| Muses Review Online Prose - Fiction |
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| Visit: LB Sedlacek's Homepage: www.thepoetrymarket.com Visit: LB Sedlacek's Bookstore |
| About the Book Bob, the Dragon Slayer is a humorous tale about a peasant lad, Bob and his adventures in slaying dragons that terrorize villages with the help of a wizard, Stephen. This book will delight grade schoolers, teen-agers and octogenarians. Pages: 100 Chapters: 18 + Prologue + Epilogue Editor's Rating: 4 |
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SUICIDE PUMPKINS (A Love Story) -- by LB Sedlacek CHAPTER ONE I started considering suicide as an option while sitting on a park bench at the exact spot where Michael Beck (aspiring artist "Sonny")gets kissed by Olivia Newton-John (inspirational muse "Kira") in the movie "Xanadu." Though, the spot is now partially fenced off because of earthquakes and mudslides. When I first read the Park's signs that say "Park subject to slides. Use at your own risk." after I moved to Santa Monica, I found great humor in the words. Now I find them symbolic of my own life--use at your own risk. I live in the Park, which is adjacent to Santa Monica Pier,-- sometimes on the beach-- and find the sweet sick smell of seawater a slight comfort amidst the hustle and bustle of the city known as Los Angeles. I am an actress. However, so is two- thirds of the population of this stinking town. I find that after a year here, I am no longer different from any of them. I, too walk among the living dead. On a good day, I sleep on a bench near the end of the Park's twenty-six acres--at least I think I read somewhere that it's that long. Sometimes, I lie awake watching the wind twist the leaves of the palm trees flapping overhead. They are the largest palm trees I've ever seen. The trees of the East Coast (specifically North Carolina), where I'm from, are much shorter and stouter. The East Coast with less space has too many people jammed up within the landmasses that make up its states. Out here there are more people, but there's plenty of room for them all--just not enough acting jobs to go around. On the rare occasion that I get an audition, I go across the street and borrow a room from one of the many motels bordering Ocean Avenue. I say borrow because I sneak inside a room while the maids are cleaning them. It's pretty easy to do. I hide and wait for a maid to leave the room and then I'm in. So I do get regular baths, but even when I don't I fit right in with the surfer population of neighboring Venice Beach. Most of them look to me like they are lucky to bathe once a week, if at all. When I first moved to L.A., I used to stick out like a sore thumb. Besides my long blonde hair, blue eyes and white pale skin, I was also very clean. Too clean. Now I look grungy-even though the grunge look has appar-ently died-and I look like I belong. All this runs through my head at the speed of light as I watch cars rushing to and fro on the Pacific Coast Highway fifty or so feet below me. It must be nice to have somewhere to go, I think. Then I lift myself up from the dirty green bench marred by bird excrement, and go inside the damp cement structure serving as an outdoor bathroom. It is the only one in the Park with doors. There is one further down next to the Senior Center that I refuse to use for that reason. I had never been in a Ladies Room outdoors until I started living in L.A. unless you count the ones at summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina-but those were always inside some sort of building. Never out there-solitary-all alone. "Never trust a man in a cowboy hat." "Never trust a man in a cowboy hat." I've said this line so many times in the past ten minutes I'm beginning to believe it. Actually, there is some truth in these scripted words belong-ing to a B movie flick for which I'm auditioning. If I get the part I'll make $375.00 per week plus free meals. It isn't Union scale, but this isn't a Union film. Hell, I know at twenty-four I'm lucky to be working at all. Seems people of my generation would rather play video games and watch TV. Of course that's what we grew up doing so what do the so-called grown-ups expect? "Hey! Hey!" The director's gruff voice barks in my ears. "Are you with us?" "As opposed to somewhere else my body might be other than in this room? Tune in folks for what you're seeing is an illusion." "You know there Miss your Agent said you were a smart ass." "Oh, he did? That's nice. Usually he says I'm crazy." "He said that, too." Everyone is looking at me now--watching me more intently than they did during any part of my audition. I have no clue who they are or what they're doing on the film, but I know this group of five men will fulfill the functions of producer, writers, and ex-ecutive producers, even if it's in name only. "Would you like to begin again?" "Sure." "Okay, Miss Tyler, I'll give you your cue and you begin." "Right." The director says, "Give me some good advice. Please some good advice." "Never trust a man in a cowboy hat?" I reply. Upon reflection I realize I am laughing, though the room full of men doesn't seem to get it. "Okay, Miss Tyler, can we try that again please?" "I get another chance?" I ask bewildered. I am beginning to wonder why I haven't been asked to leave. Usually, I never last longer than two minutes in front of potential employers. "You know Miss Tyler if you weren't so damned good looking we would've asked you to leave a long time ago." I guess I am projecting my thoughts on people again since the Director answers the very question that slapped its way through my brain. It isn't something I control?it seems to me people often act on something I think even though I never say a word. "Let me try it again, sir. I appreciate the opportunity." I know I sound like a Hallmark card, but I really have the desperate desire to send a postcard to my theater school to tell them I have a job in a film. Never mind if it goes straight to video--it will be some-thing. "Okay, Miss Tyler. From the top please." "Okay." The five men lean their heads in together, shuffle some papers across the long rectangular table and look around the square stuffy room before acknowledging my presence once again with brief nods. I turn around self consciously glancing at nothing in the stark white space. I never know why these directors need so much space to call in one person to read some lines out loud. In an audition, most actors stand perfectly still--unless they are auditioning to play an acrobatic performer or something that requires gymnastic skills. A total waste of space. "Okay let's begin." I nod and resume my audition. "Give me some good advice. Please some good advice. Please some good advice," the Director rattles off in a raspy monotone. "Never trust a man in a cowboy hat." "Why?" he asks. I sling my golden locks around to look at him realizing his question isn't in the script. I decide to go with it anyway. I am good at winging it, or at least believe that I am. "Never trust a man in a cowboy hat except under one of the following conditions: (1) if he works on a ranch, (2) if he works with or owns horses, or (3) you can trust him most especially if he lives in or is from Texas. Any other time you see a man in a cowboy hat in any other city either he's lost, he's hiding from somebody or he has the need to stick out like a sore thumb and get everyone to notice him. That's a guy you don't want to mess with most especially if he offers you money. Then you know he ain't no good old boy." I finish my improvised southern accent enhanced speech with a flourish. The room is silent. The five men stare. After eight minutes of unbearable mumblings, grunts and more shuffling of papers, the Director looks up at me again. "Miss Tyler?" "Yes." "Be here tomorrow morning. Six a.m. sharp." "I have the job?" "Yes, we want you for the part." "Great." I smile, shake their hands, leave the little rented studio room, and gleefully walk two blocks up Sunset Boulevard to the Walgreen's drugstore by Denny's. I slip a quarter in the pay phone and dial my Agent. Finally after sixteen months, one week, and two days I have a part in a movie. Now, I'll have to postpone my suicide for at least a few more weeks until filming and looping for my role of Loretta is in the can. Fortunately, suicide planning offers flexibility. FREE BONUS CHAPTER THANK YOU FOR READING!!! -- LB :> LB's Official Website: http://www.thepoetrymarket.com No portion of this email and/or chapters from the book "Suicide Pumpkins" may be reprinted or reproduced without permission from the author and publisher. "Suicide Pumpkins" copyright LB Sedlacek 2000. |
| Date: Sun, 20 Nov 2005 07:50:00 -0500 From: "LB Sedlacek" To: "muses review" Subject: Re: Can we have the free chapter 1 of Suicide pumpkin Hi Andrew, Here are the "Suicide Pumpkins" chapters. Feel free to use whatever you like. Thanks, LB SUICIDE PUMPKINS (A Love Story) by LB Sedlacek. "This book offers black humor at its best..." - MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW "The writing style is cerebral. Lots of irony and subtexts." WHAT KIND OF READER MIGHT LIKE THIS BOOK: "One who likes new experimental cutting edge fiction with lots of imagery. One who likes to read something different." - WORD OF MOUTH BOOK DESCRIPTION: A black humour modern day twisted & dark love story. Set in L.A. and San Diego, Jessica -- a would-be suicidal actress --and Jeremy -- a multi-millionaire by inheritance -- cross paths on the Coronado Bay Bridge. Complete with a white porsche & a pumpkin, Jeremy turns Jessica's world upside down. Contemporary Fiction. Published 2000. 180 pgs. Adult content = some language, sexual content, & violence. ORDERING INFO: ONLINE: http://www.xlibris.com/suicidepumpkins http://www.amazon.com http://www.bn.com http://www.borders.com PHONE ORDERS: 1-888-795-4274 Special Order at most Barnes & Noble bookstores using the ISBN # 0738833819 Ebook available from Xlibris. |
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