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“My Gutsy Story” by Duke Marsh

October 1, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

I was interviewed once by a film school graduate for a film magazine, who had the attitude of who was I to think I can make feature film without an expensive film school, and without working for years as an intern.

Who am I?  I was born in a small town in Pennsylvania.  The first house I remember as a child was a log cabin without electricity out in the woods on Mason Hill.  Later we lived in an oil boom town that had gone bust.  It was a small town with limited opportunities.

As a kid I decided that I needed to do things differently from the people around me if I was going to be a winner.  I heard the famous coach Vince Lombardi say “Victory doesn’t just go to the strongest and the fastest it goes to the one who thinks he can win.”  I came to four important conclusions.

If I don’t try I don’t win.

  1. Winning doesn’t require that I to be better than everyone else.
  2. Bad habits and bad assumptions are my worst enemies.
  3. Teaching others teaches me.

As a kid I read classic books because no matter how difficult they were to read, there was a reason that they had become classics.  I remembered a quote from Aristotle who said “We are what we do.  Excellence is not an act, but a habit.”

After the real estate bust in the 1980s I realized that economic security is a necessity, so I decided to become the first person in my family to become an attorney.

I had no role model, but I realized that I could only be defeated by my own doubts.

I worked full time at a maximum security prison in a disciplinary unit at night to get through law school.  All my workers were murderers.  I went to law school full time in the day time even when I had to stand up in the class to stay awake.  I discovered that if I trained my mind to win, success would follow.

I passed the bar, worked hard for 25 years, raised my family, put the kids through college.  But that’s not who I am either.  Not all of me anyway.

When I was a kid I wrote poems and stories.  I wanted to make films, but we had no money.  Filmmaking is a risky proposition.  It was better for me to put my nose to the grindstone, but I always wanted more.  I wanted a change and I viewed myself as a winner.

I learned several things about life while working in the prison.  Life will keep you on your knees if you let it and excuses don’t count so don’t bother making them.

Rocky Balboa said something like “Winning is about how much you can take and still keep moving forward” and I don’t think truer words have ever been spoken.

Duke Marsh Directing

Young people are fun to be around because they are the opposite.  They radiate potential.  Unfortunately that doesn’t last long as they are continually told they aren’t good enough, aren’t smart enough or don’t have the background to reach their dreams.  Eventually they believe the criticism.

I want to tell each of them to “Dare to be great!”  “Live your life with a purpose!”  “It’s not where you came from, it’s about your desire to do something!”

The first thing I do every morning is the hardest thing for me to do that day, so I’ll have no excuses. I focus on doing one small thing at a time and do it the best I can do it.  Doing things right the first time gives you more free time!

The happiest times of my life are when I am making progress on my projects.  Don’t do it by force of will power.  Create an inspiring goal to fuel your desire.  By creating this vision I create an intense positive emotional reason to succeed.

I do little steps every day, and consistent problem solving.  There are no sudden successes or failures.  The old joke is that it takes 10 years to become an overnight success.  Remember to meet people, to read books and write a nice notes.

Tony Robbins says “We act consistent with who we think we are.”  If you think of yourself as a smoker, even if you quit smoking you’ll eventually return to smoking.

When did you define yourself?  Did you decide what you were capable of doing as an undeveloped kid?  Is that fair to who you are now?  What is the tipping point to decide it’s time to redefine who we are?

Athletes find the time to work out.  People who make money find a way to make more money.  We are the actions we do consistently.  I know who I am and I’m taking action.

I continue to work at improving my script writing, editing and camera work.  I don’t have a Masters degree in filmmaking, so I draw upon the unconventional.  I find that if I work with people with a high standard for filmmaking that I raise the bar for my own standards.

I won’t let my filmmaking associates down.  I won’t let my filmmaking friends fail. Age, experience and education will not stop me. I will not know the meaning of defeat!  I’ve made three feature length movies and this year I’m going to (AFM) American Film Market, October 31st-November 7th, 2012.  (like Cannes for the west coast.)

My latest movie, based on a novel by Linnea Sinclair is for women who like romance in a sci-fi setting. Watch the trailer here and photos here.

The Down Home Alien Blues movie details are on IMDb.  Some fun production shots here. Be sure to ask for The Down Home Alien Blues at your local theater.

Nathalie Biermanns

By the way, that film school graduate that told me I would never make it in movies, to this day has never completed a feature film of his own.

 

Jay Mitsch

I am Duke Marsh, a feature film maker, and I am a winner!

Please Like my Facebook page and join me on Twitter: @GreenSignMedia

Duke Marsh Bio:

C. Duke Marsh – Director, Cinematographer, Writer, Producer (and attorney)

Born in Pennsylvania and raised in California.  Duke has a doctorate in law as well as degrees in business and real estate. While married, raising his three sons and practicing law he also wanted to learn about filmmaking.

The time spent practicing law would not allow him to intern on movies or gain experience in other traditional ways.

He never believed anyone was going to just give him a chance to work on films.  But, when the video revolution began he saw it as opening to create digital movies, and built his own video camera and video monitor from parts.

Then he spent years learning about lighting, sound, lenses, cameras, writing, directing, and movie production in order to do it on his own.

Back in the VHS days video wasn’t good enough to produce a feature film, but the second video revolution of digital cinema slowly made filmmaking broadly available to those with the knowledge to use it properly.

The equipment was soon upgraded to increasingly better equipment as he gained experience and connections while writing, producing, direction and shooting various movies.  He has won a Telly Award and a Videographer’s award.

Sonia Marsh Says: Yes, Duke is my husband. You may already know about our family from my book, Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island.

I am so proud of Duke, but confess that I had no idea about his childhood passion and dream to make movies until I heard his emotional speech at a recent SCWA event, where he shared his story with the audience.

 ***

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and I’m so happy to be a guest on Linda Austin’s blog 9-30-12

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Please vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” on the sidebar. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

Vote for your favorite September “My Gutsy Story”

September 27, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Another wonderful month with 4 “My Gutsy Story” authors to vote for your favorite. Please go to the sidebar and only ONE vote per person.

Tom Cirignano shows his “Gutsy” side when he was a young man who just decided to go for it with his ultralight. Thankfully his ultralight mishap ended well.

Tom Cirignano

 

Tracy Leigh Ball shares her story to make parents aware of what happens when you send your child away to become a “star” without taking the necessary legal steps and more.

Tracy Leigh Ball

 

Jonna Ivin injects humor into a dramatic situation: “Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother.” 

Jonna Ivin

 

Paige Strickland shows her persistence and positive attitude in attempting to find her birth relatives and how it paid off.

Paige Strickland

Check out the wonderful bloggers who interviewed me around the world.

You can check out all the interviews here, and I’m so happy to be a guest on Rebecca Hall’s blog “Leaving Cairo” 9-29-12

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

The vote for your favorite September, “My Gutsy Story” submissions starts on September 27, and ends on October 10th. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

“My Gutsy Story” by Paige Strickland

September 24, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Ever since I could remember, I knew I was adopted.  I absolutely hated it and felt ashamed, weird and different.  Growing up in the 1960s and 70s, there weren’t any other blended or “other lifestyle” families where I lived, and being an adopted kid was stigmatizing and awkward. My adoption was considered a closed and permanent matter by the court anyway, so most of the time, I tried to forget about that part of myself and just live like regular-born people did, (whatever that was), even if it meant I had to lie to friends and acquaintances.

As hard as I tried to forget about it, I couldn’t, and that was frustrating and agonizing to not really be like other kids.  My adoption was a success in that I had a great family and plenty of advantages, but I never felt normal.

I knew nothing about “The Lady Who Had Me”, as I thought of her, nor any information about her circumstances other than the fact that she was young, poor and couldn’t keep me.  I never felt anger toward her or my birth father, but I did feel anger because I didn’t have a typical start in life, like my peers and my brother, who was my adoptive parents’ natural child. At the time, “The Lady Who Had Me” was brave and faithful because she went through with her pregnancy and then made the choice to relinquish her parental rights to Hamilton County Welfare with the hope that I would have a better life than the one she could provide for me. It doesn’t get much gutsier than that.

In 1987 when I was 26 years old, after watching a local TV talk show, I learned that my adoption record in Ohio was actually open, thanks to House Bill 84.  I was one of the lucky few that could obtain personal information about my secret identity if I wanted to.  After living in denial of being adopted for 26 years and mad because I couldn’t be like other people without having to fake it, I made the decision to send away to Columbus for my unamended birth certificate, which I imagined to be locked away in the bottom part of a top-secret file cabinet in a smoke and coffee-smelling office, where hurried social workers scurried about answering phones and filling out forms.

For all those years, I’d been living securely in my own adoption closet because I was embarrassed about being labeled as “different”, with no way of altering that. All of a sudden, I had a chance to change and have a real heritage and a real identity. Would I even like what I found? I was willing to take that risk.

Once I had those precious birth documents in hand, I spent many months lurking in local libraries and courthouses. In a large, three-ring binder I collected a paper trail of data about my birth parents and my half-siblings. Every time I found a new tid-bit of information, I wanted to learn more. My birth mother came from the south and had worked as a waitress. I pictured her to be something like the character, “Flo” from the TV comedy show, “Alice” in a diner restaurant uniform, a bee hive hair do and a note pad in her hand for taking orders saying, “What’ll it be honey?” I pictured my birth father to be a tough-talking, football-loving, all-American factory worker on some assembly line with car parts rolling by. I quickly went from thinking, “Adopted? Who? Me?” and “Why me?”” to “I want to know all about them” and “I would do ANYTHING to meet them”. It was an intense bargaining phase.

That bargaining stage motivated me to keep working thoroughly and methodically as I took notes and copied forms found on microfiches and in old criss-cross directories. (pre computers). It drove me to make phone calls to complete strangers and assert myself, and it inspired me to even join an adoption support group and network with people like myself.

I was unhappy to learn that my birth mother had passed away in 1976.  I would never have had the chance to meet her. However, the sad stage didn’t last for very long because her ex-husband, (not my father), told me about her two other daughters and where I might find them. I was also closing in on making contact with my birth father, who still lived locally. During the whole search process doors constantly shut, but others opened wider than I ever imagined possible.

Between 1987 and 1988, I found and met my birth father, some of my birth siblings, cousins and an aunt. Everyone welcomed me and was delighted and amazed at how persistent I was in finding my missing family members. I finally felt accomplished and complete, and I definitely love what and whom I found!

It would have been easy to do nothing. I could have avoided the fear of disappointment or the disapproval of my adoptive parents, to whom I was tremendously loyal, but I refused to stay silent and closeted forever. I could have played it safe and avoided the risk of potential rejection from my birth relatives. I could have kept myself sequestered safely and predictably from unknown waters, but instead, I dove off the proverbial high board and submerged myself in research involving the current whereabouts of my biological people. My adoptive parents accepted what I did, and my birth-family members are grateful that I found everyone. I will never regret having the courage to find and contact them and also work through my personal issues about being an adopted person.

Paige Strickland

Paige Strickland Bio: 

Paige A. Strickland is a Spanish teacher / tutor who has written a memoir about growing up in the 1960s and 70s as an adopted kid who found her birth family in 1987-88.  The story addresses the grief and loss issues most adoptees face throughout their lives, intertwined with the struggle for both social and self-acceptance. Paige has been married 28 years with two daughters, an almost son-in-law and 5 + cats. In her spare time she enjoys pursuing her writing interests and teaching Zumba Fitness™ classes. Paige Strickland is in the process of publishing her book, Akin to the Truth: A Memoir of Adoption and Identity. 

You can visit Paige’s website, join her on Twitter, Facebook, as well as LinkedIn

Sonia Marsh Says:

I love your persistence and positive attitude in attempting to find your relatives and the way it felt like a research project you’re going to solve. I also like when you mention, “During the whole search process doors constantly shut, but others opened wider than I ever imagined possible.” A very encouraging and positive ending to your hard work and determination to find your birth roots.

***

Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all the interviews here, and today I’m so happy to be a guest on Bob Lowry’s:Satisfying Retirement blog.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

The vote for your favorite of September, “My Gutsy Story” submissions starts on September 27, and ends on October 10th. The winner will be announced on October 11th.

 

Check out my new office

September 20, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

If  you’ve seen me on a Hangout video with Jason Matthews’ Indie Authors show, you will know that I have a paper towel holder and a red cutting board behind my desk as well as  a stainless steel toaster and tea kettle. I tried to hide some of the kitchen mess with an orchid from my living room table, but that didn’t work well.

After seven years in my kitchen, I now have a desk in a proper room.

Just in case you didn’t see my kitchen, check this out. Here I’m introducing Jason Matthews and our wonderful panel of indie authors from my kitchen. Looks like I forgot to put the oven dish with foil away. Two of my sons were home during these videos, and I told them not to come into the kitchen while we were recording. Poor kids were thirsty and starving, they had to go out and get food as they couldn’t get to the fridge.

I converted my youngest son’s bedroom into an office and purchased a used cherry wood table and file cabinet, from Craig’s list.

You should have seen Duke and I struggle to carry this table off his truck into our garage, and then slide it along our narrow hallway into my son’s bedroom. Duke had to take the door off the hinges as it barely fit.

Can you see the photo on the wall in front of me? Well that’s a present from a friend in Belize, Olivera Rusu, a professional photographer on the island where we lived called, Ambergris Caye. She sent me this photo for my birthday; it’s from Azul, a small resort about half a mile north of where we lived.

Azul Resort by Olivera Rusu Photography
Goff’s Caye, above our TV in living room.

Duke received this beautiful photograph of Goff’s Caye, an island eleven miles from Belize City.

What do you think? Comments?

Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all my interviews here, and tomorrow I shall be in France with Stephanie Dagg and her wonderful Blog in France.

I shall also be speaking on Monday September 24th at Signal Hill Library with one of the winners of the “My Gutsy Story” contest, Jill Fales. Remember Jill?

 

“My Gutsy Story” by Jonna Ivin

September 17, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

 Role Reversal

“What’s wrong?” I asked rushing into my mother’s room.

She placed a finger over the tracheotomy tube that had been inserted into her neck a few months before and struggled to form words, “It’s…” She began to fiddle with the trach tube moving it around.

I tried to move her hand away to get a better look. “Don’t touch it. Let me see.”

Mom didn’t listen. She kept her finger where it was, forcing her breath to make the words. “Feels crooked.”

“Your trach is crooked?” I asked.

She rested her head back on the pillow and nodded having used up what little energy she had.

I took a closer look. “It doesn’t look crooked.”

Mom glared at me and covered the hole once again. “Crooked.”

“It feels crooked on the inside, like in your throat?”

She nodded, her eyes indicating with frustration, how many times do I have to repeat myself?

“Do you think I should replace it?” I asked, hoping she would shake her head no.

Instead, Mom shrugged, as if to say, “Beats the hell out of me.”

The hospital had sent us home with boxes of new, sterile tracheostomy tubes. The problem was I had never actually switched one out before. A nurse spent five minutes talking me through it before they released Mom into my care. That was my training. I took a deep breath and told myself, I can do this. What can be so hard—just take one out and put another back in, right?

I pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully undid the ties that kept the trach securely in place. I wiggled it a little; it seemed loose enough. Just give it a soft tug, it would slip right out; pop a new one in, tie it off, and I’d be done. Simple.

“You ready?”

Mom shrugged. Go for it.

I pulled gently on the tracheotomy tube; just as I’d hoped, it slid out easily.

“Oh. That was easy,” I said feeling quite proud of myself while tossing the old trach into the trashcan.

Relieved, Mom inhaled deeply.

And then I watched in horror as flaps of skin growing around the edges of the incision were quickly sucked into the hole blocking her airway. Mom’s eyes grew huge as she realized no air was entering her lungs. I froze, staring at her and thinking, Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother. Mom stared back, no doubt thinking, my stupid kid is trying to kill me.

I panicked and did the only thing that came to mind: I stuck my index finger into the hole. In all my life I never imagined that my finger would be in my mother’s throat. There had been numerous fantasies throughout the years involving my foot up her ass, but never once did I imagine finger in throat.

As I removed my finger the skin flaps followed, clearing her airway. As long as I held the skin pulled back she could breathe.

I looked down at her “It’s OK. We’re cool,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her.

She nodded.

Unable to let go, I stretched out my free hand, blindly searching for anything that might help. On table near the bed, the tips of my fingers were able to reach a small, clear, plastic tube that was meant to go inside the larger tracheostomy tube. I inserted it into the hole; as I did, the skin flaps disappeared back into her neck. Fortunately, she was still able to get air through the tube. Unfortunately, the tube was the diameter of a drinking straw. The hole in my mother’s neck was the diameter of a dime. If I let go it would slide down her throat.

My mother had taken care of me my entire life; now she needed me to step up and return the favor and I was failing miserably. I didn’t trust myself to go back to the original plan of inserting the new tracheotomy. As calmly as I could, I called to my boyfriend in the other room. “Adam? Hey, Adam. Could you do me a favor,” I said, “and call 911?”

It wasn’t long before eight huge firefighters crowded into my mother’s small bedroom and gathered around her hospital bed.

The Captain stepped forward asking, “What seems to be the trouble?”

“I took out her tracheotomy.”

“Why would you do that?” he asked in a very deliberate tone.

“I was trying to change it, but when I took it out these two flaps of skin sucked into the hole, so I grabbed this tube and I stuck that in the hole. But now if I let go, it will slide down her throat.”

The firemen exchanged glances then looked at me. Mom and I looked at each other then back at them. I guess they were expecting me to elaborate, but that’s all I had.

The Captain spoke directly to my mother, “Ma’am are you OK?”

She smiled and nodded. I got the feeling she was enjoying the attention.

“Do you have the other trach?”

“Yes,” I said pointing to a box out of my reach.

Another fireman pulled a tracheostomy out of the box and handed it to the Captain.

“So what do you need me to do?” the Captain asked.

“Um… put it in?” I replied.

He shoved the package at me, “Oh, I can’t do that.”

I pushed it back, “Of course you can.”

“No. I can’t.”

Mom’s eyes followed the box like a tennis match.

“You’re the fireman.” I reminded him.

“I don’t know anything about trachs. Are you her caregiver?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know more than we do.”

Clearly,” I said, indicating the situation, “I’m not qualified.”

“We can take her to the emergency room. You can ride along and hold the tube.”

I was petrified of making the situation worse, but felt backed into a corner. I screwed it up so I had to fix it. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The captain put on gloves, asking “What do you need me to do?”

“When I pull this tube out, you to poke your finger in the hole and…”

“How about if I just hold the tube?” He said, cutting me off with a smile.

I nervously joked in return, “Fine, ya big chicken, I’ll do the hard part.”

I shifted to the other side so he could hold the tube.

“Take it out slowly,” I said as the other firemen crowded around to get a better look. My hands shook but I was able to work the sides of the hole and ease the skin out along with it.

“Okay… um… hold the skin back.” I mentally said a quick prayer: Please dear God, don’t let me fuck this up; then asked Mom, “You ready?”

If she was scared she didn’t show it. I tried to be as brave as she was, but my trembling hands gave me away. Slowly, I slid the curved end of the trach into the hole and down her throat. When I felt it was all the way in, I held up my hands, stepped back, and asked Mom, “Does that feel OK?”

The entire room exhaled with relief as Mom answered, “You did good.”

Later when the house was quiet. I sat by my mother’s bed. I could see she was tired. We both were. She looked into my eyes and I couldn’t hold back the tears as I whispered, “I am so sorry.”

I covered my face with my hands and pressed my forehead to the edge of her bed. Then I felt her hand gently rubbing the top of my head, telling me everything was OK. It was a lie, of course. Nothing was OK. She was dying and we both knew it. But no matter how sick she was, or what little time she had left, she was still the mother and I was the daughter that needed comforting.

Jonna Ivin Bio: Jonna Ivin is the author of the crime thriller 8th Amendment and Will Love For Crumbs – A Memoir

Her crime thriller 8th Amendment is also on Amazon.
She is the editor of Loving For Crumbs – An Anthology. Now available on Amazon.
Jonna is a freelance story consultant and available to help you write your memoir or fiction novel. You may contact her via email at jonna@jonnaivin.com, and link to Jonna on Facebook

 

***

Sonia Marsh Says: You have a skill at injecting humor into a dramatic situation and made me smile several times, even when you said, “Oh Dear Lord, I’ve just killed my mother.”  I also felt all the emotions you must have gone through while trying to help your mother “breathe” again.

Please leave your comments for Jonna below and she will be over to respond.

***

 Sonia Marsh is on her virtual blog tour this month.

You can check out all the interviews here, and today I’m so happy to be a guest on Kathy Pooler’s blog. Check out our Google Hangout interview together: “Making your memoir read like a movie.”

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story” you’d like to share?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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