ANA INGHAM

How Did I Become a Screenwriter

by Ana Ingham

10years old, recovering from a pneumonia, I improvised a movie theatre casting penicillin bottles used to cure my illness, as actors. My younger brother became my assistant. When I had a new movie, he would go around and announce the movie to children in the neighbourhood, “Napoleon And Desiree” next Tuesday! Then he would issue hand made tickets and sell them to children. (He would give the money back to the children after the movie.) The dim room room in the basement of our ramshackle house would be full packed with giggling, cheering and sometimes weeping children. I would hide underneath a small table with a curtain pinned around it. My brother would raise his hand and ask children to be quiet and announce the movie. ’Napoleon And Desiree! made by my sister Ana Aysel.” I would then come out from underneath the table and greet my audience. Then I would move the penicillin bottles and speak with the voice of the movie’s characters which I watched in the opener cinema: Napoleon and Desiree . I would whisper, cry, laugh and try t to convey the emotions of Napoleon’s and Desiree’s. Cheers, giggles, applause. In the end I would bow, proud of my achievement.

Perhaps those movies I made using the empty penicillin bottles I presented to poor children was my training as a screenwriter.

When the open air cinema was built near the ancient graveyard, I begged my parents to take me there every time a Hollywood movie was shown. I loved that cinema more than my school and I became a fan of those Hollywood stars.

Here’s a poem I wrote about those movies:

‘GOODBYE MON AMOUR’

Selected by Barnstorm Film+ TV Festival’ 2017

‘DELICATE PERCEPTION’

Selected by Cannes Screenplay Contest 2019

‘DELICATE PERCEPTION’

Selected as a finalist by Hollywood Screenplay Contest 2019

‘URGENT BEAUTY’

Selected by WIKI Screenplay Contest 2020

‘URGENT BEAUTY’

Selected ‘Best Script Award’ 2020

‘URGENT BEAUTY’

Selected by ‘Your Script Produced’ 2021

‘SONG OF THE SNOW’

Selected as Honorable Mention by BOLT 2020

‘SYMPHONY X’

Selected (Certificate Of Achievement) as a finalist by International Short Award 2020

‘THE ROOTS OF LOVE’‘

Selected as a finalist by WIKI Screenplay Contest 2020

‘THE ROOTS OF LOVE’

Selected Best Script Awards 2021 Selected by Las Vegas International Film & Screenwriting Festival

‘WITH SIPOS IN BUDAPEST’

Selected as Best Script (platinum award) by International Short Award

‘WITH SIPOS IN BUDAPEST’

Selected by Vegas Movies Awards 2021

‘WHO IS AFRAID OF ANTHONY HOPKINS’

Selected for Santa Barbara International Screenplay Awards Selected by Vegas Movie Award

‘URGENT BEAUTY’

Selected by Silent River Screenplay Competition

‘THE ROOTS OF LOVE’

Selected for Mediterranean Film Festival Cannes 2021 That quality of innocence pervades this touching story, as a brief overview explains: ‘Niko, a carpenter from the island nation of Malta, has come to America to marry Ms. Parker, an American psychology professor, who has once taken a holiday in his village. Niko, pursues his search for Ms. Parker in a snow-ridden New York and beyond. And his search takes him through a series of extraordinary encounters and adventures in which his charming innocence is set against the American Dream.’

Oh to see ourselves as others see us! Ana Ingham makes this happen in one very endearing little tale. This is an author to watch – and follow! Recommended. Grady Harp, December 2020

All Dreamers Go to America by Ana Ingham is a charming tale about Niko Salazar who goes to America to search for the supposed love of his life, Ms. Parker. Ms. Parker is a psychologist who once visited Niko’s home country of Malta. She knows nothing of Niko, not really, and when he calls her collect upon landing in America, she abruptly hangs up on him. This unexpected moment forms the foundation of the story, with Niko going through all kinds of adventures in the amazing country of America, meeting all kinds of new people, and experiencing new things in a country and society he knows little about. There are many tender laughs along the way in this gently and humorously written story, as Niko in all his innocence keeps searching for love in all the wrong places. Truly a brilliant take on how we all have different perceptions of reality and culture, this work is highly recommended for a unique and memorable read. Vine Voice, December 2020

All Dreamers Go to America by Ana Ingham is a refreshing look at American traditions and culture through the eyes of an immigrant. Niko Salazar is a Maltese carpenter who decides to find the woman he met two years previous, while she was on vacation. This one-sided love leads Niko through different loops and hilarious situations. His misinterpretation of our language is comical. When he finally finds his love, his life is set on a new direction.

Ana Ingham creates a character whose dramatic response to common American traits is amusing. All Dreamers Go to America is a short read that will make you laugh out loud with Niko Salazar’s twist in American beliefs and speech. The people around him are good natured and help him, no matter his schemes. Overall, this book is a light read that shows the depth of love one man who would do anything to find his dream woman. JoJo Maxson, January 2021

ALL DREAMERS GO TO AMERICA

A NOVEL BY ANA INGHAM AVAILABLE IN AMAZON

Iwoke up in bewilderment the next morning and my mind struggled to make a connection between Luca Airport in

Malta and Sheraton Hotel in New York.

Then I remembered that I couldn’t go to

Ms. Parker’s town because of the snow storm. The word “snow” evoked snowcovered mountains, white roads, white trees in my mind. Then I fell into a reverie.

Ms. Parker in a snowy park wearing a red hat and a navy blue coat, standing beside her. We are holding hands, posing for a picture. At this point I looked at my watch, now set to New York time. It was seven in the morning. Of course I couldn’t phone Ms. Parker at seven in the morning. She must be sleeping, sleeping quietly. She wouldn’t snore. Because she is such a gentle person. But why on earth did she say “no” on the phone? Did she mean she didn’t want to speak to me?

Oh, my God! I suddenly felt ashamed of my foolishness. Why didn’t wait for her reply before coming to America? What if she ignores me when I go to her town

Saratoga Spring? But surely not! Ms.

Parker I knew would never refuse to talk to me. But, hang on! Suddenly the thought struck me that she was perhaps in trouble. Perhaps her mother had just died, or she herself was ill. Oh dear, dear

Ms. Parker! How I wish I were now with you.I would do anything for you, anything.

After breakfast I took a courtesy van and got to Newark Airport.

The 10:00 a.m. flight to Albany was canceled because of a technical problem, and the passengers were given two food tickets and told to wait for the 2:00 p.m. flight. I spent my food ticket on a large pizza marinara and two bottles of apple juice. We finally boarded a small plane, which rattled and creaked while airborne. We flew low above New

Jersey, the docks, then Manhattan, the immigrants’ island, the Statue of Liberty.

Our small plane was rattling, shaking, vibrating all the time. Then suddenly three successive beeps. The captain announced that the reason for the delay had been a defect in the generator. They had replaced the generator with a new one, but now the new generator seemed to be failing as well. So we would have to return to Newark. Passengers faces froze. The hostess addressed us quietly “Safety first. Please remain seated.” But the man in jeans and thick spectacles who sat next to me, ignored this and began walking toward the exit. “Please remain seated!” The hostess’s firm voice was raised. “It has taken me thirty hours to get from San Diego to Albany.” The man chuckled nervously. And I was thinking: I didn’t come to America to die in a plane crash. I didn’t deserve that. Dying in a foreign place seemed to me a total waste. No chance for a nice funeral. I personally believe that the dead enjoy their funerals, watching the mourners from behind closed eyes. But if I died in a plane crash over the Statue of Liberty now, I would be deprived of a nice funeral. I wonder what will Ms. Parker think when she sees my name in a newspaper among the names of a plane crash victims? Will she then regret saying “no” to me on the phone? And how will my family cope with the news? And yes, God made our plane land back safely at the Newark Airport. So we were all in the line again, waiting for the steward to comfort us and give us new boarding passes.

Waiting at the end of the line, I felt suddenly short of breath and pain in my chest. That’s it. I thought, I’m dying in America. “What do you want to do?” asked the staff who appeared beside me. “Do you want to stay in a hotel?” “I… can’t talk… I can’t walk…” my voice turned into a whisper. I noticed a wheelchair rolling in my direction, pushed by a young woman with black hair. “Sit!” she ordered.

I sat. “What is the matter?” “Can’t talk…” I whispered. She left me in the wheelchair and walked briskly to the counter. I heard her say, pointing at me, “He can’t talk! What shall I do with him?” She came back and began pushing me along the crowded, neon-lit corridor. The woman behind the counter said, “I think it’s better if you go to a hospital rather than a hotel. Do you agree?” I shrugged. “I’m going to call the ambulance,” she said. As she spoke on the phone, I heard her say, “Urgent.” Within a few minutes, two policemen wearing large brimmed hats and dark shirts appeared on either side of my wheelchair. One of them put an oxygen mask over my mouth; the other took my blood pressure. “Breathe deeply. The oxygen mask will do you good.” When he removed the mask, I said, “I am feeling better.” “They always say they’re feeling better when they know we’re here. It’s psychological,”

Then two male nurses emerged from nowhere, one black, the other Asianlooking. Before they wheeled me away, I raised my hand to the airline clerks and whispered, “Thank you.” The Spanish woman looked as if she was going to cry. Maybe she thought I would die and would not be able to come back to the counter for another flight. I gave her a smile of a dying man and stretched out my hand by way of a blessing. She really was close to tears. Perhaps she regretted that she had treated me badly and pushed the wrong button in the elevator.

Crossing the immense hall in the wheelchair, I raised my hand also to some onlookers who, in the middle of their struggle to catch a flight, stopped to watch me. But I was not blaming the airline. They had done a lot of good things for me. They had brought me from one continent to another, given me coupons for food, made me stay in a hotel where I wouldn’t have dreamed of staying, and on a small plane they took me over Albany and then back again over the Statue of Liberty (an expedition I could never have had otherwise) Finally they put me in a wheelchair and summoned four men—two policemen and two nurses—to save my life.

A stretcher waited for me at the exit of the airport. When the snowflakes fell over my face, I smiled. I had seen the snow only on postcards and books and now the snow was real, and yet to me it looked full of mystery and gave me the feeling of having landed in another world.

Who would have thought that one day I would enter America on a stretcher, covered by a gray blanket, and snowflakes on my face, being pushed by two nurses into the back of a large ambulance?

“Titanic” Oil on canvas - 70x100 cm USD 2,800.00

I believe that creativity is about finding a unique synthesis between reality and abstraction. Since an early age, I was driven to writing and painting. This was my way of coming to terms with the reality of life and my artistic sensibility always tended to a zone between reality and abstraction. I wanted to look closely at the reality and see it clearly, yet also stand aside and see the reality behind a hue, a mist. This duality created an emotional suspense which is perhaps the source of poetic sensibility. When a teenager, I wanted to do both, writing and painting, but as it was difficult to focus on two different artistic expressions with the same intensity and continuity, I chose to concentrate on writing, perhaps because I wanted to be closely involved with the world and to revolt against things I didn’t like. This is more difficult with painting, since modern painting is a way of standing back from reality, and existing in a zone sheltered from it. But the visual sensibility never left me and good paintings continued to move me deeply. So, after writing a number of novels, short stories, poetry collections, and plays, I claimed my right to express my “Let’s Go My Darling” Oil on canvas - 50x70 cm USD 2,900.00 experiences, my emotions and my vision in painting. And the intense and at times rocky (because we were both rebels) relationship between Bryan Ingham and myself must have contributed to this claim. Our relationship was based mainly on a shared sensibility; in him lingered a poet and in me lingered a painter. And after his death, my own lingering sensibility erupted with its own dynamic and I found myself painting passionately and obsessively. I now needed more than ever before to dwell in that zone between the real and the abstract, and to shelter my artistic sensibility from the increasing harshness of the world. I think “Going to Hollywood” Oil & collage on canvas - 70x100 cm painting is very similar to falling in love. USD 2,950.00

PAINTING IS LIKE FALLING IN LOVE of beauty captured through harmony, and proportion. I am trying to capture my feelings and thoughts towards places I have dwelled. Since I have been a driven traveler, I became connected to different parts of the world. And I think my paintings mirror my physical intellectual and emotional journeys. I repeatedly painted landscapes of Cornwall and Paris because emotionally I responded to those places more strongly than to other places. Yet I would like to paint many other places. The reason why I am driven to integrate collage and painting may be related to my dual artistic identity, as a writer and a painter. Collage provides a direct link to the real whereas painting is One falls in love through idealization. a product of the imagination. Love is an abstraction and the need for abstraction seems to be inherent in SOLO EXHIBITIONS: the human psyche. I am also a believer South East Art Centre (Brighton) 2007 in beauty, although I am aware that Oliver’s Art Cafe (London) 2008 artistic beauty ought not to be beauty as Centre des Poets Francais( Paris) 2009 defined by society and fashion. Artistic Hotel de France (Poitiers) 2009 creation is a claim for one’s own sense Gallerie Lee (Paris) 2010 Lemon Street Gallery UK (2020-2021) “Jane” Oil on canvas - 70x100 cm USD 2,900.00