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Featured Author : Alan Gorg

Alan Gorg, (B.S. 1952 and M.F.A. 1970, U.C.L.A.), teacher/writer/producer/director/actor, has written and produced documentary films for
 
 

 the University of California and PBS, and founded theater groups in Hawaii and California..  Media Associates published his two autobiographical novellas THE SIXTIES and THE SEVENTIES

 
His short films FELICIA, THE SAVAGES, FREE GROWTH, and AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A HOPI were honored at the American, Columbus, and Mercer Film Festivals, the National Short Film Competition, and the Los Angeles International Film Exhibition (FilmEx).  In 1980 he produced a weekly video magazine THE OAHU GAZETTE for PBS station KHET-TV in Honolulu and the short film 1NSIDE STATE PRISON, which was also honored at FilmEx.  Most of these shorts are available on www.indieflix.com
He and wife Gwyn wrote and produced the feature film LIVING THE BLUES (1986) with legendary guitarist and vocalist Sam Taylor, winning a Filmtrax Award at the Ghent International Film Festival and a Best Feature nomination at the American Film Institute Video Awards.  It is currently distributed by www.theblumgroup.net
Their educational docudrama TECHQUA IKACHI: ABORIGINAL WARNING (2007).  www.geocities.com/alankentgorg has been an official selection at the Columbus, Dreamspeakers, and Mumbai International Film Festivals and won a Neptune Award at the Moondance International Film Festival.. 
 
This September PublishAmerica announced the publication of the Young Adult novel LOOKING FOR THE REAL THING by Alan Gorg, the story of a Los Angeles. high school senior seeking a simpler future away from angry kids, stressed adults, monstrous schools, everyday violence, massive traffic, choking smog, sickening pollution—seeking a little peace, a little quiet, some connection with nature.  www.publishamerica.com.
 
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 Read the  opening of Alan Gorrg's YA novel

 LOOKING FOR THE REAL THING:

 
 
 
One day, Cleo told me she wanted to do ceramics with me.  After school

we rode the bus together over to Excelsior Academy to use the potter’s wheel. 

"I can't stay late," she warned me. "Mother would crucify me."
I set her up with some clay.  She started to spin up a bowl, but then she stopped.  She sat staring down at her wet hands.  Something heavy was on her mind.  I could tell, I’d known her so long.    
“Why’d we come here?” I complained.  “You’re not into this.”
“I’m thinking,” she whispered.
“About what?”  I was always bothered when she wouldn’t talk.
            "There's something I need to tell somebody about."  She got up.
"You having trouble in algebra?"  I asked, because I knew she was still worried about graduating.  She needed to let me help her more.
            "It's not classes," she sighed.  "You've got to promise not to tell anybody."
"Sure," I was all ears.  “What is it?"
"Corey," she began, taking a deep breath, "you’re the only one I can tell, the only person I want to tell."
            "Oh, hell!"  I moaned.  "This must be serious."
            She spit it out: "I'm pregnant."
            "Ew!” I gulped, “I see."   I was trying to be cool—but inside, I was blown away.
            “I don’t know what to do,” Cleo was chattering.  "I need an abortion."
            "No, no, no!  Oh, no!"  The objection was out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think.  Actually, I had done some thinking about pregnancy before—about what I would do if I got a girl pregnant?  This was before Cleo came to Westside.  Even rubbers could screw up.  I figured if it happened, I would pay for the abortion.  I'd get the money somehow.  I thought that was the right thing to do.  Now, my first thought flashed to some doctor cutting on Cleo.  That picture stressed me out.
            "Otherwise," Cleo kept rattling on, "I'll have to drop out of school, maybe get a job at Burger King or somewhere.  There's a career move!  Mother would kill me."           
            "I'll help you support the baby."  What a spot to be in!  I was glad I was not a girl!
            "With what?" she laughed.  "You've got no money, no real job."
            "I can get some kind of job," I protested, "loan you some money."
"What are you talking about?"  She was almost crying.  "Soon as you graduate, you're taking off for the boondocks somewhere!  You're going to spend your life painting pictures of trees."   She sounded fed up with me—totally.
            "We can make something out of that place,” I pleaded.  “We can build a business.  My friend already has it started.  He wants me to be his partner.  I can still go to college.  We can make it there.  Ira wants to come.  Reggie's coming.  We can all work together.  You could come with us.  You could have the baby there.  It's a beautiful place for a kid."   
            "No, Corey, no," she moaned. "You're going to be an herb salesman? 
What kind of profession is that?!  You're dreaming.  All you're going to be is poor and broke!"  She stared at me a long time, tears in her eyes.  "You'll never change, will you?
I don't know what to do!"  She threw her hands up in the air, then she was gone.
 
Cleo was the light of my life.  I believed she and I, we were meant for each other—like, a match made in Heaven.  Except I wasn't sure I believed in Heaven—or Hell, for that matter.  So I wasn't sure of the metaphysics behind it, but I knew we were destined for each other.  I even prayed to God to connect me with Cleo, even though I didn't have a whole lot of faith.  It was just that I wanted her so much.
Cleo was about the only thing I did believe in.  I remember when I was a little boy, hearing adults praying.  I wondered what it was all about.  In Sunday School was where I found out a little about God.  Funny, even when I wasn't sure there even was a God, I still found myself talking to Him or Her or It.   Maybe I was talking to myself, but I didn't feel alone.  Sometimes I even got answers, or possible answers. 
Anyway, I made this offer to God, or possible God.  If God would connect me up with Cleo, I promised to do right by her.  I'd treat her like a queen.  Never be unfaithful, always take care of her.