Silencing the Noise

The past several days I have been steeped in the tizzy of April being April. Sometimes I am so neurotic, self-centered, egocentric, and just plain crazy I should win an award. Seriously. All weekend long I was running around, working. Nothing seemed to be coming together. My buses were late, or when they were on time they were running the milk route or the weekend schedule and I had to schlep and have a mini-adventure. If people were supposed to show up, like our model for our video, they flaked. Even though they screwed themselves because we will never work with them again, in a way we felt like we were being rejected. My friend Marcus and I discussed this. Yes, rejected. On top of that there is so much to be done with promoting my book. So many people to send press packs to. So many people who don't answer my emails when I want them to which is pronto, right after I send them. They must be at their iphones and blackberries. They can't have life, outside work, family, lunch breaks, eight hours of sleep. No wonder I work with puppets. They are always there when I need them, and when I pull their strings they say what I want them to

Monday was the beginning of a nutty two days for me. I felt this panic and anxiety. The last time I felt this was when I was nineteen years old, alone in New York City. I was surrounded by all these people. The girls were so slutty that they were getting action all the time. Meanwhile they were ugly on top of being slutty so I wanted to know how this was happening. The good girls were so nauseatingly fake and could quote scriptures. It seemed everyone was smart and talented and I was just this dirty impostor from Pittsburgh with her puppets. So I broke my back to prove to everyone I belonged. It was painful. I was lonely. Eventually it got easier but damn that was a lonely feeling.

Now here I was feeling it again. Of course the last few weeks have been big and everything with my book. Big steps are scary. Sometimes when you take a big step, you don't know what's at the top of the landing. Will it be a pot of gold or a scary monster? Either way I was like a five year old kid scared of the dark again.

Tuesday felt even worse. I had to talk to a few people about my book and felt so lost. Nevermind Stephen King once had a first book and there was some of this drama. He probably worried that people would embrace him. Finally, after a mini meltdown I walked in the rain. Although I was risking pneumonia, I just needed to clear my head. I ended up meeting a woman who is like a mom to be to give her a duplicate set of my house keys in case of emergency-don't ask. Anyway, I poured my heart out and she laughed and told me to relax. What the hell was she talking about? I was soaking wet, unsure of the next step for my future, HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO RELAX!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

This morning I woke up feeling no better. Steeped in self-pity, I realized my birthday was next week and I was getting another year older. That I had accomplished nothing. That I wasn't on Conan. Nevermind I was on Entertainment Tonight, TLC and a slew of other shows. Nevermind I wrote a damn book. I just felt this worthlessness. I pictured myself alone with my six cats, three hundred pounds, eating iced cream with my hands at the edge of a cliff with my puppets as my only people to talk to. They would have to be because all at once I realized I was allergic to cats and that they would never work in this nightmare. Yes, nightmare. I was going to die without my dreams ever being realized.

Then something happened this afternoon. A friend of mine and I met and I signed her book. Something about the whole thing made me happy. Maybe it was because the noise in my head was finally quiet. The itty bitty committee had stepped out for lunch. It felt good. She is starting my book after a murder mystery she is currently reading. A murder mystery is a must finish in my opinionation. Then again, being an egomaniac my opinionation is the only thing that matters in my world. This particular friend is one who has come in my path recently and she writes too. I am anxious to see her book when it comes out. Plus she has been ever supportive with all the stalker/fan drama I have had in some of the past weeks.

When I got home I read on facebook a message from a fan in Canada who wanted to buy my book. The fan letter they wrote me made me smile and get teary eyed at the same time. Fan mail always does. At that moment I took a deep breath and decided to tell that chatter in my ever speedy brain to shut the hell up. I wrote the fan back instructing them on how to purchase my book. As I wrote I realized if I wanted people, young and old, to get one thing out of my book it would be that their dreams mattered-that they weren't stupid but in fact counted. That everyone's ideas and dreams were important. And that my hope was that my book inspired people to follow their dream whether it is to move to the city to perform/write, become a teacher, become an engineer, diplomat, whatever. The world needs all kinds of people. If the world were run by performers nothing would ever get done.

Just then my phone rang. Pink gorilla in Greenwich, CT. Okay, can do. The window is a little tight and I will have to run now. I talked to the client. They wanted a bottle of Scotch to go with the present. I have to run to the liquor store. Then they call again, they want me in CT before 9. It is 7. They also wanted me to sing the song Maniac from Dirty Dancing. I have to take a train and then haul the Scotch which isnt as light as you would like to believe and take a cab to some side street because he might not be home. Oh and then they need to give me the message and one is calling from a cell and the other from an office and everyone is making me CAT SHIT CRAZY!!!!!! As my serenity and selflessness I had achieved an hour before went out the window something hit me. I was just a person

I began to lose my mind as I ran to catch the train. It would get me there in time. I pull up my iphone learning Maniac when I see a text from the client. The birthday boy was going to be downtown in NYC. My jaw dropped. They were trying to kill me it seemed. I took a breath. Then another beam of whatever from the universe hit me. I did an om. It was something my boss at the telegram company, who by the way is a certified meditation teacher, taught me to do. During that om, it occurred to me that my job was to be of service. That what I did was a gift. That there were people who would chase my dreams in a second if I didnt want to. Plus the folks in Cali were probably going as crazy as I was, because this was the client's assistant booking this whole thing. Poor thing was probably losing her blessed mind, and if anything probably was ready to kill her boss and if she saw me in person would have been chugging my Scotch. During our texts and phone convo I put her at ease so she could relax and therefore her boss could be happy and that meant everyone could be happy.

When I got to Soho, despite my running around I didnt feel tired. Instead I focused on a huge rose statue. Despite the New York buzz around me I felt a sort of peace. I had put one foot in front of the other, I was going to take a breath, and just do the best job I knew to do. I was going to be okay. Everything with my book was going to be okay. My job was to make this guys night and give him a memory. In a lot of ways, I have the greatest job in the world. Many a day and night I am invited into someone's family or an intimate moment in their world for a wrinkle in time. I give them a smile and we share a memory knowing the world isn't all that big. That we are all connected.

That's exactly what happened tonight. I gave the bday boy the surprise of the night. The whole party joined us on the sidewalk to take photos. Other diners in the cool late summer/early autumn snapped me with their camera phones. We were all smiling, laughing, having a good time. The client in LA was happy. His assistant wanted to know the name of the Scotch I purchased, probably because she wants to polish off a whole bottle after the stress she has been through. Eh, it happens. As the cameras snapped the bday boy said, "Blakey, you da man." For the record, I hit Maniac. On of the members of the delegation even fixed my mask because it was making her crazy. I had a laugh and felt beautiful. This was all good. I think he will remember 40 forever!

After I was done I saw a bunch of lights. Then I realized down the street was the Festival of San Gennaro. I walked it having never been, and dodged a procession for the San or Saint or whatever he calls himself. It was blocks of food and other festivities as well as a mini off season freak show. I ended up getting Buffalo Calimari. I was taken aback at how family orientated and well behaved people were. Going down the street I felt even more of a peace. Sometimes I work myself to death. I am ambitious and hardworking, never missing a beat and this is why people tend to like me and hire me. At the same time, I know I make them nuts but not as nuts as I make myself. That's why I just took the time to enjoy the festivities.

I came across the statue of San Gennaro. The people who worship at the church pray and pin a dollar or two to the little ribbon on it. My great grandmother was into stuff like that, just like my grandma is to some extent. My mother used to bless us with Holy Water from said locales during stressful events. My attitude was, "Eh, whatever makes you feel good." I ended up chatting with the man at the booth and asked if he believed and he said he did and gave me a pamphlet. I pinned a buck and said a prayer. My prayer to whomever is upstairs, assuming they might be named Buster Brown but no one knows, that I would stop being so crazy and be more of service and loving to others. And that I was unsure and scared of the next step in my quest with my book, and could unnamed divine force guide me. Within a moment I heard "Dress You Up in My Love" by Madonna. That song is a song of mine that is lucky. Maybe it means something. Maybe it doesn't.

On my walk back I saw an indie bookstore. I walked in and nervously explained to the clerk who had a buzz cut and nose ring that I had written a book. Immediately without judgement, she gave me the names of the two people that headed the memoir and humor section in order to give a book pitch. While my book is not yet in the store it is an exciting next step. Perhaps San Gennaro answered my prayer. Or maybe he didn't. Either way, that bookstore just happened to fall into my path which was awesome.

As my treat I took a cab ride home. I will burn off the fried food tomorrow in Jeanene's class. Sigh. Life is an adventure. When it is good and you are of love and service you can smile. When it is bad you have a funny story later. My advice is so good and this is so insightful maybe I should follow it next week when life starts happening to screw up my best laid plans.

Love, April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

The Journey of a Book

It was the spring of 2010. I was delivering singing telegrams, performing comedy, and sweating like a pig in every respect. When I wasn’t performing with my puppets on the street, I was doing odd promo jobs as well. One of my more bizarre jobs had been writing bloids for a now defunct web rag. Usually I would talk about men that I dated. Same with my blog. Then I had a chat with my friend Joe Cannava. Joe was fascinated by the fact I wrote. We began talking about it because in addition to set designing and personal shopping he wanted to write as well. Plus I had been stoked about the writing job.

Joe had heard me talk about the men in my life and would usually yawn when I did. However, he actually heard about the singing telegram job. For years, my mother had wanted me to write about it but I could never quite put it on stage on make it funny. Finally Joe put the pressure on. He asked me why I didn’t write about the telegram job. After all, I had been flirting with the idea of writing a book for some time. I told Joe I was scared I wouldn’t know where to start.

I just remember Joe’s dark, brown eyes giving me the look he typically did. He said, “April, are you afraid or just lazy?”

I sputtered. Then from that day on Joe asked me about my book and how it was going. I lied to him and told him I was hard at work. I thought eventually he would stop asking. Finally, after he wouldn’t stop asking I started to write it. When I put my adventures on paper it became less about writing a book and more about my experiences living my dream. It became about my love for my real life boss, who fictionally is known as Bruce Myles Beauregaurd, the hardest working man in show business. It became about my adoration and respect for my co-workers, accomplished comedians and singers who give you a Tony worthy show wherever they are. It became a love story to the greatest city in the world; a place where I am blessed to  be able to chase my dreams.

My days were spent writing remnants of my adventures on paper, and my evenings typing them up in an apartment that was four floors up and had no air conditioning. For some odd reason I was determined to do this. I finished the book that fall and simply had it on my computer. My parents knew I had done it but didn’t know what the next step was. Hell, I didn’t even know. My sister knew a thing or two about self-publishing but what was that? I had written a book that was in the very rough stages of development. It made no sense. It was just words but they were my words.

For several months I put the book in the drawer. I made videos with my puppet children in light of my  TLC appearance. I felt myself floating along, unknowing of what was coming next. Despite the hard work and publicity I gave my former comedy haunt they repaid me by firing me. I found myself having new adventures, making music with my dear friend Marcus Yi. We had met when he was doing a workshop on his musical. A talented writer and composer, Marcus and I immediately clicked. We began making music. It got radio airplay. It was because for the past several years, though in costume, I sang almost daily.

Then I got a job with a fledgling internet network where many had seen me on the tele. Still, as the network launched and I became a paid talking head, it seemed I was spinning in aerospace. Then I got the opportunity to pitch my manuscript to an agent. My dear friend Dave Rosner, author of Full Metal Foreskin, a memoir about being a Jewish Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines, had recommended me to her. I remember sending her the manuscript, nervous though I had nothing to lose. Then I remember going on to facebook wanting to tell my friend Joe. That’s how I found out about his passing. It broke my heart. I wanted to tell him about the book and how I had finished it and was pitching it. However, I know we are all on loan and God calls us home when we are called. Joe had to go home. Just like my dearly departed friend Roger, he was another angel to guide me on my path.

The agent rejected me. I was beyond heartbroken. In between her rejection and Joe’s death I didn’t know what was next. Then I was offered another publishing contract. The house was a smaller one, and catered to more actors and personalities like myself; people who aren’t writers in the typical sense but will surprise you by writing a book. While they were nice people, they gave me a contract I didn’t like and weren’t willing to budge. I learned a lot about being a first time author though.

During this time, my friend Mandy Stadtmiller, formerly of the New York Post, suggested that I self-publish. She told me it was an easy way to get in for first time writers and a lot of people were becoming very rich from Kindle. I wasn’t intending on becoming rich, just getting my book out there. Mandy made me feel empowered, like I could self-publish. The question was how.

Either way, I knew my book needed more work. Last year, 2011, Labor Day and hurricane weekend, I was walled up in my domicile typing away. Afraid the power would go out and time was of the essence, I was living on black coffee and canned food. In my house/writing bunker I edited away. Either I explained things more, punched some things up, or cut some things out entirely. My neck and back were spasming with pain as I emerge once the rain stopped and Bloomberg reopened the subways like a grizzled war veteran. A friend from the neighborhood told me I looked bad and asked what I had been doing. I said, “Writing a book.” Despite the mad genius look I was still very lost.

Unsure of what was next, I became swept up in the drama of the next few months when my house was robbed and then to cope fell in love with a person who was a bad idea. Then when this person went off and did what he did I was heartbroken. That heartbreak was truly just a distraction because my relationship with the internet network was beginning to deteriorate at a rapid pace. Due to politics, I as well as many of the original talking heads were being forced out to cut costs. Then of course there was the TV show that was set to be on a network but got yanked.  Standup spots were not rolling in. As nothing was coming together my mother pointed out I still had my book.

All winter and into the early spring, my mother and I read my book daily to make sure it was what we wanted. My dad printed at least twelve drafts off of his computer. Each was given their own spiral notebook in my parent’s house. It was like the old days before I moved to the city, my mom and I working as a team. Even until the end of the writing process, she would email me about her imput when it came to the book. Only recently has she been happy with the ending.

The next step was hiring an independent editor to go over grammar. Then after that I had to find a self-publishing house. There were some that were good, and some that were money making schemes with author advocates that served as telemarketers. During my search, I asked one woman if she had a background in publishing. She snapped at me, “Why should it matter if I have a background in writing?” When I pointed out she worked in publishing she scoffed.

After much heartache I came across Infinity Publishing. Many of their people have worked in publishing, book distribution, editing, or in some other facet of the industry. They seemed to care about writers. I had the written book option. The ebook option. The book on tape option. All were endless it seemed. My mom and I talked it over and off we went. On June 25^th I sent in my money, my paperwork, and my manuscript. Off I was. I felt powerful.

Of course in between was the agony over cover art, last minute changes, and how to get the word out. Then last week I learned everything would be complete in just one week. It hardly seemed real. My mom who tells me she has never thrown out any of the tablets I wrote on as a child, and some of the content is pretty horrid, was dancing on the ceiling. To describe the process as exciting is an understatement.

As of yesterday my book, I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Person, is now available online. Some friends and fans informed me that they have already purchased copies. Currently, the book is available through the seller. To purchase go to www.buybooksontheweb.com or call 877-Buy-Book. In a week it will be available on Amazon.com, and in two weeks it will be available for download on Kindle, Nook, and any of those other things.

My next project of course is getting it into bookstores here in NYC. As a smaller house Infinity is less known, but they have placed their authors in larger chain. My father wants to see it become a musical, and that will be the next project.

What did I do to celebrate? Well there was no chance. My boss had three deliveries that needed to be done. How appropros. There’s always Monday. It will involve a lot of chocolate.

Has the journey of this Indiana Jones with a Bette Midler style job ended? Hells no. We’ve only just begun. Xo April

Pink Cloud

Since my book went to print and will be on shelves and available online in 8-12 weeks, I find myself in an awesome mood. Aside from telling anyone who will listen, I feel peace and serenity. Some of me feels too good to be true, but another part of me feels as if a door has been blown wide open. I don’t feel over-elated but rather peaceful.

My mother has always said my writing would open the door for me. There’s nothing wrong with that. It opened the door for Dan Ackroyd, Prince, Bruno Mars and many others. People have always read my blogs, and the things that have taken off have always been my original ideas.

My mom is stoked. She is singing and dancing. My dad is already plotting my musical version of my book. Last week my mom had the big yearly, “What are you doing, where are you going?” meltdown. We were still settling on publishers. Perhaps it was her fear that it wouldn’t happen and my book would continue to sit in my drawer. We were so close.

This week she is walking on Cloud 9 with me. Monday she encouraged me to get my nails done. She was so proud. She is already plotting my next book, and she is starting her book on infant swimming. My mom helped me edit my book, now it’s my turn. We are also talking about doing a children’s book together.

I am filming a pilot for MTV2/Adult Swim Today and tonight I am doing some standup. In the meantime, I am telling anyone who will listen about my book.

Two summers ago, I sat in a hot apartment without air conditioning banging out a very rough first draft at the behest of my late friend Joe Cannava. He wouldn’t shut up until I wrote it so I did it. Before that my mother had been pestering me for years to write this book. I kept telling her no. It was the combination of my mother and Joe. I finally did it. I just remember the sweat pouring off of me and the walks by the pier in between chapters. I thought writing it was fun but almost killed me at the same time. But I knew it would be worth it.

The following summer I pitched the book to a literary agent who panned it. Then I was with a different publishing house but we didn’t like the contract. In between all of that I remember editing the book while drinking black coffee the weekend of the hurricane last summer. It rained all weekend and we were afraid of flooding. I had my canned food, my munitions, and just lived on black coffee for almost forty eight hours. I read, reread, and reread some more. I ultimately passed on the smaller publishing house that wasn’t giving me the contract I wanted. I didn’t know where to go next.

My friend and former NY Post columnist Mandy Stadtmiller encouraged me to self-publish on Kindle. A friend of my sister’s had done it and she had some ideas.  We proceeded on that track, and my mother and I spent all winter editing my book just one more time. For three months, we had several phone dates a week and we just went through the book to make sure it sounded the way we wanted it to. We made sure no one in the family was unintentionally slandered, and that it read the way we wanted it to. Even until the end, my mother agonized over the ending more than I did. Nonetheless, it was the next step we took and as usual, my mom and I took it as a team.

Soon I began to look at places to self-publish. During that time I went through a lot of things. I got injured kickboxing. Money was tight. The weather sucked. Career breaks that looked incredible fell through. I just remember it felt like I was walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It felt like the end of everything and perhaps I had made a wrong turn by embarking on a life and career as an artist.

Then I landed on a place.

Last week was the agony over the contract, the final draft. Monday I sent everything off and in eight to twelve weeks I Came, I Saw, I Sang will be available online and in some stores.

The sun is shining and I feel on a pink cloud. I feel incredible and contented. I feel, pardon the metaphor, the next chapter of my life will be incredible.

I don’t know why, but as I told my mother, “Mom, this isn’t the end but the beginning.”

My mother agreed. As I said she is plotting my next book. My dad as I said is plotting the musical. I just want to tap dance and tumble my way to heaven.

Love,

April