Stories Of A Writer... Unknown

Novel or Novelette? That is the Question.

2014-03-24T16:09:00.000-07:00

I'm guilty... Of neglecting this blog. In January of 2012 I promised that I'd stick to my New Year's resolution of posting more frequently. My bad. But that's not to say I've neglected my "other" writing. In the past 24 months I was hired to co-write a screenplay that is now in post-production, develop another screenplay of mine that is in pre-production, and have rewritten the bejesus out of numerous other scripts that will hopefully one day see the light of "pre-or-post production" day. I also released a non-fiction book called "Marilyn Monroe: My Little Secret" that created quite a stir with the die-hard Marilyn fans, which is now being turned into an audio-book, all the while working on a new fiction book titled "Weird Women." (Easy, ladies, the follow-up book is titled "Weird Men.") With my latest book, I'm torn whether or not to release it as a novel or novelette. Each chapter deals with the women in Jake Rush's life, and I have several chapters already completed, but I know how long it took me to finish my Marilyn book, not to mention how long it took me to return to this blog! So, in case I disappear for another 2 years, I'm leaving you with the Introduction to "Weird Women."

Introduction

“The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off,” once said Gloria Steinem and dedicated her life to feminism.

My name is Jake Rush – J.R. to my friends – and although I was a kid when Ms. Steinem broke onto the scene as a leader for the women’s liberation movement in the late 1960’s, I was totally aware that the women in my life dedicated their existence to being generally pissed off. The short list included my mother, Irene (who despised being called her childhood nickname, Reenie), my Aunt Gin (who loved drinking her namesake), their hairdresser, Dusty (who lost everything, including her prize-winning Pekingese, in a bitter divorce settlement with her high school sweetheart), and a mutual friend to all three women whose guts they secretly couldn’t stand; Gloria (not to be confused with social and political activist, Ms. Steinem).

By the time I reached puberty, I was introduced to a new breed of women who followed in the ‘short list’s’ footsteps. They included my older sister, Ellie (who hated being called Eleanor), my cousin, Doreen (who loved getting high the instant she woke up), Dusty’s daughter, Olivia (who was jealous that her mother paid more attention to her prize-winning Pekingese than her own daughter), and their mutual friend, Judy (Gloria’s daughter), whose ass the prior three had kicked to the curb – literally – on more than one occasion.

In my early adult life, I understood, to a certain extent, the nature of why all of these women seemed content at being discontent. They were stuck: in time, in loveless marriages and in dispute of one another. All of them, prisoners, hanging midair on the mundane wrung of the going nowhere ladder. I found this weird, especially in my mother’s case. At seventy-two years young, Irene Rush was (is) a firm believer that a woman’s best defense weapon is her tongue. Meaning, she’s never been afraid to speak her mind, and has no remorse after slaying a person with her words. So why was she terrified in taking a leap of faith to leave behind every thing and everyone that pissed the bejesus out of her, particularly my father, Jack? Personally, I always felt my mother was afraid of my father— when in truth? My mother was madly in love with him.

My parent’s tempestuous relationship was influential in my sister Ellie’s and my formative years, which I believe was a clear indication why Ellie developed a deep resentment towards men. In her youth, Ellie resembled one of those high fashion models in the Robert Palmer Addicted To Love music video. Ironically, Ellie became addicted to sex. Good. Bad. Sloppy seconds. Sex seemed to give Ellie superiority over the male ego. It had also created a deep sense of loneliness as Ellie grew older. With her biological clock ticking, Ellie eventually married and started a family of her own in the hopes that a child would fill this void. Thus, she produced my niece, Kennedy, who, as a vivacious young teenager, followed in her mother’s footsteps by sleeping with anything that had a pulse-- or not. What had started out as a dare amongst her peers, gradually had become an obsession for Kennedy to sneak into the county funeral parlor and cozy up with the stiffs (of both genders), until she was caught in a casket by the parlor’s proprietor, Mr. Clancy.

Weird, I thought. They’re all just weird.

Suitcase packed, I left behind the insanity of Yellow Brook, Illinois at the age of twenty-five. Frantic with worry, I had no life’s ambitions or idea where I was headed. I only knew that had I not escaped, I would eventually plant my seed within the womb of a maniacal woman who would inevitably blame me for being the bane of her existence. So I drifted, and traveled west, landing several odd survival jobs along my way, until one day I stumbled upon what would become my lifelong passion: cooking.

Weird, to say the least, since I had no culinary influence from my mother, whatsoever. Like many of the women in Yellow Brook, my mother depended on Marie Callender and the Swanson Hungry-Man to do the cooking for her. The only time she presented a “homemade” meal on the table was at Thanksgiving. And then, she ordered a precooked turkey with all the fixings from the supermarket, arranged everything on her best Corelle serving platters, hid the takeout containers in the burning barrel, proclaiming, annually — while puffing on a Virginia Slim – how, “Childbirth was easier than fixing this God forsaken feast!”

Anyway, I was working at ‘Big Jim’s Truck Stop’ just outside of Reno, when in the midst of the breakfast shift, Big Jim, who tipped the scales at 400 pounds, starting complaining about chest pains. I immediately sprung into action and began manning the griddle. One week after Big Jim’s demise, Jim’s wife, Doris, made me the lead cook in an establishment that was built on the foundation of butter and bacon grease. There wasn’t a dish on the menu that didn’t scream ‘instant heart attack.’ With Doris’ consent, I added a Caloric Friendly section to the menu. While it wasn’t a big hit with the truckers, my heart healthy creations proved to garner sales among the regulars who were hoping to prolong their longevity beyond the average life expectancy of 60 (give or take a few years) .

But my position itself was short-lived when Doris sold the joint to a Japanese conglomerate that turned it into an all-you-can-eat sushi bar/strip joint. Talk about a double entendre. From there, I made my way to Los Angeles, where, after mastering the griddle at ‘Big Jim’s Truck Stop,’ I truly believed that I had enough culinary experience to apply as a real chef in one of those swanky L.A. restaurants where the movie stars dined— Hey, what did I know? I was a kid from the Midwest, with eyes as wide as saucers, looking to make a name for myself like Wolfgang Puck or Benny Hannah.

I soon learned that Benihana was a chain, and not a real person, which in restaurant slang “86’d” my chances of landing a job in any of those swanky restaurants, after writing ‘Benny Hannah’ as one of my favorite chefs who I aspired to become on several of my job applications.

Still, I persevered and wound up taking a job in a bowling alley as a short-order cook. It’s there that I met my future wife, Winona. A transplant from Dallas, Texas, Winona was a waitress/wannabe actress, who had all the qualities in a woman that were foreign to me. She was caring, and loving, and understanding, not to mention drop dead gorgeous. Winona boosted my confidence like no other woman I had ever met, reminding me constantly how, “When one door closes, another one opens.” Always the voice of reason, Winona and I wed six months after our first date. One year later, Winona gave birth to our only child, Sam. Sam’s real name is Samantha, but like her Grandma Rush and Aunt Ellie, she too has a hang-up about her birth name.

A decade passed, and several doors had opened and closed before I finally opened my own eatery on Venice Beach. Okay, so it was a taco joint, but a trendy taco joint frequented by some of Hollywood’s elite, whose autographed 8-by-10 photos I proudly framed and hung above the pick-up window. I mean, you know you’ve arrived when you’ve got the likes of Rob Lowe and Gary Busey hanging above your cash register (the latter of whom dropped to the D-list since his first visit). Yes, by all accounts, I was living the dream. But that dream became a nightmare when Winona walked through a different door. That of a casting director’s bedroom door that led her to a leading role on a popular TV crime series. The once caring, loving and understanding woman of my dreams had metamorphosed into a conniving, loathing, self-absorbed thespian, who drained me of every hard-earned, red cent I was worth in a divorce settlement that made my mother’s hairdresser, Dusty’s, seem like a walk in the park. She was even granted custody of Sam on the grounds that I was “an absentee father.” Duffel bag packed (Winona even got custody of my luggage), at forty-years old, I had no idea where I was going at this stage in my life. But one phone call from my sister Ellie made that decision for me.
(c) 2014 T. Jerris

Blogging In The New Year!

2012-01-03T17:46:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. I’m guilty of falling off the blog bandwagon after a handful of posts. My last entry was in May of 2011 when Jerry Lewis announced that he’d be retiring as host of the annual MDA Telethon after its September 2011 telecast. Only the once ‘Nutty Professor’ was kicked to the curb in August and replaced by So You Think You Can Dance? host, Nigel Lythgoe, The Biggest Loser host, Alison Sweeney, and entertainment reporters Jann Carl and Nancy O’Dell. Ouch. That had to hurt. After 60 years of groundbreaking public service, poor Jerry had been replaced by a Brit, someone fit, and two blonde twits. But according to a MDA spokesperson, the annual event’s appeal faded with younger viewers who found the format dated, and how they could generate more donations online and scale back the telethon from 24 hours to a mere six.

Now, you’re probably asking yourself: What the hell does any of this have to do with your falling off the blog bandwagon? Well, you see, I found that by the time I wrote anything relevant on a current headline, it had become what Jerry’s show became: dated. At least in the blogging world. It’s obvious, some bloggers are a rare breed, especially those who pump out posts on what’s hot, what’s not or who got shot even before it happened. So, as a New Year’s resolution (that I’m already 3 days late starting), I vow not to worry about blogging on ‘what’s current,’ so much as blogging about what’s currently on my mind. I also vow to play more and explore my newfound passion for cooking. Over the course of 2011, I started writing a cookbook based on my mother’s recipes, and even auditioned for the Food Network’s Next Food Network Star! I was actually thinking of renaming my blog to Eat, Play, Write, but didn’t want to infringe on Elizabeth Gilbert’s best selling book “Eat, Pray, Love.”

Hopefully I’ll be able to stick to my New Year’s blogging resolutions. Guess only time will tell…

Leaving Las Vegas

2011-05-16T19:34:00.000-07:00

We all knew the day was coming, especially the last few years when the ringmaster of the annual 24-Hour event disappeared from sight during the wee small hours of the morning, but after 45 years, Jerry Lewis is retiring as host from the Muscular Dystrophy Association’s Labor Day Telethon. That’s right, the now 85-year-old ‘Nutty Professor’ has but one more chance to try and get through his anthem song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from the Rodger’s and Hammerstein musical “Carousel,” without having an emotional meltdown— Speaking of meltdowns! They’re knocking down the Sahara Hotel in Vegas where the MDA show first originated, which was announced on the same day that Jerry said he was leaving as the MDA host. You don’t suppose they’re trying to kill two birds with one stone, do you?

Nah… Jerry’s a tough old bird, with a foul mouth to boot. In 2007, the then 81-year-old dropped an anti-gay slur in the 18^thhour of his annual event, when he went into an imaginary rant about family members, calling one of them (Jesse) “the illiterate faggot.” And they wondered why the pledges from West Hollywood came to a screeching halt.

Obviously, the comment sparked a frenzy amongst the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLADD), whose president, Neil Giuliano, called Jerry’s use of the term “simply unacceptable,” adding, “it also feeds a climate of hatred and intolerance that contributes to putting our community in harm’s way.” Lighten up, Neil, Jerry’s a comedian – well, according to the French – besides, the man
apologized and said that he was directing the comment to a member of his production team. Atta boy, Jerry. Nothing like throwing your prejudice off on some poor sap behind the camera so that you look good. (FYI, the cameraman should’ve used a soft focus lens over the past few years to make Jerry look good.)

In Jerry’s defense, he’s made MDA the most famous long-running nationwide telethon to date, ever since its debut in 1966, and has served as chairman of the MDA since its inception in 1950, raising a record $65 billion dollars to date. Hey, that’s almost as much as the Chairman of the Board, Frank Sinatra, raked in after founding Reprise Records… Or was that how much he raked in after offing members of the mob? Ah, who cares. They’re all dead. Same as the memories of the annual MDA Labor Day Telethon from ‘Back in the day.’

Growing up in the ‘70’s, I couldn’t wait to send away for my Ronald McDonald Carnival Kit to raise money for the MDA in my own backyard. I was proud to send in the measly $100 I raised on some cheesy ring toss game and pick-up-ducks. (For the record, I DID send in the money.) Then, afterwards, I’d stay up all night to watch the celebrities of yesteryear who performed on Jerry’s show, which was as thrilling as being the poster boy seated in the wheelchair next to Jerry! (God forbid.) But now… Well, that $100 seems like a drop in a hat compared to the 6-to-7 figure pledges that kids and fireman raise today, keeping in mind there was no internet or youth organizations like there are today. And gone are the celebrities of yesteryear, like Steve & Eydie, Shields & Yarnell, Captain & Tennille, or Charo, Jack Jones and Maureen McGovern… Okay, so the latter three, like the Ever Ready Bunny, keep on going, and going, just like Jerry has… until now. However, Jerry has stated that he would continue to serve as the national MDA chairman, even after his departure, which leaves behind the burning question: Who will replace him as host? … Why does the name Ryan Seacrest come to mind?

BIN LADEN: THE MUSICAL!

2011-05-04T12:22:00.000-07:00

In wake of what’s happened over the past few days, with the killing of Bin Laden, I thought it only appropriate to kill my post I had written about Lindsay Lohan… Well, sort of. Now, I know I said I wouldn’t give Lilo any more attention, but I couldn’t resist myself when it was reported that Lindsay would be teaching acting classes to homeless women as part of her 360 hours of community service. Right. Like those women are going to go out and land the role of a lifetime after that. Then again, with the right monologue… No, I promised myself not to focus on Lindsay. Although… It would be interesting to see her direct an adaptation of the movie To Catch A Thief as an all-female play. That, or The House Without A Christmas Tree, only I’d call it The Empty Amana Refrigerator Box Without Heat or Running Water.

Speaking of plays, the Tony Awards announced their nominations yesterday (How’s that for a segue?), with ‘two very daring musicals’ leading the pack: “The Book of Mormon” and “The Scottsboro Boys.” In brief, “Mormon” depends on potty humor, with diarrhea jokes and songs about body parts, to get laughs, while “Scottsboro” – based on the real story of 9 black teenagers wrongly put on death row in the 1930’s for allegedly raping two white girls – pushed the envelope of traditional Broadway by framing the story as a minstrel show, using a racist storytelling device of whites in black face, and then challenging it by having an all-black cast. (This may explain why the latter closed abruptly in December of 2010 after only 49 performances.) Rounding out the best new musical nominees were “Sister Act” and “Catch Me If You Can,” both adaptations of movies.

So, what happened to “Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark?” Well, unless you’ve been living under the Verrazano Bridge, the $65 million dollar (and counting) production has been struggling to spin a web on critics and audiences alike since 4-months of troubled reviews, while giving the boot to its creator/director, Julie Taymor. Poor Julie… If she only had another a couple more million dollars, a few more months, and a few more actors willing to risk their lives and drop like flies into the audience due to technical glitches, she might’ve been able to do something really special— She has! She’s created the biggest BOMB in Broadway history! But in all fairness, Ms. Taymor isn’t entirely at fault. In order to construct the bomb, one needs money, and that comes from the producers who were banking on a “sure thing.” After all, Ms. Taymor had become the first woman to win a Tony Award for directing the musical, “The Lion King.” Yet, even though there were clear indications that “Spider-Man” was struggling during its creative process, the producers continued to pour exuberant amounts of monies into what was suspected, a doomed production, keeping in mind that they embarked on the ill-fated journey in 2005. (FYI, it might’ve been an omen when legendary producer, Tony Adams, of “Pink Panther” fame, suffered a stroke in 2005 and died 2 days later while working on the initial contracts.)

Now, as someone who’s written several plays and musicals, I know how hard it is to have something produced for the stage and, fortunately, I’m one of the lucky ones who’s actually been produced by someone other than myself. I’d written an interactive play that parodied the talk shows called “Tell Veronica!,” which ran off-Broadway at The Grove Street Playhouse (and later premiered on the West Coast at The Hudson Theatre). Granted, we’re not talking ‘The Great White Way’— But at the time? It was WAY better. After years of showcasing my work in dinky, little black-box theatres along 8^th Avenue, someone actual found ‘worth’ in something I wrote, and was willing to give my work a pulse. Me. The Unknown Writer. Little by little, the show gathered steam, thanks to some favorable reviews in the NY theatre papers, but after nearly a year’s run, the show saw its last light of day, or, in this case, the last lights on-stage. But that was okay with me, because I had other plays lined up, and a musical (“Gina’s Parole”) that was getting recognition in various ‘New Play & Musical Festivals,’ including a biggie at the time called The Peekaboo Festival, which was held at The Mark Goodson Theater in New York. With this amount of work, it was just a matter of time before a BIGGER producer would discover my work and take a chance on… something.

That was nearly… Dare I say it? 15 years ago. Why? Because bigger producers would rather invest their monies into “a sure thing,” like an adaptation of “Spider-Man” instead of taking a chance on something original by an unknown. Still, every now and again, I get the urge to return to my theatre roots and write something for the stage, so recently, I started throwing around ideas for a new interactive piece called, “Bin Laden: The Musical!” Think about it, everyone in the audience is handed a paintball gun and they get to shoot at the actor playing Bin Laden as he sings the ballad “Don’t Cry For Me Al Jazeera.” I’m telling you, with the right director, this show could be ‘the bomb!’ Hmmm… I wonder what Julie Taymor’s up to?

Levi, Button Up!

2011-04-26T18:35:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought you’d heard the last of him, Levi Johnston is back to set the record straight about the Palin family in a new “tell-all book,” “Deer in the Headlights: My Life in Sarah Palin’s Crosshairs.” Now, if you’ve read any of my earlier posts, then you’ll know why I’m not going to give recognition to the publisher of his new book, but according to Levi’s friend (didn’t say if they were imaginary), Levi is ready to talk about what it was like being thrust into the spotlight at such a young age, along with his contentious relationship with the Palins.

Crickets…

Okay, and then what?

More crickets…

Haven’t we read all there is to read about Levi, not to mention seen enough of him in his Playgirl spread? Or do we have to be reminded that a high school dropout, turned former hockey player, turned philandering deadbeat dad, turned wannabe mayor of Wasilla, Alaska that is all a part of a new TV reality show is given a book deal, when so many of us who ARE writers with a story that HASN’T been told are given squat?

Hello, People! – the magazine, not the populace – Us Weekly, Star Magazine, The Enquirer,
and the nameless publisher who, no doubt, hired a ghostwriter to pen Levi’s book; stop giving attention to those who’ve not only have had it (Lindsay Lohan), but obviously abused it (Charlie Sheen). Okay, so maybe Levi was thrust into the spotlight at a young age, but do we have to glorify it and his ego by slapping his face on the cover of a magazine or book's dust jacket?

Personally, I think it’d make a much better read if Levi went to Iraq or Afghanistan, and then once he comes back, pens a “tell-all book” about how he’s all grown up after being caught in the crossfire, not crosshairs… Just saying.

Bailing Out On Lindsay

2011-04-23T10:08:00.000-07:00

While many Americans on “Good Friday” went to church and prepared for the upcoming Easter weekend, Lindsay Lohan spent another “Freaky Friday” in court, where she was slapped with a 120 days in jail for violating her probation. Ah, but as fate (or money) will have it, Ms. Lohan, posted bail ($75,000) Friday night, and was once again freed from the Lynwood Correctional facility. Still, Judge Stephanie Saunters gave Lohan almost 500 hours of community service, which requires the actress to spend 360 hours of those hours at a women’s shelter in downtown Los Angeles, and another 120 hours at the LA County morgue so, according to Judge Saunters, the actress: “Sees what happens when people drink and drive.” – Hey, wasn’t that the tagline from Linday’s movie “Herbie, Fully Loaded”?

Now, it’s no secret that the average person wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting as many free passes as Lindsay – or as she’s now known as ‘Lilo’ – has. But do we really need a 24-hour ‘Lilo Watch’ when we already know the outcome? I mean, we’ve already witnessed the train wreck. What exactly are we watching for? What she’s wearing? If she’ll arrive at court on time? Oh, look! She’s shedding a tear! (Relax, Lilo. You already got the part in the new Gotti film.)

To be fair, I’m not necessarily pointing a finger at Lilo per say. My finger is pointed at the media, and they know which one. Too much attention has already been given to the likes of Lilo and Charlie Sheen. We already get their recklessness, carelessness and selfishness. Do we really need to be reminded of it over, and over, and over again? Aren’t there more serious issues at hand in the world needing our attention? Aren’t their more desperate people on this planet who don’t have a nickel in their pocket, yet are passionate to make a difference?

Oh, right. I keep forgetting, I live in Hollywood, where the media pays ALL their attention to star value. Now, I know what you’re probably saying, ‘If you’re so down on Hollywood, why do you live there?’ Well, for starters, I am passionate, about my craft. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t sit down and write… something, just to keep the creative juices flowing. Secondly, I’ve hit a rough spot recently, financially, and, while I have more than a nickel in my pocket, I refuse to give up on my dream of becoming a successful writer. And I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t bask in the spotlight once I’ve achieved that goal, only I wouldn’t abuse it. Instead, I’d embrace it, and remember, as clichés as it might sound, ‘my humble beginnings.’

Personally, I believe that’s a major problem in Hollywood. Too many people, be it celebrities or those working in the industry, didn’t have humble beginnings. They somehow weaseled their way into the world of show business, and only associate or surround themselves with people of the same caliber. And yet, I’ve met the humble few who were once top of their game in this town, yet now can’t seem to get arrested (pun intended), which brings me back to Lindsay…

This has been the 4^th time this Mean Girl has been sentenced to jail (even though three of those
times she stayed just a few hours), and the judge this time reduced the felony grand theft charge for stealing the now infamous necklace to a misdemeanor, saying, “I’m going to give her an opportunity.” My only hope would be that the media also takes this opportunity to shut off their
cameras and not give Lilo anymore attention… Hey, we all have a wish list.

Oprah's Interview With A Fraud

2011-04-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

Ironically, in my first ever blog posting, I briefly gave mention to author James Frey (“A Million Little Pieces”), who, like Greg Mortenson (“3 Cups of Tea”), came under scrutinyfor writing a fallacious memoir, and how Frey was even able to pull the wool over Oprah’s eyes in 2005, landing him a spot in her book club. Now, according to today’s news, Frey is reportedly returning to one of the talk show queen’s final shows to talk about how his life was affected by the scandal over the past 5 years. Really, Oprah?? You already threw the guy under the bus back in 2006 for lying to you, and you’re inviting him back? For what? Ratings? To prove that you made his life better by outing him? Maybe it’s a combination of both, but for someone who reminds her audience on a daily basis of how many days are left until your farewell performance, couldn’t you have chosen a guest with a little more integrity? There are a lot to choose from, but just in case you need a few suggestions, here’s my short list: servicemen and their families, cancer survivors and their families, firemen, the volunteer at the local soup kitchen, and the unemployed single parent trying to make ends meet— Anyone but the man you publicly shamed for lying to you five years back, who, it just so happens, is pushing his new book, “The Final Testament of the Holy Bible.” Ooops! There’s goes my chances of being a guest… Like that would ever happen in the 20-some-odd days she has left on the air. Look, I admit, I do watch Oprah (Tivo), and I enjoy the majority of her shows (Whitney on crack—that is, her voice cracking), especially this year’s segments (You’re going to Australia! You’re going to Australia! You’re going to Australia!), but is Oprah really running out of that many ideas that she can’t find someone other than a guy who gives authentic non-fiction writers a bad name?I realize it's the producers who bring their ideas to Oprah. Let's hope she reconsiders this one.

3 Cups of Tea & A Bottle of 2-Buck-Chuck

2011-04-20T11:42:00.000-07:00

I guess I should start from the beginning as to why I even started this blog. See, I've been a writer for the majority of my adult life... Which, some might say "just started." Truth is, I became a storyteller shortly after my lips could form any words and, once I learned how to hold a crayon, I began creating images with trite stories to back those images up-- Not that one should EVER have to justify what he or she creates artistically. Eventually I traded in the crayon for a more elaborate means of communication: a #2 Pencil. But with the pencil comes the freedom of erasing ones initial thoughts, so I graduated to the almighty Ballpoint pen. No escape here! Whatever words are written on a legal pad can never be erased... Until I discovered the Word Processor (God, am I really that old?!). Gone were the days of shuffling through (if not filing away), notepads filled with "The best ideas ever!" I now had the freedom of not only deleting my initial thoughts, but also replacing them with even better ideas that could be stored on a floppy disk. Well, I sold that Word Processor in a yard sale (but kept the disks) over 15 years ago when I moved from Manhattan to Hollywood. The Bluffer's Paradise. Or, as Woody Allen once called it: "A place where they shoot too many movies, and not actors who star in them."

So, this is where the initial post "3 Cups of Tea & A Bottle of 2-Buck-Chuck" comes into play.

I'd just poured a glass of Charles Shaw, a cheap, yet popular wine that floats around here on the Left Coast (hence the name 2-Buck Chuck), and flipped on "60 Minutes." They were doing an investigation into best-selling author Greg Mortenson’s book “3 Cups of Tea” because of allegations that his key stories of fighting terrorism and building and supporting schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan are false. To make matters worse, critics of Mortenson and his Central Asia Institute say that the $60 million raised for Mortenson’s charity was primarily spent promoting Mortenson and his book, which has been on The New York Times bestseller list for four years.

Now, Mortenson wouldn’t be the first to have dipped his hand in the charitable cookie jar, nor would he be the first author to stretch the truth. Remember James Frey’s book “A Million Little Pieces?” that turned out to be a fabrication of his drug addiction, who even pulled the wool over Oprah’s eyes when she included it in her 2005 book club? But what both of these men have done (should Mortenson’s accounts in his book turn out to be untrue) is ruin it for those of us who have spent endless number of years researching and writing manuscripts in the hope of being published— And shame on their
literary agents, better known as the gatekeepers in the publishing world, for pushing their work without doing their homework!

But I'm not bitter (Liar.) Actually, jaded is a more appropriate choice of
words, and for good reason...

For the past 10 years, I have been working on a true story about the woman (who shall remain anonymous) that started Marilyn Monroe’s first fan club at 20^th Century Fox. At that time, the woman was a young girl, who had a decade long friendship with the star right up until her untimely death in 1962. I met the woman in 2001, and she was not in great health, but always wanted to tell her story about Marilyn before she left this planet. Sadly, she passed away in 2007, however, while she was alive I played the role of a journalist, recording her fondest memories of Marilyn. I even have pictures of her and Marilyn together, along with her other personal artifacts (i.e. Marilyn’s signature on pictures and notes to “the woman”) that Christie’s auction house authenticated. Yet, it took me ten years to verify her story, not to mention, wrap my mind around it.

Sounds like a good story, right? According to the majority of agents who’ve read the now completed manuscript, it is

So what’s the problem?

Two words: she’s dead. That’s right, the consensus from the literary agents that I’ve approached are afraid to take on a story reiterated by a dead woman, even though I have her talking about it on tape, along with the previous evidence I spoke about. Mind you, this comes from a few agents (and industry professionals), who I'd approached when the woman was still alive that were all over the story like a fly on… You know.

Granted, when I first met this woman, I had questions based on doubts, as anyone would have, of how much of her story was true, and how much was perhaps, to put it gently, a "re-imagining." Once I really got to know her I understood, unequivocally, that the possibility that she made things up or stretched the truth was zero. She had a solid grasp on what happened, even forty years later. How many of us can say the same? But to reiterate, should anyone question this woman's story, I can state that having gotten as close as I did to her, it was not within her make-up, at that point in her journey through life, to fabricate anything.

So, in my own jaded way, I want to salute you, Greg Mortenson, for creating another blow to us heroic memoir writers (and the people who love them), for penning your best-selling “Three Cups of Tea,” as I polish off my entire bottle of 2-Buck Chuck, contemplating how to convince a fresh round of literary agents that the validity of my story is true.