The Truth about a Whole Lotta Stuff 10/28/99

Wow ... I've been gone a good long time and do I ever have a lot of stuff to tell ya. I hardly know where to begin.

I guess the first thing I should mention is that the book is out. To most of the people out there reading this, the fact that my book is out is old news -- since it's actually been out about two months. Yes, I know I'm a bastard for not putting that out here and letting everyone know. But the reason for my extended absence is something else I'm here to talk about. Give me time ... I'll get there.

The book is called ' ... never dream.' Oh and I guess this means that I'm telling you who I am now, too. Scott Charles Adams. That's me. No more safe anonymity for me. Now everyone gets to know who I am.

It's out there. The book, that is. It's on Amazon and it's in a few bookstores in South Jersey. But it's out where the public can get to it. I've almost gotten to the point where this is no biggie. Almost, but not quite. You see, I've been promoted. I'm no longer just a Writer. Not that there was anything wrong with being a Writer -- I was a Writer for quite some time and I was proud to be one. But I'm one no longer ... now, I am an author.

It's actually a little incredible. Okay it's quite incredible. Everything has changed. It's as though I've 'stepped-out ' and am borrowing someone else's life for a little while. I mean ... an author? Me? I'm just some guy who types obsessively on nights and weekends. That's all. That's me. I am defined by a dysfunction that forces me to do what I'm doing right now ... I write and I avoid the sun and nothing more.

Damn, do I need a drink.

I can't revise anymore. I've done all the revising that I'm permitted. I'm Revised, permanently. Because the book is out there where people can get to it and it would not be acceptable if I just changed a few minor plot-points here and there. It's finished. It's done.

I mean, it's great that the book is out there. I'm very pleased. And I've been getting a good reaction to it from the few people who've read it so far (very few I might add). It's not a Bad Thing that the book is out there were people can get to it. It's incredible. It's so flooring, I'm not even sure how to be funny about it out here on the page. We're talking Life Changing stuff here. This is going to change everything. Even if it doesn't generate millions of dollars and buy me a mansion with a pool out back with four or five babes in bikinis hanging around all the time, it's going to change everything.

Fortunately, I'm still selling cars. I think that's keeping me grounded at the moment. I think that's keeping me sane.

I actually talked to a woman the other day about arranging a book-signing.Who'd've thought that would be a conversation I would ever have?

Okay, I'll stop with the Angst for a moment and fill you in on some details. I paid for those books myself -- every dime -- and believe me there were quite a few dimes involved. A whole lot of dimes. You know that little bar code on the back of every book? Did you know that costs $200? You send someone $200 and they send you about ten of those numbers. Then you give someone else $13.50 and they change it into the actual bar code. $200, and they don't even make the bar code for you. They just hand you the numbers. Where was I when they were handing out these sweet jobs?

'You want ten numbers eh? No problem. That'll be $200.'

I mean, Yow.

Then there was the editor, the photographer for the book cover (which turned out rather nice, by the way) and I still haven't paid for a book here. I was writing checks left and right. I'm still writing checks. Checks everywhere. My taxes are going to be a nightmare this year.

So I finish waiting for everyone to do their part. I finish waiting for the editor and the photographer and the cover designer and the printer and the binder and the UPS man. I finish waiting and I get a book in my hands and I think 'Finally I can announce the book on the page and Whammo! nothing happens. Seems my circa '97 web page editor on my circa '95 machine doesn't want to work anymore. Well, I've got do this for real, right? So I need a better computer and a professional web editor so I can do just that. Ch-ching! You didn't think you were finished writing checks did you?

More waiting. I sold a bunch of cars and I put a deposit on a brand-new iBook. I figured if I was going to get a new machine, I'd do it properly this time. The last time, I did it poorly. I spent a whole lot of money for a used Quadra 840 AV just as the PowerPC chip was coming out. For those of you unfluent in Mac-Geek-Speak this is the equivalent of buying the fastest 486 based PC ever made just before the Pentium came out. The Quadra did what I wanted it to do. I could write on it, receive faxes, and get onto the World Wide Web. The Quadra allowed me to meet all you nice people. And hell, 44 MHz seemed fast to us once.

We were so young.

The iBook seemed ideal for me. I could bring it to bars and write while I'm sitting there drinking. My dysfunction can leave the house now. It was beautiful. What I didn't foresee was the earthquake in Taiwan. More waiting. It shipped fourteen days late which I don't suppose is too bad considering I think they broke 8 on the Richter Scale out there. Hey, those computer chips are pretty fragile.

So I finally got the machine. But? But the AirPort Card and AirPort have yet to ship which kills my wireless internet access. Which means I have to plug this thing into the wall like some sort of savage from the 90s to get to you nice people. I mean is the Third Millennium coming or isn't it? Gimme my freakin' AirPort Card you bastards! Let me enjoy the three months that I'm actually going to be State of the Art!

However, I do have the new machine. The iBook. It's so freakin' fast, I'm not even close to being able to keep up. When I open a web page I don't have time to refresh my drink and pee anymore ... I open a page and it's there. I have to keep a bottle next to the computer now (I mean another bottle -- one to hold the whiskey before my body is finished with it and one for after) (wow, don't want to confuse those bottles do I?). If only I had wireless internet I could just take the machine with me into the bathroom but noooOOOOooo.

So the book is out and I have a new machine in my lap. But I'm not done my news. Oh-no I've still got a few things to mention here. Bear with me.

A friend of mine asked me to write a screenplay for him. But not just a screenplay -- his financiers want a porno. What the heck do I know about writing porno? It's been so long since I've had sex I'm not even sure what goes where. I seem to vaguely remember that it's warm, sticky, and nice -- everything else about the act has quite slipped away from me.

Okay, it didn't exactly 'slip away.' I killed it with a systematic injestion of brain murdering Jack Daniels. And I'm going to keep killing it until I can only remember that it's warm and nice and then kill it some more until it's only warm.

Any-who, I told this to my friend. I told him that for three weeks. Then I started writing a porno. I'm 98 pages into that sucker and just about finished. It's only a porn in the strictest sense and I'm not sure it's going to be what he wants when I'm finished -- it's basically just a regular old story with the sex left in. But I'm proud of it for two reasons:

This is the first time I've written -- really written -- in a good long time.

This is the first time I've ever written a story that didn't involve anything supernatural. No vampires in this one. No werewolves. No ghosts or telekinetic teenagers. This one is just me. I've laid my crutch on the floor, and I'm just writing about real people for a little while.

But not to fear -- the vampires will be back.

I also wrote a one-act play a while ago -- I think it was in the Spring -- and that's looking as though it might be produced in a night of one acts around here. No biggie there really -- but it'll be a first for me. Okay, there's a little bit of a story there too.

A while ago, I went to see a play that Carolyn West -- my editor -- was having produced. (Heh ... funny that now that she's edited the book she's become my personal property. She's not a writer anymore, she's My Editor.) Anyhow, we all went out for drinks afterwards and I had a mini-conversation with Her Director about these anti-Valentines Day plays she does every February at another theater. I can't exactly conjure her face to mind but I do remember that she was cute enough for me to head home and start typing. Very, very cute. I think she had dark hair but I'm not entirely certain. But very cute. I think.

And yes I'm a pig, but she didn't remember me at all, so it's okay that I couldn't pick her out of a crowd.

Anyway, I was so inspired by this sweet-little-thing that I ran home and spewed 20 pages of bitterness for her. And I talked to her on the phone yesterday and I'm apparently a contender for plays she's considering for February -- which would work just fine because it would coincide nicely with a book-signing I'm planning for right around that time.

Rats ... I guess that's something else I have to talk about before I can talk about the other thing.

Okay. A woman from Borders and I are tentatively planning some sort of book-signing-thing for January or February of 2000. She was already all booked-up for October, and since the book doesn't have a yule-tide angle she felt that we'd get better press for it after the holidays were over -- and I agreed with her. The actual store is in Marlton or Evesham or something ... it's right on Route 73 just south of where it crosses Route 70 -- for those of you familiar with South Jersey. It hasn't really hit me yet that soon, I'll be sitting behind a table signing books. I don't think I'm ready for that to hit me, so I think I'll move on.

My other thing -- and I think the last thing for this entry -- is that my mother has officially read the book. She's decided that she likes my writing, which means she's now keeping up with this page, too. These words that I'm typing right now? She'll read them. She's already read The Truth about Disney's Evil Parents, where I mention her specifically. In fact, she sent me this e-mail from a neighbor's house:

talked to you this morning and you forgot to thank me for your late birthday presents. that's okay honey after reading your page i guess i have a reputation as somewhat of a kill-joy / over protective muther ( oops mom). well dear i've finally come up with a retirement program and your it. my lawyer will be contacting you to set up the royalty payments. every time you use the words - mom/mother/parent you will be adding a quarter to my fund.

don't argue with me sweetheart you wouldn't want your public to know everything about you. (the bathtub the pool the chicken - maybe it should be $1.00)

Love ya scotty.


Ain't mom™ cute?

They told me this would happen. They all told me. 'When you get successful they'll start coming out of the woodwork.' So mom™ gets to be the first. If you weren't going to buy the book before, you'd better do it now. I've got mouths to feed.

You know what this means, don't you? If mom's™ going to be checking out this page, I'm going to have to tone it down a little. No more talk about snatches. No more references to the Little General who gives all the orders. I've gotta clean up my act, or I'll get in big trouble.

Coming up next: Mr. Steele's first trip to a House of Ill Repute.