All your baubles give “good shine” in one direction or another, here in the stack, but this is up there with the most intriguing. You’re conveying vulnerability and (speaking strictly for myself) I have—how shall I put this?—always had a difficult time glimpsing Vulnerable Wilson, at least in your non-fictional works and journalistic forays. I can sense it in your fiction, without doubt, but there’s such a preponderance of the non-fiction Cintra that the voices remain beautifully distinct.
Otherwise, you command the page. You command live performance. You command screenwriting and productions. Your publicity photos are calculatedly gorgeous.
This piece shed a veil or two. Like many of your fans, I knew you were adventurous, but … Aikido?
“Cintra Wilson actually ventures into such obscure corners and puts herself on the line, and sticks with it for months, to improve her everyday outlook?”
Is it wrong that I laughed when you employed San Francisco Drag Queen Warrior Street-tactics against Prince Charming? He had to sit you down on the mat and say, “Cintra, what the fuck?”
I loved that. That dingo had no idea about the hovering angst caused by La Belle Clang Clang Clang Went the Trolley (+ Editrix)
“Melissa” is a villainess who made me hiss. Good work. My God, did she ever live for Aikido casting-couch sensei approval. Yeah, she would have creamed you in the playoff encounter, but I still wouldn’t have bet against you if, in the midst of a hammering, you went primeval and reverted to drag queen tactics and defenestrated her. We’d be writing to you in prison, now, but your fans would smuggle all sorts of resort-level amenities into you. No worries.
It’s a piece with a different vibe, Wilson, but just as funny and more striking in some ways. I did not know that you extrude yourself so often beyond the comfort zones behind which we all tend to loiter. Then again, you are a comet hailing from the Enigmatic Nebulae Cluster. (I mean that in the most laudatory sense.)
The only thing I don’t get is your beef against men who are exceptionally handsome or even particularly handsome. What gives? You tend to paint yourself as gawkward but the truth is that we’ve all seen you—book jackets, online pics, publicity photos, interviews, IN PERSON. You look like a slightly punk Marlene Dietrich, and that ain’t no exaggeration. Pretty damn glam, and no lack of charisma, either.
Should handsome males ring automatic alarm bells, a priori, that sizzlin females should not ring?
Oh Cintra, after all these years since high school, I still want to be you!
All your baubles give “good shine” in one direction or another, here in the stack, but this is up there with the most intriguing. You’re conveying vulnerability and (speaking strictly for myself) I have—how shall I put this?—always had a difficult time glimpsing Vulnerable Wilson, at least in your non-fictional works and journalistic forays. I can sense it in your fiction, without doubt, but there’s such a preponderance of the non-fiction Cintra that the voices remain beautifully distinct.
Otherwise, you command the page. You command live performance. You command screenwriting and productions. Your publicity photos are calculatedly gorgeous.
This piece shed a veil or two. Like many of your fans, I knew you were adventurous, but … Aikido?
“Cintra Wilson actually ventures into such obscure corners and puts herself on the line, and sticks with it for months, to improve her everyday outlook?”
Is it wrong that I laughed when you employed San Francisco Drag Queen Warrior Street-tactics against Prince Charming? He had to sit you down on the mat and say, “Cintra, what the fuck?”
I loved that. That dingo had no idea about the hovering angst caused by La Belle Clang Clang Clang Went the Trolley (+ Editrix)
“Melissa” is a villainess who made me hiss. Good work. My God, did she ever live for Aikido casting-couch sensei approval. Yeah, she would have creamed you in the playoff encounter, but I still wouldn’t have bet against you if, in the midst of a hammering, you went primeval and reverted to drag queen tactics and defenestrated her. We’d be writing to you in prison, now, but your fans would smuggle all sorts of resort-level amenities into you. No worries.
It’s a piece with a different vibe, Wilson, but just as funny and more striking in some ways. I did not know that you extrude yourself so often beyond the comfort zones behind which we all tend to loiter. Then again, you are a comet hailing from the Enigmatic Nebulae Cluster. (I mean that in the most laudatory sense.)
The only thing I don’t get is your beef against men who are exceptionally handsome or even particularly handsome. What gives? You tend to paint yourself as gawkward but the truth is that we’ve all seen you—book jackets, online pics, publicity photos, interviews, IN PERSON. You look like a slightly punk Marlene Dietrich, and that ain’t no exaggeration. Pretty damn glam, and no lack of charisma, either.
Should handsome males ring automatic alarm bells, a priori, that sizzlin females should not ring?
You rule the roost again, Lady.
Well that is quite the retroactive dopamine hit. Mutual Admiration Society of two!
Thank you !!