Chapter Two, Page 3

This week’s topic: Bookmarks. Not the paper kind with profound statements, cute pictures of kittens or with tassels or other dainty creations. I’m referring to the electronic bookmarks that are conveniently built into your computer. Gentle viewers (I think that was a common phrase used by Jane Austen or Harriet Beecher Stowe), if you are familiar with computer easing our writing life, then skip ahead to page 3 of Chapter 2. However, if you are navigating the Internet like Columbus on his first voyage, then stick with me kid and we’ll take that journey together. So what are electronic bookmarks and why should I waste my brain cells? Bookmarks are absolutely fantastic, especially if you’ve been on hundreds of web sites and found all this wonderful information. Instead of writing down the web site, and the numerous subheadings, with just a few clicks of your mouse, you can save the page you want and can access it at your leisure. There are also features that allow you to make subfolders. Let’s say, Writing for example. Under writing, I have agents, blogs, publishers, resources, misc. This summer I was planning my vacation and did not know where to go, just someplace in Southern California. Whoa! That was hours of looking up time. I make up a folder called Vacation: Then subfolders, Hollywood, Long Beach, Santa Monica (of note, these are not randomly chosen, they are areas in my novels where I planned to do a little research). So after viewing half a million web sites, I was able to compare and contrast and narrowed it down. I finally decided to spend a few days in San Simeon—I realized I could not handle the LA traffic, all the people, the central coast weather was most accommodating, and come on, I was on vacation from my writing, too. This week’s tip: How to access Bookmark. Pretend you’re already in a website looking for information. Go to top row that says “File, Edit, View History, Bookmark, etc.” Put your mouse on Bookmark, left click once, left click Bookmark this page.” A message box will appear, and save in the main folder and click Done. After you get about 20 of them, then make some folders. If you want to make folders, i.e,, writing, vacation, food, etc., then click from the top row Bookmark, left click once; left click once Organize Bookmarks, another message box will appear and left click once Bookmark menu (you may not have to because you’ll see down below a folder called New Folder). Then left click Bookmark Menu and right click it again. Then left click New Folder. A message box will appear that says New Folder. Where it says “Name” your folder, type the name of your folder, i.e., Writing. And then left click Add. You can then drag your files to that new folder, and later, make some new folders. And if you’re more adventurous, you can also have subheading in your main folders, i.e., under writing, you can have Editing, Agents, Blogs, etc. But I’ll let you experience joy in figuring that out.





****This young lady seems to be a fan of our Mr. Celebrity. How convenient. (For first time readers, please jump to the blog: Chapter One, Page One.)***



…TV Trade, last summer’s top-grossing film, which surprisingly received favorable reviews from the critics.



“Montgomery Davis!” She finally said in a melodious voice that was as rich and as deep as Norma’s famous chocolate peanut butter fudge. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“I can’t believe it, either!” I said returning her excitement. And boy was I excited. A luscious babe appeared out of nowhere to ease my boredom and rev up my lower torso.

“Sweetie,” I asked. “Do you know what I could really use right now?”

“I hope I do!” She grinned and lifted her eyebrows.

“Ah,” I paused. She seemed too eager. I pointed to the empty toilet paper dispenser. “How about giving me that package you’re clinging to like it’s a shield?” I wickedly grinned. “I promise I won’t bite.” I lied, feeling like the Big Bad Wolf making his move on Ravishing Red.

She tossed me the package and gave me a dead-on impression of Mary Richards’ irresistible expression of “silly me” that she reserved for Mr. Grant. Toilet Paper Chick left the bathroom without looking back and closed the door behind her. I then heard what sounded like banging against the bathroom door. I think it was her head. She wretchedly moaned, “Oh God. Oh God! Dear God!”

“Man, do I feel great!” I said.

After turning forty a few months ago, I feared I lost it, and Lydia’s frigid aloofness added to my insecurities. But now, in just a few short minutes, I was gonna get some, and that odd housecleaner appeared amply endowed to fulfill my lusty cravings. Afterwards, I’ll demonstrate my gratitude. After all, she was a devoted fan, plus conveniently nearby.

“Ms. Husky,” I said softly, “meet Mr. Horny.”

But after staring in the mirror at my over-the-hill, double-chinned, heavily wrinkled face, I had to accept my shelf life as a romantic icon was nearing its end.

Dear God! Please grant me more time in the Hollywood spotlight. There was nothing finer on this amazing planet than being an A-list celebrity. Forget about the million times I griped about minor inconveniences, like the lack of privacy and being unable to trust anyone. I never meant it; none of us stars did. It was an act to keep those low-life producers guessing. If we didn’t grumble about our fifteen-million movie deals with sideshow perks, then how could our agents convincingly demand twenty million and net of gross?

I sucked in my gut and scrutinized my saggy physique, which was deteriorating so quick that I’d be lucky if I get a puny five million for my next picture. I bet it won’t be the starring role, either. My fans will abandon me and start obsessing over the next up-and-coming hot young actor appearing on the silver screen. They’ll forget I once existed. Who could adore this haggard face that looked as if it used all two million frequent flyer miles? Has my worn-out face finally evolved to what film lovers charitably call “character?” I bet in two years, my movie roles will consist of the harmless toothless old-timer, like Walter Brennan’s, without the unique country accent or the intense gleam.

What if Lydia’s exotic housekeeper is my very last swooning female?

Character actor…oh shit!

Even though I was clueless my leading man roles would soon dry up, my subconscious sure in hell knew. Why else would I stupidly accept the role of Macbeth?

Macbeth!

I must be certifiably insane to perform on stage with actual people in the audience!

Chapter 2, Page 2

This week’s subject: Trying something different. This past week I worked on a script for the local high school Drama class. They’re putting on a creepy Halloween show. I tried my hand at a new type of genre—Horror. For ten years now, I’ve spent most of my energy on my novel, the romantic comedy series. When the day comes that I can quit my job and devote all my time to writing, I would also like to pursue some of the other plays and novels I’ve developed plots for. But my time is a limited resource, so I work on what I enjoy the most. A few weeks ago, I gave the drama teacher a 1-1/2 page synopsis of my skit (serial killer loose in the forest—it’s for two actors, approximately ten minutes long; E-mail me at reneesbook@gmail.com if you’re interested in purchasing it). I’m not the type of person who watches scary movies unless my favorite actor is in it, but that does not mean I don’t know how to scare the crap out of a person. The Drama teacher liked the synopsis, and as I mentioned, I worked on the script, which was revised four or five times. Future writers of the world---don’t say I never told you that rewriting is probably about 60-70 percent of our job. But I’m proud to say, my script looks polished and I really like what I did and one lady I know refused to read after the second page. I asked if she didn’t like it, but she said it scared her too much to read further. In a few weeks, I’ll get to see young actors perform it on stage, and I hope to scare the audience. This week’s tip: If you’re working on a long writing project, take a break and try a short little something something that may be a different genre for you. Make up your own commercial or tiny skit, and then hone in on it until you feel the pride of a job well done. Even the shortest piece of writing will benefit you in the long run when you edit it a minimum of four times. You’ll start developing your own writing style, author’s voice and tone. Or call up your local high school drama instructor. They can always use short skits which are relevant to teenagers or makes references to today’s topics—in my script, I mentioned an MP3 player and an English assignment of having to write a Japanese Haiku, which means high school students may identify with my script more and I hope to earn “props.”

***Great! Someone new has entered the story. Let’s hope she’s not as neurotic as our main character. (For first time readers, please jump to the blog: Chapter One, Page One.)***

…Or twenty years ago?

And why didn’t that friggin’ Lydia mention the most delicious housekeeper in the entire universe might drop by?

Actually, Lydia rarely spoke. We had one interesting conversation. We both commiserated how our fathers’ died too soon—my dad before I was born and Lydia’s when she was an infant. A few times, Lydia spoke with pride about a cousin whose obsession with Monty Davis was verging on cult-like status. Plus, her other cousin was a police officer who received many awards for fearless bravery. From what I remembered, Lydia’s cousins sounded like kooks, and I never want to be stuck in a dark alley with either of them.

I was tired of complaining to Lydia we were living like shut-ins, but she rationalized her Monty-obsessed cousin would be traumatized seeing photos of the two of us together. Not once, did I buy her phony bony story. Besides cooking, my other favorite hobby was reading and collecting mystery novels. I felt qualified to deduce the real reason Lydia lost interest in me was because she was being threatened by one of my psycho fans.

But that was ancient history.

In front of me, the transfixed beautiful housekeeper continued staring at me as her strong fingers squeezed the TP. I greedily smiled anticipating future physicality between the covers. She wasn’t wearing fingernail polish either, and I searched but did not see a wedding ring.

No surprise there. I bet Ms. Fem-machismo could pussy whip the ‘Cripts’ toughest homeboy as he pleaded for a touch of her sleek kindness.

God, I needed a woman so bad! It had been two and a half long months without the good stuff. If I didn’t get some soon, I won’t have enough energy to think straight.

I raised my eyebrows slightly at the human statue. She appeared lost in her own thoughts; hopefully, her goals were similar to mine. Eventually, as with all of my women, I became bored with the deer-in-the-headlights skit.

“Yes?” I asked, folding up Stella’s letter.

“You’re…Monty Davis!” she mouthed.

“That’s right!” I said enthusiastically, giving her the brilliant smile I typically reserved for little children and ancient grannies.

“I’m…ah…I’m,” she whispered. “Ah…I’m your number one fan.”

Doubt it!

Everyday, women threw themselves at me and screamed they were my number one fan. However, Stella had that esteem honor, and once again, her enduring proof was tucked inside my wallet.

“I’m…I’m,” she stuttered.

“I completely understand,” I said softly. Which was true because every day would were unable to form coherent sentences once that laid eyes on Monty.

That was reality talking…not ego.

And this gal was definitely exhibiting the typical fan’s response of ever-widening smile, intense shiny eyes and quick shallow breaths. It was obvious she needed to tell me something important—like how she was overcome with the vapors as she watched me in TV Trade, last summer’s top-grossing film, which surprisingly received favorable reviews from the critics.

CHapter Two, Page One

This week’s topic: Chapter Titles. Most novels nowadays do not have titles for their chapters, which I think is kind of boring. As a child and reading children’s books, I enjoyed the chapter titles. However, the trend in publishing is usually no titles. Back when all my chapters just had numbers, it was difficult for me to visualize and recall aspects of my novel. When I wrote an addendum on the back of any paper that was handy, when I wanted to add it to my novel or identify it and file it for a chapter, it was a pain. Even now, I cannot describe what’s in chapter nine or ten of my novel. But since chapter nine is called “Going Loco,” and chapter ten is called, “The Fool,” I can tell you exactly what’s in those two chapters. I also get a big smile on my face when I think of “The Fool.” This week’s tip: While you’re working on your manuscript, give yourself a title for each chapter for organizational purposes. It could be something simple like a unique comment or a description, or the general mood from that particular chapter. You don’t have to use them when you submit for submission, but it will make it easier for you when recalling necessary plot points.

***Has the fair Lydia returned? (For first time viewers, please jump to the blog, Chapter One, Page One.)****

Chapter Two, Page One

I peered around the brown glass.

Whoa!

Lydia’s a no-show, but fortunately for moi, Ms. Guilty Pleasure stood in the doorway. My desire to physically know her was as ravenous as a Rottweiler eyeballing home delivery of Chateaubriand. Wow! My prayers to relieve my boredom have been answered because I immediately dump Lydia and yummy yum yum shows up. I’d be a fool not to interpret this as a sign that Fate agrees with my decision of out with bony Olive Oyl and in with a hunk, a hunk of burning love.

When the sudden appearance of a beautiful woman standing motionless in the doorway, what could it mean?

It’s probably not every day she beholds someone as famous as me, Montgomery Davis, the Number One Movie Star in the entire world. She probably wasn’t expecting to see me in Ms. Supermodel’s boring bathroom casually sitting on the edge of the bathtub reading a letter.

Wow! The mysterious beauty must be a mind reader because she’s clutching to her chest a desired treasure—a four-pack of Quilted Northern toilet paper. She looked tall, but not as tall as Lydia whose frizzy red hair would sometimes reached the top of most doorways. I think this woman is about my age…maybe. You can’t tell a woman’s age nowadays since plastic surgery can make anyone thirty years younger. Her long dark brown hair was pulled tight into a ponytail. In this dull lighting, her small eyes kind of had the same Levi-blue color as Lydia’s. The stranger’s eyebrows were black and stern and gave her a commanding presence, an atypical look for most gals. Actually, I’ve argued with Buster that I thought Brando’s eyebrows were too pretty for a man, and here I am proved right. It’s too bad Buster isn’t here so I could brag to him, “I told you so.” Of course, if Buster were here, he’d be humping this gal in fifteen minutes flat.

Even though he’s like a brother to me, the guy has no class.

Judging by her expressionless face, mystery woman appeared to be suffering from shock.

And…as for me?

Yowza!

What a strange-looking…no exotic…no…

She’s just a different type of woman I usually frequent.

Yowwwwzzzzaaaa!

Mystery woman’s jaw gradually opened, just wide enough to pop inside one of Marcel’s lobster Quadrilles.

Oh, man, oh man, oh man!

Thank you Supreme Being for designing those yummy ummy lips for oral gymnastics. Collagen injections? No way. This earthy gal would not succumb to pretense. Judging by her cheap clothes, she probably couldn’t afford the treatment, either. I’m also guessing her full bosom concealed beneath a black cotton T-shirt isn’t partially plastic either. The package of toilet paper and a well-worn, black leather biker jacket with wind-resistant zippers obscured the white printed letters on her T-shirt. Black canvas jeans emphasized long muscular legs. Hmmm. It shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes to convince her to wrap those legs around me.

Who am I kidding…five minutes! I’m Monty!

I heard a groan and realized it came from me.

Her eyes were still transfixed and she probably couldn’t hear a siren go off now.

I licked my chops in delight because judging by her firm physique this gal didn’t have a trendy eating disorder. Scuffed, black leather boots with square silver buckles completed what I would call an impressive ‘kick-ass’ ensemble.

My God! What a formidable housecleaner!

Why didn’t she show up yesterday?

Or four and a half months ago?

Or twenty years ago?

Chapter One, Page 9

This week’s topic: movies/screenplays. Last week, I watched Born Yesterday, the movie written by Garson Kanin. (I’ll write more of him in another blog because he’s one of my ideal writers.) If you have not seen Born Yesterday, then you are denying yourself a wonderful treat. It’s also a mini-civics lesson and informative as to Washington D.C. back then…and how politics really works. The movie was made in 1950s and it’s in black and white. Can you believe that there are some people who refuse to watch any black and white movie? What a waste! Garson Kanin wrote every line of dialogue to near perfection. I watched the movie with the eldest high school daughter and told her that it’s not just my favorite but a lot of people as well. She laughed her tush off and was intrigued with some of the colorful old sayings that were common back then. The cast in the movie was wonderful, which included William Holden a fantastic actor in every way imaginable, Broderick Crawford, who plays the ignorant brute to perfection, and then there’s Judy Holliday. She won the Academy Award for her role as Billie Dawn. She is sincere in the role and her dimples were a supporting character in their own right. She can deliver one word or sound in so many different ways that she’s such a joy to watch. I get a similar feeling of actors having the best role of their life also while I watch the BBC Sherlock Holmes version with the brilliant Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes. Jeremy Brett also can say everything with just a single word or glance. When I watch wonderful performances with witty dialogue, to me, it’s as if the angels are singing. Of note, I am curious to see how Robert Downey, Jr., handles the Holmes role; but I’m guessing he’ll be great, too. (But don’t take my word for it, watch him in Tropic Thunder, Iron Man and/or Restoration—not his typical role, but moving all the same.) This week’s tip: Screenwriters! Watch old Academy Award movies—there’s a reason those films, writers or actors won. Never give up on your screenplay; keep at it.. As we all know, Hollywood is famous for stomping all over promising scripts; but when the plot is believable and original and the dialogue is full of truth, it would be a crime for anyone in Hollywood to mess around with your script. Unfortunately, there are too many crappy movies out there, so be responsible to yourself, the writing profession, as well as us folks who live for that good movie that makes us forget our daily cares for a few hours.

…my best friend of nearly twenty years treating me like a ‘nobody’ and never telling me the reason why? (For first-time viewers, please jump to Chapter One, Page One.)

Let’s see. She repeatedly chewed me out regarding last year’s ‘Gays’ catastrophe; so she must be pissed about something else I supposedly did, said or thought. Stella’s other “I’ll never write to you…ever again” letter arrived a week after last Memorial Day, which gave me the impression there was some connection to the military that ticked her off. My foolish mouth may be big enough to store combat boots, but I’m not that stupid to speak ill of the Armed Forces, considering my father died while stationed in Germany. I’ll even swear on my dead mother’s Bible that I never made a derogatory comment about Japanese women, like Stella, who married military men only to obtain American citizenship.

I’ve spent hours studying this letter for clues to deduce what horrible crime I committed that I deserved to be abandoned by the only woman who I stupidly thought understood me.

Stella! If you don’t tell me, then how am I supposed to guess…I mean, improve the situation?

Oh my dearest, Monty! Today, my body aches for you. Venus wanting to go down on Mars or some suck gibberish.

Can you believe that me, Monty’s Number One fan, is not up to date regarding your current events? Is your latest flame another amazingly gorgeous but boring (illegible scribble)? How I envy the bitch!

Or are you still flying solo and scouring the world in your endless pursuit of firm young flesh. How’s that race going of Monty Davis never having a love affair that’s lasted longer than six months?

HOWEVER! If I do find out you were alone on your favorite day of the year, tears of desolation may send Yours Truly into catatonia land, especially since I’m without a date for Cupid’s prom.

Dang! She’s ruthless!

Did “without a date for Cupid’s prom” mean Stella is finally free of her abusive husband? For nearly twenty years, I’ve waited for her to divorce that creep. So if she’s no longer with the brute then why is she acting like she’s part of the witness protection program? She knows my wealth can get her out of any kind of sticky jam. But I can’t help her if she won’t tell me her location.

Oh Monty! I despise myself for perpetuating the silent-letter treatment, but I have to preserve what sanity remains.

Which contradicts with the following crazy sentences.

Since I have no more pride, you need to know that her Highness, Mistress Stella Lee, has forsaken the good fight. My castle is overrun with futility. The Queen has been ensnared, and her free continues under the magic spell.

My dearest love! Why couldn’t our souls connect long ago when we naïvely assumed poverty meant a lack of money?

If we had met sooner, would our lies be any different?

That last sentence still gives me the creeps. She probably meant to write “lives” instead of “lies.”

I didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but the yellow paper rustled from a slight breeze. Through the brown opaque glass, I saw the shadow of a blurry dark figure.

Well, well, well.

Ms. Supermodel has finally returned to her crappy condo because woman’s intuition alerted her that she’s about to be cruelly dumped!

They say change is good for you.

For everyone else, but not for me.