How did I become a writer?
It’s funny you know, Baz asked me that the other night. I laughed lightly as I admired the pedicure he was working on. I looked at him all wide-eyed and innocent, staring up at me with the adulation of a teenager. Catherine stopped brushing my long thick naturally blonde hair and leaned forward with an air of expectation.
I modestly mumbled something about just being naturally gifted and tried to brush off their comparisons to Woody Allen, William Goldman and Cameron Crowe. I reminded them that I was not remotely like them. I am female after all.
“What about Diablo Cody?” suggested Catherine.
That’s when I ushered Ms. Catherine Martin Lurhmann’s ass right out of my house. I am not going to be compared to that sleazy little pole-dancing hussy. Brook Busey (yes, her name isn’t really Diablo…) may have won an Oscar but I doubt they would let her keep it if they knew what she did with his shiny bald head.
Of course I let BL stay on. He still hadn’t finished my left foot.
Back to me.
You know the saying ‘When hell freezes over…’? Well, it has and that’s where I was born. The cold harsh Canadian prairies gave this girl yearning for sunshine and a better life as soon as she realized that temperatures could rise above –30 degrees. I globe trotted for several years in between stints in Canadian television where I worked as a host for a teenage variety television show, an entertainment reporter for a news station, a fill in host for a live breakfast show and various other industry jobs. I also was a DJ for Osaka Mall's radio station FM Banana, a portrait artist in Paris, a go-go dancer in a gay night club in Toronto, and sold surfboards in Byron Bay.
At the age of twenty-five, I landed on Australian soil for the first time and immediately decided never to leave. Snaring a rock star husband gave me an Aussie passport, two kids and a new appreciation of beer, sport and AAA passes. We lived in Byron Bay for several years where I worked as a freelance photographer and stylist for several Aussie publications and tried my hand at standup comedy. I came across a book called “How to Write a Screenplay in 21 Days” that appealed to my ADHD personality. I wrote and sold ‘Beef Week” to producer John Brousek in just minutes over the allotted time. I now knew what I wanted to do. I was a writer. While developing the screenplay, I was lucky enough to work with talents like Joan Sauers, Stephen Davis and Susan McGillicuddy. They have all successfully completed therapy for post traumatic stress syndrome.
Meanwhile, Joe and I moved to (undisclosed NSW location) as a result of his fame, financial status and a stalker. I worked on Beef Week and breeding and he worked on how to reduce blisters on his fingers from playing the bass. Blood blisters are really gross when they turn into calluses and harden and get all brown and yucky.
I worked as a Journalist at the highly regarded Woolgoolga Advertiser penning my own column, Speakeasy. Speakeasy was a celebrity Q&A spot where basically I went through Joe’s phone book and called up his mates, and then went through their phone books and called up their mates, etc.
I was lucky enough to win a mentorship from the Australian Writer's Guild. This is how I met young Matthew Dabner. Now this guy has everything going for him. Now.
Before we met he was a struggling wanna-be with an idea. Luckily I was able to guide him on the right track and now he has a writer credit on The Square, a producer credit on The Cedar Boys, and an AWG card in his wallet. I’m not saying this because I want a pat on the back, but just between us, that last re-write I did on the Square really nailed it. I’ve told Matthew to take the kudos for himself, his frail little ego needs that boost, whereas I am quite happy to melt in the shadows, quietly watching him grill his aging skin under the glow of media scrutiny.
While we weren’t sprucing up Matthew’s projects, eating sushi or drinking bottle after bottle of reds from Western Australia, we (and here I mean ‘I’ only because Matthew is a really bad drunk and usually was passed out by the third bottle – what a lightweight!) would start working on my sitcom script.
Plus due to a merger with APN or APC or one of those big companies, I was retrenched from my job as a journalist at the Woolgoolga Advertiser. Now I’m not saying nothing, but when you don’t have any writers on staff, it’s not really a newspaper, it’s an advertising flyer. I do still gather all the papers that get dropped on our street only because it’s basically litter and I need something to light the fires when I go camping.
Which is why I will now direct you to this amazing bit of cinematography. Mommie Queerest is another project I’m working on that is loosely based on my life as a mother. I wrote, produced, directed and starred in the production, not because I’m an egomaniac but because no one else in Red Rock would do it. Our budget was slabs of beer and bottles of Stones Ginger Wine so the production values are a little less than stellar, probably because we paid people their alcohol before we started shooting. That can be an oops.
I see the future taking me places. In particular, I see it taking me to the plastic surgeon’s office to get my boobs done. But before dedicating my time to physical enhancement, I would like to get the TV series up and hopefully that would result in one or all of my films finally getting made. From there, I can see myself syndicating my column and perhaps landing a gig as a guest panelist on a forum show like Beauty and The Beast or The Know and sharing witty banter with the likes of Ita Buttrose and that chick who stormed off the set in a huff never to return. I’ll become a red carpet staple, finally the holder of the invite, not just the plus one. I’ll have a highly publicized red carpet cat fight with Catriona Rowntree, who will be driven insane with jealousy over the paparazzo’s attention to me and my wild rock star ways. Her longing to emulate my style and attitude will prompt me to write a book on How to Rock – I’ll even send her the first signed copy as a show of gratitude for being an inspiration. Then in a Madonna like move, I’ll reveal to the world that I’m not just a shallow piece of trash by exploiting my life as a mother to publish a series of children’s books based somewhat on the television show. The sales will skyrocket and surpass even Kylie’s book about her being a princess. Most press will agree it’s because people relate to me more writing children’s books as I actually have children. Then who knows, the biography? The movie based on the biography? A new found interest in some obscure religious cult?
And if all that fails to eventuate, well I'll make my living as an artist again.
And if that also doesn't happen, well I'll work on my line of retro clothing.
And if that fails, well I'll become a caterer and take over the restaurant side of the Red Rock Bowlo.
This blog will record my journey. Buckle up. It's time to hit the road!