Two Idiots in New York, I Mean Newark

They would meet from a great distance. Two aspiring novelists hoping to make it big in the publishing world. Both with big dreams, light wallets and little sense...

Plight of the NoWords

Chapter 1

An Officer and a Cigarette

Harley tapped her feet, the hard plastic chair squeaked. In just a few minutes she'd meet her critique partner. BJ was traveling from a far, far away land, called Canada. Harley hoped she arrived in the United States okay. Who would've thought that two random strangers meeting on the interwebs would finally meet in person. How often does that happen? Harley knew they were pioneers in a sense.

Harley left her life behind in Philly by boarding a NJ transit bus here, to Newark International Airport. Like all struggling artists, they'd have no car. Together they'd enter the city and take it from there. Nothing but a few bags, laptops, and dreams.

Where would they sleep, who knows. All the great musicians, dancers, and actors who came to NY in movies and on TV never had a plan. Either did she, genius, huh? She thought so.

Waiting didn't suit Harley. So she people watched. Lots were reading newspapers. They looked smart too and headed for NYC, she was sure. People in NY read papers. Some people did too, back in Philly, but Harley never cared for it. Too much to concentrate on, that reading nonsense. But she was all about fitting in, so she grabbed one and sat down.

She crossed her legs and opened up the pages like the smart looking girl across from her. The office type had glasses. Dang it, Harley didn't. They'd make her look like she knew what she was doing. But she did have Jackie-O shades. The Kardashians always wear their sunglasses everywhere. And they are so, so, so smart.

She put them on and began to read. She had to squint to see but it was all about the look. Reading, reading, skimming over the big words like, inundate-mandate...lots of dates in NY. Cool.

It got more boring as she read and yawned, but she did it for writings sake. Reading and writing kind of go together, right? I mean she technically didn't have a book written yet but she had lots of ideas and that's all that mattered.

An interesting article caught her eyes. Some serial killer on the loose from... Canada? One who meets their victims on the internet?

The same INTERWEBS that brought her here, meeting BJ? Harley read in disbelief that someone else thought to use it to meet people. How rude. She prolly could've made money off that. But it had her thinking of Dexter, one of her favorite shows. It was a book before it became a hit series. Hmm, a serial killing writer...great idea!

"HARLEY!" A voice bellowed out, interrupting daydreams about being the next HBO/Showtime star!

Looking up there she was, BJ. A cigarette dangling from her mouth, unlit, but waiting. Red hair, fur coat, and hick-like stride. How exotic. "Hey, BJ, over here!"

Harley lept up but wearing those dark shades she didn't see a body in front of her. At full force she fell right into something small and soft, landing in a heap above it. Said heap groaned a bit. Her shades tilted, practically dangling like BJ's cancer stick.

"Yo, heffer, you mind?" Some deep voice came from under her. She looked down. A round portly man lay underneath her, and his member was stiff on her hip.

"Excited Mister?" Harley fixed her shades and stood.

The man helped himself up and adjusted his shirt. It read, Homeland Security. The member was actually a gun but he was prolly a little excited she landed on her. "What friggin' idiot wears sunglasses indoors and at night?"

"New York ones." Harley winked but he prolly couldn't see that underneath her shades. So she tilted them down and winked again. Shorty wasn't impressed. He was prolly from Jersey and jealous a little. The man pushed her aside, huffing about tourists and walked away. Harley couldn't agree more. Tourists were stupid idiots.

"HARLEY!" BJ's voice found her and she was being escorted by airport guards. She turned to them, yelling. "I didn't know you couldn't smoke here. I didn't smoke the whole plane ride. You think I'm some terrorist with a bomb!"

In seconds she was forced to the ground. Harley ran, yelling, hoping to intervene. "She doesn't have a bomb, she's not a terrorist. She's from a really foreign country. She's Canadian! I'm not sure she speaks American English!"

Harley felt the air leave her as she was thrown to the ground, inches from BJ's face. The cigarette was broken in half but still hung on for dear life. As Harley turned her head to look up, little man was cuffing her.

"You sure are scrappy." Harley winced as she silver cuffs tightened around her wrists. "I said she's not a terrorist. What's the problem?"

"Shut up idiot." They stood and Harley had a thought.

She bent over and whispered into the vertically challenged officer's ear. "You think she's the Interwebs killer, huh?"

"Please stop talking." He nudged her forward.

Harley caught a glimpse at BJ and the Canadian winked. "Welcome to America, eh?"

The next few hours they were questioned. Some supervisor didn't appreciate Harley's insistence about the serial killer connection or that Canada was some exotic foreign land. These guys must not have paid attention in geography class. It's called South of the Border for a reason!

Lesson 1 as an aspiring writer. You cannot say bomb or terrorist in an airport. Like really, that's stupid. Cause that episode of Jerseylicous last week was Da Bomb. For reals. And like terrorist is a perfectly innocent thing to say. Technically, the petite officer terrored-her-wrists with those cuffs. It's called word play. These guys so don't understand the craft, with writing, cause words are used in writing.

When they were finally released they hugged it out and made way to the Big Apple. BJ lit up and took a deep drag. "So you thought I was the Internet Killer, eh?"

Thinking about what to say to a possible homicidal maniac/roomate, Harley paused. "Well, we did meet on the interwebs and you are from Canada. An officer of the law could reduce that."

She blew smoke into my face, and said, "Deduce?"

"Huh?" I ask, losing my train of thought.

"Deduce," she repeated, "You meant an officer of the law could deduce that?

Stammering something unintelligable, I was glad I'd put my sunglasses back on.

"You a cop?" BJ asked, crushing the cigarette under her boot.

"Gees, no. I was a school safety in the sixth grade. Things like instinct are hard to shake."

"I know, eh. No worries. Besides, me and the family think it's my Uncle Roger. You're safe with me."

Harley nodded and hailed down a cab. Once they were in NY everything would be okay. They'd get a good night's sleep in some trendy writer's hotel. In the morning they'd eat breakfast in some cafe where people read newspapers, then walk over to Penguin Publishing and sell their stories. It would be that easy.

Picking up BJ wasn't that bad. How much worse could things get?

"Hey, let's get drunk, BJ. Celebrate." Harley elbowed her new BFF. "Tomorrow we'll be world famous authors."

"Take off, eh. That's what I was thinking."

They hopped in the cab, into the night, and New York City quaked with trepidation waiting for their arrival.

Plight of the NoWords

If I've never told you, one of my favorite shows is Flight of the Conchords. 'Tis an HBO series that follows the misadventures of two New Zealand musicians on a quest in New York to hit it big in the music world. They sing terrible songs, have minimal talent, and suffer from a severe case of naiveness and idiocracy.

However, in their minds they are legendary.

It got me thinking, especially since I am not writing, what about a tale of two writers trying to make it big in the Big Apple? Plight of the NoWords...documenting the daily struggles of  BJ & Harley, two aspiring writers.

They risk it all and flee to NY to pursue their writing dreams. Can you imagine the shenanigans and tomfoolery they could get into? The possibilities are endless.

Not familiar with Flight of the Conchords? Geesh. I cannot be responsible for your pop culture shortcomings. Where have you people been? Really. Please click on the links and get better acquainted with Jemaine and Bret. And yes, it's JEmaine not JeRmaine.

An introduction if you will, the best of the first few episodes.

Here, the boys dabble with becoming rappers and believe their gansta personas will ward off muggers.


BJ and Harley have just arrived in New York and will make their debut this week. Stay tuned.

THE NEW JERSEY HANGOVER

We came.

Ready to take New Jersey on.

We saw.

Things no one should. Things we can't erase from memory.

We learned.

About New Jersey's insane round-about traffic system. The hard way.

We laughed.

And celebrated like it was 1999.

We schmoozed.

And had some peeps schmooze with us.

We conquered.

The New Jersey legal system.

Under the advice of Counsel we cannot, at this time, divulge the specifics of the events that transpired during the Conference but can tell you this much. They never saw us coming.

And Jersey is still standing.

But we're exhausted.

TEAM EDWARD, TEAM JACOB, TEAM GRANDPA, or TEAM TEEN WOLF?

A recent FB post inspired these questions. Now, think people.

Not just about looks or recent popularity but of these fine men as characters.

You can't just pick, you must explain your choice.

Would you be Team Edward or Team Grandpa?

Team Jacob or Team Teen Wolf?

MADEA is erm...detained

FICTIONAL AGENT FRIDAY is um, well it's been detained. Madea had a situtation. She says she'll be here next week and to have your questions ready. She ain't got no time play.

Till next week...

"A.J., I've jumped ..."

"A.J., I've jumped ...."

I re-read Charli's last email, thinking she'd just punked me. I dial her number and read it one more time. Ring, once, twice, three times, voice mail. Frustrated, I hang up, type a few lines and press send.

No response. An hour passes, nothing. She sends me a brief message:

I QUIT. Charli Mac is going to die in an alcohol induced frenzy.
Good bye cruel world. I am done son.

I don't quit. You can knock me down, kick me a few times, and spit in my face, but I DON'T QUIT. So, Charli, my American lover ... 'tis what are husbands think, I am not letting you off that easily.

Uh no, not happening.

After that message, I was revved up. I pulled my suitcase out of the closet, tossed in some clean knickers, hair straightener and lip stick. I was ready to go. Called the hubby at work, got his voice mail and told him, "Baby, I'm driving to Philly." Dropped my daughter off at the mother in laws, typed Charli's coordinates into my trusty GPS, got a coffee, and hit the road.I raced through downtown Toronto, intent on my goal;

to reach the U.S. - Canadian border by noon.

What's an eight hour and fifty nine minute drive for yer crit lass? Nothing. The GPS told me I'd be passing over a few toll bridges, you want to bypass it asks? Nah, what are toll bridges?

We just get taxed for that shit here.

Palms sweaty, I reach the border, buzzed on coffee, jittery, and in need of food. I pass a middle aged woman my paper work. Taciturn, and unsmiling, she looks at my passport, then up at me. Three times. That's right, I draw my eyebrows on.

"What business do you have in the U.S., ma'am?"

"Driving to Philly to stop my crit partner from jumping off the ledge."

She stops in her perusal of my passport and glances up, lips compressed in a tight line. "You're going to stop your, uh, crit partner from jumping off a ledge?"

I smile, and nod enthusiastically, let her think I'm some crazy Canuck. "Aye, lass."

She ducks into her little booth, all the while staring at me, picks up a phone and starts talking. Great, she thinks I'm nuts. Hanging up the phone, she steps back out and passes me my passport. "Have a nice day, ma'am."

Woot, I'm over the border, only another five or so hours to go. I'm almost there. I can feel it, taste it, driving on the open road. Four, three, two hours, I'm going to be there by sunset.

Charli keeps calling me, probably thinking I was joking when I replied to her email with:

That's it! I'm driving to Philly. You better have a couch
for me to sleep on after a 9 hr drive. Peace out.

Nuts eh? Who the hell drops everything and drives nine hours? Me, nuts over here. 'Shrugs.' Why not, I thought. Hubby just said, uh huh, ok babe, drive safe, don't speed and call me when you get there. Great guy huh? He's a keeper!

Phone is still ringing, my GPS is beeping, telling me I'm going over the speed limit, and then I see it, TOLL BRIDGE AHEAD. Yeah, yeah, I fish into my purse, pull out a bill and keep driving.

Rate: 0.75 - No problem.

Yeah, right.

If it involves AJ and Charli, guaranteed, there's gonna be a problem.

I hand the dude a five dollar bill, a Canadian five dollar bill.

'We don't accept foreign currency ma'am."

I'm almost to Philly, tired, sweaty, and dying for a smoke. "We take American money in Canada, just do the conversion." He looks at me like I'm nuts. "Better yet, keep the change."

"Are you bribing me ma'am?" I'm not a granny. I hate when peeps call me ma'am.

"No, sir." I never thought about stopping to get my money changed into American dollars. "So, um your not going to take the money? Mastercard?"

Nope, he wouldn't take my money, even after I tossed it at him and tried to cross the bridge. He called in the state troopers, big guys with funny hats. Ever seen the inside of a po-dunck, out of the way jail cell? Nope?

I have.

They gave me one call. And it went something like this. "Charli, yeah, that's right I'm in, where am I?" Troopers tell me, I tell her. "Get in your car and come an get me. Bring 0.75 American. Yeah, their looking at me funny. Hurry up. Bye."

Without Charli's bail money, I wouldn't be here. Here with wifi and some smarties, my snoring husband and chafed wrists.

I owe you, Charli and this is me giving back, I PROMISE to track down those god damn legbreakers, twist a few arms, and strangle yer maker.

Better start saving.

I might need bail money.

A WEE BIT LOWER LASSY...

This weekend I had a minor ledge moment. I had thoughts about changing the title of my completed MS. When I did a bit o' googling on the topic I found this hysterical site.

I can't stop laughing. Enjoy.

http://www.worldoflongmire.com/features/romance_novels/