I Married a Beast

There's a moment in Disney's Beauty and the Beast that always makes me catch my breath. It's not the ballroom dance or even the transformation scene. It's earlier, quieter - when the Beast, nervous and awkward, throws open the doors to his library and watches Belle's face light up with wonder.

"It's wonderful!" she breathes, spinning among the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

"It's yours," he says simply.

In that moment, the Beast doesn't offer Belle jewels or gowns or empty flattery. He offers her what matters most to her - a room full of stories, ideas, and imagination. He sees who she really is. And in seeing her, he reveals himself. Two bookish souls, finding each other among the pages.

This is where their real love story begins, not with physical attraction or instant chemistry, but with shared passions and the slow recognition of kindred spirits. I had a moment like that soon after meeting my husband. I was dating the training manager at Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour, and Keith was engaged. We decided to go to the beach one day after work, and he noticed my old beach towel. I joked about it - I come from a family that gets every last drop out of a bottle of catsup. The next day, there was a new beach towel on the driver's seat of my car. This was during the days when you didn't have to lock your car, of course. 

Beauty and the Beast has endured across centuries and countless versions because its core truth remains relevant: real love requires looking beyond the surface to see someone's true character. Belle doesn't fall for the Beast's appearance - she falls for his kindness, his growth, his vulnerability, and yes, his library. She sees the person beneath the curse. The beast would have given her a new beach towel.

I kid my husband, Keith, that we're Beauty and the Beast - though I should clarify, he's actually quite handsome, and I've been known more for brains than beauty. But he can turn into a bit of a beast when he's hungry (hangry is real, folks) or when he encounters difficult people. More importantly, like the Beast with Belle, he's fiercely protective of those he loves. He guards our granddaughters and me like he's sitting on that proverbial fence, watching for any threat, ready to defend. As he says, "You want me on that fence!"

Like the Beast offering Belle his library, Keith and I have built our own collection of shared passions after fifty years of marriage. DVDs fill our shelves. We have close to 2,000 books in our Kindle Library that we own and subscribe to Kindle Unlimited. We understand each other's protective instincts, our quirks, our hunger-induced mood swings. We've learned to see past the "beastly" moments to the person underneath - and to let ourselves be fully seen in return.

In our current world, where we swipe left or right based on a photo, where first impressions are formed in seconds from social media profiles, and where we're constantly judged by superficial metrics, this message feels more important than ever. We live in a society obsessed with surface-level perfection, yet starving for genuine connection. The Beast's story reminds us that transformation happens through patience, understanding, and truly seeing one another - not despite our flaws, but through accepting our whole, complex selves.

And like Belle and her Beast, I didn't fall in love with Keith immediately. Our story is more like Ashley and Melanie in Gone with the Wind - though that comparison might raise some eyebrows - they were cousins! Stay with me here. In Margaret Mitchell's novel, Ashley reflects on how he and Melanie are suited to each other because they share the same background, values, and understanding of the world. They speak the same language, he says - much to Scarlett's fury, as she could never understand that compatibility built on shared foundations could be deeper than passionate physical attraction. She's beautiful and surrounded by suitors. Why couldn't she have Ashley, too? She didn't discover until after Melanie died that he wasn't right for her. Melanie was Ashley's one true love.

Keith and I discovered we were cut from the same cloth, like Ashley and Melanie. Our backgrounds were similar. Our fathers were born in Colorado, a few hundred miles apart. We both had devout Catholic mothers and fathers who converted to the religion - an unusual parallel that shaped both our childhoods in similar ways. We both love to read, losing ourselves in stories the way Belle treasured every book in that library. We both love movies, sharing that joy of storytelling in another form. We even both played hockey - he played ice hockey, I played field hockey. These weren't superficial similarities. They were the threads of shared experience and values that wove us together. We're the same age, know the same songs, and can speak in "movie speak" as we call it. We constantly use lines from movies, books, and songs to communicate. We're passionate about the Olympics and Oscars.

But our love wasn't love at first sight. It was the slow building of trust and understanding. It was finding someone who spoke my language. We met in February, started dating in July, got engaged in August and married the following February. 

That's the real magic of Beauty and the Beast. It's not about the spell breaking or the prince returning to his handsome form. It's about two people learning to be vulnerable enough to show their true selves and brave enough to love what they find. It is about loving the person who makes you feel comfortable.

And speaking of Disney love stories we cherish - I'm starting a new YouTube series - Writing is Life, and I'll use my storytelling skills to write the next chapter in some of Disney Studios' masterpieces. If you been wanting to become an author, or learn screenwriting from a different angle - or even learn more about AI and animation, visit https://www.youtube.com/@sandijerome and please subscribe! I'm not trying to make money on YouTube; I'm trying to promote my books and screenwriting career.

What's your favorite moment in Beauty and the Beast? Have you found your own love story in an unexpected place? Share in the comments below.

 

Writing is Life

My first blog was almost four years ago when I decided to retire and become a full-time writer.  It was about my high school sport, field hockey.  My husband Keith taught me how to play soccer after we got married since he was All-CIF soccer in high school and his favorite sport of ice hockey was nothing like what I had played – but soccer was. It was so much easier to kick the big soccer ball instead of hitting a tiny hockey ball with a stick. Soccer has a similar field, rules, and goal as field hockey. But Keith insisted I learn to kick with my foot instead of my toe. Not only does this prevent you from breaking your toe, but it gives your kick more speed and control. 

Over the years, soccer has been a big part of our lives. We’ve been to Olympic soccer games, along with NWSL games. We’ve seen greats like Marta, Abby Wambach, and Megan Rapinoe, but the best was watching our four granddaughters play.  Each girl was an amazing player – inside and out. Soccer is also a fun game.

We loved managing and coaching soccer teams and even the most athletically-challenged child can play.  It isn’t like baseball where they go to bat – all alone - and strike out.  Instead, young soccer players get so many chances to get their foot on the ball, especially in youth soccer where the team can swarm together around the field like a beehive. Keith would smile when he’d spot a young girl more interested in a little tiny flower growing on the field instead of paying attention to the game. She was having fun!

When I played on adult teams - mostly over-30 women’s indoor soccer, I’d constantly remind my teammates that nobody was getting paid and we all had to get to work the next day, so let’s be careful out there. It needs to be fun.  At that time, there were no professional women’s teams but today that has all changed.  The world of women’s professional soccer, especially the NWSL is exciting and lucrative for some of the players and owners.  It is still called soccer in this country instead of football like the rest of the world, but it is fun.  One of my favorite scenes in Ted Lasso is when the new player, Dani Rojas screams “Football is Life!” But for me, writing is life.

My latest script, AimMe Coach, is almost done.  It was originally a one-hour dramedy like Ted Lasso called Aim Me, but I worked with an amazing mentor – Kris Crenwelge as part of the Native American Media Alliance fellowship that I won.  She is a staff writer on True Lies and is currently in the Native American showrunner fellowship. Kris suggested that I cut out half of the characters and make it a network half-hour comedy.  That meant removing half of what writers like to call “their darlings.”  Gosh, that was hard since I killed off my main character.  But surprisingly, that left the hero to be my Native American character, Suby Mankiller, and back full circle to my granddaughters.  My youngest and strongest is named Suby and is in the bottom left of this picture. She packs a lot of dynamite into her petite body.

This picture sort of brings everything full circle for me.  I quit writing twenty years ago after graduating from UCLA’s screenwriting program when tragedy struck and Keith and I had four little granddaughters to help raise.  I put my dreams on hold and had a new objective to earn enough money in the technology industry to support our daughter-in-law getting certified as a teacher and those amazing little girls.

I had also taken a bad hit in my right eye with a soccer ball and had a partially detached retina and poor vision to contend with.  But with big monitors and dozens of surgeries, I do pretty well – just don’t ask me to drive at night!  My lack of depth perception makes playing sports difficult, so I walk a lot instead, at least a 5K a day and lots of yoga. 

For me, writing is life – I feel like Dani Rojas, each morning – excited to get up and write, write, write.  If you want to see my YouTube about Aim Me (the hour-long version)  here’s the link and I hope to have the ½ version done soon. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLx_8Ja4anZU7427aV5A98VQUPYtmdfWJc 

https://nama.media/sandi-jerome/

What Playing Field Hockey Taught Me

One of the best experiences I had in high school was playing field hockey.  When I watch the game on TV today, I’m surprised how different it was when I played.  Our coach – Mrs. Freitas insisted that we be ladies on the field; helping an opponent up if they fall and being humble with our scoring.  In 1969-72 when I played, there was no money for girls sports – this was prior to Title IX and field hockey was a part of GAA – a girls club – not a sport.  I don’t know how Mrs. Freitas came up with the money for field hockey, but somehow she managed.  The fields were rather poor.  I remember playing La Jolla Country Day School and they had a fence right at the end of the field.  As a left wing, I would run down the field and at the last minute send my pass to the center.  After an unusually fast breakaway, I sent my pass and couldn’t stop and ran into that fence – knocking myself out.  This was one of the few games my dad attended.  He was a hod carrier and working in La Jolla that day.  If you ever want to read about a hard job – read about hod carriers for plasters.  This was before they had guns that brought plaster and stucco up high rises.  A hod carrier would carry that plaster up many stories on their back.  Grueling work.    After being knocked out, I woke up seeing his concerned face.  I remember being a little embarrassed; he was still in his work clothes, but when I think of it today – I should have been proud.  I think he was the only parent from our school at that game.  I wasn’t a great athlete, but I really wanted to play field hockey.  My dad’s best friend, Don Minter had recently remarried and now had a step-daughter, June Miller.  They lived with us for a brief time before finding a house in Escondido to fit the new family.  June sort of adopted me, she was a year old and a decade older in confidence!  She talked me into trying out for field hockey and I noticed nobody wanted to play left wing.  A field hockey stick only has one side, so to hit it from the left to the center meant a twisted hold.  Being left-handed, it seemed a little easier for me than for most girls, so I tried out for that position.  I ended up getting a lot of playing time and since most players can pass easier from the center/right to the left – I got a lot of passes and eventually assists.  I did score a few goals, but mostly because I was it the right place at the right time and I think sometimes the ball hit my stick and ricocheted into the goal!

So playing field hockey taught me that there is usually a portion of the “market” that nobody else wants (left wing) and that you can be a good player, play hard – yet still be courteous and kind on the playing field – but watch out for unexpected fences.

You can get funding if you want (Mrs. Freitas did) and never be ashamed of your roots or anyone that is will to support your efforts – my dad!-

Dad (all cleaned up) 1972 – Larry Cook and Sandy Cook (now Sandi Jerome)

Visit my website for info on my books - https://www.sandijerome.com/