Post Title. 05/19/2012
 “I never had a master plan that included a built-in compulsion to write. I really didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do with my life. I went to Antioch because my brother went there. I thought I’d major in physical education because I was interested in working with kids. This was a pretty amorphous thing, not really thought out or planned--but it constituted some vague objective, which, of course, the war put to an end…” Rod Serling ANOTHER DIMENSION Add Comment Post Title. 05/09/2012
Post Title. 04/28/2012
Anne Serling Went to Kensington in New York City and met with my new editor and her colleagues. They are all wonderful and warm people and I am confident that my book is in extremely skilled hands.· · Post Title. 04/14/2012
I have always thought this was a tough interview as my dad was trying to get "The Twilight Zone" on the air and slide it by the sponsors and the censors. My father had a great deal of respect for Mr. Wallace.The Mike Wallace Interview featuring Rod Serling (1959)www.youtube.comPublic domain interview with Rod Serling, creator of the Twilight Zone. Share Post Title. 03/17/2012
Post Title. 03/11/2012
Site still under development. More info coming. Post Title. 02/18/2012
Anne Serling "I knew early on that within my dad there was a kind of desperateness, an urge to go back, a need to touch home plate, to have things the way they were. And now I understand that on more than a farsighted level." ANOTHER DIMENSION Rod Serling talks about Writing for Television (Part 10) www.youtube.com Post Title. 01/11/2012
 "My dad particularly loved our dogs. Sometimes, when we had guests and it was getting late, he got down on all fours, like their littermate. We knew he was playing but this could also be an indicator that he was tired and hoping the company would go home." Post Title. 01/02/2012
Happy New Year! I wish you all good things in the coming year. Thank you for your continued good thoughts with your comments here, on Salon, in emails and on facebook. I am so moved and appreciative of your kindness. Below is a poem I wrote years ago about my dad. The excerpt in my memoir grew from this: MONOLOGUE The last time I saw you, you were lying in a hospital bed, in a room with bright, too bright, green and yellow walls. Inappropriate colors intended to console the sick, the dying. And as you slept, curled beneath a white sheet, I watched you breathe, willing you to. Your face, still so tan, against a pillow, too white. I thought of your morning sounds, the front door opening softly, you walking on the back of your slipper heels to get the paper, a cough, your spoon tapping the side of the coffee cup, and how I lay awake in my room beside the flower wallpaper, surrounded by all the things that mean so much, when you're ten, and listened to your sounds comfortable in their familiarity, secure in a world where, "Fathers do not die." Walking on the heels of my slippers, Tying ribbons in your black hair, (red was especially nice). You-a little boy in a grown- up suit, me-too small to see anything without standing on my toes. Wiping your forehead dry when you got sick, until you got too sick, and I could do nothing. And that wallpaper I remembered as a child, paled against that green. And now, years later, reduced to monologues with ghosts and this never ending private slide show. These images of you flashing too quickly, You on the dock, laughing so hard with your brother, you fall. You playing cards with Dick. You beside your new car. You and you and on and on until the screen goes black, because you are, no more. And the wallpaper peeled, and there was nothing behind it, only this and the smile you left in an 8X10 frame. |