So you think you can write!

This brilliant idea for a new reality show hit me on my way back to the Path train last night, after attending a writer workshop at NYU.  Very positive lady named Jamie ran it, and her philosophy of writing was this:


Everyone has a book inside themselves. They just need to think about what they're really, really interested in, what their passion is, and voila, the book will practically write itself.


Who knew?  Here I've been struggling with character profiles, subplots, backstory, dialogue and alternating points of view. Does that mean I just haven't found the right book project yet?  The hard part, according to our NYU expert, is in marketing and selling the book. Make friends, write a blog, network, give books away, create your own speaking tour...or how about appear on the next big reality show hit: "So you think you can write!" First prize: publication of your book, including an all expense paid 10 city tour.


Unlike dancing or singing, which require some talent, everyone can and should write that book, according to Jamie, whose positivity and bubbliness created a festive air among the participants. (For one fleeting moment, I thought I was in a pink ribbon rally. Yay! I've got cancer!)


OK, one woman was a bit of a Debbie Downer, saying she had done all those things and still couldn't sell her self published book. "Time to write another one" chirped Jamie "and then while you're busy doing that, the first one will probably take off on its own."  Something to do with overmothering your book, I guess.


But now came the good stuff. It was our turn. We had five minutes to write a pitch for our book and Jamie would then ask for volunteers to read their intros. This is where Jamie excelled. She was a magician, pulling ideas from the air, embellishing the trite and common story ideas, urging writers to rush home and write some dialogue that very night. Yes, Jamie passed the "Be a Judge" interview without even realizing she'd applied. She's the perfect happy, positive-spin judge--the one who sincerely regrets sending you home and may even blink back a few wet ones because "isn't life unfair that I can't pick everyone?"


Our class could easily supply the first show contestants: of those chosen to read, there were 3 men and 3 women, young and old, fat and thin, ethnically diverse. Were these people planted? We started with the newly widowed Nancy, a well dressed, attractive 59 year old with bobbed hair and long, dangly earrings that Jamie noted immediately. "Let's see, let's hear from the woman with the sparkly earrings first." (probably an asset on the public appearance trail)


Lily followed, a 30-something Filipino woman with a trashy, drug-filled past and enough adventures to rival Keith Richards. Alas, she was not famous, but would cast her memoir/novel as suburban mom revealing her shady past to her unbelieving kids. It had potential, and Jamie loved Lily's voice. "Don't you just want to be friends with Lily? Everyone? Come on, can't you see yourself hopping into that taxi cab with her for a visit to her x-rated past?"  I'm not a hallelujah kind of person but i was caught up in the moment and joined in the wild applause. From meth addict to prestigious university student to well rounded Mom, I knew Lily would nail this story.


In any group of aspiring writers there has to be a children's book author and Zara was our candidate. She spoke in short, simple sentences about her story: a nine year old girl and her bike. The girl, orphaned at age 3, lived with her grandfather until he became ill and sent her to the orphanage at age 5. Before he died, he left a bike to be given to the girl as a present on her 9th birthday. (lot of emphasis on numbers here, so maybe could also be marketed as improving arithmetic skills) Lots of exciting episodes to follow.  The end. Jamie took this sow's ear and turned it into the proverbial silk purse. Zara looked a bit dazed as one idea after another tumbled from Jamie's mouth.  
"It's a magic bike, isn't it?" 
Slight, barely perceptible nod from Zara.
"I knew it! (fist pump!) And the grandfather will be her muse. You must go home tonight and write a scene with the girl and her grandfather-OK? You can't go to sleep, until you write it!" 
Zara blinked once for yes and slipped back into her chair, turning to her friend:
"It's just a bike. It's not magic.The grandfather's dead. He's not supposed to be in the story. D'uh."
Did I really hear that or did I imagine it? No matter.


Although the audience was predominately female, Jamie was fair and next chose 3 men to balance the 3 women. I knew right away Tyrrell would be reality show gold. Tall and young, with Rastafarian dread locks and a commanding, confident presence, Tyrrell enjoyed center stage. Unlike Lily who had jumped at the echo of the mike and dropped it like it was on fire, Tyrrell tapped the mike like a professional and grabbed the sides of the podium. Was he stabilizing himself for the roller coaster ride to come? He began by relating a conversation with his cousin that swirled and pulsed through the cosmos, colliding worlds and words, poetry and gibberish. 


Jamie's face was attentive and interested, but as Tyrrell chanted on, flipping pages, pointing a finger for emphasis, the audience shifted in their seats. I thought he may have bested Jamie. What could she possibly say that was good about this? And would she say it soon or let him ramble on forever?  Tyrrell paused and some back rowers started applauding, taking matters into their own hands. Jamie rose and smiled. Was that a look of uncertainty? An element of panic? Of course not, Jamie had already passed the judge's test, so why was i doubting her.  "Tyrrell, you are clearly a spoken word artist, a performance artist with a strong presence and you need to speak at every cafe and venue you can." Wow, masterfully played, Jamie. Tyrrell was pleased with the attention and the positive assessment and the audience was relieved it was over. 


Mr. Dread Locks would be the perfect character that all the other reality contestants hate. He'd be sure to last several rounds, not because he can write, but because of the back stage drama. I bet even nice Nancy would grumble about his nonsensical preaching of intersecting universes and parallax conversions.  He would pit the older contestants vs the young new agers. And, yes, maybe there would be some story synchronicity between Zara's bike girl and Tyrrell's cousin.
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But the real back stage drama would come with the last two presenters who would obviously fight over Nancy. Frank, the widower, had been married for 29 years, when his wife died and left him with two children to raise. Before you get out the hankies, let me tell you that Frank is a resourceful guy, a doer not a thinker. Imagine the tension and desperation in this scene, as Frank struggles to pick up the pieces of his life and move on. He dials a number..then hangs up....redials, thinks of his wife...hangs up....redials, thinks of his kids....hangs up...redials and finally the call to the Singles Club goes through. It's been 30 days since his wife died. Hilarious adventures ensue. Jamie was laughing already at the potential story lines and I marvelled at the distillation of his grief into a mere 30 days. Maybe he should be re-writing the Elisabeth Kubler-Ross stages of grief.


I'm not sure if George was married or not, but he gave Nancy a nod as he started to read his memoir: NYC law enforcement for 40 years. Don't cops retire sooner than that? It turns out that George was with various, unidentified, law enforcement jobs, but not the NYPD . Hmm, could he have been a mafia enforcer or have a Russian gang connection? George looked pretty clean cut and benign, so a NYC park ranger or museum guard seemed more likely. Jamie suggested starting with a big, newsworthy crime story he was involved in: 9/11, Son of Sam, Serpico.  "No problem. I've got several," says George. He is the kind of contestant you may well underestimate and may just be the surprise winner.(of Nancy and/or the whole show).


The only details remaining for this reality show would be the additional judges. Jamie has a lock on the positive judge. I was thinking a Maureen Dowd or a Tina Fey for the lightly sarcastic, humorous perspective and then a Jonathan Frantzen type for the moody, dark, incisive comments that would leave a writer speechless, teary-eyed, dropping pens and papers all over the stage or should it be crashing an iPad to the ground? Jamie had already made a snide comment about Mr. Literary Fiction Man Frantzen and we know how judges sniping at each other always adds a nice touch. 


Stay tuned. If I can't find my inner muse soon, I'm shipping this reality show script off to Simon Cowell. He may be getting bored with auditioning singers and with that lovely British accent, he must read books, right?