Negril Notes
Thoughts - Words - Images - Music - Loosely based on my travels to Negril Jamaica

I’m finally doing it. I’m writing a book.

There, I said it, and I’m holding to it!

I’ve wanted to write this book for a long time, but there’s a lot more to the process than simply writing. The abstract idea, “I think I’ll write a book about my time in the bikini business,” sounds like a good one. It’s just chock full of whacky, fun and sexy potential, perfect for the next romantic comedy, but an idea is not a story. I’d thought through a million different angles, went through old journals to find story snippets, but in well over a year, the idea stayed just that; an idea.

Then, out of nowhere, it came to me. The structure of the thing popped into my head. Eight-thirty at night while riding the 63 bus through Park Slope, there it was. I grabbed my notebook and let it all stream onto the page. One thing led to another, and by the next morning I found myself looking at characters, chapter titles, a beginning, middle, and an end. There was even a working title: The Devil Wears Spandex.

Yeah, I thought it was a cute title too, though it’s all but obsolete. The story is taking on a life of its own, shattering the boundaries of the afore-mentioned abstract idea. Two people thrown together by an admittedly outlandish attempt at fame and fortune has become the vehicle to tell the real story—My story. 

Except now I can edit as I go.

To keep myself on track, these are my self imposed deadlines:

• Have a properly formatted book proposal done and out to no less than 12 publishing houses.

• First draft completed.

• Revisions completed. Properly formatted manuscript out to no less than 12 publishing houses. (Unless of course one of the proposals actually hit home)

• Submit draft to self-publishing company. (50 Copies) 

• Give those “Limited Editions” to friends and family for Christmas. 

Wish me luck!

Vinny

         

The night was electric, two great teams poised on the brink of immortality, an entire city humming with excitement.

“Could it actually happen?” the fans of the underdog whisper, afraid to predict too boldly. I could be talking about New York City and the Giants fans this last week. But I can’t stop comparing the whole scene to Philadelphia in early February, 2005. The similarities are so obvious.

Most obvious, the opponent: The hated, cheating New England Patriots, with their golden-boy Brady smiling for the camera, posing with his super-model girlfriend, while the evil Coach Belichick hides with his video camera. Heavily favored, unanimously picked by the punditry, the veritable Team of Destiny. Eli and his Giants didn’t listen, Donny Mac did.

OK, what else? There was the has been rocker Half-Time Show, this year Tom Petty, and in ‘05 Sir Paul, both intstantly forgotten. The Go-Daddy girl bounced in, she made her first appearance in 2005 (a personal favorite).

Then there was the last drive of the 4th Quarter. It was like deja-vu all over again! It’s below the two-minute warning, the good guys must drive the length of the field to victory, to that place at the pinnacle of American sport where only the toughest, the most driven will ever gain entry. 

This is how Eli Manning looked at the end of that legendary drive:

Vinny