Stephanie Klein, author of Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp, spent the past week guest blogging on Jewcy. She opened with an explanation of her book's title (and middle school nickname). Then she went on a rant about Japs (as in Jewish American prince/princess), followed by a post about publicizing her life story. She even gave us some insight about why, despite their reputation, Jewish girls do swallow. Finally, she told us about her deal to make a sitcom out of her last memoir. Need some more moose? Buy Stephanie's book!

I'm currently exploring several exciting film opportunities for my second memoir Moose, opportunities that extend beyond my book trailer (which I'll admit, was fun to make. And woo hoo to over 200,000 views on YouTube).  See the video below this post.

The trick with a coming-of-age book like Moose is finding a balance between a screenplay aimed at child actors and bringing in a "name" to play the adult version of a character. While I figure out what my exact vision is for the book, I've been working with ABC Studios and Brillstein Entertainment Partners (Formerly Brillstein-Grey), writing the pilot for a half-hour comedy series based off my first memoir Straight Up And Dirty, and I'm not going to lie to you: blog writing isn't book writing, which isn't TV writing.

At first I thought the only real difference came down to dialogue.  Hey, I'm awesome at dialogue, this'll be cake. Yeah, burnt, eneven cake where you keep taking bites to figure out which ingredient you forgot. I know from writing books that there needs to be a clear structure: a beginning, middle, and end, an arc toward self-discovery and realizations. Great, so I’ll start with what I want the main character to realize in the end and simply work backwards. Sounds like a plan. Only now, let me break it all apart into a four-act structure, and learn to live without a plan.

Despite the fact that my blog, my two memoirs, and now a TV series based off my life are all about me, the actual writing and process of writing for each medium is different. Very different.

Book writing can be a whole lot of internal conflicts. Take for example, just a quick summary from my first memoir Straight Up And Dirty: My life’s forecast never included becoming a woman with a wasband.  I expected some schooling, a career, and a family, not divorce, especially not before I hit 30.  Before I “settled down,” I played it up, dating with a vengeance.  I was a single woman in a sensational city. And, I didn’t do Cosmos; I liked mine dirty.  Until, I found a clean, genteel, mensch-next-door whose idea of keeping house was sweeping… me off my feet.  Then, suddenly, it all looked different; “single” became tired.  How many cleavage-baring black tops, “How could you think I’d be interested in him?” blind dates, and kisses with frogs can a girl tolerate before she’s ready for a prince?  Marriage fit me like a glove and my husband like a noose.  Mrs. Robinson didn’t just rob the cradle; she stole away with my rattle, bouncer seat, and designer diaper bag.  And, just like that: divorced while you’re firm, fashionable, and, let’s face it, fetching. 

Nothing above is actually salvagable when it comes to script writing. It's all exposition. TV Writing is all about showing external conflicts, seeing scenes, putting characters in situations that force their internal conflicts up and out of them. The key is giving your characters immediate wants other than internal hopes and struggles, more than deciding between right and wrong. Deciding whether or not to go to wedding with a date, hating her job, not being over an ex, not knowing what to do for a living, not knowing whether or not to change her name, figuring out how to love herself--all internal struggles that might make for an interesting character, but they don't help when you need to create a story for TV.  Instead, it's all about creating external conflict. It's plot based, and it's an entirely different skill. One I'm learning as I go. And just like anything written well, you can snatch up a stack of pilot scripts and think, well, who can't do that? That's so easy. Of course it is, and it isn't. It just depends on the day.

Stephanie Klein, author of Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp, spent the past week guest blogging on Jewcy. This is her parting post. Want more? Buy the book!

______________________________________________________________

Stephanie Klein, author of Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp, is guest blogging this week as one of Jewcy's Lit Klatsch bloggers. Stephanie's book focuses on her adolescent weight problem.

We name our babies after dead people. We snag the first initial of a departed relative and name our daughter after a man who accused us of replacing his GE lightbulbs with Kmart brand. 

A name for a baby can mean many things. You can go through all the trouble to pick the “right” name, the perfect meaning to reflect her demeanor, nothing that will commit him to a lifetime of being called upon last (Oh, but I love the name Zachary!). You can ensure the name you select doesn’t rhyme with any offensive adjectives or nouns like “knucklehead” or “diarrhea,” but the bottom line is, if kids don’t like you, they’ll find a way, without rhyme or reason, to let you know it. Not much rhymes with Stephanie, unless you find “bo-befanie” vulgar, yet as safe as my name is, kids still slapped me but good with the merciless moniker “Moose.”   

When it came to choosing names for our unborn twins, of whom we refused to find out the sex(es), my husband and I set out to agree upon three sets of names (if it was two girls, two boys, or one of each).  We couldn’t very well name two girls “Gabby” and “Abby,” but if I birthed a boy and a girl, either name was fair game. It was all about the combination, and as with most couples we know, we couldn’t agree on a single name, not even their intended surname.

“We’re not giving them first, middle, and two last names, with or without a hyphen. It’s ridiculous,” my husband said.

“What if we blended our two last names?”

“Are you high?”

“Well, why do you assume just because convention says so, that I have to give up my last name?” I didn’t think of it at the time, but that question ought to have been phrased differently. It wasn’t about relinquishing my name, but rather fighting for our children to retain a concrete connection to their ancestors, right there on a dotted line, even if it was a blend.

“What, you want to chop them off right here?” My husband found the notion of our children taking my name—in any manner—emasculating, despite my argument that many a machismo Latino retained his mother’s last name without ever passing it on.

“Yeah, that’s because the mothers weren’t sure who the father really was.”

“Hey, smartass, biblical times aside, they still do it today, even with Judge Judy paternity tests.” But as soon as I said it, I realized that “they still do it” translated to “follow tradition,” an argument I was trying to foil.

I tried to bargain, insisting that if I gave up my last name, in turn, I’d get to choose their first names. But each time I’d offer a suggestion, my husband insisted I was picking stripper names.

“Emmanuelle? You’re kidding right?”

“How about Savannah,” I swooned, “and we’ll call her Savvy, for short.”

“That’s not just a porn name, it’s a city—a city, I might add, that refers to the civil war as ‘The War Of Northern Aggression.’”

I wish Sarah Palin would stop beaming telepathic messages to me. I can't stand having her voice in my head. Please, would somebody make it stop?

This time you can't blame the drugs. Oh, yes, back in the day when we were driving around Spain on three-day coke jags and self-medicating with brandy of a despicable vintage, we'd often get The Voices. Everyone did. They sounded like the chorus from one of the Electric Light Orchestra's early hits, and while they weren't entirely unpleasant, they could be very annoying when you were trying to go to sleep after 72-hours of rock'n'roll stupidity.

"Hey Honey, looking for a date?"

Lately I haven't had the time for any drug adventures. Too busy writing blogs and hustling and getting ready for next week's big show. I had to learn the entire "Jews for Jesus" bit again (which recounts my days going undercover to their Bible meetings for a magazine story, and explains why Beneath the Planet of the Apes makes more sense than the Bible), and believe me, you don't need any voices in your head when you have Mr. Blues Explosion playing fuzz guitar behind you. Sarah Palin's high-pitched twang is not helping, not at all.

Ever since she winked at me during the Vice-Presidential debate, I keep hearing her voice, like a mentally-challenged Siren beckoning me across the Bering Strait. I don't know what is worse - her insipid whine or her thin grasp of the English language. 

Ya wanna fuck a shiksa, dontcha? Well, doggone it, come on out to Wasilla! We've got lots of young girls who would love to meet a real live Jew! Come on, Mike. You can see Jerusalem from my window!

Hot, hot, hot!I can't handle it anymore. I need to purge these demons.

Luckily, my old friend Larry Flynt has just the perscription I need - A Sarah Palin porno!

The maverick Hustler magnate is currently in production of a new film, called Nailin' Palin. And given the rigorous shooting schedule of your average fuck flick these days, it should be out any second now. According to Radar magazine, here's a few things we can all look forward to: Sarah riding a rocket from Russia when those nasty commies come a-knockin' on her back door; a flashback sequence wherein "young Palin's creationist college professor will explain a big bang theory even she can't deny!"; and of course, the obligatory late-night visit from the tanning bed repairman.

A more perfect Union.

Pornography, of course, is not a sin. But I have a feeling that pretty soon I am going to be feeling very guilty. 

Mike Edison, author of I Have Fun Everywhere I Go, is guest blogging on Jewcy, and he'll be here all week.  Stay tuned.

***********************************

Mike will be performing with his band, featuring Jon Spencer, in a very special evening of "Literary Mayhem and Rock'n'Roll," with special guests Jonathan Ames, Rachel Shukert, and Amanda Stern, Thursday, October 16^th,at the incredible Spiegelworld tent at the South Street Seaport inManhattan. For info, free MP3s and videos (including the infamous BongGuitar video) and much more, please visit www.rockettrain.com

Literary Mayhem!

July 4th has come and gone, and people are donning sun hats and SPF 30. But what to do once you arrive poolside? Without a good summer read, a sunning session can be awfully boring. Luckily, a number of light reads have recently arrived at Jewcy headquarters. These uplifting and oftentimes funny memoirs and tales of self-improvement are the perfect accompaniment to a beach towel and flip flops. Here are six reads to keep your mind flying while your skin is frying.

	From Schlub to Stud: How to Embrace Your Inner Mensch and Conquer the Big City by Max Gross: A schlubby Jewish writer (and onetime Jewcy contributer) learns not only to own his schlubbiness--but to overcome it. Be prepared to identify with him in ways you are ashamed to admit. Winning clip: "Last summer, when the movie Knocked Up came out, I (and all the other schlubs I knew) nearly wept for joy...An impoverished, puffy-haired, chunky Jew suddenly seemed like saint and sex god."
	Assisted Loving: True Tales of Double Dating with My Dad by Bob Morris: a middle aged gay man becomes a wingman for his eighty year old widowed father, as the two explore and experience the difficult world of dating together. Winning clip: "Oh, my God. What am I doing? What is he doing? You hear about helicopter parents who hover over every aspect of the lives of their children. Am I becoming a helicopter son?...What can I say? I'm dying to know what the story is...His reports are so volatile, so unexpected, so hilariously bizarre that they make dating tales of my friends seem banal."
	Cool Jew: The Ultimate Guide for Every Member of the Tribe by Lisa Alcalay Klug: A step by step how-to guide to transforming yourself into the ultimate cool Jew, or "Heebster." Includes lots of great graphics. Winning clip: "Yarmulke, shmarmulke. When it's so jewcy, why only wear it on your head? Sew leather shoelaces on a matching pair to create a sexy string bikini top for your next Jewish singles cruise."
	Hyper-Chondriac: One Man's Quest to Hurry Up and Calm Down by Brian Frazer: A man with a whole host of medical ailments discovers that the true source of his problems is stress. Foregoing a permanent reliance on Zoloft, he attempts to calm down via more natural methods, such as Tai Chi and Kabbalah. Winning clip: "Finally it was time to learn the 'form.' I had to memorize a series of movements that Mr. Chow performed alongside me, nearly all of which I found very confusing. He barked out sequences like 'paint the walls with your fingertips,' 'carry the ball,'...and 'eat the cowboy's hat.' Yeah, I made that last one up. But it was still very confusing."
	Moose: a Memoir of Fat Camp by Stephanie Klein: A coming of age story about a girl at fat camp. An honest and funny account of self discovery, linking the trials of adolescence to lifelong emotions. Winning clip: "While my upbringing didn't make me fat, it played a part in shaping my priorities. And of utmost importance to me was my appearance, not for vanity reasons, but because I wanted to be loved. Poppa thought he was doing me a favor by telling me no man would want me if I was fat. It was his clumsy way of trying to spare me years of frustration in an unjust society."
	Hot Mess: Summer in the City by Julie Kraut and Shallon Lester: A rising high school senior decides to give the Sex and the City ladies a run for their money, spending the summer at a hot internship in New York City. Unfortunately, big city life turns out to be less glamorous than she expected. Winning clip: "You know, if I had seen his dating resume, I would have thought that he was perfect. Good family from New Jersey, wants to be a doctor, loves dogs, not wearing athletic sandals. Generally good in theory, you know? But in person - well, he talked about the summer chem class he was taking in excruciating detail. I thought about forking myself in the eye it was so boring. But then I remembered that I forgot to bring any extra contacts to New York, so I can't really fuck this pair up...Whatever. I have another JDate tonight."
	Surprised by God: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Religion by Danya Ruttenberg: A young woman who swore off religion (and God) as a teenager embarks on a not so conventional journey back into the spiritual fold, and finds a way to reconcile twenty-first century life with traditional Judaism -- without doing damage to either. Winning review: "Danya Ruttenberg marshals beautiful writing and a prodigious intellect, and, leavening it all with a hefty dose of wit, tells a compelling story that has something to teach everyone who picks it up, regardless of how spiritual or religious (or not) they are" - Lisa Jervis.