Monday, August 04, 2008

Guest Post: Plot Vs Character

Would you like to attend Gordy Hoffman's WEEKEND WORKSHOP on the 16th/17th August, FOR FREE? Well, here's your chance. All you have to do is DESCRIBE A MEMORABLE TIME YOU CRIED DURING A MOVIE. Leave your answers and your contact email in the comments section ('insightful development notes' at the foot of the post, for those who might be unclear) by 6pm (UK) on Saturday 9th August (comments will be datemarked) and Mr Hoffman will choose a winner.

Yes folks, a blog exclusive! A free competition to win a free ticket to Gordy's exciting screenwriting workshop (normal price £150). Who loves ya, hah? AND you get a guest post from the man himself, talking about Plot Vs Character. He's doing a whole week of workshoppy goodness so for the full details, check out the website or the bottom of the post.


Plot Vs Character by Gordy Hoffman

I once told a writer they were lying. It sounded very much like I was calling them a liar. But I was actually talking about a screenplay they wrote. I often make the mistake of thinking someone is talking about me when they’re talking about my work, which is not my person.

They had left out a very important event of the plot. They had left out a goodbye scene, a moment where a family might never see one again. Do we show every time a character ties a shoelace? No, as it’s not important to the story. So what’s not on the page is inherently unnecessary. Leaving out the important is not truthful.

So how do I know what to put in and what to leave out? What are the necessary pieces of the story? What are the crucial, non-negotiable moments of my plot?

Our characters will tell us. More specifically, our honesty with them.

Does this sound touchy feely? Have you one eye for the exit suddenly? Well, I’m happy to say any discomfort you may feel is where you will continue to develop as a writer, as this is a touchy feely business. The perfectly ordered rhythm and pitch of an engaging plot is founded on how honest a writer is about how their characters behave. How do I become an expert on what a character might do or say in my movie?

I have to admit and continue to admit that screenwriting is an intimate action. I have to cultivate an opinion, a thought, a guess, on what people feel at any second of their lives, and I need to imagine what actions or words might come of those feelings. So I am thinking about people and their emotions, actually, I hope, every time I sit down and write.

The more specific I am, the more honest. How can I be this specific? What do I know about shipbuilding? We’re not talking about shipbuilding. We’re talking about human emotion. What do you know about that? I’m sure there’s a Wikipedia entry, but I suggest you provide your own expertise: you.

By investing your own research as a human being in life, we can create honest actions and words for our characters. Not only will the plot make sense, not only will your story be credible, the audience might actually identify with your characters. Your movie could be compelling.

Do you remember the last time you saw someone before they died? Have you ever said goodbye, knowing it might be the last time? Would this be left out?

Tell the truth.


Workshop Details

LONDON - August 12-17, 2008
Birkbeck, University of London
Malet Street, Bloomsbury
London WC1E 7HX


Gordy Hoffman, the award-winning writer/director (LOVE LIZA, A COAT OF SNOW), USC School of Cinematic Arts Adjunct Professor and founder of the BlueCat Screenplay Competition, will travel to the UK this August to lead a week of screenwriting workshops at Birkbeck College, University of London.

The creative principles of the workshops were borne out of over a decade of experience of judging the only major script competition in the world helmed by a produced screenwriter, a writer who continues to write today.

The BlueCat workshops help the writer develop the authentic, original voice behind every story that impacts the emotions of the audience, the essence of all commercially and artistically successful films.

If you care passionately about your script and story, this week will provide the tools to transform your commitment and concern into a compelling film.

09:00 – 17:00 on August 16, 17 in room B35 Malet Street
Cost: £150

The screenplay is creative writing. It is imagination in action, the heart of every experience of the writer speaking truthfully and generously.

Writing creatively for the screen has no method, no formula, no rigid worksheets to comply with or enforceable rules hanging on a wall somewhere. Every conformity or formula determined and “discovered” by the screenwriting establishment can be blown apart by some of our most beloved movies.

But what cannot be argued away is that every classic movie we love has affected us emotionally.

This is always true.

There are principles of authentic storytelling. Yes. But these are not learned, but remembered from our own experiences of living our lives. The ability to tell a story lies inside every human being.

These questions, among others, will be examined at length at the workshop:
* What makes for a robust idea for a feature length film? How should I consider this idea? Where do ideas come from? What is planning vs. imagination?
* What are the various approaches to the first draft? Does an outline hurt or help? What is the true value of research? Can I just start writing now?
* What is the tone of rewriting? What are the goals of revision? What are the tools of de-constructing your first draft? How many rewrites is healthy?
* How does dialogue affect my audience connection? When is dialogue not cinematic? How does dialogue improve?
* How does description hurt your ending? Does description help an audience care about characters?
* Do all characters have a genuine place in my story? Can I write about people I hate? Can I write about things I imagine and never do? Does that mean I’m not "writing what I know"?
* Who is qualified to give me feedback? Are some notes simply worthless? What does praise for my work do?
* When do I become a screenwriter? Can I make movies where I live? How do I find the real film industry and make relationships?
* Are there other reasons why I’m stuck? How do writers write on a daily basis? How do I trouble shoot when I'm drawing a blank? Why do I get bored?
* Why is pitching my movie important? Do I have to be good with pitching? When does a pitch work?
* What does the personal voice have to do with box office grosses? What is my audience and how smart can I be? How will the audience identify with my own life experience?

Writers will engage in writing and pitching exercises designed to flesh out new ideas or rework existing scripts. Please bring your laptops and/or paper and pen.

If each person is indeed unique, it follows simply that each writer is unlike any other, and can write a story no one else on Earth can. This purpose is the mission of this workshop.

THE TEN PAGE WORKSHOP (limit 5 writers per day)

18:30 – 23:00 on August 12, 13, 14 in room 629 Malet Street
Cost: £125

These workshops will consist of 5 writers each submitting ten pages of a work in progress in advance. We will go over each work individually, discussing the specific, unique challenges each writer is facing on the page. This discussion will include the technical aspects of description and dialogue, the depth and reality of the characters, and how the ten pages reflect where the entire story goes.

The intimate, focused interaction with fellow writers in the workshop will provide all with a greater understanding of the work that lies ahead on their screenplay, and more importantly, a detailed sense of how they might develop as writers themselves.

18:30 – 23:00 on August 12
Cost: £125 SOLD OUT

18:30 – 23:00 on August 13
Cost: £125

18:30 – 23:00 on August 14
Cost: £125



1990: a crappy cinema on Haymarket, near Leicester Square in central London. The film that make me cry? Field of Dreams. The scene that made me cry? When Kevin Costner's character asks his father if he wants to play a game of catch.

By rights, this scene should have had no effect on me. I'm not American, I've never played baseball in my life, and I'm not the world's greatest Kevin Costner fan.

But that moment in Field of Dreams transcends national boundaries, sports or Hollywood personalities. Why? Because it's about the relationship between every son and his father. The moments you never shared with him. The things you never said to him. The feelings you could never express to him.

For one glorious, heartbreaking moment, every son can embrace the fantasy of a simple, perfect moment of pure joy with their father.

That scene in Field of Dreams is so simple, so perfect. It could easily have toppled over into the worst kind of mass produced sentimentality, like some facile Father's Day Hallmark moment.

But writer-director Phil Alden Robinson held back from that, and reduced me to a big, blubbering pile of tears as a consequence.

Every time I've ever watched Field of Dreams since, it's the same thing. I'm transported back to that moment, the tidal wave of emotions that overwhelmed me then and that undo me still.

Sigh. Maybe one day I'll write something half as good.

Neal Romanek said...

Well, what with me being another of those blogging screenwriters (sounds like some euphemism for "those bloody screenwriters"), I already have a blog entry all about sniveling at the movies. Have a look:

and contact me at


Forgot to leave my contact email address: vicious_imagery at hotmail dot com

Anonymous said...

For a couple of years, I used the film “Big Fish” to teach the basics of adaptation to sophomores at Ithaca College. That means, of course, that I have seen the film, and re-read and excerpted the script a dozen times, not to mention refreshing the novel every year. Despite all this repetition, which would desensitize any normal person to an emotional reaction, I have to forcibly hold back tears each and every time I see the film.

The first time I saw “Big Fish,” I was utterly unprepared for the tide that swept me along from beginning to end. My imagination piqued by Edward Bloom’s tall tales of circus freaks, giants and Siamese twins, I suppose my emotional center of gravity was that much more susceptible to the core story – the father-son relationship (along with “Field of Dreams,” it looks like we have ourselves a running theme here!).

I have a brother, fifteen years my elder, who to this day has unresolved issues with our father, who died of cancer in ’79. Growing up, I saw their relationship through the eyes of a little girl, not understanding why they seemed to hate each other so much. Watching this film, it was as if I was five years old again, hearing them argue about the Vietnam War over spaghetti dinner, crying as my brother stormed out the back door, slamming it behind him before jumping into his beat-up ’71 Chevy van and pealing out of the driveway. My brother and father were so much alike; they just couldn’t see it. They couldn’t speak each other’s language, much like the father and son in “Big Fish.”

The finale of the film – Will leading his father’s final tale, entering into his father’s tradition and making peace with the man he didn’t understand for most of his life – made me realize that I wanted so badly for my brother to experience that peace, that sense of closure and final reconciliation. In contrast to Will and Edward Bloom, my brother was 400 miles from our Dad when he died alone in his hospital room in the wee hours of the morning.

When I watched this film with my students, I had to steel myself for that final sequence that would otherwise leave me weeping and curled into a fetal position at the back of the room. Yes, it’s a little like torture, I know, but it’s a damn fine adaptation to teach with.

Anonymous said...

I thought it would post the URL I entered:


camelepiz at gmail dot com

Caitlyn said...

Mid seventies. The local cinema in Hinckley, Leicestershire. I had just been asked out by the most gorgeous boy in school He was taking me to see "Love Story" with Ali MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal. I spent ages getting ready, putting on far too much make up, changing outfits a dozen times. This date meant everything to me.
As we walked to the cinema he asked me "Are you one of these girls who cries at films?"
Me? No. Of course not, I said. Which had to be the biggest lie ever. I cried at the Waltons, for goodness sake!
Desperate not to offend him, I determined not to cry at this film. And I very nearly succeeded. The film got sadder and sadder, and I bit my lip and stiffened my shoulders, keeping my emotions in check. I would not cry.
The climax of the film came, heart wrenching, and I couldn't look at the screen. So I looked around the cinema instead. And there were rows and rows of people, all sobbing and sniffing, their shoulders moving up and down in a strange emotional dance. It suddenly struck me as the funniest sight I had ever seen in my life. I started to laugh, and in my heightened emotional state the laughs turned to the biggest sob fest ever. I sobbed myself dry.
He held me in his arms and I sobbed into his shoulder. Mascara ruined his jacket and if he has arthritis in his shoulders now, it probably came from that soaking.
"I'm so sorry," I sobbed. "I know you don't like girls who cry."
"Yes, I do," he answered. "I just wanted to know if I needed to buy extra tissues."

Contact details are:

Anonymous said...

I can't remember the year but I was on a flight over the Atlantic, and we'd just hit an air pocket. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate flying at the best of times. and this felt like the worst.
Luckily I found solace in the in-flight entertainment, in the brilliant Bridges of Madison County actually.
It's a quiet little movie, which drew my full attention, despite the turbulance.

Their love story is shortlived, yet becomes the special time in a life each will remember a lifetime, and it's the sacrifice that Francesca makes which makes this truly heartbreaking. She sacrifices her happiness for the sake of her family.

For me, the tragedy is encapsulated in the final scene where Clint's car waits at the lights, and she sits in the car behind with her husband, knowing that he'll drive away for ever. And her hand hovers over the door handle, even then ready to the make the decision to go run to him, yet she doesn't - a truly sob-worthy moment that lingers in the mind.


Artful said...

What an opportunity, to gain from my movie watching suffering. Is that what they call ironic? :D

I must admit I am a complete wuss when it comes to viewing and I am commonly the one sniffing hard and wiping my eyes, a lot – damn grit!

Just last night whilst watching a documentary made by first time filmmakers, on the story of a children’s orphanage in Africa; I ended up with a paddling pool in my lounge due to profuse water leakage – from my leaky eyes. But I challenge anyone to watch this and not shed a tear (or two hundred), as you follow the journey of Slindile Moya and her family.

A family split by the death of their parents and where the elder siblings are unable to afford to keep them all together. So therefore, have to send the four younger ones to the orphanage. This was a warm place where the kids are able to get schooling, regular meals and a chance to sing in their choir. An amazing choir that hoped to come to London to perform and raise money for the home, but found they only had enough funds to record a CD. This CD was then picked up by an American charity, which was able to take some of the children to New York to sing with Alicia Keys for the charity “Keep a Child Alive.”

In amongst all this Slindile, lost her elder brother to AIDS and the orphanage burnt down. Slindile with the help of her own family and that of the extended family in the orphanage continues to laugh. And the home has since been rebuilt and has grown to house more children, with donations and some of the money made by the choir.

These kids really have nothing, and yet they remain cheerful and hopeful. Watching this film was heartbreaking, humbling and uplifting. A seven-year-old girl who was asked by one filmmaker - what she was doing at the orphanage, crushed me. She replied it was because her mother no longer came to pick her up. She was then asked, why is that?

“I don’t know” she replied.

I was too young to remember my birth mother leaving me, but it’s something that remains with you throughout your life. I know that my orphanage was less happy, less warm. Although, I was lucky enough to be adopted into a family that gave me opportunities, a future, so I am now able to sit here and write such things. But even I feel humbled by seeing how these children are, how much laughter and love they have to give, regardless.

Excuse me; I now have to go find a tissue. I think I have something in my eye.

(Jacqueline West -

Danny Stack said...

Obviously, I can’t enter the comp, but thought I’d share my own experiences. I’m a complete sap when it comes to crying at movies, or, more accurately, suppressing the urge to cry as much as I can. I even shed a tear during Run Lola Run (the intimate scenes with Lola and her boyfriend)!

One particularly emotional moment stands out for me in A League of Their Own.

** SPOILERS ** Right at the end of the flick, Geena Davis’s character reunites with her younger sister at the opening of the Baseball Women Hall of Fame. It’s a perfect blend of nostalgia and sentiment, as we learn what’s happened to the other characters in the story, and culminates in Geena seeing her estranged sister who she hasn’t spoken to in years. They hug in a warm embrace, realising the futility of their petty disputes. ** END OF SPOILERS **

I’m always surprised how much this affects me every time I see it. Ah, what a sad git I am.

Could everyone mark their comments with ** SPOILERS **, just in case we inadvertently spoil other people's potential enjoyment of our favourite tearful moments!

jazz vox said...

We - who were we? perhaps both my parents, one or two of my brothers, and I - were watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, playing on the black and white TV in the corner of the room. It was a small room and we sat next to one another, but far, far apart.

Perhaps because I grew up in a house of three boys I learned not to cry - I'd be called a girl and left behind, alone, which at the time seemed worse than pretending to be someone I wasn't. Perhaps it was because I grew up in that house of changing rules and shifting alliances, unseen forces impervious to emotion or reason.

So, by the time I was 10 or 12 or 14 this night, the forces I'd tamped down were growing strong.

I don't remember why McMurphy is sent to prison or why Chief is there. But by the time the system turned McMurphy into what he was pretending to be, I saw the bigger picture in the film, and I saw myself in that frame. I understood the mercy and defiance in the suffocation and the escape, felt it move up through my stomach and heart and into the otherwise silent room.

No one was going to break me out of my crazy prison. The day would come when I would have to rip something large and seemingly unmovable up from the floor, throw it through the window, and run for my life.

Anonymous said...

In London in 1990 I went to see Edward Scissorhands. I hadn’t read much about the film, but based on what I knew, and having seen Beetlejuice and Batman, I was expecting something quite dark and quirky, maybe even a bit creepy. I had no inkling of the effect it would have on me…

The film had me from the opening credits and the first notes of Danny Elfman’s beautiful score. It was as if Burton knew exactly where all my buttons were and how to push them. I was captivated by this tale of gothic otherness colliding with suburban banality, and it wasn’t long before I found myself sniffling quietly in the darkness.

The problem was it didn’t stop there. The film just kept getting ever more poignant, potent and exquisitely distressing. The innocent enormity of impossible love, the cruelty of the ignorant, the heaven of reciprocation, the hell of separation… This film had me firmly in its power, and seemed determined to wring every last drop of human feeling from my heart.

My face was streaming with tears. I wanted to bawl my eyes out, but that’s not really the done thing, is it? Particularly if you’re a British male- if we cry at all, we’re expected to do it quietly, with dignity. So there I was, experiencing an utterly unexpected emotional ravaging, yet compelled by etiquette to keep the noise down. As my heart broke, only to be restored by that bitter-sweet ending, I found myself having to exercise enormous restraint to prevent the heaving sobs climbing from my chest to my throat and escaping into the auditorium. The sensation was uncomfortable and physically exhausting, as I struggled against my nature to suppress the full public expression of just how moved I was by this marvellous film.

I’ve since watched the film several times, and often in private where I have been able to sob and whine with impunity, but I shall always remember the way Edward Scissorhands first swept me off my feet and forced me into a battle with my emotions.

Anonymous said...

In the late sixties when I was just a small, cute thing I was introduced to an even cuter thing... Bambi.

I cried not only because Bambi lost his mother but because the floppy eared bunny kept falling over the ice.

Brought up with many brothers I was taught to be a tomboy and never allowed to cry. But I was so moved, so overwhelmed by my first cinema experience, I just couldn't stop crying.

In the end my very strict father dragged me 'screaming and kicking' from the cinema and threatened never to take me again (he didn't). Making a show of oneself in public was definitely a no no as far as he was concerned and it meant I was sent to my room with a burning clipped ear and no supper.

Reacting emotionally and spontaneously to that first movie was my first real insight into being true to myself. I didn't always have to be daddy's good girl or one of the boys.

Nowadays when I'm writing screenplays I use that experience for character development 'Would so and so have behaved like that or would they have put on a brave face for their own father'.

Sal said...

It was at the end of Manon Des Sources when Cesar finds out that Jean, the man he warred with and ultimately destroyed, was in fact, his son. By this stage, I was prostrate on the futon (they were de rigeur back then) and sobbing so heartily, I couldn't speak. I looked up and said boyfriend was regarding me coolly with a 'She's mental' look on his face. I howled even louder. How could I have dated such a cold fish for so long? I dumped him and married a man who wept throughout Finding Nemo with our kids.

Anonymous said...

I cry at every goddamn movie. I cry during action movies, sporting movies, comedies, dramas, everything except romantic comedies. For those I usually gag.

However, I went to see Bowfinger with friends after work in Cork. If you've seen the film you know it's about a desperate wannabe and his band of hopeless outsiders trying to break into the movies. It's a brilliant comedy and one of Eddie Murphy's and Steve Martin's best.

If you recall, though, there is a little moment at the end when Bowfinger (Martin) is at the premiere of his movie. He is battled all the odds and he somehow managed it, and Frank Oz does this little push in on Bowfingers face and the look of innocent awe just choked me up. It was capped off with the final hoorah for our hero when the Fed-Ex guy who for years had passed Bowfinger's house bringing important deal memos to important people day in day out came to deliver a deal to Bowfinger. It's just beautifully heartwarming and would give regular folk a lump in their throat while their grinning along with the characters ... but for me, well it had me buckled. I was sobbing and smiling and had to wipe my snotty nose and tearful eyes dry before the lights came up.

Then to mask my embarrassment, when asked what I thought I shrugged halfheartedly and said, "yeah, it wasn't bad." When in fact I had just seen one of my favourite films of all time.

Anonymous said...

There are three moments that I'd like to proffer. Sure, other films have made me cry - Finding Nemo, It's a Wonderful Life, After the Wedding - but these were the most affecting..

Friday Night Lights

Throughout the film Don Billingsley has had to put up with abuse from his father, Charles.

After the big game, which the Panthers have just lost, Charles appears on the field and embraces his son, slipping his championship ring onto Don's finger.

With all the foreshadowing I probably should have seen this coming (hell, most of you probably did), but I'm glad I didn't. That moment made the defeat a little more palatable.

Reign Over Me

Springsteen's Drive All Night is escaping from Adam Sandler's headphones, as he opens up for the first time. Sat beside him, Don Cheadle listens patiently, as does Liv Tyler who emerges from her office, only to walk in on this gush of emotion.

Spiderman 2

Peter walks in on Henry Jackson (the kid from across the street) helping his Aunt May pack boxes. Henry doesn't waste any time asking after Spiderman: 'He'll be back, right?'

Aunt May adds (to Peter): 'You'll never guess who he wants to be. Spiderman.' 'Why?' Peter asks. Aunt May offers, 'He knows a hero when he sees one.'

She continues (I've paraphrased): 'Everybody loves a hero.. Spiderman did that for Henry and he wonders where he's gone.. He needs him.'

(And that's when I cry)

Anonymous said...

Films make me cry, they just do. They don’t even have to do very much.

Although it is usually the happy moments that do it. In the words of Santana “pain never makes me cry but happiness does.”

An A-list starlet dying of a mysterious disease... Leonardo Di Caprio sinking into the icy briny... neither has the effect on my tear ducts that ET coming back to life or Scrooge McDuck discovering the true meaning of Christmas does. In fact I am so vulnerable to these ruthlessly delivered happy moments I actually cried at the BEGINNING of The Fellowship of the Ring!

My first experience of filmic blubbing was when I was saw The Phantom Toll-Booth when I was eight. For those whose cinematic education doesn’t include this 70s masterpiece, it concerns the adventures of a small boy dragged into a cartoon fantasy world via a magical toll-booth. After experiencing a bit of mild peril and scenes that younger viewers might find upsetting he returns to the real world and lives happily ever after.

Imagine then my tiny self’s confusion then when this happy ending caused tears to spring from my eyes, accompanied by a weirdly pleasant “not sad” feeling.

Even at that tender age I realised that I enjoyed that “not sad” feeling. In fact I kept squeezing out the tears long after the film had finished. Until my parents told me to shut up.

I don’t know what it says about human beings' ability to cry at happy moments other than that they have emotions, but for as long as small robots continue to fall in love and cartoon Moses’ continue to find the Promised Land I will continue to cry, as Reinier Wolfcastle puts it “like a baby hit by a hammer.”

Call me a wuss if you will.

Anonymous said...

They're always surprising, always unique. No one thing triggers it but what they share is a tug of the heartstrings and an indefinable moment. It was '92 and I was 8. My dad had brought me a VHS of Terminator 2. Somehow, brilliantly, Cameron had managed to humanise a stone cold killer; 7 years after making him the baddie in the first outing. The humans seemed more machine like and the machines more human. It blurred boundaries and toyed with emotions in a way I since wanted to replicate in my own writing. With his most human, Jesus like act of self-sacrifice - that was it. The benchmark had been set.
Emotion is power.



So, who was the lucky lachrymal?

Danny Stack said...

Gordy's in the air as we speak, I'm told, but has read the entries and will pick a winner when he lands.

Anonymous said...

Wow, these are so beautiful. I found myself getting choked up! Love this. So what I want to know is, I think some people don't live in the UK and can't go? Is that true? Please let us know if you do NOT live anywhere near London and won't be able to come to workshop. Thanks.


Anonymous said...

danny, completely irrelevant to this post (though some of the answers choked me up too), i have a quick RPP-related question. my series seems to perhaps be becoming more of a serial… is this a big no-no as far as the RPP is concerned and should necessitate a return to the drawing board? And, somewhat related, series don’t tend to have leaps in time of seven years into the future, do they? Would that automatically make it more of a serial?

Caitlyn said...

In answer to Gordy's question, do we post here or email him? I can go to the workshop, by the way.

Anonymous said...

Can definitely make it.
Ken - T2


Danny Stack said...

Anon: not necessarily a big 'no no'. Series are preferable but if the serial is interesting and well-written, then I'm sure it would stand out regardless. Tony's fairly flexible, he's essentially after new talent. Hard to say about the 'seven years in the future' jump.


Battlestar Galactica jumped a whole year at the end of one particular season, so it can be done.

Anonymous said...

Thanks for your patience in picking the winner. It's actually pretty awful to evaluate these submissions, as they are so vulnerable and personal, I really can't pick! So to honor my feelings about all this, I'm going to pick two: Hilary Mackelden and Kevin Lehane.

I honestly could've picked another few no problem. These are sweet. Everybody check your email boxes nonetheless!

And the winners can email me and we'll get you set.

Thanks, Danny! This was a lot of fun.

Caitlyn said...

Just a very big thank you to Danny for running this competition. You will never know just how much this means to me.

Danny Stack said...

Wow, TWO winners! Well done Hilary & Kevin! And thanks Gordy for giving away the tickets, nice one. Share the love, people.

Anonymous said...

Yes, well done you two. Perpaps you'll let us know how it all goes?

Artful said...

Cool. Many congrats! :)

Lucy V said...

Two winners - excellent!

Email me please, we must meet: I will be at the workshop.

And anyone else who will be there!

Anonymous said...

Wow. I had no idea till Lucy emailed me. I forgot I wrote a comment here. This is great. Thanks so much!!

Caitlyn said...

Hi Lucy, I don't have your email address. Mine's If you email me, we can get together.

Elena M. Cambio said...

Congrats, you two! Great posts - well-deserved!