The writer

   

The writer

I need to tell her I just don’t have time for our relationship any longer. I’m torn between two loves. Mary is one, but the other won’t leave me alone. I think about it constantly and no matter where I am, who I’m with or what I’m doing, it’s there in my mind, talking to me. Telling me, write it down, because it’s a great scene. Write it down, it demands. Even when I’m with Mary, I feel unfaithful because my other passion is directing my every action. Even during sex it’s deciding what words will best describe my thoughts, and I lose my desire while seeking paper and pen to write my next great scene. I know this isn’t fair to Mary and that’s why I’m writing this letter, I just don’t know how to explain this perverted passion to her?
I decided to let the letter sit until I think of what to say, and I continue to attempt to finish my 101st story. They say you’re not a writer until you have at least one hundred rejection slips. I passed that mark long ago and have hundreds. so I know I’m a writer; even if I’ve never published anything.
My new story is about a truck driver who has six kids, five boys and a girl. During an argument with his wife she blurts out in anger the fact that the boys aren’t even his. Now the truck driver wants revenge, when he finds out it was his brother who fathered all the boys while he was on the road.
I’ve read all the books on how to write the great novel, they all say you need an opening hook. I try opening where the truck driver is buying the poison he’s going to kill his wife, brother and their kids with at a barbeque he has invited them all to.
Harold read the print on the box, “One drop kills rodents instantly,”
“That’s the strongest poison we can legally sell,” the clerk told him, why Mr. Brown’s kid got ahold of a bottle with about an ounce left in it and dumped it in the cattle watering trough. There were sixteen cows in the pen that used that water and fifteen of them died. The sixteenth cow probably didn’t drink or it would have died too.
Naw, I don’t like this opening and try another.

Lisa had five brothers who wouldn’t let anybody screw her over, because of this she grew up feeling safe and protected. She knew they would always be there for her. Until the day her father found out the boys weren’t his. Her mother let her emotions get the best of her while arguing with her father.“Those boys you’re so proud of, they ain’t even your Goddamn kids.” She shut her mouth, but it was too late. Harold, her father grabbed her mother by the hair and asked, “Whose kids are they then?” he twisted her hair into a knot pulling her head back so her face was directly in front of his blazing eyes. “Tell me whose kids they’re or I’ll tear your ugly hair from your goddamn head,” he said, as he twisted her hair so hard she felt it coming loose at the roots. He put his thumb on her mother’s eye and said, “After your hair pulls loose, I’m popping your fucking cheating gray eyes right out of your stinking ugly head. You got five seconds to tell me who fathered those boys.”
“It was your brother Louie.” She blurted out, “every time you went on the road he’d come over and forced me to have sex. He swore he’d tell you I came on to him and you’d believe him over me.”
This beginning sucks too, so I decide to change direction. My idea in the beginning was to write about voodoo economics and my imagination carried me away to the woman who was practicing it and why. Her background needed to be tragic enough to gain sympathy for her financial finagling. That’s what led to the aforementioned murder plot. I need a better opening and I try again.

Lisa opened the pile of mail that arrived today, “Look Joe, I’ve gotten fourteen more applications for Master card and seven for Visa. Why I’ve even got one for an American Express Gold Card.”
“Mom,” Joe said, “ most of these cards say you can transfer any balance you have now, and you don’t have to make payments for months, and all give a bonus for balance transfers. There’s five offers to refinance the house and four to get a brand new car without any money down and no payments for six months.”
Until she received all these balance transfer offers Lisa had been wondering how she was going to make the payments on the five credit cards she had now with average balances of $5,000 each.
“C’mon Son, We’re going shopping to max out these five cards I’ve got now and once we do that I’ll transfer the balance to a new card without payments for six months.”
“But Mom, I don’t need anything.” Joe said.
“Sure you do Joe, how about a nice new computer or maybe a new I-Pod? Or better yet how about both?”
She took full advantage of all the credit offers and soon she and her son had brand new cars that she hadn’t yet paid one cent for, and both were wearing designer clothing from the best stores in the city. They dined out at gourmet restaurants almost every night. Pretty good for a woman who hasn’t worked a day in her life she thought.
She refinanced her house in order to have cash on hand should she be required to make a payment before she was able to transfer a balance. She manipulated her refinancing so a mortgage payment wasn’t due until after a six months grace period.
Of course she financed her house that was probably worth $90,000 for $150,000. The lender’s appraiser agreed with her when she said the house was worth $200,000 so she easily qualified for the loan, and with an appraisal of $200,000 on the house, she knew she could probably borrow up to $250,000 on the house when needed.
After transferring all her current balances to new cards, Lisa decided to go shopping for….
“Naw, I don’t like this for an opening, but it does get me thinking about all the credit card offers I get every day. My writer’s brain is telling me it’s a great idea that Lisa had. Use my credit cards to pay to have one of my books published and given enough time, the royalties will be rolling in.”
I know better, but the writer’s urge to be published won’t stop trying to convince me what a great idea I’ve hit upon. It’s telling me I could publish four or five of my best novels and all I’d need to do was to keep transferring balances until the books started selling.
I know this is insane thinking, but I think; maybe you have to be insane to be a writer. Who else besides a writer can be rejected hundreds of times by their peers (editors and agents) and continue to believe they’re right and all those who reject them are wrong. I remember I had to ask Mary three times before she agreed to go on a date with me. If she had refused my third request I would never have asked her a fourth time. Actually asking three times was way beyond my usual one request. Mary was different though and I was glad I persisted with her. I don’t understand how I can be normal in this respect. Three refusals means, “No, I don’t like you.” But when it comes to rejection by a book editor I can’t take no for an answer. I don’t care that the editor doesn’t like it. I know I’ve written a great story, if only all these uppity editors who reject me would just open their eyes,
My second novel starts out with a heavyweight fighter who is diagnosed with a fatal brain tumor and is medically frozen and… I have submitted that novel to over two hundred publishers and I have two hundred rejection slips to prove it. I sincerely believe this is one of the best books written in the past few years. I don’t understand why two hundred editors can’t see what I see. I guess I have a gift and I’m able to see what these shortsighted editors can’t see.
My fingers start searching for self publishing companies on the Internet and my writers brain is telling me, “Just see how much it’ll cost before squashing the idea.” I don’t have much choice because the quest to know is stronger than my will power. I’m surprised how the prices have dropped and I can’t believe I’m actually considering what my writer’s brain is proposing.
I total up my credit card liabilities and see I only owe $8,700 and I have a credit limit of $52,000 total on four different cards. My frugal side is telling me I already owe more than I can afford and my creative side is imagining how much I’m going to profit if I only self publish a few of my books. I let my creative brain run rampant and before I knew it I had agreed to spend $25,000 to publish my novel The Contest.
I did my best to make this novel a success by driving across several states and soliciting every bookstore I could to sell my self published book. To my sorrow I learned self published books were difficult to place. I decided to buy several hundred copies to send to book reviewers across the country and of course I sent a copy to Oprah. I got quite a few good reviews for the thousands of dollars this cost me. I sold a few hundred copies, but I knew I would never recover my publishing cost and the credit card payments were now due.
I asked myself what would Lisa, my character in voodoo economics do in this case. Of course I knew what she’d do it was so simple. Just transfer all the balances from the credit cards that were due to one that offered me a long grace period before repayment was due.
My writer’s brain convinced me the only reason I wasn’t making mega sales was because I only had one book on the market. I convinced my self if I had another novel published I could then refer to my other published book and this would increase sales. I solicited all the book clubs with my newest novel and many of them asked for information on my next book so they could give their members an advance notice of the upcoming book. I now decided I needed a third book published to send to the critics and book clubs, and I chose Return to Eden. I got good reviews from a handful of critics. (They were probably happy to get a free book).
I now owed $75,000 to the credit card companies and the more I owed the more rollover offers I received from them. I transferred the complete amount and saw that I still had another $75,000 in credit lines.
I now had three published novels and even though I knew they wouldn’t have been published if I didn’t pay the publishing cost, my ego expanded beyond my control and I actually started to think I was a big time author and decided a couple of more novels with my name on them would do the trick of making my name a household word.
I knew exactly what Lisa would do in Voodoo Economics, so I refinanced my house and took out $75,000 in cash to finance my next two books. I was flying high now, five currently published books was as good as it could get for my ego.
Whenever I met someone now, I would ask if they wanted my autograph. I got lots of strange looks, but people don’t like to admit they don’t know whom the hell you are or what your claim to fame is so most happily accepted my autograph with thanks. I truly believed that everyone should know who I was. After all I have five novels published. This thought always causes me to pull my shoulders back and raise my head with pride.
I had quit my job, once I published my third book because I didn’t have time for a job any longer. I was spending all my time insisting that bookstores stock my books and set up book signings for me. For some reason I never got the attendance I expected at my book signings. After all, I gave them a choice of five different books I would sign and that was something most authors didn’t do. I assumed the reading public was as blind as the book editors if they couldn’t appreciate my stories.
I’ve been driving cross-country for two months now and my credit card and house payments are due soon. My book sales haven’t even covered my cost for gas and hotels. I only worry for a short time when I realize I already have an answer to my financial problems. All I need to do is decide what Lisa would do in a situation like this. I look through my manuscript and find when Lisa is in a similar situation (I have to look because I often forget what I have written) she solved it by…
Lisa believed her financial problems were unsolvable. Until one day a moving truck pulled up and started unloading at the house next to hers. She walked over and met her new neighbor, an exotic, petite, black woman who was directing the movers. When she met Leafly Le fortunia it was the turning point in Lisa’s life. Looking at the movers carrying expensive furnishings into Leafly’s new house she said out loud, “God look at all that beautiful stuff you have. If only I owned one thing as nice, I’d be overjoyed.”
“You can have anything you want, all you need to do is ask in the right places.” Astonished at these words Lisa could hardly believe Leafly had said them.
“I’m asking, just tell me who or where to ask,” Lisa said. They had a long conversation and she learned that Leafly was a Voodoo priestess and she told Lisa several different spells for acquiring money,
My creative brain is thrilled with the idea of a Voodoo Priestess solving my financial problems. My logical brain is telling me what a stupid idea this is, almost as stupid as publishing these books in the first place. I’m coerced by my creative side to see what Lisa had done in my story to solve her problems. Looking through the pages of Lisa’s story I see where I wrote…
At this point in her life Lisa was willing to try anything that may help her get out of the situation she was in. She knew all it would take was money, so that very night she decided to try one of the spells her new neighbor had given her. She had written it down and now looked at her list of items needed for the money spell. She checked and she had the items needed and started to follow the directions, leave a candle undisturbed for 9 days. Was number 1. Then rub Almond oil on the candle and write on a piece of paper the amount of money you need. Then just before sunrise picture the amount of money you want. Fill the bathtub with warm water. Then keep focusing on the image of the money amount for thirty minutes as the sun rises. Once the sun has risen, repeat this incantation:
Hail and welcome the Coming Day
When all my debts are swept away
As today a new day's dawning
Let my will be done this morning
Release me from financial bind
And ease the worry from my mind.
Help me now to get this money
A kindness that I'll not forget
Grant my plea and hear my call
Be it only for the good of all.
While repeating the chant cut a chicken’s head off and drain its blood into the bathwater. Sit in the water with the dead chicken in hand and repeat the incantation three times, and then de-feather the chicken and eat it.
I’m wondering if she’s supposed to cook the chicken or eat it raw? I’m getting desperate, but not desperate enough to bathe in chicken blood. I’m wondering if there’s someway to ask for what I want without bathing in chicken blood and I turn to the trusty Internet to search for an answer. I see where I can pay for Voodoo spells for anything I want. I don’t trust these Internet sites. I know they’ll just take my money and say they performed the service. I’ll never know if they did or not. I’m only a few hundred miles from New Orleans and decide if I’m going to have, a get money spell cast I want to watch so maybe the next time I need money I can do it myself. That is if it doesn’t entail bathing in chicken blood.
It’s late afternoon when I check into the downtown Marriott Inn. I grab the phone book from the nightstand and look under Voodoo. I discovered a Voodoo store only one block from my hotel in the French Quarter, and I walked there to discover an amazing store that sold Gris Gris (Mojo) bags and I immediately purchased one for myself. I hoped this Mojo was going to bring me luck in my money spell search. While making my purchase I was told the resident Hoodoo Man & Root Worker, uses only the finest roots, herbs, oils and other magical ingredients to create this powerful, traditional New Orleans focusing tool. I found I was dealing with the owner and he spent over an hour with me talking about the history of New Orleans Voodoo. I bought the coolest dolls there - all made by real Voodoo practitioners in New Orleans. My rational brain said I was buying them for research while my writer’s brain was telling me I never knew when I might want to curse someone. The owner said, “You probably should buy a JuJu while you’re here.”
“I’m not sure what that is.”
“A JuJu is a blessed object that keeps evil and negativity at bay,” he showed me a variety of JuJu's such as: gator heads, Spirit bottles, and a couple of different items. I purchased a gator JuJu and I now felt pretty good with both a Mojo and a JuJu I felt protected from bad luck. I was ready to pursue the money spell now and I asked the owner where I could get this done. He suggested who he said was the best Voodoo Priestess in the whole state. A Madam Le Berth, and he gave me her address telling me she didn’t believe in telephones. I thanked him and asked if he’d call a cab to take me to Madam Le Berth’s. The sun was setting as we drove through the Bayou’s and it was practically dark when we got there. I almost begged the driver to wait for me, “I’m not hanging around here after dark,” he told me, and left me standing in the middle of the road.
“Looking for me?” she asked in a melodious voice. Startled I spun around and looked at a beautiful woman. Much too beautiful to be a Voodoo Priestess I thought as I told her,
“I’m looking for a Madam Le Berth.” She informed me she was the person I was looking for and now I was halfway happy the cabbie had stranded me here.
“Madam, I have a problem I’m hoping you can help me with,”
“I know, you need money, but I can tell you right now you wasted money you need by buying the JuJu and Mojo.” How did she know I brought those?
“If I’m going to believe in magic I figured I might as well go all the way.”
“Magic is magic and B.S. is B.S. and you spent your money on B.S,” she said.
I took out the gator’s head and threw it into the water and dropped the Mojo on the ground and stepped on it; grinding it into the ground with my heel.
“Good,” she said, and took me by the hand leading me into the trees. “I’ll perform the ritual you need for $2,000.”
I told her I didn’t have that much cash with me, and I was surprised when she said,
“I take American Express.” I tried to hand her, my card and she said, “I don’t need it. I already know all the information I need.” This is amazing she can read my mind.
Two old black men straggled out of the trees, each carrying a small drum. They got a roaring fire going in a pit and sat by the fire and started beating the drums in a hypnotic beat. I could hardly believe I was here in the middle of the Bayou with a Priestess getting ready to ceremonially see to it that I received what money I needed. Once she started dancing I was enthralled with her sensitivity and when she removed the skirt she was wearing my knees got weak looking at her beautiful long chocolate colored legs. I sat where I was and rapturously watched her dance.
She lit two small branches on fire and danced round and round the fire and suddenly the flaming branches turned into twisting, writhing snakes in her hands. The drummers were chanting in Creole, a language I don’t understand so I don’t know what they were chanting. Then she held her arms up to the heavens as though beseeching the Gods for something. When she opened her hands to the heavens the snakes she was holding turned back into flaming branches, which she then threw into the fire. She danced on and on. I don’t know when I did, but at some point I slept and awoke to sunshine in my eyes, and the cabbie who had abandoned me the previous evening was standing over me wanting to know if I wanted a ride back to the French Quarter.
I figured out how she knew about my American Express Card and how she knew my purpose for visiting her. As soon as I got to my room I pulled out my laptop and checked the balance on my American Express Card and there it was; a new charge for $2,000. If she didn’t have a phone how the hell did she charge my card so fast? It just made sense that the owner of the Voodoo store told me she didn’t have a phone so I wouldn’t suspect they were in cahoots and he called her to tell her I was on the way and what I wanted. I decided to give him a piece of my mind and walked right over there to confront him. “Hey asshole.” I yelled when I walked through the door of his store and saw him at the end of the counter. It was obvious by the look on his face he didn’t like being called asshole, but I didn’t care. He made a chump out of me and I was pissed.
“I know you called that bitch and…” The look on his face when I called her a bitch stopped me cold. I’ve seen fear plenty of times, but this was so obvious and caused by a simple cuss word amazed me enough to question him of what he was so afraid off.
“She sees everything.” He said, “Your calling her names will cause evil to befall both of us.”
“O.K. I won’t call her names, just tell me you called her and told her I was coming.”
“I told you she doesn’t have a phone, I know you’re thinking I’m telling a lie or maybe her neighbor has a phone. It’s not like that at all. She just knows.”
“She told me the JuJu and Mojo you sold me was junk, what do you have to say to that?” I asked.
“She told you the truth; we sell all this junk to the tourists and that’s what I thought you were when you came in here asking all those dumb questions.”
I felt like a fool for going out there last night and pissing away $2,000, but at least it was on plastic and I didn’t take it from my limited amount of cash. I couldn’t get her out of my mind; her legs or her sensuous dancing. I imagined her giving me a lap dance and had to stop thinking because I was getting aroused with that thought.
I decided it was time to refinance my house again in order to get enough cash to pay any minimum credit card payments I needed to make until some more balance transfers came rolling in. While thinking about this I noticed a bookstore with a sign in the window advertising my book, The Cryonic Man. I stopped and went inside and I was recognized as soon as I walked through the door. The owner rushed over to shake my hand and thanked me for coming to his store. He set up a table for me and bought out a good number of my five different books. “Sit right there while I call my brother Jake at the radio station. He’ll let the whole city know you’re here for a book signing.” I was stunned, usually I need to beg for a spot to do a book signing and usually needed to supply my own books.
I knew it wasn’t the JuJu doing this as I had thrown it away and it certainly wasn’t the Mojo. Maybe possibly the money spell was working I thought and quickly dismissed the idea as stupid superstition. Until I got the same reception at the next six bookstores I visited and when I checked my national sales figures I was shocked to see I was selling out of all five of my novels and would need to order thousands more of each one.
My creative brain is convinced it was her ritual that changed my luck, and my logical brain tells me it’s just coincidental that my books started selling soon after I saw her perform. Both minds agreed they’d like to see her again. For now I’m going to enjoy the benefits of Voodoo Economics.