By Courtney J. Webb
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At some point or another, many of us will take the plunge and move to LA to pursue our writing. LA’s newest arrival: Brit-by-way-of-Australia novelist/screenwriter Courtney J. Webb.
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I arrived in Los Angeles two weeks ago; I left my home in Australia, sold my car to finance my trip and headed towards my dream. I intended to adapt my book “Immaculate Deception” into screenplay and Americanize a comedic movie screenplay I have written. Oh, yes, my dreams were big, my purse small and there was no margin for error. I *had* to make it in the City of Angels. Little did I know, I would need an angel in this city, literally!
I had prearranged a house share with a guy who works for a well-known recording studio. He seemed friendly and respectable. I was also comforted by the fact that my cowriter also from down under was with me, and we would all split the rent; I mean, what could possibly go wrong, right? Wrong!
When I got there, the respectable American whom for the sake of this article I will call Frank, had his parents there. Not a problem right? Wrong! They both had flu, and I was woken up every day by them spitting out phlegm in the bathroom -- and then there were the strange noises that came from Frank’s bedroom when his “mummy” put him to bed every night! Breast feeding immediately came to mind…
Needless to say, I had to speak up. It’s the right thing to do when there is a problem right? Wrong! Despite my tact and diplomacy when inquiring as to how long they may be staying, the household, including my cowriter, conspired to chuck me out on to the mean streets of LA. I mean, things couldn’t get worse right? Wrong! I checked my money that my cowriter had been looking after for me, and it was two thousand dollars down!
Crying on my suitcases, I rang a girlfriend who picked me up in her car and I explain my dream was becoming a nightmare. Luckily I was rescued by a knight on a mare, this one in shining armour – a fellow screenwriting acquaintance I’d met online whom I shall call Arthur. Despite having never met me face-to-face, my colleague and fellow writer welcomed me into his home immediately -- and ten days later, this is where I stay, safe and warm. Now, nothing bad could possibly happen right? Wrong!
I had to report my cowriter’s crime to LAPD, I am on foot, bearing in mind you guys drive on “the dark side” and crossing the road is a death-defying experience for me. Anyway, I go to the local post office to ask where the station is, they explain its miles up the same road. My heels were already causing blisters on blisters so I guess my expression said it all. To the rescue comes yet another knight in shining armour -- a dear old Indian man, who explains he is going that way; he gives me a lift. I mean how nice, right? Wrong!
All the way down Culver Blvd, he attempts to molest me, and when we arrive at the police station he tries to lick inside my ear whilst explaining how attractive I am. He has good taste, right? Right!
Now just because I lived for ten years in a coastal country town in regional Australia doesn’t mean I am stupid. I grew up on the streets of the UK and I am still streetwise, right? Wrong! As if that one experience wasn’t enough, I accept another lift this time from a very friendly chap I met in Venice Beach who offered me a lift home as he was going the same way. I mean, let’s face it, you can’t tar everyone with the same brush right? Wrong!
I know what you are thinking, that he tried to molest me, Right? Wrong! He didn’t try to molest me, he molested himself! He pulled out his willy and gave it a good spanking while staring at my legs, and not the road!
But at least these crazy experiences are over and have served to teach me a few valuable lessons, one of which they teach 5 year olds in school -- do not take lifts from strange men! So after all this grief, it’s clear I am different, vulnerable and alone in this big city. I may as well give up and go home where I belong, right? Wrong!
I am both inspired and empowered by my own vulnerability. I have seen the city through different eyes, and will now present it in words with a new passion. Writing about my experiences can serve many purposes; it is my escapism, my therapy and my job, and that is the ultimate in freedom.
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Check out Courtney’s first published novel “Immaculate Deception,” a hilarious British sex farce, right here on Amazon.
