June 20th
I'm behind my deadline again. Hildy has been calling the hotel non-stop, threatening me with the same old "Your book will never get published at this rate" and "You're making me look like a bad agent." WELL I'M SORRY HILDY. YOU ARE A BAD AGENT! There, I said it. And one day I'll say it to her face. I know that publishers are under the weather these days especially with the advent of those e-books and all (horrible things, should be abolished along with cell phones) but COME THE FUCK ON, a $5000 advance on a book? What happened to authors making money? Or does that not happen anymore. I almost make that much after a few months of freelancing. WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY THINKING?!
Ok, enough ranty rants from moi. I know I shouldn't complain and I don't normally ... much... other than here. But it seriously demotivates me and I'm having enough writer's block as it is. I mean, Morrocco. What is there to say about it that hasn't already been said? I said it all myself when I was here three years ago. Where's the story? There is no story. I got hit by a rickshaw, that's really the only story I'm limping away from. Speaking of, I'm dying for a drink once I hit Gibraltar. These pain meds just don't cut it anymore and are making the right half of my face twitch. I'm a limping, frazzle-haired twitching writer and I don't like it. I miss Greece. I miss Crete. I miss Nico and his pecs and his dick and his pronounciation of the word avocado. I miss happy, smiling, sexy Jamie, part-time writer, part-time huntress of foreign men who are dumber than they look. The frazzle-hair never leaves me but I know I look better when my eyes are twinkling.
Maybe it's Northern Africa though. Maybe it's that you can't let your guard down here (not that I do anyway), and that being a female isn't exactly embraced. Maybe Gibraltar will be better. Aside from the drinks and the British charm, there's the interview. Maybe having some dopey newspaper ask me questions will make me feel better about myself. Motivate me. Get my ass in gear for Lisbon (or Grasse, France, I haven't decided yet) and then the damn jaunt is over, I can sort out this diary and get a manuscript in order. Then maybe, just maybe I'll finally see my name on a book and I'll make back that $5000.
And maybe I'll find a new victim too. Did I say victim? I meant Nico. Same difference.
YOU ARE READING
Lost in Wanderlust
RomanceLost in Wanderlust is actually a screenplay I wrote back in 2006. Believe it or not, it caught the interest of a few production companies. Unfortunately, the script would have been too expensive to film and since then, it's languished in a drawer so...
