Here is a true story. Today I got a phone call from Dr. J’s dad, who had called to tell me this: he and his wife have recently moved into a new house, a cute little cabin on a bigger farm. And recently they noticed a big crowd of people in their landlord’s front yard. They went over to investigate and it was a movie shoot. Dr. J’s dad struck up a conversation with the producer.
Turns out, they’re filming a movie based on a short story by a Nashville writer.
Oh, who’s the writer?
Me.
It’s “Frank,” or the movie version. Actually happening.
What the fuck? What are the chances that a person who knew me would be living on the set of my movie?
Tiny Cat Pants 