Chapter One, Page 4

Today’s topic of conversation: Writer’s Block. I rarely experience traditional writer’s block. The times I didn’t want to write, I also didn’t want to do any of my usual fun things either. I’d just veg out in front of the TV. But taking multivitamins, iron tablets and prescription medications sorted out that problem. I think the word writer’s block is a misnomer. I refer to it as the Inability to Create Magic (ICM). This is what we artists do—create something out of nothing. I’ve experienced ICM many times. I tend to be impatient and forget that my story will reveal itself to me at it’s own pace. A hard lesson to remember. You may be experiencing ICM because you have not thoroughly visualized where you are in your story and where the next scene should take you. So if you’re in the midst of ICM, do something else. Organize your notes, hard copies and computer files; review your research; highlight all your verbs and prepositional words; or study the thesaurus. Today’s tip: I cure ICM by placing myself in a location without access to pen or paper, a computer or my voice recorder, such as washing the dishes, taking a shower or driving my car. I keep the current scene in the back burner of my mind, and when the passion hits, I wipe my hands, dry my body or safely pull to the side of the road. I make every effort to capture this gift, because our muses are like fireworks—beautiful and awesome but vanishes quickly.

****Our main character tends to be self-absorbed. Wouldn’t you agree?****

…I bet models say the same thing about us actors.

However, I may have hundreds of videotapes in my house, but Monty Davis only acts in fifty of them. Actually, there are about ten of my performances worth viewing. The other movies were for spending money or because I cut a deal so I could make the serious movies I cared about. Fortunately, the boring movies were fun to make because of my co-stars and the crew. Hey, if you have to act in a stupid movie for a measly ten million, then get your friends involved in it.

From the cupboard, I pulled out a few more magazines. Oh lovely! One magazine claims to possess “357 beauty tips” and the other boasts “340 fashion styles.” Wow! A difficult choice. My tennis shoe made that decision by kicking the magazines onto the rug.

I sighed. After two monotonous days of the redhead staring back at me from the many photographs on the walls and magazines placed throughout this dump, I’m finally forced to agree with Fremont when he criticized that Saint Lydia leans towards egotism. If it wasn’t for her photos and magazine covers, I doubt I could remember her at all. Lydia’s becoming a pale memory that is fading faster than a dollop of whipped cream on a cocoa latte.

During our short time together, she displayed weird, mute-like OCD behavior but nothing that would make the hairs on the back of my neck stand in formation. Actually, she was unlike any of my ex-women as Lydia never made demands on me or pressured me into doing her favors. Not once did she ask about my previous lovers or want to discuss the direction of our relationship. I initially hoped our relationship would lead to a long successful marriage. But due to her shyness and being a woman of few words, it became difficult to know the real Lydia. I naively assumed the first phase of intimacy with Lydia would begin slow and then gradually progress to hotsy-totsy, and finally culminating to: Vavoom! Unfortunately, it took the opposite course—the hot wild sex occurred only during our first night together, and after that, sex went downhill to almost apathy.

Lydia left for Africa after my birthday the first week of February. I held fast to the belief that she possessed admirable qualities every man would want for a proper wife and devoted mother. I rationalized that my feelings were similar to a groom on the first day of his pre-arranged marriage—my bride will grow to love me more than life itself. Only time will determine if Destiny made the perfect union. And finally, I pray that the sex will keep on getting better.

Hah!

Lydia’s two-week job in Africa extended to over two months. I was banking on when she returns, she’ll be as horny as a sailor who’s been out to sea for four months.

And still I waited.

Or use to, because now I could care less if I mattered to Lydia.

I now noticed on one of the magazines, there was a caption over Lydia’s waist: “Don’t be a Passive Flower, become a PASSION FLOWER!”

Isn’t it ironic that particular statement is plastered over Lydia’s lower region? How is it possible for a boring person like her to become world famous? It's not because of my acting ability that I’ve been the Number One celebrity in the entire world, but because I’m fascinating and fun to be around. I remember gossip a few years ago of a Supermodel sleeping her way to a major magazine cover. I can rule Lydia out because my experience between the sheets with the frizzy-haired mannequin revealed her lack of libido wouldn’t earn her a cover on Compost Weekly.