BEWARE OF VERY ROUGH FIRST DRAFTS. Don't expect anything too pretty or polished. I'm simply trying to squeeze out some rough ideas across the face of this blog. These musings may or may not find their way to the pages of my book. But as you will see, I'm taking certain liberties in voice and style that deviate from my published writings. I hope you enjoy, in spite of all of that.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Last night the kind folks at JANE magazine invited me to a charity event at some P.I.M.P. Beverly Hills mansion. I'm not exactly sure what the "Clothes Off Our Back" charity was all about, but I had a dandy old time. With all the young model-types roaming around, it felt like the set of Entourage. In fact, one "actress" I briefly talked to said she was recently in an episode of Entourage.
"Oh really?" I pressed. "What was your character?"
She explained that it was the episode where Kevin Dillon's character went to a plastic surgeon's office for calf implants. "I was in the doctor's office," she explained, "and Kevin was admiring my boobs."
Oh. I thought.
"Did you have any lines?"
"Wouldn't you say you are an 'extra' more than an actress?"
These questions were on the tip of my tongue, but then a very pregnant Heidi Klum breezed past and I scurried over to her. She and Heidi are essentially the same breed of woman, making a living off their looks, but I know you'd rather see me standing next to Heidi than some random extra. Right?
posted by Scott Keneally @ 4:10 PM
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Twisted food photograph by Naomi Brilliant
posted by Scott Keneally @ 2:58 AM
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Overview
In any given night, millions upon millions of children will awaken in a warm puddle of pee and shame. These bedwetters may cry or curse God, strip their sheets or simply roll over to a dry spot and sleep some more. Everyone reacts differently but the one thing they all share is a desperate desire to keep their problem a secret. P is the adolescent school kid’s Scarlet Letter, of sorts. Fortunately, most chronic bedwetters grow out of it long before they start driving. Unfortunately, I was not one of them. I wet the bed into college and well beyond.
Until last Wednesday night, to be exact. And I’m twenty-nine. (Sorry W Hotel!)
You might say that I write about the things most people keep to themselves. After a lifetime of living in secret and tiptoeing through the night with soggy sheets in hand, I just had to come clean and out myself. My foibles and follies and my reaction to them are what drive my episodic humor, and PITFALLS: Glorious and Troubling Tales from the World's Most Embarrassing Guy reads like a running narrative of awkward adolescence (and adulthood). Whether losing my virginity to “A Hooker Named Honey,” fastening Maxi-Pads in my underarms to conceal my sweaty “Pit Falls,” walking onto my nationally-ranked college football team, sneaking photographs of “Jessica Simpson’s Ass” on a music video set, or being the only kid ever “Impeached” at the prestigious New Jersey Boys’ State mock-government program, there is never a dull moment in this oddball life. Frankly, these true confessions are the only way I can face my bounty of shortcomings. My weapons of choice are paper and pen and unflinching honesty and bedwetting is just the beginning.
Of course, I understand that for my particular stories to resonate with a mass commercial audience they must be at once singular and utterly common. The narrator must be easily relatable and identifiable, yet so wildly idiosyncratic that his story is worth reading about. In other words, each piece has to pass the “So what?” test. Not everyone sleeps on a mattress stained with enough pee rings to chart the growth of an ancient sequoia, but I know everyone is cursed with something (or things) to hide. And that is why the audience will be able to insert themselves into my stories. We are all stained and scarred and tormented by humiliation and frankly, it’s cathartic to find a storyteller brazen enough to embrace his unique set of flaws. Most importantly, the voice and writing style must be so fresh and so clean and fun that the readers will laugh until they cry, or preferably, climb mountaintops and shout to all the world and all their friends and family about Scott Keneally's Pitfalls.
Why Me?
Well, besides the wide array of intriguing neuroses and complexes and curious misadventures, I have an established a platform in Jane. When I first confessed to chronic bedwetting in the quirky magazine, Deputy Editor Esther Haynes said, “I’ve never seen a funnier story about something so painful.” Quite a few of their female readers (and Elijah Wood!!!) seemed to agree and a slew of fan mail was received (more on Frodo’s response in “Celebrity Slut”). More recently, when Jane ran my story about crying while watching the Super Bowl, during a Dove self-esteem commercial of all things, I received my first marriage proposal (“I am too young to get married now but whenever you are ready please email/call me… You made ME cry because I was laughing so hard”). As a regular contributor to the magazine, I already have easy access to their wide audience of young, hip and literate twentysomethings.
But I know it will take more than this platform to really launch this book to the best-seller list where it belongs. And this is why I plan to relentlessly tour and read and reach out to people and create the buzz. If this means blowing some of my advance on a great publicist, loading my car with books and zigzagging the country for two years, reading in bookstores and cafes and colleges, then so be it. I’ve always wanted to be a rock star anyways and I won’t stop until I’m plopped on the couch next to Dr. Phil and Oprah or Letterman dressed as my alter ego, Pee-Man.
While this may sound a little quixotic, I truly believe Pitfalls is the right book for the right time. We live in an increasingly voyeuristic culture with a voracious appetite for other people’s experiences (see blogs and reality television). Besides, there is already an established market for collections of self-deprecating stories. Think David Sedaris or more recently, Augusten Burrough’s Possible Side Effects, Jill Soloway’s Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants or Wendy Spero’s Microthrills. And while all of these writers have some things in common, nobody else is blessed with so many utterly embarrassing experiences. My Dad often jokes, “You’re running around with this bedwetting thing like it’s an Oscar.” Well, one day when they adapt this book into a movie, perhaps I will turn the rings on my mattress into a golden prize.
posted by Scott Keneally @ 4:09 PM
