Shannon Bradley-Colleary's Blog

The 2022 Independent Press Book of the Year Awards named my book the Winner in the Friendship Category.

(This is me after all treatments. I was able to keep 50% of my hair by cold capping during chemo! Feel free to ask more about this in the comment section and I’ll fill you in.)

In August of 2020 I was diagnosed with stage two, invasive Her2 Positive breast cancer.

I’d had some iffy mammograms in the past that had all turned out to be nothing. Not this time.

Because I have dense breast tissue, my mammograms are impossible to read.

So my doc ordered a biopsy on a suspicious area which I really didn’t think was necessary as no one in my family has ever had cancer of any kind. But I’ve always gone off the beaten path.

Thank God my doctor was persistent or I may have waited another year and my diagnosis would have been far more dire. 

I haven’t wanted to write on my blog about my cancer journey but I did finally write a post on Facebook just to let people know why I was MIA.

I was both touched and surprised when a few FB acquaintances reached out on DM to tell me they too had had cancer and that my post was really helpful for them.

With that in mind — this is what I posted: 

What I know about how to get through cancer treatment after six rounds of chemotherapy, one surgery and 20 rounds of radiation.

First, think about what you want “after” cancer treatment.

I had my first film produced and selected as a Sundance Film in 2019 and I wanted to get another movie made. So I brought my computer to every chemo infusion (usually when I was feeling best) and wrote like crazy.

I found out a few weeks ago a script I wrote for Lifetime will go into production in June as long as no new apocalypse is nigh. I directly correlate this to my intense focus on what I wanted post-treatment (and great producers!)

Second, practice gratitude.

My kind of cancer was a death sentence 10 years ago. Really smart people created medications that now make it curable! The radiation machine alone blew me away! It’s remarkable what humans have created and I am fortunate to reap the benefits of that genius.

Third, allow yourself room to be a miserable wreck.

Not constantly. Not overridingly. But certainly in the roughest pockets let yourself cry and be self-pitying so those emotions can pass through and not get stuck.

This is hard stuff. It’s okay to be weak and fall apart when you need to. I didn’t want to over-identify with being a cancer patient. But I did have to accept the days it was kicking my ass and come to some kind of peace with that.

Finally, don’t allow cancer to define you, rather how you choose to walk through it.

I surprised myself by never being in denial or asking “Why me?”

When I learned of my diagnosis, I immediately thought “Why not me?” Everybody has something hard they must deal with at some point in their lives regardless of how things look from the outside. “Why not me?” allowed me to move into the cancer treatment process without resistance.

I still have a stretch of road before me, but at this moment I feel hopeful and so grateful to my beloveds, Henry, Clare and Bridget.

Let me know in the comments below if you’d like to know what I learned about managing chemotherapy. Because that, my friends, was a cataclysmic shitastrophy that I’d love to help you mitigate, if possible. xxoo S

The post 4 Things That Got Me Through Cancer Treatment appeared first on Shannon Bradley-Colleary.

It all began with The Black Hair.

I was minding my own business, tweezing my eyebrows using a high powered magnifying mirror, capable of lighting up the crevices of your aging face like floodlights used to interrogate Colombian drug kingpins during the Pablo Escobar era, when I saw it.

It was small, even demure, but it was there. Growing horrifically from the rim of MY EAR! A black hair.

I’d officially become my Grandpa Bradley.

I remember, as a small child, being both repelled and mesmerized by the Amazonian jungle bursting from his ears.

Inspecting my first sprout toward growing an aural rain forest, I cursed the indignities of aging.

I had to regroup and remind myself why I love being fifty. To do so I made a list of what mature women know that young women don’t.

1. Older women know that bodies aren’t forever, so you’ve got to love them at every age – ear hairs and all.

As a mature woman set on aging gracefully, I’ve stopped viewing my body as an object that must be aerobicized, soul-cycled and tread-milled into perfection.

Or crammed, zipped and Spanxed into clothes to be displayed to its best advantage.

Today, I view my body as my faithful shepherd on this vast, rarefied, challenging journey through Life.

I don’t take it for granted anymore and try to listen to what it’s telling me.

Does it want to be beautiful today? Then I must wear red in any iteration and a pair of delicious, dangerous high heels.Does it want to relax and renew? Then I need to feed it yummy food and let it lounge about unmolested by any agenda.Does it want to feel powerful? Then I’ll exercise in ways that boost my serotonin levels and make me soar. (The Argentine Tango anyone?)

Is my body sick or hurt? Then I need to listen to what it’s telling me:

Slow down. Take a break. Forgive me for being imperfect. Nurture me as if I were a beloved child.

At fifty, I know my body belongs to me, not the media, and that I’m so lucky it allows me to taste, touch, see, feel and live Life.

2. Older women know that men may come and go, but girlfriends last forever.

When we’re young, men can be like trains, pulling into and out of the station.

(Don’t make a sexual innuendo out of that one!)

Maybe we’re fickle and curious and don’t want to be tied down. Maybe it’s the men who are fickle and curious and don’t want to be tied down.

But girlfriends seem to stick.

Even when we do settle down with a man, we still need our ladies. There’s a brand of intimacy women get from each other that men can’t match.

Our male counterparts do not want to talk about feelings. They do not want to dissect the meaning of every conversation we’ve had with our impossible boss, our annoying mother, our fractious neighbor.

Women need each other to hash these things out. Men? Not so much.

Recently my husband’s lifelong friend (we’ll call him Mike) came to visit. My husband ran to the grocery store giving Mike and me an opportunity to talk alone.

During that conversation Mike mentioned he’d been an alcoholic for years and frequented 12-steps meetings.

Later that night, when my husband and I were lying side-by-side in bed, I asked him why he never told me Mike was an alcoholic.

He looked over at me wide-eyed and said, “Mike’s an alcoholic??”

I ask you, what do men actually talk about together?

Finally, statistics tell us that women outlive men by five years.

So, unless you’re dating a younger man, your girlfriends will still be there when your man takes his final bow. (Sorry, Gentlemen.)

3. Older women know it’s better to fall in love with a Good Man rather than a Hot Man.

In our younger years, our libido made most of the decisions.

Pheromones flew when Mr. Dimpled, Strapping and Gorgeous winked his moody blues at us from across the bar at three a.m.

We didn’t stop to think about whether he was a ‘good guy,’ but allowed our lady bits to select our mate.

We were too hot and bothered to take a moment, or a month, to determine whether this Lothario had the same values and desires as we did.

This often led to short-term smokin’ sex and long-term emotional pain.

Older ladies have been there and done that. We’re looking for something that fulfills our emotional needs first.

And we often discover, to our surprise, that if our emotional needs are fulfilled, our sexual desire grows apace.

4. Older women know that a Lull or a Rut or a Funk doth not mean the end of a relationship.

When we were younger we could hardly withstand a protracted silence on a date, let alone a period of time in a relationship where things just felt crappy.

As we’ve gotten older we’ve come to recognize we don’t have to make a big deal out of everything, that we can take a wait-and-see approach before leaving a body-shaped hole in the door as we bolt from our relationship.

During a recent midlife crisis I ambushed my husband of fourteen years while he unsuspectingly watched his thousandth History Channel World War II show, announcing that I wanted to run off with another man.

“What other man?” he asked, calmly.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I haven’t met him yet.”

Instead, we sat down and discussed how to ramp up the desire in our own marriage, despite chaos and kids, and took steps to make it happen.

Funnily enough, however, just telling my husband how I was feeling made the feeling dissipate, then fade away altogether.

Older women know that relationships ebb and flow and we don’t have to panic every time the tide goes out.

5. Older women like themselves so much more.

Yes, self-loathing will creep in from time to time. But the urgency of it, the annihilation of it, is tempered by gratitude that we’re still here, that we’re still learning, that we’ll always be a work-in-progress and that’s okay.

We recognize that we are the most intimate relationship we’ll ever have, and that we alone are the hero of our own story.

And we know this too … black ear hairs can be plucked.

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Addiction to a person is no different than addiction to a substance.

All of the same symptoms can take hold:

Descent into a shame-spiral about the addiction.An inability to control your own behavior often participating in self-destructive, compulsive and furtive activities.The loss of positive relationships with other family and friends.Poor performance at school or work. And the list goes on.

Beating your addiction to, what I call, an Asshat isn’t just mind over matter. But the first and most essential step toward recovery does come from your mind; which is admitting to yourself (and then to another person and/or supportive group) that you have a problem.

Next, it’s time to make a plan for quitting, seek help and prepare yourself for the challenges you’ll meet along the way.

Step One: Deciding to Quit1. Write down the harmful effects of your addiction.

How has addiction to the Asshat affected you mentally?

Are you embarrassed by it?Has it preoccupied you to the extent that you’re not doing well at work or in school?

How has it affected you physically?

Are you so upset you’re forgetting to eat?Or eating too much?Are you drinking more than you should?Are you forgetting to exercise?Have you given up on self-care?

How has it affected your other relationships?

Have you lost friends because of your addiction to the Asshat?Are there rifts with family members?

How has your addiction affected you emotionally?

Are you depressed?Ashamed?Do you feel disconnected from the things you used to love to do?Write everything down. And be specific.2. Make a list of positive changes you want in your life.

Imagine what it might be like if you were no longer addicted to the Asshat? Imagine not worrying anymore where the Asshat is and what he or she is doing.

What would that look like? Really draw that picture in your mind.

Would you sleep better?Feel freer?Would you start taking dance lessons again?Would you start traveling again?Would you spend more time with friends and family who support you?Would that sickening feeling of dread that resides in the center of your chest when you think about the Asshat go away?Would you like yourself better and even feel proud of yourself?Write down all the ways your life would be without the addiction to your Asshat.

You can even make an aspirational collage of images that reflect the peace, joy and love you could invite into your life without your addiction, and mount it somewhere you can see it every day.

3. Write down your Quitting Commitment.

Writing a list of important reasons to quit your addiction can help you when you’re feeling tempted to call the Asshat and get sucked back into his/her life.

Your reasons for quitting have to be stronger than your reasons for staying with the Asshat, and when we’re in the throes of our compulsive behavior, sometimes it’s necessary to have a list we can actually look at, hold and read aloud to strengthen our resolve.

Here are some examples of solid reasons to quit your addiction:Decide you’re quitting because you want to have children one day who can count on a stable loving home.Decide you’re quitting because you don’t want to feel isolated anymore and want to see more of your friends and family.Decide you’re quitting because you want to be more effective in finding a career and then maintaining and growing your career.Decided to quit because you want to feel good about yourself and you want to love yourself again.Step Two: Making a Plan to Quit4. Be real with yourself about what quitting your addiction to your Asshat looks like.

When we’re quitting a substance, like alcohol or drugs, complete abstinence is the goal. If we have an eating addiction, that’s trickier because we have to eat to survive.

Quitting an Asshat is somewhere in the middle.

I believe that breaking an addiction to an Asshat should be complete abstinence, which means removing yourself entirely from that relationship.

Having said that, I had to quit my Asshat in stages.

For me, the first stage included:Starting the Al-Anon 12-step programAbstaining from spying on my Asshat to see if he was being faithful to meAbstaining from looking through his things to find evidence of his cheatingForcing myself to make plans with other people and not just waiting around for him.

I don’t recommend this highly, as it took me five years to get out of my abusive relationship, but I will say this, just stopping those specific self-destructive behaviors helped my self-esteem.

Because even if he wasn’t behaving morally, I was, and that meant a lot.

I’m going to tailor the next steps around you permanently ending your addiction to the Asshat and the abusive relationship.

But you can adapt the steps according to your own specific goals.

5. Set a concrete date to quit your addiction.

You don’t want to set the date for tomorrow or beyond a month from now. You’re going to want to select something in the middle.

You need time to do the steps above to prepare yourself mentally, but you also need to set a date that isn’t too far in the future so you don’t waver, overthink things and lose momentum.

Wiki How offers some suggestions that I like:

“Consider picking a date that’s meaningful to you, to help motivate you. Your birthday, for example.”

“Mark the day on your calendar and announce it to those close to you. Build it up so that you won’t be likely to back down when the day arrives. Make a firm commitment to yourself that you’re going to quit on that date.”

6. Seek personal and professional support.

Seeking a professional therapist or perhaps a 12-step support group is invaluable. When it comes to mental and emotional health we’ve got to come out with all guns blazing.

7. Identify your triggers.

When it comes to addiction, we all have triggers that can weaken our resolve.

When I was attempting to leave my last Asshat relationship, I had to make a promise to myself not to see, text, email or speak to my Asshat for at least a month, because any contact with him triggered my addiction.

I also had to avoid places he and I frequented, like restaurants, movie theaters and shops. Because those were triggers.

I had to rid my apartment of all evidence of the Asshat, storing or throwing away gifts he’d given me, letters he’d written, articles of his clothing that were still there.

One great tool to use when it comes to triggers is not just to get rid of them, but also to replace them with something else.

While staying away from the Asshat, make plans with other people. Go to new restaurants and theaters and shops you’ve never been to.

Replace his items in the house with other things you love, like plants, books, framed photos that don’t include the Asshat. Change the layout of your home and bedroom to make it feel fresh and new.

Step Three: Quitting and Handling Withdrawal8. Stop the addictive behavior as planned when your quitting date arrives.

Just assume the first week or so are going to be excruciating. Coming down off of an emotional addiction can feel like dying.

I spent practically the entire first month sobbing. But I kept myself as busy as I possibly could and I suggest you do the same.

See your therapist, go frequently to your support group, and commit to a sponsor to keep you busy and moving forward in your recovery.

Surround yourself with people who know about what you’re doing and who will be supportive and encouraging.

9. Steer clear of your triggers.

When I asked my Asshat not to contact me for one month, I was able to stick to it because my Al-Anon sponsor called me every morning at 8 a.m. to pep talk me into just one more day without contact with my addiction.

I took it “One Day at a Time,” which is an incredibly practical, helpful slogan to adopt. Set up a therapist, sponsor or friend who might be willing to do this for you.

Make sure you don’t allow yourself to look at memorabilia of your abusive relationship. Don’t stalk your Asshat online or visit the locations the two of you spent time together.

You cannot afford to indulge ANY SENTIMENTALITY! 10. Don’t give in to rationalizations!

Addiction lies. It comes to us in the dead of night when we’re loneliest and whispers in our ear. Things like this:

“He wasn’t so bad. He says he loves me. And who says there’s anyone better out there? Maybe all men/women lie, cheat and don’t commit.”

Or

“She says she’s going to change and this time she seems to really mean it. People do change. Who’s to say she can’t?”

Or

“If I don’t marry this Asshat who knows how long it will be before I meet someone else? By then I may be too old to start a family.

These are all lies. This is addiction lying to you. Do NOT give in. When you feel yourself beginning to cave:

Go back to your list of reasons to quit your addiction. Think about why quitting is more important than staying addicted.

Lean heavily during these times on your therapist, your 12-step sponsor, your supportive community and me.

11. If you relapse don’t give up.

As anyone who has worked a 12-step program for addiction will tell you, relapses are bound to happen.

There’s no point in beating yourself up and heading into a shame-spiral that will only keep you stuck in the addiction.

Be kind to yourself and encouraging, as you would be to a friend or even a little child.

Give yourself a break. Empathize with yourself and give yourself credit for fighting the good fight.

Then look into why you relapsed? Did you have a particularly stressful day that caused the relapse? Did you encounter and engage in one of your triggers? How can you learn from this and use that knowledge to recommit to recovery having more experience to draw from?

That’s it for now. I’m so glad you’re here. This is a safe place to do the brave things that need to be done. Xo Shannon

 

When I was nine-years old my mom went through a debilitating divorce from my stepdad and I moved in, permanently it would turn out, with my dad and stepmom.

I was a wreck.

I threw up and had fevers whenever I flew alone from my dad’s Southern California home to visit my mom in the Bay area. 

I felt isolated and afraid. I didn’t immediately fit in with my new family and when I did start to feel I belonged there, I was dogged by a horrible sense of betrayal toward my mom.  

I named this feeling, which was almost like a living person, Divided Loyalties.

I felt like I was moving through the world with no skin on, as if I were a creature who’d lost its shell so that everyday problems — a mean kid on the play ground, having no idea how to deal with my puberty-induced frizzy hair — seemed insurmountable.

Then I met Kelly in the intimidatingly cross-eyed Mrs. Hibbard’s 4th grade class at Sycamore Elementary.  

Kelly was a gamine 4′ 10″ (although now I think she claims she’s 4′ 11″ — she’s the only one of us who isn’t shrinking).  

She was half Mexican/half Caucasian via Scotland. She was eagle-eyed, tigerishly intelligent, stubborn as a pitbull and fiercely selective in giving her friendship.

I was her polar opposite; a people-pleaser who was friendly with everyone.  

A social butterfly. Years later, I asked her why she had chosen to befriend someone like me and she said very simply, “You were just so beautiful that I fell in love with you.” In doing so, she saved my life.

If you were going to be friends with Kelly, then you were also going to be friends with Viv.

Kelly and Viv grew up just down the street from each other and had been sisters-by-choice since kindergarten. Even today they finish each other’s sentences.

Viv was one of about four Latina children in our elementary school and it wasn’t until years later that I discovered how hard that was for her.  

She was called names I won’t repeat here, but faced it with a spine of steel, determined to never let ’em see her cry.

Viv wasn’t quite as interested in befriending me, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed new girl who fit right in, but slowly she accepted me as part of Kelly’s package.  

Viv’s friendship wasn’t easily won, which made it all the more precious.

And it wasn’t always easy being Viv’s friend because she was (and is) outrageously gorgeous; with flashing white teeth, a thick mane of black curls and a dimple in her left cheek I envied.  

In high school, the boys I loved, loved her instead. But no boy would ever rend our friendship asunder.

Kelly, Viv and I came to be known as the Hubba Hubba Girls in elementary school, because we’d whisper, like old-timey Vaudeville performers, “Hubba, Hubba” when cute boys walked by.  

We passed furtive notes back and forth about our most passionate crushes, giving them code names to avoid detection.  

There was Juicy Fruit (his gum of choice), Tea (because of the brown color of his skin) and, I think, Sugarpops? 

(Kel? Viv? What was it? My peri-menopausal brain is at sea).

To our horror, some of our notes were intercepted and decoded, after which we’d go underground, flying beneath the radar on the playground.

No more dominating the cannonball or tetherball courts, or winning arm-wrestling competitions, until we could cook up new names for our unrequited paramours.

The Hubba Hubba girls in our 20s at Pearl Harbor in Oahu, 1990

But, it wasn’t our shared crushes that bonded us. As it turns out, 1974 — that difficult transitional year for me — was equally challenging for my friends.  

I won’t share their stories. They’re not mine to tell. But I think we each intuited a woundedness in the others that was inchoately felt before it was ever spoken.

We fell into empathy with each other.  

Our similar sadness cancelled out the differences in our backgrounds and temperaments. And we had the ability to make each other laugh until we peed our pants.

The Hubba Hubbas in Honolulu circa 1990

Over the years our friendship has ebbed and flowed.  

There were times I felt a great distance from both of my oldest girlfriends. There were times we didn’t like each other very much.

There were times I wondered whether we could reconnect, or if we would simply just fade away.

When I got married in 2001, I hadn’t been close with either Kelly or Viv for some time, but I knew they simply had to be in my wedding, because they were partly responsible for me selecting a loving spouse.  

It was through their love that I learned to love myself.  

It was their love that mitigated the shifting sands during that difficult period in my childhood, they were my solid foundation.  

And it was their love that helped me recognize what loyalty looks like in my then-fiance Henry. He loved me as they did, unreservedly, and despite all of my flaws.

My wedding brought my friends back to me.  

Between us we had four daughters in three years. I can see in our daughters’ faces, our young faces, lo those many years ago.

It gives me so much joy that our daughters seem to have a very similar chemistry to the chemistry the Hubba Hubbas had at Sycamore Elementary.  

They’re inscrutably ironic, dry of humor, sharp of wit and silly as mice on helium. There’s not a Mean Girl among them. And nothing makes me happier than seeing them together.

My girls, Clare and Bridget, Kelly’s Haley and Viv’s Lexi at Crystal Cove in Newport Beach, July 2013

I want to say thank you to my fellow Hubba Hubbas for seeing me through the eye of the storm and out the other side.  

I know you’ll be there for me should times get rocky again. You are mine and I am yours. Always and Forever (the song of our friendship). I love you.

The Hubba Hubba Girls in Palm Springs 2011.

How Women Can Avoid Date in 9 Steps

“The thing about being murdered,” writes William Langewiesche in this May’s issue of Vanity Fair, “it usually comes as a surprise.”

The Same Can Be Said of Date Rape

When I awoke that bright spring morning of March 21st, 1986 in a pensione in Venice, Italy; I didn’t expect the day to end on a dark, deserted beach with a boy I’d just met pinning me to the ground hissing in my ear, he had “un coltello” (a knife) and that “ho intenzione di ucciderti” (he’d kill me) if I didn’t “f–k” him.

Getting dressed that morning, I didn’t know I’d have an out-of-body experience.

Where I seemed to float above the scene, looking down at the two bodies grappling on the sand below; feeling profoundly sad my mom might never know what happened to me, after I died on that beach so far from home.

I’m a mother now. My daughters are 8 and 9.

The thought of them ever being in a similar situation is intolerable. Bad things can happen, no matter how prepared and careful we are.

But when my girls are old enough, I’m going to share this story with them and hope they’ll see the warning signs I missed.

My Story

In 1986 I was a privileged 20-year old college student studying journalism in London for a semester abroad, along with 22 other students from the University of Southern California.

This was pretty heady, entitled stuff.

I’d left my college sweetheart behind and hoped he’d be there when I got back five months hence.

But it wasn’t a great relationship.

I’d spent most of it worrying he was cheating on me with other girls, so once I’d acclimated to living without him, the co-dependent umbilical chord was cut and I felt free in the best possible way.

I danced with friends till all hours at the Hippodrome.I got front row seats at Les Miserables for the 4 ££ student price, sitting so close I could see the actors’ spit fly.I choked down thick, frothy Guinness beers in pubs at Covent Garden, not because I liked them, but simply because in England the drinking age was 18.

I didn’t need a car, because I rode the Tube, the Thames, the taxis and the double-decker buses.

I walked the busy London streets wearing a black beanie, headphones and gloves with the fingers cut out of them. Maybe I’d get a tattoo of Sid Vicious on my rump?

Gone was the preppy, conservative USC undergrad.

I was anonymous and free to re-invent myself as the young, unencumbered heroine of my own story, where risks could be taken, but I would always be safe, because they weren’t real.

One Night in Italy

Two of the girls in our group, Cassie and Alex, decided to go to Italy for spring break and asked me if I’d like to join them.

Italy for spring break? Why not?

It was cheaper than Fort Lauderdale in the states, and it affirmed the new way I saw myself, as a Woman-of-the-World. An intrepid explorer.

I’d been to Italy once before, with my grandparents as chaperones, when I was in high school.

I remembered how gorgeous the Italian men were.

For a 16-year old hormone case, all of those flashing white teeth, thick-lashed eyes and gorgeous olive complexions about made me swoon.

The British boys hadn’t impressed the USC women much.

They didn’t seem to value the art of flossing and brushing, let alone the entire field of dentistry. They seemed pale, pasty, spotty and gangly.

None of us had had so much as a coffee date with a boy since arriving in London three months prior. We were a profoundly celibate group and ready for a bit of romance.

So the three of us struck a deal. The first one to be kissed by a magnetic Italian won free drinks for the remainder of the trip.

The extent of our vacation planning was to buy airline tickets flying us into Venice then, ten days later, flying us out of Pisa.

We wanted to hit Florence and Rome in between, using Eurorail student train passes.

We didn’t have hotel reservations, but hoped to find pensiones and youth hostels we could stay in along the way.

Audacious youth!

When we emerged from the plane with our duffel bags, Italy seemed to greet us with open arms.

The weather was impeccable; the sun bright, the sea briny, the architecture and history world-class and the men did not disappoint.

There seemed to be an unfair percentage of the world’s most delectable men living in Venice and they flocked to American college girls like proverbial bees to honey.

Alex, Cassie and I did do some legitimate sight seeing, but mostly we drank espressos in the Piazza San Marco, rode in a gondola under the Bridge of Sighs, bought Venetian glass earrings and masks in the Mercerie by the Rialto Bridge.

We ate pizza for breakfast, gelato for lunch and bottles of Limoncello for dinner.

At the end of our second action-packed day, the girls and I hopped a water bus to the Lido de Venezia; a little island 12 minutes south of Venice.

We arrived at the main touristy thoroughfare, the Santa Maria Elisabetta, and immediately found a restaurant that met our spartan budget.

We’d just managed to finish our first bottle of 5 dollar wine when a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed Italian man sat down at the empty seat at the end of our table. He introduced himself, in broken English, as Fabio.

The arrival of Fabio immediately injected novelty and romance into our all-girls trip.

Had we been in the states, we probably wouldn’t have invited him to join us, but getting to know the natives was an integral part of the fantastic story we were weaving for ourselves.

Throughout dinner Fabio charmed us with his enthusiasm and willingness to speak English badly.

He seemed to come straight from central casting; the outrageously flirtatious Italian, passionate, but benign.

After dinner, when we were at a loss what to do next, Fabio suggested we allow him to take us down to the beach where we could stick our feet in the Adriatic Sea.

He assured us it was walking distance. We immediately agreed.

Would the Adriatic somehow be more luminous and magical than the Pacific?

We stopped into a liquor store first to purchase two more bottles of cheap red wine to embolden our journey.

When we emerged from the liquor store, we noticed two young men leaning against a telephone booth, smoking.

Fabio said something to them in Italian that none of us could understand.

It was a strange exchange, somehow furtive, as though Fabio hadn’t wanted us to see them.

As we moved on, I asked Fabio who they were.

“Just some friends,” he said dismissively.

There was something about them that struck a discordant note in our light-hearted evening. They seemed dark and brooding, sizing we women up like pieces of meat.

But soon, they were out of sight and out of mind.

The four of us walked away from the well-lit, bustling main streets of The Lido into the ancillary roads which were sparsely populated and under lit.

I felt a little uncomfortable walking away from civilization with a boy we barely knew, but shrugged it off.

There were three of us and one of him. He was our age, our size, a student like us. It would be an insult to his hospitality to turn back now.

How Women Can Avoid Date Rape in 9 Steps1. Follow Your Instincts

We emerged onto the frontage road that ran parallel to the beach. It was completely deserted and equipped with only one street lamp.

The beach stretched a good half-mile into the distance before it touched the Adriatic. It wasn’t luminous or exotic. But dark and frigid under a crescent moon.

“I’m getting cold,” said Alex, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

“Come on,” said Fabio, his enthusiasm amped up a notch, “I find you somewhere warm.”

Suddenly, two shadows disengaged themselves from the dark appearing in our circle of light.

A gasp of surprise stuck in my throat.

For a moment, I thought we were about to be mugged. Then I recognized the faces of the two young men Fabio had spoken to in town.

It was an ominous moment. We three girls instinctively recoiled.

The boys must’ve noticed our collective hesitation, because they transformed from poker-faced strangers, into smiling charmers greeting us in broken English.

2. Accomplices and Conspiracies: There May Be Multiple Perpetrators Who Conspire to Commit the Crime. Particularly in Social Settings.

Fabio introduced the young men as Marco and David.

They were both dark-haired and dark-eyed. Undeniably handsome.

They no longer peered at us from beneath hooded eyes, but reached out their hands to shake ours and asked us where we were all going.

Fabio told them he wanted to show us the beach. We had wine, would they like to come?

Another red flag.

Something in Fabio’s delivery seemed rehearsed. This thought barely registered, but is remembered now by me years after the fact.

3. Do Not Let Appearances Lull You Into a Sense of Safety

I have to interject an observation here.

There’s an animal instinct hard-wired in our DNA which makes us respond positively to beauty.

Had these young men been unattractive, the night might’ve ended there.

Beauty equals Good. Beauty equals Safe.

Killers like Ted Bundy were able to lure their victims more easily because they were handsome.

Alex and Cassie looked to me to see what our next move should be. I was, by some biological imperative, the alpha in our trio.

This was a pivotal moment where we could’ve turned back.

But I was an “experience junkie.”

I wanted the story, the adventure and, now I can admit, the kiss that would make me victor in our competition for male conquests.

Cassie and Alex read the decision in my eyes and soon we were following the boys down that remote beach even farther away from people and help.

4. Avoid Secluded Places/Don’t Spend Time With Someone Who Makes You Feel Uneasy

As we came close to the shoreline, Fabio pointed out several changing cabins that were used by wealthy patrons of the nearby luxury hotels during the frenetic summer months.

He knew just which cabin was unlocked, pushed the door open and the three boys went inside, beckoning us to follow.

“It’s warm in here, viene, viene!”

Again, I hesitated, prey instincts flaring, but then I thought, “Oh, what the Hell.”

In I went, Cassie and Alex followed and Marco closed the door behind us.

We were thrown immediately into pitch-black darkness.

I couldn’t tell who was in front of or behind me. It was a jumble of elbows and shoulders intermingling until one of the boys lit a candle with his lighter.

I don’t remember who it was, but I do recall thinking this wasn’t the first time they’d brought girls to this cabin.

It even made me smile a little. “Boys will be boys,” I thought.

The bottles of wine were quickly uncorked and we settled in to drink and talk. Initially the six of us sat in a round circle, but inevitably we paired off.

5. Stay Sober and Aware

I sat next to David. I can’t see his face in my mind anymore. I just remember thinking he was gorgeous, and wondering why I’d thought he was a little scary before.

We conversed in a mixture of Italian and English. I was pleased we seemed to understand each other.

David frequently passed me one of the wine bottles and each time I took a swig. But when I offered it back to him, he always declined.

I found out later that none of the boys drank.

We three girls – with a great amount of prompting from the boys – finished both bottles of wine.

6. Know Ahead of Time What You Want

As the wine warmed my belly and dispelled my inhibitions, I decided David was the Italian boy I would kiss to win the bet with my friends.

But a kiss was all I wanted. I thought it would be safe with the two other couples nearby.

Abruptly, all of the wine from dinner and in the cabin caught up with me and I had to pee.

I excused myself as discreetly as a moderately drunk person can and went just outside the cabin to squat ladylike in the sand.

When I was done and stood to zip up Alex emerged from the cabin looking troubled.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Fabio’s been saying he has a girlfriend, but that he sleeps with other girls. Then he asked me if I have a boyfriend and if I sleep with him.” She said she felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave.

I was annoyed. Why was she being so fragile?

Couldn’t she tell Fabio she wasn’t interested in sex; she just wanted to enjoy his company? Why did she have to ruin my good time?

I’d hoped our evening would evolve like Prom night in high school, three couples making out, but ultimately protected from going “too far” by sticking together.

Alex, Cassie and I weren’t close friends. We’d only known each other casually those brief three months, but instinct told me I didn’t want to be on this beach without them.

I agreed we should leave.

Alex and I returned to find Cassie already attempting to exit the cabin, with all three men trying to persuade her to sit back down and stay; grasping her arms and elbows.

She practically fell into our arms in a state of semi-panic.

My senses were still sodden and her discomfort failed to register until later.

Alex and I picked up our purses explaining it was time to go.

It all happened very quickly, we girls trying to leave and the boys trying to dissuade us with charm, entreaties and subtle body blocking.

But a tenuous etiquette to social norms held, allowing Alex and Cassie to exit the cabin, followed immediately by Marco and Fabio still trying to plead their case.

I wouldn’t see any of them again on that beach.

7. Go Out With a Group of Friends and Watch Out For Each Other.

David and I were alone in the cabin. I could hear the voices of my friends and the other boys just outside.

I had a choice. I could step through that door and follow them, or I could turn back to David and collect my kiss.

I stepped into his waiting arms.

The kiss was electric. Hungry, passionate. I felt beautiful, desirable.

While I loved my boyfriend at home, he hadn’t always appreciated me and at times made me feel insecure and unattractive.

It had been three years since another boy touched me.

I don’t know exactly when things began to go wrong. And I have no sense of how much time went by. 

But at some point, I realized I couldn’t hear the voices outside anymore, and the kiss didn’t feel like a kiss anymore.

It felt like something hard and sharp, like a knife forcing me to the edge of a black pit.

I tried to pull away, but David held me tight. My arms pressed to my sides. I stopped responding to the kiss, but David didn’t seem to notice.

I inched my hands up his chest and pushed steadily, expecting him to get my signal and back away.

Instead, he pinned me to the wall and held me there with his full weight against me, both my wrists trapped in one hand.

Men Are Much Stronger Than Women. Period. The End.

David wasn’t physically intimidating. We were the same height and roughly the same size.

He might’ve had twenty pounds on me in muscle mass, but I remember being shocked at how strong he was; how I was pinioned to the wall and couldn’t seem to move, no matter how hard I tried.

Date Rapists Amp Up Their Attack Gradually So the Victim Doubts Herself.

There was a split second, when David planted his feet apart to maintain his leverage over me, that I could’ve kneed him in the groin.

Two things stopped me.

The first was the fear I might be wrong about what was happening.

Maybe he was too swept away by desire to realize I wasn’t having any fun, and if I kneed him, I might feel bad or even worse, embarrassed for hysterically over-reacting.

The second reason I didn’t knee him was because I was afraid I might miss.

And if I missed, he might really hurt me. I didn’t dare to think it, but in retrospect, I realize I was afraid he might be capable of killing me.

The opportunity to hurt him passed.

I continued trying to push him away. I told him I wanted to go. He kept saying all he wanted to do was kiss and that he’d let me go in a minute and I wanted to believe him.

What I didn’t know then was that he was buying time so that Fabio and Marco could get my friends far enough away that they wouldn’t hear me if I screamed.

And I didn’t scream. I desperately hoped he would come to his senses.

I felt myself getting weaker and weaker as I tried to push him away, now with my forearm against his throat.

I don’t remember how I managed it, but I knew I had to get out of that cabin at all costs.

Somehow, I must’ve caught him off balance, because I managed to fling myself out the cabin door where I could be rescued by my friends.

But they were gone. The beach was completely deserted.

That’s when David tackled me from behind; knocking me face-first into the sand; rolling me over and climbing on top of me. Imprisoning me once more.

8. Engage Your Vocal Chords. Scream and Yell as Loud as You Can

I didn’t realize it, but from the moment the kiss turned bad, I hadn’t engaged my vocal cords. I had whispered, “No, no, no, let me go.”

But, I hadn’t actually made a sound anyone but David could hear.

Years later, I went to my friend Laura’s self-defense course graduation. I learned there that when women are attacked, they frequently become paralyzed and don’t speak.

I learned that engaging the vocal cords loudly, actually ignites adrenaline, which allows women to fight back.

Women Are Often Raped and Killed Without Making a Sound.

My struggle with David continued on that empty beach.

I wonder how long we were there? It had to be longer than five minutes in the cabin. It would’ve taken at least that long for the others to hike up the beach to the road above and disappear.

But was it ten minutes, twenty? Half an hour? It seemed like a lifetime.

There was still a small piece of me that hoped David would stop. I was so weak and out of breath from straining to break free that I could hardly move.

It’s how I imagine hypothermia must feel to someone struggling to stay above water in the ocean, until their body gives way and they drown.

David tried to kiss me again and I bit his lip.

This infuriated him. He held my head down and bit me twice on the chin, drawing blood.

Then he put both of his thumbs in my eyes and pressed, as if he would gouge them out, muttering unintelligible threats in Italian.

I lay very still. He took this as acquiescence and ripped my shirt open, buttons flying everywhere and shoved his hands under my bra.

Then he reached down and ripped my jeans open, breaking the zipper.

I began to struggle afresh. This is when he told me that he had a knife and he was going to kill me if I didn’t fuck him. Instantly, I left my body.

My spirit wanted to be anywhere other than where it was.

I didn’t actually see scenes from my life, but I thought about everything I’d achieved:

Graduating high school with honorsBeing senior class presidentEntering college with 8 credits thanks to AP exams.I thought about the plans for the future, my future. The one I’d worked so hard for that might come to a blunt end at the hands of a stranger.

And I thought of my mom.

How devastated she’d be. Would they ever find my body? Would she always wonder what had become of me?

It seems strange that I thought of my mom.

We hadn’t lived together since I was 9-years old. She didn’t loom large in my life anymore. I’ve come to think that when we are terribly frightened, we just want our mom.

I used to say I’d never “allow” anyone to rape me. I said I’d fight to the death first. Not true.

I quit trying to figure out how not to get raped and started thinking about what I had to do to stay alive.

I tried to help David pull my jeans down.

They were stuck. I’d put on weight over the last three months and they wouldn’t budge with David lying on top of me.

He sensed I wouldn’t fight him anymore, so he levered himself off of me and jerked me around onto my hands and my knees.

His pelvis was pressed against my backside as he pulled my jeans down over my hips.

This was the first time my arms were free and his weight wasn’t pressed against me.

That brief moment of physical freedom unleashed something primal in me. I had one rational thought, If he has a knife, why haven’t I seen it?

I pushed up off the sand, and threw my fist back trying to hit his crotch. I made partial contact and felt for the first time that I surprised him.

A wild, hysteria and a refreshed panic to get free overtook me.

Sensing I was going to fight again, David threw his arm around my neck from behind.

Suddenly, I found my voice and screamed, “Rape!” for all I was worth. Adrenaline shot through me.

I’m not a martial artist, or slick or cool, this wasn’t a scene from Charlie’s Angels, it was just plain good luck that when I tried to throw his arm off of my neck, my elbow caught him smack on the nose.

I saw blood spurt and then I saw nothing but sand and that distant streetlamp as I ran headlong up the beach.

Running up that beach was like the recurring nightmares I’d had about being chased by someone I couldn’t see and not being able to run.

My legs felt like they were wading through molasses, my jeans were down around my thighs and my vision was blurry.

I found out later that when David put his thumbs in my eyes he’d shoved both my contact lenses behind my eyeballs.

I kept expecting him to grab me before I could reach the street.

I remember sobbing, “this isn’t funny anymore.” Already angry with myself; blaming myself for being a victim who’d wanted to have a fun adventure.

A girl who wanted to be kissed by an Italian boy, so she would have a romantic story to tell. My name could’ve preceded so many missing girls …

Natalie Holloway, Meredith Kercher, Jennifer Levin; to name just a few.

I achieved the street, finally pulling my pants up and stepping under the streetlamp where David and Marco had appeared so suddenly an hour or so earlier.

And here was David again, materializing under that streetlamp like an evil specter.

He’d cut down the beach laterally and run parallel to me, probably hoping to cut me off before I reached the street.

Now, he was walking toward me, arms outstretched.

“Amico, amico.” (Friend, friend).

I was so exhausted I couldn’t run any more or scream. I just stood in the middle of the road as he approached me.

I must’ve looked dead, because my mind went blank. Until he tried to put his arm around me as if to say, “let’s let bygones be bygones.”

Under the light with the possibility of a car or people coming by, his power to hurt me was diminished. He touched me on the shoulder.

Anger and fierce hatred coursed through me. I was completely unhinged. If I’d had a gun I would’ve shot him dead without hesitation.

Rape isn’t just a physical act. It’s a spiritual one. It’s meant to completely dehumanize and destroy its target.

I ducked under David’s arm and started screaming, “Get the fuck away from me or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

David saw the madness in my eyes and I could literally see him decide I wasn’t worth the trouble. He disappeared into the night as quickly as he’d come.

I made my way back up the narrow, dark side streets of the Lido and emerged onto the Santa Maria Elisabetta thoroughfare.

Cassie and Alex stood on the sidewalk, flanked by Marco and Fabio, nervous, indecisive expressions on their faces.

When they saw me, I could tell what I must look like by their horrified expressions.

My hair was matted with sand and blood (Mine? His?).

My shirt was in tatters, my bra fully exposed. The zipper of my jeans sagged open and my pants were still down around my hips.

My chin was bruised, the blood crusting where David bit me. My blinded eyes were wild.

Fabio and Marco disappeared into vapor. As though they’d been a hallucination.

9. Make a Game Plan With Friends and Have a Signal If You Need Help

Cassie and Alex ran to me. They hadn’t wanted to leave me alone on the beach, but Fabio and Marco pressed them, suggesting I probably wantedto be alone with David.

The girls didn’t know me well enough at the time to be sure that wasn’t true.

They shepherded me to the nearest restaurant bathroom, where they helped me dig out my contact lenses and put them back in properly.

They helped me pull my clothes back together and wash some of the sand out of my hair.

Slowly, we made our way back to the pensione where I showered until the house matron yelled at me to get out and stop wasting all that water.

The next morning, I discovered bruises in the shape of fingerprints up and down my arms, the bruises on my chin were already turning purple.

There were scratches on my ribcage. My entire body was sore, as if I’d been dead lifting weights in a Mr. World competition.

I didn’t report the attempted rape.

I didn’t have a clue what any of the boys’ last names were, or even if the first names were real. And I don’t know if I would’ve recognized them in the light of day.

My self defense mechanism and denial were already kicking in and their faces were a blur.

If I hadn’t written about the story in my journal the next day — discovered by me and reread last week — I probably wouldn’t have remembered many of the details of that night.

In the United States, only 40% of survivors report the crime. Of those, “a mere 7 percent go to trial. Only 1% of rapists are convicted. As I write this the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) may not be renewed by Congress.

If David had jumped out of the shrubs, a stranger attacking me, I think I would’ve fought immediately.

But the way this attempted date rape happened was so incremental and stealthy, that I felt complicit.

Like many women, I felt I owed this boy something, because I went down to the dark beach with him.

Rape is Not Your Fault

Over the next months and even years, I blamed myself for the attempted rape.

I should’ve listened to my instincts.I shouldn’t have gone down to the beach with boys I didn’t know.I shouldn’t have drunk any wine.I shouldn’t have wanted a kiss.I was too flirtatious, too bawdy, a slut.I deserved it.

I had every stereotypical victim’s reaction; the same reaction many juries have.

All too frequently, rape begrimes a woman’s reputation.

There are still many countries around the world where “honor killing” of rape victims is allowed, due to cultural and religious beliefs.

Regardless of circumstances, I know how fortunate I am that David ultimately wasn’t successful in raping me.

Through luck, or some guardian angel, I’d managed to get away. I suspect had he succeeded in raping me, the devastation and shame would’ve been far greater.

As it was, for the next 10 years, I panicked every time I found myself alone with a male acquaintance, or a man I didn’t know.

In an elevator, an office break room, the library stacks, a stairwell.

My confidence in moving freely through the world was dashed; my trust in men destroyed.

It was a loss, but ultimately, I became more street smart and savvy; far better able to protect myself and take necessary precautions to stay safe.

And I hope that’s what this story will do for my precious girls, and perhaps yours too.

Be sure to keep up with Shannon’s updates here. You can read about How to Avoid Teen Dating Abuse here and share this story with every woman you know! xo S

It’s been a long journey from script to screen for To The Stars.

I wrote it when I was at UCLA in 2000 and it started principal photography in March of 2018, went to Sundance in 2019 and is being released by Samuel Goldwyn Films today, April 24th 2020.

In between that beginning and ending I had lots of bad dates, helpful for future writing content, married a sweetheart, had two kids who keep me on my toes, started this blog, gained fifteen pounds (sigh) and wrote and wrote and wrote (in my pajamas, with chocolate and vodka nearby.)

So seeing all that hard work make it to the screen is beyond what I ever hoped for. A little more info. 

To The Stars Has Sparkling Up-and-Coming Talent & Formidable VeteransThe inimitable Kara Hayward (Moonrise Kingdom, we love Suzy Bishop and your indelible Iris.)Liana Liberato (If I Stay, everyone says my daughter Willa looks like her. And her performance is a wonder.)Lucas Jade Zumann (Anne with an E, according to my daughters, he’s a heartthrob. I DON’T THINK OF HIM THAT WAY!)Madisen Beatty (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, lucky enough to tangle with Brad Pitt.)Tony Hale (VEEP, so handsome with a beard.)Malin Akerman (Billions, Goddess you don’t want to stand next to in the cast and crew photo.)Jordana Spiro (Ozark, our favorite TV show.)Shea Whigham (Boardwalk Empire, a latter day Brando.)Adelaide Clemens (Rectify, a gorgeous performance in a pivotal role.).eic-frame-22516 { width: 500px; height:500px; background-color: #444444; border: 2px solid #444444; }.eic-frame-22516 .eic-image { border: 2px solid #444444; }A Promo of To The Stars That I Love:

 
You can watch the movie with your family tonight on Amazon Prime, Vudu, Google Play, FandangoNow & ITunes. Let me know what you think. xx S

The post Shannon’s Sundance Film, “To The Stars” is on Amazon, FandangoNow, Itunes, Vudu and Hulu Now! appeared first on Shannon Bradley-Colleary.

It’s been a long journey from script to screen for To The Stars.

I wrote it when I was at UCLA in 2000 and it started principal photography in March of 2018, went to Sundance in 2019 and is being released by Samuel Goldwyn Films today, April 24th 2020.

In between that beginning and ending I had lots of bad dates, helpful for future writing content, married a sweetheart, had two kids who keep me on my toes, started this blog, gained fifteen pounds (sigh) and wrote and wrote and wrote (in my pajamas, with chocolate and vodka nearby.)

So seeing all that hard work make it to the screen is beyond what I ever hoped for. A little more info. 

To The Stars Has Sparkling Up-and-Coming Talent & Formidable VeteransThe inimitable Kara Hayward (Moonrise Kingdom, we love Suzy Bishop and your indelible Iris.)Liana Liberato (If I Stay, everyone says my daughter Willa looks like her. And her performance is a wonder.)Lucas Jade Zumann (Anne with an E, according to my daughters, he’s a heartthrob. I DON’T THINK OF HIM THAT WAY!)Madisen Beatty (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, lucky enough to tangle with Brad Pitt.)Tony Hale (VEEP, so handsome with a beard.)Malin Akerman (Billions, Goddess you don’t want to stand next to in the cast and crew photo.)Jordana Spiro (Ozark, our favorite TV show.)Shea Whigham (Boardwalk Empire, a latter day Brando.)Adelaide Clemens (Rectify, a gorgeous performance in a pivotal role.).eic-frame-22516 { width: 500px; height:500px; background-color: #444444; border: 2px solid #444444; }.eic-frame-22516 .eic-image { border: 2px solid #444444; }A Promo of To The Stars That I Love:

 
You can watch the movie with your family tonight on Amazon Prime, Vudu, Google Play, FandangoNow & ITunes. Let me know what you think. xx S

It’s been a long journey from script to screen for To The Stars.

I wrote it when I was at UCLA in 2000 and it started principal photography in March of 2018, went to Sundance in 2019 and is being released by Samuel Goldwyn Films today, April 24th 2020.

In between that beginning and ending I had lots of bad dates, helpful for future writing content, married a sweetheart, had two kids who keep me on my toes, started this blog, gained fifteen pounds (sigh) and wrote and wrote and wrote (in my pajamas, with chocolate and vodka nearby.)

So seeing all that hard work make it to the screen is beyond what I ever hoped for. A little more info. 

To The Stars Has Sparkling Up-and-Coming Talent & Formidable Veterans

The inimitable Kara Hayward (Moonrise Kingdom, we love Suzy Bishop and your indelible Iris.)
Liana Liberato (If I Stay, everyone says my daughter Willa looks like her. And her performance is a wonder.)
Lucas Jade Zumann (Anne with an E, according to my daughters, he’s a heartthrob. I DON’T THINK OF HIM THAT WAY!)
Madisen Beatty (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, lucky enough to tangle with Brad Pitt.)
Tony Hale (VEEP, so handsome with a beard.)
Malin Akerman (Billions, Goddess you don’t want to stand next to in the cast and crew photo.)
Jordana Spiro (Ozark, our favorite TV show.)
Shea Whigham (Boardwalk Empire, a latter day Brando.)
Adelaide Clemens (Rectify, a gorgeous performance in a pivotal role.)

.eic-frame-22516 { width: 500px; height:500px; background-color: #444444; border: 2px solid #444444; }.eic-frame-22516 .eic-image { border: 2px solid #444444; }
A Promo of To The Stars That I Love:

 

You can watch the movie with your family tonight on Amazon Prime, Vudu, Google Play, FandangoNow & ITunes. Let me know what you think. xx S

The post Shannon’s Sundance Film , “To The Stars” is on Amazon, FandangoNow, Itunes & Vudu Now! appeared first on Shannon Bradley-Colleary.

Dear Compadres — To The Stars, is finally here! 

Currently, my days are spent in pjs, sporting root-y hair and stubbly legs, feeling exhausted and pitiful and hoping I’m not sick with “it!”

However, in the midst of this dirge of ill-fated woe, Samuel Goldwyn Films is releasing the Sundance Film I wrote, To The Stars, on April 24th!

Here’s the trailer:

To The Stars is available for pre-order right now on Fandango Now!  ITunes and Apple TV! Watchable on April 24th.
At that time, you can also rent or buy it on Amazon Prime!

And since you’re sitting around in your home, wearing pajamas (hopefully not fighting off COVID 19, like moi) you have no excuse. You’ve got to watch this timeless classic!

You will thank me for it.

And maybe send me apple turnovers and whiskey. ‘Cuz getting fat and drunk is exactly what the doctor ordered for this disease. I’m surprised Dr. Fauci hasn’t mentioned it before.

I can’t tell you how proud I am of this film.

Directed by , To The Stars is an evocative period piece that’s never been more current, boasting some of the best acting talent in Hollywood today.

We’ve got  (VEEP), (Billions),  (Boardwalk Empire, Mission Impossible 7)  (Ozark),  (Moonrise Kingdom),  (If I Stay) and  (Anne with an E).

Samuel Goldwyn’s Synopsis of To The Stars:

“In a god-fearing small town in 1960s Oklahoma, bespectacled and reclusive teen Iris endures the booze-induced antics of her mother and daily doses of bullying from her classmates.

 

“She finds solace in Maggie, the charismatic and enigmatic new girl at school, who hones in on Iris’s untapped potential and coaxes her out of her shell.

 

“When Maggie’s mysterious past can no longer be suppressed, the tiny community is thrown into a state of panic, leaving Maggie to take potentially drastic measures and inciting Iris to stand up for her friend and herself.”

It would mean the world if you’d spread the word by sharing this post and this film. It’s the little engine that could.

And I hope this letter finds you well during this unprecedented time. Much, much love, S

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Remember to please share To The Stars with anyone you love. xx S 

The post Sundance Film “To The Stars” is Available for Pre-Order! appeared first on Shannon Bradley-Colleary.