Saturday, February 17, 2007


So loves, I know it has been quite awhile since I have posted (and yes, Bea has gone on and on and on about it to me...) so I thought I would do a 'quickwrite' and answer a question that has come up a bit from some of our more loyal readers:
"Auntie, why is your web addresss "fitaproject"? What is this fita project?"
Why darlings, FITA stands for Bea and my favorite book of all time Flowers in the Attic. This sounds a lot sadder than I am about it. Both Bea and I hold advanced degrees (hell, mine is in English Literature), yet this book remains the best of all time for us both. However, the subsequent movie that was made of this priceless piece of literature was horrific. It made me cringe (yet I do watch it on the VHS tape I have when I taped it off of HBO in like 1989). Therefore, Bea and I are slowly making it our life's mission to make a new, better Flowers in the Attic movie. We even have the opening credits done - thanks to a slow day at both of our work places, Bea and I wrote the following together. No, we aren't fans or participants in the 'fan fiction' craze that is sweeping the Internets recently regarding our beloved FITA, we are just lifelong fans with a dream and a goal:
Credits: The camera pans up a grassy hill and over a large, well maintained garden. It is obvious that these are the grounds to a large home. The camera pulls back to reveal the large mansion dark from the night except for one small window up on the top floor on the far right of the house. Camera stays back as the title
Flowers in the Attic
Appears under the home. As the title fades, the camera zooms into the illuminated room. There we see an elderly woman sitting on the sill of a window to a large attic. She is staring out the window into the night sky holding a faded paper flower.

(The music fades and the faint sounds of children laughing, then crying, then screaming are overlapped as the background noise). The camera goes beyond the woman and circles the room where among other cluttered objects we see old chests, a large bird cage, a ballerina bar attached to one wall, books strewn on the floor and everywhere – paper flowers faded from time. The camera goes into a room within the attic furnished like an old classroom. On the cracked blackboard we see written, first in childish handwriting: We lived in the attic, Christopher, Cory, Carrie and me. Now we are only three.

The camera comes back around to the woman on the windowsill. Lying against the wall nearest her is a portrait of four children, pale, all with blonde hair. The dust that has settled over the painting looks eerily like that of a man watching over the children.

The old woman [Cathy] sits facing the window the camera stops on her. She lifts the paper flower she has been holding and smells it, her eyes close, she sighs. Carefully, she places the flower on the leading of the window and stands up reluctantly. She is wearing a long, filmy, white nightgown and peignoir; her hair is a faded white/blonde. She walks down a narrow staircase that empties into a large but sparsely furnished bedroom. She walks out the door and into the hallway. The camera shows her locking the door behind her. She walks down a dimly lit, long hallway decorated with large portraits and an oriental runner down the center of the wooden floor. She stops and opens slowly one of the doors in a double-wide entry.

Camera shifts to span the room she is looking into
Insert description of swan bedroom here

She sees the man [Christopher] asleep in the bed and turns around and shuts the door behind her.

Skip to seeing Cathy enter a large, oak-paneled office. She sits at a typewriter and prepares to type.

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