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On Tuesday, I revealed why I didn't want to watch (or read) Eat Pray Love, but I didn't really tell you what I thought of the film and why I'm glad I did finally succumb to temptation and rent the DVD.

Being set in Italy, India and Bali, you just couldn't go wrong photographically if you tried. The backdrop for Julia's journey of self-discovery was truly inspiring, which I think lent a lot to the story. In fact, it was integral to the story. Sure, she could have had her transformation raising pigs on a farm in Iowa, but would we have been nearly as interested in it? I doubt it. Part of the appeal of the film is in the visual feast that Eat Pray Love conjures up. Ryan Murphy, director of the film and whose work has generally been perceived as dark and edgy, made the most of this with his cinematic style and lyrical portrayal of the story in the setting.

The film opens on Julia Roberts riding a bike leisurely down a rural dirt road, thick green flora on all sides. Except for the costuming and the expression on Julia's face, this could be a scene from a film set in the Vietnam War had Mr. Murphy not also made some other important choices. The music is not dark and brooding, but light and ethereal. The camera glides alongside Julia as she pedals to her destination like it's floating on the wings of a butterfly. And when the tropical paradise is finally revealed, his camera lens opens up to provide a breathtaking view of the locale. In other words, he is very consciously enticing his viewer with the luscious scenery, leaving us no choice but to leap into the story with him.

The film is peppered with similarly glorious images: Julia dining al fresco in Rome, Julie meditating in a quiet and colorful garden in India, Julia standing at the edge of the ocean in Bali. But my very favorite series of images occur during and after a wedding ceremony Julia attends in India. Bright jewel tones pop and gold glitters against an earthy backdrop, the scene a mixture of festivity and sadness. As a reluctant Indian bride embarks on an unfamiliar path, Julia wanders down memory lane. We are transported back in time, removed from the dusty gold-hued land and bright purple, red & green saris to a cleaner, crisper, cooler time and place. Julia, in her sophisticated white bridal gown, is filmed amidst the bluish-grey color palette of the banquet hall where her wedding reception takes place. The light filters in through heavily curtained windows as her groom offers her his hand for their first dance. But when the music comes on, it is not the soft, romantic melody she's expecting. Instead, it's Kool & The Gang's Celebration, to which her new hubby busts out a few disco moves and twirls her into his arms. Now, personally, I would have loved such a silly song for my first dance, but that isn't what Julia's character wanted. And in her mind we travel back to the present where she and her now ex-husband slow dance arm in arm to Neil Young's Harvest Moon. The sun is at that point in the sky where it gives everything a golden halo effect, and surrounded by the warmth and vibrancy of that glow, she can finally let go of the past. Now that right there is some seriously thoughtful filmmaking. Beautiful.

Having gone to film school, I can really appreciate the little things � the subtle cues that lighting, costuming, and scene and sound design provide that tell the story that isn't in the dialogue or the action. Adapting a book to film is a true talent, and even though I haven't read the book, I suspect most fans of Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir were pleased with the result. Regardless of how well it captured Ms. Gilbert's message, it succeeding in capturing a time and a place beautifully. And for me, that was enough.

Ciao,
Lucie

I was reluctant to watch this film (and read the book) for many reasons. Being a writer, a yogi, and having traveled to Italy many times (Rome, Naples, Venice, Florence, Siena, and Milan) I couldn't imagine Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir living up to my own experiences or the expectations I would have of such similar fare. And the truth is, it didn't. But not because my adventures were any better or any more significant, but because they were mine.

I had other reservations, however. I've written about my own travels (A Taste of Italy and The Waterdance) in fictional form, and the reason I fictionalized my tales was because I felt my own experiences were too personal and too intimate to share with the world at large. Not that I would feel embarrassed by them, but rather, I thought doing so would be pretentious and smack of hubris. Who was I to espouse the philosophies I'd cultivated through my foreign explorations � both external and internal? Why would some woman in Chicago or San Francisco care how my visits to the Roman Forum and the ruins of Pompeii inspired and influenced me? So, to eliminate the hubris that would certainly come from the telling of my personal journeys, I wrapped them in a romance. Oh, my philosophies are there � hidden beneath the drama, the comedy, the angst, and yes, the sex. But because they aren't laid out in a memoir of self-exploration, they have less opportunity to offend. To the point, they did not say, "I traveled the world and discovered this about myself, what have you done?"

So, when I learned of Gilbert's memoir, I was immediately repulsed. The nerve this woman had telling the world her story! How dare she be so immodest! And how dare Penguin publish the work of such a relentlessly self-absorbed egomaniac. The gall!

And I vowed never to read it. Which I still haven't.

But when the book found its way onto the silver screen, and images of Gilbert's epic journey teased and taunted me from bus benches and billboards, my curiosity started to get to me. But I still held out. Even when it was finally released on DVD, I resisted. My resolve finally crumbled, however, a week ago while perusing the shelves of my local video store. There it was. The image of Julia Roberts seated on a bench in Rome licking the last of her gelato from a spoon. Something I'd done a half dozen times. And so, I picked it up. I took it home. I popped it in the DVD player. And I watched.

At first, I was quite thrilled that I had in fact waited so long to see it. I had been right all along. It was garbage. Boring, pretentious, familiar. And Julia Roberts was, as I usually found her, annoying. But that was before she set off on her journey. Once she landed in Rome, I was sucked into her tale. I'd traveled alone to foreign locales before, and I understood her feelings of isolation and recalled the thrill of making a connection with someone new. And when she visited the ashram in India, I too revisited my first experience at a yoga retreat in the mountains of Northern California, initially finding my surroundings and my compatriots utterly unfamiliar and strange. But as the retreat progressed, so did my understanding, and eventually, my acceptance. Just like Elizabeth's.

By the time Julia had made her way to Bali, I was in love. Not with the movie, or with Julia, or even with Javier Bardem. No, I was in love with Elizabeth Gilbert's brazen audacity. Where I resisted telling my personal experiences, she shared hers. Shamelessly. And to the world's delight. She proved that a woman can tell her story to the masses and they will devour it. If nothing else, Eat Pray Love made the world take note of a woman's presence in society � as storyteller, as reader, as a voice to be heard. And to that, I say bravo!

Plus, I now want to go to Bali.

Ciao,
Lucie

You know, I really feel that I am just a tad too old to still be dealing with zits. It's true that I haven't sprouted any wrinkles yet, but can't there just be a period in your life when your skin is completely flawless? Actually, I recall the years between 26 and 28 as being pretty good in terms of skin condition. I had this milky white complexion with nary a blemish. Then 29 hit, and all hell broke loose on my face. Literally. I had developed a condition called Rosacea in which my skin reddened and developed a scaly texture. It was horrific and took a full year of treatments including topical gels and antibiotics to rid me of it. Doctors don't fully understand what causes it, but they do know what can trigger flare ups. Spicy foods, acidic foods, heat, sunshine and stress.

Since my bout with Rosacea, I've been practically militant about my skin. Slathering on SPF 45 daily, gentle exfoliation weekly, spa facials when my wallet can handle it, and investing a small fortune on Bare Minerals, the original mineral based make-up that miraculously hides flaws and evens skin tone while still looking and feeling natural. And these efforts do not go unnoticed. Frequently, I am complimented on my skin and asked what my secret is. And I never hesitate to share my methods for looking this fabulous.

But about three days ago, I felt a bump forming on my face. Per my usual routine, I treated it with an anti- blemish product that usually works wonders. This particular pimple, however, has not responded too well to my eviction notice. In fact, this zit has parked its butt about a half inch from my nose on my right cheek and is quickly erecting a skyscraper on my face. Seriously, I feel like I could start driving in the carpool lane and no one would question me with this monstrous thing bulging from my cheek because, clearly, it deserves its own zip code!

And the worst part is, I can feel it. Actually feel it! The damn thing is that huge. I'm telling you, it weighs more than my cat, but isn't nearly as cute or cuddly. And when I turn my head, I almost topple over like a college co-ed drunk on cheap wine coolers and light beer.

So, before this face-eating zit drives me to extreme measures, such as donning a veil or attempting a homemade zit-o-plasty procedure, tell me good people, how do you eradicate a stubborn zit? What are your secrets to flawless skin?

Ciao!
Lucie

I was recently given this "Stylish Blog Award" by How cool is that? It's one of those pass it along type awards, so I am happy to accept it and pass it along.

Here are the rules:

1. Thank and link back to the person who awarded you this award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Award 15 recently discovered great bloggers.
4. Contact those bloggers and tell them about the award!


7 Random Facts About Me
1. I was born in the same hospital as the King of Pop, Michael Jackson
2. I started writing my novel, Hollywood Ending, in 2003
3. I finished writing Hollywood Ending in 2009!
4. I love horror flicks! My faves are ghost stories and scary vampire movies
5. I am a certified yoga teacher registered with Yoga Alliance
6. I have been a vegetarian since January 1, 1999
7. I went to the same high school as Julia Roberts

15 Bloggers I'm awarding:
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This featured on Jezebel about Pick Up Artist, Gunwitch, who claims to have bedded 120-150 women from all walks of life and is accused of shooting a woman in the face, is a good example of why women must kick those dirty dogs to the curb � and NOW. A few years ago, I was fascinated by VH1's show, The Pick Up Artist, because I was amazed at how horridly the men treated women. And even more amazed that they managed to pick up any women at all with their boorish behavior! These so-called Pick Up Artists prey on women with low self-esteem, which is a fairly common trait among young women these days. They insult or dismiss their female targets in an effort to get the women to seek their approval, essentially promoting unhealthy relationships and severely effed up psyches.

Luckily, not all men are like this. There are still a few gentleman out there seeking honest, healthy relationships with strong, centered, beautiful women. But ladies, it's up to us to become those strong, centered, beautiful women. And it's up to us to put those nasty misogynistic Pick Up Artists out of business.

The first step is learning to love yourself, wholly, flaws and all. This takes a lot of practice, but is the only way we can have healthy relationships with anyone else. Because how can you expect anyone else to love you if you don't even love you? Sure, there will always be stuff you don't like, but they don't make you a terrible person (you know, unless you're a gun wielding misogynist). Give yourself a break and a hug. And the next time some dirty dog talks trash to you, toss your drink in his face and turn your back on him. He's the one with the problem, not you.

Ciao!
Lucie

I know it's tempting to attack the new year with gusto, ticking off your goals three or four at time. But that kind of pace can lead to burn out pretty quickly. So, instead of rushing head first into January with a to-do list that could lead to stroking out in mid-sprint, pace yourself. Especially when it comes to meeting your fitness goals.

The return of NBC's The Biggest Loser is always inspiring and often leads many Americans to adopt a healthier lifestyle, which is awesome. But keep in mind that you are not competing against anyone. You also aren't working out six hours a day with a screaming exercise guru in your face and a customized and highly monitored food plan at your fingertips. The Biggest Loser may be "reality TV," but there's nothing realistic about it. Twenty years of devouring fitness mags and 12 years practicing and 2 years teaching yoga, has taught me that slow and steady win the race. So, if getting fit is part of your new year's resolutions, I would like to offer a few words of wisdom.

1. Just Do It! That infamous Nike slogan is as simple as it gets. Don't analyze things to death. Don't wait until you've lost ten pounds (yes, people actually attempt to diet off the weight before hitting the gym so they don't look fat while working out!), you've found the perfect exercise outfit, you've cleaned out the kitchen cupboards (usually by consuming everything in them) or whatever other excuse can be conjured up to avoid the treadmill. Just Do It!

2. Start small. If George W. Bush was in office the last time you saw the inside of a gym or fitness studio, you're going to need to ease yourself back into the habit. Or maybe you're starting up a fitness regime for the first time. In these cases, you can't just throw yourself into it with reckless abandon. That kind of thing leads to injuries, and in severe cases, a heart attack. Seriously.

3. Try new things. The main reason people give up on meeting their fitness goals is because they don't like exercising. For instance, I HATE running. There are few things more unpleasant, in my opinion. So, I don't run. Ever. Well, there was that time I sprinted through Chicago O'Hare Airport to catch a plane, but you get my meaning. Instead, I get my cardio on a bike, which I love. I also don't like weight training, so I build my strength and endurance through a disciplined yoga practice. But that's just me. Maybe you'll love running, or kickboxing, or tai chi, or yoga, or spinning, or salsa dancing. But you'll never know if you don't try. So, get out there and explore, experiment, and expand (your horizons, not your waistlines!).

4. Be patient. Losing weight and getting fit doesn't happen overnight. It takes dedication and consistency. Which is why the first three items above are so important. It takes 21 days to establish a pattern of behavior. Commit to a three week fitness regimen, and by the end of it you'll begin feeling the benefits of a stronger heart, healthier lungs, and leaner muscles, and you'll have established a routine that has now become a habit. And then just keep supporting your new, healthy habit by recommitting to it every week.

In good health,
Lucie

Today is the last day of 2010, and frankly, I'm glad to see it go. Aside from publishing my book, it was a pretty crap year. I had heartbreak galore, unexpected health problems which led to high hospital bills, and a close family member in true peril. Luckily, I've come out of it fairly unscathed. But also, perhaps, a little wiser. Here are a few things 2010 taught me:

1. Your path is not set in stone. You always have a choice of which road to take. But sometimes, the better choice is also a painful choice. Don't be afraid to hurt a lot now, to feel happier in the future.

2. You can get back up on that horse. Maybe life throws you a curve ball and totally knocks you off your game. It sucks, but you can pick yourself up and start again. The starting line might look a bit different the second (or third) time around, the track may have more hurdles, and the roar of the crowd cheering you on to the finish line may have thinned, but as long as you remain determined, you can do it.

3. Failing is okay. The best thing about failure is learning from your mistakes. We wouldn't have the light bulb if Thomas Edison had given up after his first few failures, would we? So, don't let falling flat on your face keep you from doing what you dream of. Fail, and fail gloriously!

4. Your loved ones love you even when you're a cranky bitch. Just don't let that grouch overrun your life to the point you're ready to move into your own garbage can on Sesame Street. So, learn to recognize when you're going too deep and then have a heart to heart with someone who can lead you out of your trash bin. You might not be able to break into a raucous chorus of "Can You Tell Me How To Get To Sesame Street?" but I bet you'll be able to crack a smile.

So, as I say good riddance to a rather crap year, I take these lessons into 2011 with me. Even if I have another heartbreak, another failure, another setback, I know I will be prepared to handle it. Because the trials of 2010 made me a stronger woman. And that makes me happy.

Happy New Year!
Lucie

I am obsessed with hair. Seriously. The way some women love shoes, I love hair styles. I practically drool over pics of celebs on the red carpet, a mixture of envy and admiration filling me with a desire to run to my stylist the next day, pics in hand and a new adventure in hair in mind.

What I love about hair is how it can completely transform your look and lift your spirits. It doesn't take hours in the gym too boost my image confidence. All I need is 30 minutes in my stylist's chair.

But loving hair like I do means being fearless. It means being brave enough to chop off all your hair in an instant, knowing that if you don't like it, you may be stuck growing it out for months. Luckily, I'm not the only brave girl out there. This year a number of ladies bit the bullet and sheared off their long, lovely locks in want of a new image. And I say bravo! Below, my faves:

Big Love star, Gennifer Goodwin


Harry Potter's Hermione, Emma Watson


Blue Valentine's Michelle Williams


Wall Street's Carey Mulligan


I salute these brave and beautiful ladies for their bold hair decisions! Daring and darling all at the same time. And having sported many a pixie do in my day, I know how hard it is to grow out. (In fact, I'm growing out my own pixie right now). But sometimes you gotta throw caution to the wind and just do it! You never know how your decision to buck tradition may affect you, or inspire those around you. Go for it!

It was eleven years ago this month that my grandmother, Jeanette, passed away. I had moved to Los Angeles five years earlier and didn't see her again until her funeral. I'd kept in touch over the phone, through the mail, sending holiday and birthday cards before her passing, but I had really lost her when I moved to Los Angeles. I didn't really have time to listen to her ramble on about my cousins, who were all at least a decade or more younger than me. And since most of my early years in Hollywood were spent struggling to pay the rent while juggling a fulltime job and graduate school, I didn't have the money for a visit either. Over time, Grandma became less and less of a presence in my life. But the greatest impression she has left on me, the fate-filled trait she bestowed upon me, was her passion for reading.

My grandma was a kindergarten teacher, a gardener and an avid reader. My most vivid memories are of her sitting in a big, comfy chair, a reading lamp over her shoulder and a book in her hands. She had a penchant for mysteries and the ability to block out every distraction as she delved deeper into the worlds between the pages of her books. My brother and I could be clanging and banging all around her with a game of pick-up-sticks or jacks or a raucous round of Chinese checkers, but as long as no one was in danger of losing a limb, she rarely looked up from her novels.

And she also instilled in me a passion for words. Starting with Peter Rabbit and Curious George, she encouraged me to read and wonder at a very early age. She bought me books on vinyl (yes vinyl!) such as Alice in Wonderland and Peter Pan and other stories of fantasy, which I would listen to with rapt attention and awe. Soon, I graduated to Nancy Drew and Judy Blume, and Grandma was always there with her library card to support my habit.

Over the years, my reading tastes evolved and matured, while Grandma continued to enjoy the likes of Agatha Chrisitie's murder mysteries and Sue Grafton's alphabet series, snuggled up in her cozy reading chair finding complete satisfaction in the unraveling of a puzzle. Though I didn't quite take to her love of mysteries, I feel I owe my love of the written word, at least in some part, due to her. She was quiet in her efforts to feed my passion, but when I look deep down, I know that if it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't be the reader and writer that I am today.

I didn't start writing my first novel until four years after her death, but I have a feeling Grandma would be pleased. And even though my novel might be a little too racy for her tastes, I think she would appreciate the world I spun with my words, the fantasy that unfolds for my imaginary characters and the fact that I know the difference between lay and lie. In my mind, I imagine her sitting beneath the warm glow of her reading lamp, the bright green and blue cover of HOLLYWOOD ENDING resting gently in her hands, a smile on her face.

Rest (and read) in Peace, Grandma.

Love,
Lucie

I love this time of year. Holiday songs. Festive decorations. Sparkly party dresses. Champagne brunches. Sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas trees. It is a feast for all the senses! But for me, the one sense that usually goes overboard is Taste. As much as I love the holiday season, I dread "my annual holiday spread." You know, that extra bit of flesh that begins to bust the buttons on your favorite skinny jeans as you pack more sugar into your diet the six weeks leading up to New Year's than you have all year.

Last year, I managed to keep my spread under control by sweating it off in spin class. This year, though, I'm trying a more holistic approach. Of course, I'm still exercising because that is already integrated into my life. But instead of gorging on every cookie, bonbon, and pie I come across, I'm learning to "honor my hunger" per the nutritional guidance of Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch in their book, .

And so far, it's working. I am not restricting myself by any sense of the word. If I want a piece of fudge, I have it. But I make sure I really want it first. I don't eat it simply because it's there, as was my usual habit. And I savor it. I no longer scarf down a handful of chocolates that, frankly, weren't all that fabulous anyway, and instead choose to eat only the most delicious of treats and take the time to really enjoy them. I don't have my hand in a cookie tin while watching Elf or keep a candy dish filled with red and green M&Ms on my desk while I work.

These days, I'm letting my body tell me what it wants. Because according to, Tribole & Resch, my body knows what is good for it and will make the healthy choice. Even if that choice is a piece of pecan pie. Now, of course, I have to do things consciously. I have to realize I'm eating a decadently rich dessert and make the most of it. Instead of inhaling it within the span of a thirty second commercial, I allow the treat to seduce my every sense. The aroma, the texture, the visual appeal, the flavor are all given their proper respect and savored.

So, that's really the trick for me this season. Savoring those holiday goodies. And you know what? I think all of life should be like that, don't you?

Ciao!
Lucie