Chapter One, Page 3

This week’s writing topic: Organization. I prefer to do major rewrites and editing on hard copy (paper). Last week, I was putting in my changes and was surprised (Ha! More like furious) to learn that when I typed those changes on my computer several months ago I never saved the electronic file. Tip: Every time you open a new file, rename it with the current date., ie, Chapter One, 7-18-09 and then Chapter One, 7-19-09. And save all the files, no matter if there are 20 just for a single chapter. You never know when you will need them. Same with the hard copy. Keep all of them. I had to retrieve my chapter from the file box and now get the fun in retyping it completely.

***Will this Monty/Miles/Montgomery character ever find the elusive T.P.?

.....Variety’s headlines will read: “Monty Davis, the new Ed Wood.”

S****! Even if Don Anthony hires the best set director, cinematographer and a half dozen production assistants, my film will still be as disastrous as “Plan 9 from Outer Space.” D******! Not to mention, I’ll be responsible for the hundreds of people involved in making a 110-minute film. Oh brother! I have no experience hiring crew members or auditioning actors! What if my friends show up? How can I tell them they’re not right for the part?

I just can’t say, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you”!

I grabbed my stomach again.

Toilet paper. Toilet paper. You’d think it would be in here with all the cupboards in this bathroom?

I remembered what my mother said during times like these.

“Miles, honey,” she’d say in her soft sweet voice that my boyhood friends all wished their own moms had. “If I was a cigarette lighter, where would I be?”

Every time we had to go somewhere, I’d quickly search for her glasses or wallet but took my sweet ass time hunting for her cigarettes or lighter.

When I was fourteen, her doctor diagnosed her fainting spells as symptoms of diabetes. From then on, her diabetic medication was added to the list of items misplaced daily. Surprisingly, she never lost her keys, which was very convenient since she was a motel manager.

Oh crap! I need to stop remembering Mom and start forgetting Lydia. If Fremont finds out I blew yesterday fixating on my dead mother’s birthday, he’ll want to admit me to a trendy inpatient psychiatric facility, and if I don't, he’ll threaten to inform the tabloids. The headline will read: “Monty Davis finally cracks up! Read celebrity shrink’s latest self-help book on how he glued Mr. Romance back together.”

I opened the cupboard above the toilet and saw a large clear plastic container with a four-inch red cross painted on its side. Surprisingly, it appeared to be well stocked with first-aid items. Wow! Who knew Lydia was that conscientious? I naturally assumed her idea of an emergency was flying in her personal manicurist to work damage control on a chipped acrylic nail.

Always the optimist, I tried the cupboard under the sink. There were cleaning products and clear plastic containers which appeared to be full of feminine hygiene stuff.

“Let’s try door number three.”

The next cupboard over was a no-show for the toilet paper, but I did discover a stack of magazines.

Excellent! Since being imprisoned at Lovely Lydia’s, I finally have something to read besides my Macbeth script. Late last night, the cable was down, and I was forced to glance through the fashion and home decorating magazines which were conspicuously placed throughout her condo. After scanning a few pages of that drivel, my mind went numb. On a positive note, I did have a restful sleep. In Lydia’s bookcase by her desk, there were many serious books, including the Bible, but I’ve been too uneasy to read anything of substance.

I kicked the magazines onto the rug, hoping for People magazine. Even though my most loyal fans would never describe me as…ah…smart, I’m so desperate that I’d even settle for Newsweek or The New Yorker.

Alas! My ill luck persists—more tiresome women’s magazines with Lydia's springy red hair and blue jean eyes gracing all the covers. Are Supermodels so narcisstic that they are compelled to display their fake faces throughout their homes? I bet models say the same thing about us actors.