You May Be 32 But You're 40 In Hollywood Years

While at Starbucks I noticed a woman who was wearing an outfit that didn't so much shout as scream "I'm the stereotypical, Martha Stewart loving, suburban mom!" I immediately knew she had just left an audition. A few minutes later she came over to talk to the guy at the table next to me (who she apparently knew) and sure enough she had just finished reading for a mom role in a Disney TV show. The thing that surprised me was that the kids she was supposed to play "mom" to were in their teens and there's no way this woman was much older than 32.

"I went straight from hot girl in car to mom of fifteen year olds," she laughed (but not too merrily). "I never even got to be mom of toddler. I skipped that stage."

That's the weird thing about Hollywood. Here mid-thirties is middle aged. There are a few actresses who manage to hold onto their sex-symbol status after thirty: Angelina Jolie, Halle Berry, Eva Longoria...Angelina Jolie. It isn't a very long list. But it SHOULD be a long list. I can't tell you how many gorgeous, totally fit, thirty and forty-something women live in this city! I can pretty much guarantee you that the woman dressed like the cookie-cooking-housewife would still be considered hot by any guy lucky enough to put her in his car. This idea that moms of teenagers need to look like they're 30 is the whole reason why everyone around here is running out and getting their face filled with age-defying snake venom.

But personally I would prefer to keep all needles away from my face. But maybe, when the wrinkles come, I'll go another route. For instance I could start telling people I'm four years older than I am. That way I'll spend my life hearing people say, "Wow! You look so young!"

Hey, it's cheaper than snake venom.

--Kyra "Fashionista Fatale" Davis

When Your Book Gets A Hollywood Make-Over

I’ve always said that if my books were adapted to television I wouldn’t make a big deal about the changes Hollywood would want to make to my stories.  I’m not an “artiste” and I know that what I’m writing is commercial fiction rather than high-minded literature.  So I figured that if I was ever lucky enough to get my work adapted I would be understanding, even encouraging, of decisions to tweak or even out right change things in order to make my work more TV-friendly.

But here’s the thing, now there is a real chance that the Sophie Katz Mystery series will become a television series (although it's FAR from definite) and I’m being asked to make some real changes.  Turns out real changes are much more daunting than theoretical ones.  Go figure.  Every time I’m asked to make a change a little voice in my head starts stammering, “But, but, but, that’s not the way it goes!”  Fortunately most of these suggestions are delivered via email so I can scream, stomp my feet and pout in the privacy of my own home before writing up a very calm and politic email response.    

Of course not all the suggestions are bad. Sometimes (once I’ve finished screaming and pouting) I realize that the suggestion in question is really quite good.  But of course as soon as I make peace with the change another, more drastic change is put before me and then I have to add throwing things to my screaming-stomping-pouting tantrum.

The reality is that an author’s books are sort of her children (although admittedly I do love my actual child significantly more than my books but you know what I mean). When someone tells you that in order to adapt your books they will need to be changed in significant ways it’s like they’re telling you that your daughter has just walked into the office of a nearby plastic surgeon where she plans on getting a new nose and boobs.  And now your daughter doesn’t even look like you!  She’s transformed and been given a totally new image! It’s like your daughter is Cher!  And all you want to do is shake your child and say, “What the hell was wrong with the family nose?  I have that nose, and if it’s good enough for me it’s good enough for basic cable!”  

But you can’t approach it that way.  Children (and Hollywood power players) don’t respond well to hysterics.  So instead you say, “Hey, I understand your need for a new look, but why don’t we just start with a little bit of collagen and take it from there?”  

That’s where I’m at with this thing. I’m sitting with my daughter during her consultation with the plastic surgeon trying to find ways to enhance her natural beauty without totally changing her look.   

And every once in a while I remind myself that no matter what the plastic surgeon does, he won’t alter the essence that makes my child unique. An essence that I helped to foster and develop.

And when I can remember that I don’t have such a big problem with the nose job.

--Kyra "Fashionista Fatale" Davis