and since we were scheduled to induce Thursday anyway…why not two days early? Mel and I said, sure. Mel had been having contractions since last Thursday but they were inconsistent and not the “big boys” everyone talked about. Mel didn’t want to use pitocin because there are cons involved and she’d worked so hard to do everything right, she just didn’t want to push it. But they said they wanted to try the smallest possible dosage to see if it would make her contractions more stead. Again we said ok.

And it worked. Contractions, every 3 minutes. At 2:30 markusen showed up and broke Mel’s water. Only a trickle came out. The fluid was, in fact, low.

And then Mel was introduced to the “big boys”. The “real” contractions. Mel and I had spent weeks during our birthing classes making fun of the whole “breathing” thing. Uh…we stopped poking fun. We were breathing fiends. We were King and Queen Breathing.

An hour later Mel was 6cm.

45 minutes later she was 9cm.

Mel didn’t go into this meaning to be some hero for all women. She was pro-epidural if the pain got too bad. It just happened so quickly. One minute we were stuck at 3cm and the next we were blowing past 9cm. And upon hitting 9cm they called Markusen to come back…fast.

I used my little Canon Elph and recorded a 45 second contraction. Mel’s first “push”…which took her to 10cm. But you’ll need to check out IzzieRain.com for that little movie experience (later, once Mel’s rested and feels like sitting at her computer). But it should be noted before future viewing that what you will see is nothing compared to what would come when the actual post 10cm pushing began.

Once at 10cm it was back to breathing while waiting on Markusen to arrive which only took about ten minutes. However, in big boy contraction years, that’s a really really really long time.
Markusen came rushing in, so fast her cell phone hit the ground and skidded across the floor. She dove into her scrubs then dove into my wife’s vagina. What happened over the next 30 minutes is tough to explain. If Exorcisms were real…they’d sound something like this. A couple of times Mel said, “I can’t do it, I’m sorry.” But Markusen and the two nurses kept yelling, “Oh yes you can!”
At some point I saw black hair. My wife and given me a brunette. Works for me, always been a fan of the dark haired beauties. It was just a small patch of black hair and Markusen explained that it would get bigger…she didn’t want me to be shocked when the head appeared. But I was cool.
But no matter how hard Mel pushed…all we ever saw was this small patch of hair. Maybe I’m reading into it, maybe I’m overreacting…but after a while I thought I detected some concern from those in the know.

Mel was totally exhausted, shaking uncontrollably…and the pain…the heart-wrenching, guttural growls as she pushed, screamed, took a breath and pushed again; her telling me she loved me but that she was tired and apologizing for being so with tears streaming down her face…honestly I wasn’t prepared for that. The idea that someone might one day cause her pain always had a pretty cut and dry result for me. People have caused her pain in the past but I was never around to do anything about it. I was never able to avenge that pain. But I knew if it were to happen again, if someone were to cause her pain while I was around…well…I’d kill’em. I’d beat them until they fell and then I’d beat them until they’d never rise again. But this pain..this pain I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t avenge it. I couldn’t protect her from it. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. I started to cry. I guess sob is a better description. Suddenly I didn’t want this. I knew there’d be pain but this was something different. I never wanted Mel to hurt like this…I…men could never do this. We’re not tough enough. I’m not tough enough.

Mel was so tired her strength was faltering. Markusen told Mel that the sooner she pushed the sooner it would all be over.

And then it happened. I don’t know where the strength came from but I’ve never had anything like it.
The next contraction came and Izzie Rain’s head appeared.

I wasn’t shocked at the size. In fact, I didn’t give it much thought at all. What struck me was the color. She was… a deep purple…and she wasn’t breathing. And that’s the reason I looked at Markusen and the nurses. But then I remembered, this is normal. I’ve seen the videos. I even filmed the birth for some college friends many moons ago. When babies come out, they look this way. They aren’t breathing yet. This is normal.

Then why were the nurses looking so shocked? Why was Markusen reaching for a machete?

Markusen made a cut and Mel jumped. Markusen apologized saying she had to. Then came another heart-pounding push from Mel and Markusen literally dug her fingers in and pulled my daughter free. Purple face, blue body and only then did the shape of her head register…It wasn’t a conehead. Nothing about her looked alien other than the color. She looked perfectly proportioned. Perfectly normal. Of course, she sure did look big. Was that normal?

Although I was still concerned that she wasn’t breathing…then suddenly…she did. Color flowed into her body and face and she cried for about 5 seconds. Well, hello, Izzie Rain. My how big you look. Better to hug momma.

At the cry, Gramma Woodman kicked the door in and came twirling into the room, guns blazing like Rambo. She rushed up to Mel and proclaimed how proud she was.

If there was any doubt that little Izzie Rain was big, it vanished as I looked around at all the nurses in the joint. Where had all these people come from? It was freaking LAX in there. Nurses were running up the walls and backflipping in assorted Matrix poses. There were people everywhere.
Then they started commenting on the size. “She’s gotta be 10.4.” “No, I’m thinking 10.5.” Then there came a resounding…
Oh my god…
Then a nurse announced, “She’s 11.10.”
Markusen nearly gave herself whiplash looking up from my wife’s vagina.
It had to be a mistake. So they weighed her again. And there was my daughter, lying naked on a metal scale. 11.10.

Ten minute old.

14 minutes old.

A job well done, Gramma and Grandpa brought momma a milkshake.

Gramma Woodman and Izzie Rain.

Tired but glowing.

Mel called Allen. Allen called Elliot. Elliot showed up first…may have gotten more than he bargained for. Allen arrived later, while the camera was charging but came baring a flower, a plant and champagne.

Sleeping under a heat lamp before her fist bath.

Extremely unhappy about her first bath.

Clean.

Clean and really really big.

So, yer my daddy, huh?

My beautiful brunettes.

Although I’m told the small one’s hair is temporary. Could end up blond. Could stay brunette. I’m holding out for slick and sexy like daddy.

Mel took this one in the dark and enhanced it on the iMac.

Same with this one.

Time to go home at 42 hours old.

Car seat. It’s not unlike being back in the womb.

Finally at home.

It’s been a long journey.

Turns out, I’m a very wealthy man.

Again, I say…11 pounds 10 ounces.
22 1/2 inches.
No Epidural. 35 minute hard labor.

I have a tolerate/hate relationship with Birthing Class. I mean where else can you go during your ten months of pregnancy to learn about every horrible Saw and Hostel-like malfunction, deformity and incurable disease that your unborn child will not only be at risk at but most likely contract? Don’t get me wrong, wouldn’t miss it for the world, but sometimes it seems a little overkill. Everyone in the class knows that smoking puts an infant at risk. No one’s stupid enough to actually do it.
But I understand there are many who really really need birthing classes. But I’m not certain Mel was one of them. She didn’t smoke. And didn’t drink. We took breast feeding classes because she won’t even consider formula. And although she’s had some greys trying to show themselves for years, Mel refused to color her hair because our Doc considered it as bad as smoking a pack a day. And bless Mel’s heart, now it looks like she’s wearing a white beanie. But you know what, she’s never looked more beautiful. And why not? Better safe than sorry, you know? Of course this last point drove the owner of the hair salon nuts. She’s the first person in Pacific Grove to reveal the rudeness gene.
During the first seven months we walked to Cannery Row every morning. This was not my idea. I am a fan of starting my day very slow and sluggish. I try not to accomplish anything grand before 3PM on any day. But Mel was on a mission. Walking is healthy for mom and more importantly, healthy for baby. So we walked to Starbucks everyday where she refused to drink anything with caffeine. That’s a four mile round trip. Of course, in the last two months that trip had to be shortened. Walking four miles with that much extra weight was just too taxing. But we still walk everywhere. Every night we walk up and down Lighthouse Avenue. We walk to the grocery, to restaraunts to the post office. And as a result, Mel’s only gained 30 lbs. 25 to 35 is recommended.
And while I’ve been pulling marathon writing sessions, Mel’s been doing everything around the house. She washes the clothes and although I try to stop her from vaccuming, she insists it could bring on contractions and she’s giddy to see her daughter.
And since that’s not enough, on top of our twelve 2-hour long birthing classes, Mel has read just about every birthing book on the planet. Sorry, Izzie Rain, unless Hollywood gives daddy a break there’ll be no Ivy League college for you. We spent all our money preparing for your arrival. :)

…and your wheels.
The lease was up on the Audi nearly 10 months ago. I was giddy as a school girl looking at the many German built beauties who might replace her…then Mel tinkled on a stick and all that changed.
Suddenly owning a sports car seemed…selfish. So with the yet unnamed Izzie Rain in Mel’s belly we returned the Audi and drove home in a Ford, a one car family again. But this was a good thing and allowed us to later buy her the above Bugaboo. Thus Daddy gave up his sports car so Izzie Rain could have the hippest wheels on the block. Welcome to fatherhood and sacrifice. I honestly couldn’t be more pleased.

Back to Birthing Class. Here’s what we loved about Birthing Class. The in your face realization that, “You are not alone”. There were ten other couples in our class. What does that mean? Well, it means people on the Monterey peninsula are big fans of the hokey pokey. Nooky is alive and well on the rock stuck out in the ocean. People are “doin’ it” on the central coast.
Them’s the Gailys on the left. Their showing up was funny. He’s a back cracker and Mel and I were getting our backs cracked (a term he does not like) back when we first found out she was knocked up. Assuming it would never happen we were overwhelmed. We’d fill their ears with our stories of doctor visits and panic attacks. He, of course, likes to take credit for our knocked up state because Chiropractic is magic.
Three months into the pregnancy, I started my string of Shrunk pitches in LA and we just got busy. So we never finished our back cracking sessions. Then during our first Birthing Class, in they walked. And there’s Adrian, just as knocked up as Mel. Although we were droning on and on about our pregnancy they were slightly more stealthy.

Each week a different team of couples would bring snacks, representing assorted healthy foods. This team would also give a presentation on the healthy ingredients. We saw PowerPoint presentations, book reviews and so on.
When it came my turn…I did what I do. I wrote a story. The story of the history of Iron and the B Vitamins. I actually hate doing pitches because you can write a script in the same amount of time. But the truth is, a pitch can be fun. So this background certainly added to my turn at the presentation. And here it is. Just imagine if you want, my diving into assorted British and Russian accents:
Medical Science will tell you that a Polish Chemist in 1912 conceived the modern day vitamin. Sadly, this is not the case. Following is the true story of the origin of the B vitamins and Iron.
In November of the year 1734 in the small hamlet of Gillford, south of London, locals awoke at sunrise to discover 27 children missing. Vanished without a trace. Unconfirmed reports ran rampant blaming the disappearances on everything from Bandits to London slavers…even stories of a great and horrific beast from the more superstitious locals. But according to repeated statements made by both the County of Warrington and British Parliament itself…none of what you are about to hear…ever happened.
On the night in question, on the outskirts of town, Dixon and Melisande Leatherby slept soundly in their small cottage near the river. When suddenly they awoke to a thunderous sound, like great oaks falling in the forest, drawing closer and closer. Their first and only thought was that of the safety of their three children who shared a small room at the opposite end of the cottage. The parents had always been protective of their children, born premature they had always been weak and sickly. Dixon, a leatherworker by trade, retrieved one of his many skinning knives and raced to check on his children. When suddenly the entire cottage bucked and leapt as if hoisted right off of its foundation and dropped violently. The next thing Dixon saw was Melisande kneeling over him, rousing him from unconsciousness. Together, husband and wife raced to their children’s room and flung open the door.
The story is told that it was Dixon who screamed and Melisande who went weak in the knees at the sight. The three walls of the children’s bedroom had been ripped from the cottage. Debris scattered down to the river itself. Mother and Father stared in horror at three tiny beds amidst the rubble. Three empty beds. Their loving children missing.
By sunrise the warning bell in the town square sounded but it could not be heard beneath the wailing of so many mothers in despair. Within the hushed whispers there was talk of “The Metal Giant”. The Gillford Elders wasted no time opening the town vault and offering their gold to any hero brave enough to rescued their children. But even heroes know when to turn a deaf ear, for many in the land had heard the terrifying stories of the Iron Beast who lived in the hills. The town’s plea for help went unanswered.
Until that is, the 8 magic dwarves showed up. Again, I remind you, this is a true story.
Dwarven mothers had never been known for their endearing natures and the fact that their children were born in litters of 40 didn’t help matters. As a result the 8 dwarves standing before the townsfolk had been named B1, B2, B3, B5, B6, B8, B9 and B12. Although known as fierce warriors their true passions lie within the field of alchemy. The 8 dwarves worked in perfect unison but took pride in their individual accomplishments.
B1 specialized in a potion that helped with weight loss, emotional disturbances, even heart failure.
B2 constantly boasted of his abilities to cure chapped lips and the sensitivity to sunlight.
B3 was more than willing to help with one’s aggression, insomnia and diarrhea.
B5, widely thought of as a moron by his brothers, was convinced he could cure that sensation referred to as your limbs falling asleep.
B6 had a potion that would deal with anemia, depression and high blood pressure.
B8 could counteract impaired growth and neurological disorders in infants.
B9 swore that his Folic potion could fend off birth defects in newborns.
B12 was known for his work with memory loss and cognitive decline.
All of this was fine and dandy but the elders were only interested in the return of their children. Or did these dwarves have some miracle potion of magic beans that would bring their children home? One of the Dwarves spoke up. “You fink your funny do ya, pokin fun? Now look here, gov’ner, we’re confident we’ll bring yer little ones home. And we’re familiar with this Iron Beast of yours. We even know’eem by name. They call’eem Adkins for it is no secret that he will only eat meat and cheese.”
This of course caused much wailing by both mothers and fathers alike. Thus the 8 dwarves set out on their long journey into the hills of Gillford where they promptly found themselves completely lost. That is, until they heard the singing. 27 tiny angelic voices singing Monty Python’s “Every Sperm is Sacred.” It was like a beacon in the night. It led our dwarven heroes to the mouth of a vast cave where they came face to face with Adkins, the Iron Beast. A creature of metal and rock with massive horns and the leathery wings of a bat. The beast glared down at the tiny dwarves.
BEAST: “Why do you come here to my cave, wielding your weapons of feeble destruction? Do you mean to cause me harm?”
DWARF: “We come from the hamlet of Gillford and we’re here to return them babies before you eat’em all.”
BEAST: “Eat them? I would never. I only wish to be a good mother. I am with child myself but my pregnancy has met with…complications. Fearing the worst I stole these sickly children to raise them as my own.”
DWARF: “What sort of complications you be havin?”
BEAST: “I’ve had nausea and vomiting. I constantly feel fatigue and can’t shake this feeling of lethargy, even depression. I fear for the safety of my unborn child.”
DWARF: “I fink we can help ya wif’at. B6?”
B6 stepped forward and offered the Beast a tiny potion.
“Now that’ll cure what ails ya but if’n you don’t mind me sayin ma’am, this only eatin red meat and cheese just won’t cut it. Potatoes, bananas even a bowl of cereal would do ya some good. Liver, turkey, tuna and a chili pepper or two to add some spice.”
The great Beast was so overcome with emotion that she released the children to the dwarves. And in a gesture of great kindness wrapped a meaty claw around one of her own horns and broke it off offering it to the dwarves.
“These children are sickly. I give you this Iron horn that you might ground it to a powder. Give it to those women from town who find themselves with child. No more than 30 milligrams a day should do the trick. The elemental iron within should keep them from becoming anemic and should stop the on spread of premature births.”
The dwarves and children bid the Beast a farewell and returned to the hamlet of Gillford. Dixon and Melisande were heartwarmingly reunited with their children as were all of the parents in town. A great celebration ignited and according to local legends continues to this very day.
And that is the true story of the origin of the B vitamins and iron.

First thing to note…Izzie Rain ain’t the best pillow. She freaking won’t be still. Daddy cain’t take no nap if she keeps kicking him in the jaw.
And I’ve been in need of naps. Suddenly I find myself overworked and well underpaid. I finished the spec, Medieval. My writer buddies read it and thought it was strong.
Currently the world or horror is all Saw and Hostel. “Real Horror” as the executives and producers like to refer to it. Horror that could really happen. So I sent it to my managers and agents. I’m not a fan of doing what’s already been done. That doesn’t really interest me. I don’t want to cash in on the current status quo. I want to take things to the next level. I want to be the evolution of horror. The managers didn’t agree.
So, I’ve a decision to make. Do I stick to my guns and go out with the spec I like, knowing that their enthusiasm clearly won’t be behind it? Or do I make their changes? What a crazy business. It’s tough enough to get any movie made. Tough to get past the gate keepers out there. Tougher when you struggle getting past your own teammates. I’ll most likely make the changes. Sigh.

Tom sent over the art and lettering for Alien Pig Farm…which I simply adore. And the artwork looks amazing. I’ve gone through the first two issues adding captions and tweaking as needed. Two issues to go. I’m also writing another comic for Tom. Alien Pig Farm was so enjoyable it was hard to pass up. He came to me with a rough outline and I loved the world. I’m also writing a Graphic Novel for David Wohl. David co-created Witchblade and we’ve worked together off and on for years. I’m chasing a video game as well. Thursday I met with the developers, Gearbox. Good guys. Smart too. They have two game concepts I love. Either would be a blast to work on. Of course, my competition is David Goyer. So, if I get one of the gigs it will most likely be the gig he don’t want. Such is the life of the working writer.
It always cracks me up that there are those out there who think Mel and I are rich. Nope, I’m a working writer. I get paid, I pay my bills. That big mansion buying gig has yet to happen for us. I’m always hopeful. I gotta think statistically it’s bound to happen because there are few out there who outwork me.
Then there’s Dean. His Nightmare Academy went out to New York publishers last week and he’ll hear something this week. As a result his house will get bigger and his artwork more expensive while my hate grows more and more complete.
Edit: as I’m writing this he’s IMing me and the offers have started coming in. Uh…yeah. His house is about to get bigger and his artwork more expensive. :)

As we blunder into 39 weeks we’re still walking by the ocean. Izzie Rain’s still as strong as an ox. Which means Mel gets kicked. Alot. The doc measured a femur last week which somehow resulted in the statement that Izzie Rain is around 8.5 lbs. That was last week. Since they gain a pound a week at this stage, she’s over 9 lbs.

And we’ve had a couple of false alarms. One was due to the worry that something was wrong. I won’t get into the minor details cuz they’re sort of…more than you want to know. But there’s this fear that infants will sometimes make a poopie within the womb. When that happens there’s a chance the little one could inhale this thick tar like poopie. Obviously the result can be bad. For one reason or another we thought this may have happened. I was IMing like mad with Dr. Lorey, not due to his medical prowess, but due to the simple fact that he’s gone through two births. In the end he said just go to the hospital. Better safe that sorry and that’s what they’re there for. So we went and they hooked Mel’s belly up to a heart monitor allowing us to hear Izzie Rain’s heartbeat in surround sound.

And suffice to say, we were just overreacting first time parents. If you look up healthy in Webster’s there’s a picture of Izzie Rain’s ultrasound. It’s her momma and daddy who could use a chill pill or two. Above is pretty much a perfect heart rate. And those little black dots represent Izzie Rain’s continual kicks and punches against her momma’s organs. And that’s a good thing. Means she’s strong. And feisty.

So, we swallowed our embarrassment, came home and went for a jog. Rest assured I shall continue to complain about my on and off again career but I take comfort in knowing that 100 percent of our good mojo is funneling into our unborn child. She’s safe. She’s healthy. And her momma and daddy love her very much.
Although through the discomfort of being 38-39 weeks…we got nowhere to make a pottie.

Our bathroom was leaking into the garage. Workers took a peek and informed us that our shower was soon to crash onto the hood of our Explorer. So in came the workers.

The downside is that the whole bathroom is begin done. That means no pottie. No shower. The job was supposed to last a week. It’s been a week and a half and we’re still at least a week away from completion. I feel horrible that my wife and daughter are forced to waddle next door for those multiple trips to the bathroom that come standard with any pregnancy, but…I swallow my pride and embarrassment at not being able to buy a house with a white picket fence and/or a place with at least two bathrooms.

And Mel’s folks have arrived in hopes that Izzie Rain will show up during this last week. Which means we have company and we’re all going to pottie next door.
“Your life is a sitcom,” said Dean Lorey.

Since our trip back to the South had to be cancelled we never had a shower. My mother’s high school friends got together and sent us a gift card from Target so the four of us headed inland to the local Target to buy those last minute diapers and wipes and whatever came to mind that we might need.
Mel’s contractions which have been fairly consistent since Thursday came to a head that night. So we loaded up the Explorer and humped it to the hospital.

False alarm. She’s been having three different kinds of contractions. And although the three types were all spaced properly, it’s the painful back and tummy contractions we should have been timing. Mel was only 3 cm dilated so once again we were being overreacting first time parents. :)

So we came home and went for a walk. :)