Hey legends! First, a massive THANK YOU for the POEM posts – your verses were straight-up beautiful. Hearts full, vibes electric. 🔥 Now, let’s level up. Your mission (if you choose to accept it): Drop a logline for a movie, book, novel, cartoon, animated series – anything you dream up. One sentence. High stakes. Total hook. Example: “When a shy librarian discovers her late grandmother’s cookbook is actually a spellbook that summons gourmet demons, she must master molecular gastronomy to banish a ravenous soufflé overlord before it devours her small town’s annual bake-off.” I know. That’s as cheesy as the soufflé. You get my drift. Rules? • One logline per comment. • Make it yours. Wild, weird, heartfelt, hilarious – go. • Upvote the ones that make you go “I’d watch/read that yesterday.” What’s a Logline? For those of you who haven’t ventured into The Writer’s Retreat (and it is a real treat!) here’s an explanation… A logline is a single, high-stakes sentence that sells your entire story. It’s the elevator pitch that makes someone say, “I need to see/read that now.” Core Structure (4 beats in 1 sentence) 1. Protagonist (who + 1-2 vivid traits) 2. Goal (what they want/need) 3. Stakes (what happens if they fail) 4. Antagonist/Conflict (who/what stands in the way) Formula When [INCITING INCIDENT] forces [PROTAGONIST] to [GOAL], they must overcome [ANTAGONIST/CONFLICT] or risk [STAKES]. Examples • Jaws: When a killer shark terrorizes a beach town, a police chief with a fear of water must hunt it down before it devours the summer tourist season. • Up: When a grieving widower ties balloons to his house to fly to South America, he must outrun a storm—and his cranky stowaway scout—to fulfill his late wife’s dream. Pro Tips • Irony: The goal should clash deliciously with the protagonist (shy librarian vs. demon chefs). • Specificity: Swap “hero” for “disgraced astronaut” or “caffeinated raccoon.” • Stakes > Plot: Focus on why it matters, not the full synopsis.

“A poem shared is a truth dared... a soul bared.“ Share a poetical piece with us all so we may enthrall, have a posting ball, with wordsmith recall, in the hallowed hall, of it all.

I just wanted to publicly say thank you to the members of the publishing committee for the positive feedback, encouragement and edits to my work. Thanks to you I have evolved from a ghost writer into turning my dreams into reality. The Writer’s Retreat is in a different class from other writers courses and classes I have ever experienced. The support I have received has been amazing, thank you Greg, and what I have learned far outstrips anything I’ve learned before. Crossing my fingers for a publishing deal very soon. 🤞🏼

How Stardom’s Psychological Survival Kit—From Studio Chains to Backend Gambles—Keeps the Dreamer Alive Amid the Cutthroat Calculus of Fame. In the relentless churn of Hollywood, where dreams are scripted and souls are optioned, the most enduring survival tactic isn’t a killer clause in a contract or a viral moment on the red carpet—it’s the quiet invocation of the self that predates the spotlight. Call it stardom’s spectral double: the adult icon forever shadowed by the wide-eyed child from some provincial nowhere, kicking up dust and nursing impossible ambitions. This inner duality isn’t mere nostalgia; it’s a psychological bulwark, a way for stars to navigate the industry’s gilded traps. From the iron-fisted studio system of the Golden Age, which bound talents like Judy Garland to lifelong servitude, to today’s fragmented freelance arena dominated by powerhouse agencies, the challenge of remaining grounded has evolved—but the vertigo of fame has not. Even Zendaya, in a candid 2024 reflection on Dune: Part Two‘s premiere, confessed the “terrifying” weight of fame’s gaze, yearning to be seen as a “person first” rather than a pedestal—her spectral double a quiet plea against the public’s unblinking script. What keeps one generation tethered to humility while another spirals into isolation? It’s often that spectral kid, whispering reminders of fortune’s fragility amid the roar of acclaim. And here’s the cruel alchemy: fame doesn’t rewrite the character; it merely floods the stage with klieg lights, exposing the flaws, the fire, and the forgotten lines that were etched in the dark all along. The theme resonates through Hollywood’s lore like a refrain in a film noir: success as a seductive abyss, where the thrill of elevation wars with the terror of erasure. Psychologists term it “impostor amplification,” a condition where the very qualities that propel an artist to prominence—hunger, reinvention, raw vulnerability—become liabilities once the crown descends. In an ecosystem built on exploitation, where every handshake hides a hook, the inner child serves as both origin myth and emergency brake. It’s the small-town dreamer who pinches the movie star’s arm and murmurs, This isn’t forever. Don’t forget the dirt under your nails. Yet for every survivor who heeds that voice, there’s a cautionary tale of those who don’t, lost to the machine that birthed them.

👉 Part 1: On Substack