StacieCraig
Stacie has been writing since she could write. At the tender age of 6, Stacie wrote her first novel, All About Stacie, an autobiographical sentence about time spent on the playground. A year later coming off the heat of her premiere sentence, she made her theatrical debut on her grandmother’s front porch in a play she wrote, starred and directed, Magic Shoes. Stacie is one of the rare beings that was actually born in Los Angeles, however her time as a native Angelino was short lived, because at 9 her mother moved back to Southern Illinois, which is no where near Chicago and way to close to Kentucky. Stacie credits her keen sense of humor to growing up in the Midwest, because everything is funnier in Illinois. Stacie attended graduate school at Southern Illinois University in Carbondale. There she mastered the craft of playwriting and drinking coffee at night. During her last semester her department produced a play by Allen Ball, before he was Allen Ball. After talking to him about Hollywood and his paycheck, she discovered she had a passion for television (especially during finals week). It was this passion, her Mustang, and Alan Ball’s paycheck that drove her back to Los Angeles with dreams of stardom and Oscars. In 2009, after 8 years in the entertainment industry and 5 years of public school teaching, Stacie became a Nickelodeon writing fellow. She wrote for the Winx after the fellowship, but she had to take a step back to help her terminally ill mother and raise her son. Last year she co-created an animated series for Ice T and Coco, and she continually works on independent projects, spec scripts and script consultations to stay sharp. Currently, Stacie is back in the classroom molding young minds, confiscating cell phones, and writing for that next big break.
“Enjoy it while it lasts” was always the sage advice I got from grandmothers watching my tantrum-throwing toddler. I would be trying to put him down, so I could eat a meal with a fork. I’d look at them, smile, and think, “Miss kicking-screaming-snot-filled-face-wipes-on-my-shirt fits? I don’t think so.” A new mother longs for the days when she can take a shower with the curtain closed because every time she closes it her baby’s mouth is open. The life you had before the baby feels like a lifetime ago. Freedom. Independence. Showers. Distant memories of the past. Eating. Sleeping. Shaving. Luxuries you can’t afford anymore, all because you’re somebody’s mom. You took watching TV uninterrupted for granted. You can’t remember a time you walked unencumbered or in heels, without tiny little hands gripped around your ankles as you leave for work. Carried a purse instead of a diaper bag. Read a book without pictures. Be normal. Those are the days I should’ve enjoyed while they lasted. That should be advice these grandmothers dispense. These women done with play dates, birthday parties, and park visits. These brunching-bottomless-mimosa bitches. These sisterhoods of the stainless pants. These women have independent children. Children with driver’s licenses and part-time jobs. These women have teenagers, college students and full-fledged adults that call them mom. So what do these women know? A lot. Single Moms Get a Life