Bryan Cohen

Things are falling into place, dear readers. I’m five writing days away from finishing the first draft of Ted Saves the World. I have one of the actors cast for the cover of my book, and I’m zeroing in on the other actor who will make it complete. I’m making progress on my marketing plan, and I’m booking beta readers to help my book become its best. It’s all very exciting and I can’t wait for my hard work to come to fruition.

I had a minor writing hiccup this week when a character became too interesting to keep on the sidelines. This character was only in one second of one scene in my first outline. As I wrote the draft, it became apparent she needed to play a bigger role. As a result, she got two additional chapters written from her perspective, which threw me off a bit from my outline. Fortunately, I was in my writing routine enough that I was able to keep pressing on until I found enough time to outline the new chapters. The old Bryan might have taken a day off or scrapped some of the previous chapters. The new me is someone who will press on no matter what. I’ve read enough times how that never-say-die attitude is one of the best traits a writer can have. Now that I’m employing it, I can agree with the sentiment. Develop that kind of fortitude and use it!

I’m writing the first part of a three-parter here based on my 2012 appearance on the show Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. While this tale hasn’t grown quite as epic as the Jell-O story, it is one of the stories new friends are most interested in hearing. Are you ready to read it? Is that your final answer?

A New York Moment 

It all began with a list. I’d paid off thousands of dollars of debt the past couple of years through sheer force of will. It wasn’t enough. My interest rates continued to climb and I kept pushing back my goal date for when I’d finally be debt-free. In my desperation, I made a list titled, “Ways to Make $8,000.” I thought small at first, breaking down how many writing classes I’d have to teach or self-publishing consulting gigs I’d need to book. None of the ideas were bad, but I didn’t get to one that made me smile until number five. The item read, “Get on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire and Win At Least $8,000.” I’d planted the seed.

During a trip to New York City for my wife’s birthday, I resolved to audition for the show at ABC Studios. It was casting season, and the show held a dozen testing sessions each week in New York, along with multiple road auditions throughout the country. The Chicago audition came before I’d written the list, so New York was my best option. My wife and I walked up to two burly men standing beside a cardboard cutout of Meredith Vieira. They seemed like they’d be more in place acting as bouncers outside of a hot club I’d never get into. My wife wasn’t interested in giving the game show a shot, and resolved to meet me at a Starbucks down the street after my test was complete. That didn’t lessen her excitement though, and the bright smile she flashed before we parted made me feel hope. I walked through a metal detector and into the testing area, an employee cafeteria that was big enough to take in at least 75 hopefuls at once. I introduced myself to the others at my table, and nearly everyone around me was a local. I hoped my Midwestern status would give me a leg up.

A woman who introduced herself as Kat explained the rules of the test. As I’d studied up on the format, I only half paid attention. There were 30 multiple choice questions on a Scantron test sheet. If you passed it, you moved on to speak with a producer. If you passed that interview, another producer asked you test questions on camera. Kat gave us the go-ahead and I began answering at a rapid clip, after all, we only had 10 minutes to work with. I knew most of the general pop culture questions, but I was uncertain of too many answers to be sure if I would pass. Only 10 to 15 percent of participants hit the secret, magic number of correct answers to make it to the interview. I was hopeful when I passed in my exam, but when Kat read off the numbers we’d been assigned, mine was missing. I joined my fallen comrades in the walk out the door.

Mentally, I crossed the Millionaire item off my $8,000 list. After all, when was I going to have another chance to audition. That’s when it hit me.

“I need your computer,” I said to my wife, startling her out of her chai concentration. “How’d you do?”

“I didn’t pass, but I’m going to try again.”

“When?”

I’d been invited to speak at a writing conference in New Jersey shortly after the trip. After the event, the plan was to visit with my parents in Pennsylvania for a couple of days before I went home. The plan was about to change. I booked my new audition time the following Thursday.

When I returned to New York, I was prepared. I’d studied the answer to every question I’d missed the previous week. I had one objective for this trip. Pass the test and get on the show. I said my hellos to the bouncers and Kat and took my seat. I felt good. I felt ready. When instructed, I opened the test. It was completely different from the previous week. My heart sank.

When the 10 minutes were up, I felt less confident than I had the previous week. This test seemed harder. I didn’t look forward to taking the train home to my parents’ house with my tail tucked between my legs. Then Kat called my number. The other hopefuls at my table congratulated me. My brain stopped working for a second until I gathered my things and walked over to the designated second round area. About 12 people had passed out of approximately 60 test takers. I filled out the required forms and waited my turn. Several people who went before me left their interviews and went straight out the exit. I’d learned enough from my research to know they hadn’t been chosen. My name was called and I sat across from an attractive woman a few years my junior. I had the task of convincing her I was interesting enough to be on TV. After a minute of polite chatter, her unenthusiastic look made me feel like I was on the way out.  Then I remembered something I’d read about the show producers. They liked to hear a good story. So, I changed gears to storyteller mode.

I related a tale of how I’d lost 30 pounds the previous year after my wife bought me a fitness friendly present for Christmas: an entry into a 10-mile race. The way I told the story, the gift was my wife’s method of getting me off my lazy butt and into the gym. That part always got a laugh. It didn’t fail me with the Millionaire producer either. She chuckled at all the right parts and was legitimately impressed with the weight loss. With a smile, she sent me over to an empty table to fill out another form. Of the 12 people who passed the test, I was one of two who advanced to the next station.

I was so giddy that I barely remembered the next five minutes. A producer named Rick took me back to another part of the cafeteria and set up a portable camcorder. He had four by six inch cards with the Millionaire logo printed on the back, and after asking me a few questions about myself, he dove into the game. Of the seven questions he asked me, I was able to get five of them right. What I learned was the important part though, was making sure I verbally explained my thought process to coming up with my answer. My ability to blab about anything sure paid off there. Before I knew it, the filming session was done and Rick showed me through the back door. He said I’d get a postcard letting me know whether or not I was in the contestant pool within the next month. Five weeks later, I got the “happy postcard,” welcoming me into the pool. The waiting game had begun.

Despite passing all the steps of the audition process: the test, the interview, the on-camera portion and the postcard, there was still no guarantee that I’d be on the show. There were many different factors involved in the casting process that nobody but Rick and the other producers were aware of. Between early July when I got the postcard and early September, I’d heard nothing. The show taped through the middle of November, so I knew I still had a chance when I got a phone call from a New York area code.

“Hello Bryan, this is Kat from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. How are you today?”

The giddiness was back.

“I’m better now!”

“Good. Would you be able to come to New York next Tuesday to be a contestant on the show?”

I wondered how many people said “no” to such a question.

“I would love to.”

“Great! I’ll send you over the paperwork via e-mail. See you next week in New York!”

I called my wife right away. I was shaking with glee.

“Hey, I think you’ll have to take two days off work next week.”

She gasped.

“Did you get on the show?!”

By the end of the day, we had our flights booked and our boarding arrangements made. Within a week’s time, we’d know if item number five on my list would be fulfilled.

Top  Image: Flickr Creative Commons Taking a Test by Renato Ganoza

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There’s nothing like seeing your first novel all planned out on a one-page year at a glance calendar. This relatively recent purchase is helping me to see that my first draft is due in two weeks and that I should release the first part (out of five) of the serialized novel on June 30. I don’t feel as nervous as I thought I would, especially considering that I’ve started and stopped multiple full-length projects in the past. I’m more prepared for this one, and I’ve had a better plan from the beginning. It’s exciting. It’s a little frightening, but I believe I’m the right man for the write job.

Check out my new digs, by the way. What do you think of the new look for the website? Sound off in the comments below.

It’s time ladies and gentlemen, to finish up this epic tale of Jell-O. Enjoy!

Ms. Kitty and Mr. Cohen, Part III

Dave and Sean, the Random Insanity guys, whisked me away from the pack to the other side of The Pit. They had a Laurel and Hardy vibe, with Dave serving as the skinner of the two. They were former students who went around town causing havoc as part of their cable-access show. Dave was most known in town for dressing up like a superhero and paying off expired parking meters. Sean on the other hand, drew his notoriety from getting his unmentionables pierced as a segment on the show. If that’s a way to live forever in people’s minds, maybe immortality wasn’t worth it.

Dave led me over to Miss Kitty’s side. It looked like she would be my opponent. I awkwardly put my arm around her when I saw Dave and Sean starting to take some pictures. Behind us, the crowd was beginning to swell. There were now at least 100 people gathered and ready to watch whatever was about to transpire.
“Is this your first time?” Miss Kitty asked.
I looked at her face, though I had trouble keeping myself from glancing down at her cleavage. She was more heavily made-up than I realized. That didn’t take away from her very fit and well-proportioned physique.
“Wrestling, no. I wrestled in high school.”
In fact, ever since I’d found out I’d be the one in the kiddy pool, I began forming a plan for the match in my mind. Some men might be figuring out how to best get their hands all over Miss Kitty’s body. Not me. I was more concerned with figuring out exactly how I was going to win.
“Take it easy on me, I’m only 18,” she said.
I pegged Miss Kitty’s actual age at around 23. I wondered how long she’d been in the “entertainment” industry.
The next few minutes went by at a rapid clip. Sean handed Miss Kitty her “uniform,” as she went in the limo to change. I ran over to Eric to give him my socks, shoes and fleece jacket. Looking down at my khakis, I realized they’d be pretty much ruined by what was about to occur. When Miss Kitty emerged from the limo, my teenage brain exploded. She was wearing a black string bikini with a matching thong. The crowd cheered as I gulped. She walked over and put her arm around me again.
“Just stick to the plan,” I thought.
Dave fired up the crowd for a few seconds before running over to the two of us.
“Get in the pit and try to love someone!” he said, as he waved us over to the kiddy pool. A man I hadn’t noticed before was dressed as a referee and stood next to the pool. He had an Oscar Meyer weiner whistle and made a lewd remark to the two of us as we stepped into the slimy substance. It was cold, and my second thoughts were having second thoughts.
“Get on your knees,” the referee said.
I paused for a moment, expecting to be able to stay in my wrestler’s stance and keep my khakis relatively unscathed. When Miss Kitty complied with the official’s instructions, I did the same. The crowd let out a large “ooh” of anticipation. Before I could ever truly be ready, the referee blew his weiner whistle and Miss Kitty pulled my head directly into her breasts.

I was a nice guy nerd in high school. I dated one girl and the two of us were mostly chaste. I didn’t expect my first direct encounter with a part of the female body, for which I continue to hold great esteem, to be in front of 100 of my peers. I should have taken more time to enjoy it. Instead, my match plan kicked in. As the crowd shouted in support, I prepared to complete a move called a fireman’s carry. I grabbed around her shoulder with one arm and put my other arm around her thigh to lift her into the air. Miss Kitty shrieked as I tossed her up and back first into the Jell-O. The crowd went absolutely crazy.

After letting her get up, she was covered in the slippery half-liquid. I tried to grab around her legs again, but I couldn’t get a good grip. I locked my arms together despite the stickiness and lifted. When I placed her gently on her back and prepared for the pin, the crowd grew quiet.

The moment was truly immortalized on the front page of The Chapel Hill News the following morning. The cheering crowd, Dave and Sean firing everybody up, Miss Kitty’s leg up in the air as I prepared for the pin and a campus security guard storming toward the kiddy pool. Miss Kitty tapped me on the shoulder. When I got up and turned around, the security guard spooked me.
“Could I get in trouble for this?” I wondered.
I didn’t, but I did ruin my clothes. My shirt only sustained a few purple droplets, but my pants were completely soaked. As the security guard and some university officials talked with Dave, I heard Sean tell the crowd, “They’re both winners on Random Insanity!”

The crowd started to disperse and Miss Kitty got my attention.
“Hey, I have this for you.”
She handed me a wallet-size glamour shot. She was on her knees on a couch with a white feature boa covering parts of her body. The boa was missing a few key areas.
“Thanks,” I said.
And that was the last I saw of Miss Kitty.

A few months later when the episode aired, a friend and I went to a fraternity house and taped it on a VHS. The segment only took a minute and a half, but the story has lasted me much longer. I transferred the video to digital and kept Miss Kitty’s photo in my wallet as a visual aid. I tried to look up Dave and Sean a few years back to re-connect, but my attempts to find them were unsuccessful. They’d moved on from the Random Insanity, but the craziest years of my life were just beginning.

The End

Top Image Flickr Creative Commons Wrestling-8647 by David Hunt

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I’m going all in on my Ted Saves the World series. I’m hiring a professional photography company (Oomphotography in Chicago) to take photos of my main characters (Ted and Erica) for the first three books in the series. By batching together the three covers, I’m saving a little bit of money, and ensuring I get the same actors for the series. I’ve never tried this before, so I hope the process goes as smoothly as possible.

I’m now through chapter 20 in my first rough draft of the first Ted Saves the World novel. I’m new to the fiction outlining game, and I’m loving it. Even though I’ve diverged from my outline on many different occasions, having that framework is a huge boost to my productivity. If all goes as planned, I should have the first draft all ready to go out to beta readers one month from now.

Speaking of which, would you like to be a beta reader for Ted Saves the World? As a beta reader, you’d get an advance copy of an early draft of my book. In return, you’d give me some feedback on how to make the book better within two weeks of receiving the book. Send me a message on the contact form if you’re interested. Thanks in advance!

Let’s get back to our program, already in progress. Read the first part of Ms. Kitty and Mr. Cohen here. Without further adieu, here’s part two:

Ms. Kitty and Mr. Cohen, Part II

I rushed around the side of Lenoir Dining Hall to see if my friends were right. If so, the limo and its inhabitants had the right idea. Most of the 20,000 students on campus passed through The Pit on a daily basis. Whatever the woman in fur was pushing, she was pushing it in the right place.

The limo was parked right in front of Lenoir, and the red carpet rolled down the steps of The Pit as advertised. A small crowd began to form next to two men who mugged for a camera. The woman in the limo and a fur-clad friend maneuvered through the students on hand with a ream of carnival tickets. I spied a white, plastic kiddie pool in the corner of The Pit next to the remnants of the previous week’s uncharacteristic snowstorm. It could have been the lack of brainpower from the four consecutive classes, but I had no idea how the images in front of me fit together. As I approached to get a closer look, I noticed a friend from my volleyball class in the front of the crowd.

Eric was the kind of guy you’d want on a volleyball team. A guy who was tall. Like most of the males in the crowd, he switched back and forth between ogling the girls and watching the men in front of the camera. They wore black and red shirts with the words “Random Insanity” on the front. The way they were gesticulating and raising their voices, the two of them reminded me of professional wrestling announcers.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“They’re doing a cable access TV show,” Eric said. “I think one of the guys is a former student.”
“What kind of show?”
Eric pointed in the direction of the kiddie pool.
“The kind of show where one of us wrestles one of those girls in a pool full of Jell-O.”
I hadn’t looked closely enough before, but now I noticed it. The pool contained a purple liquid that went up to about the three-inch mark. Now I was intrigued.

When the girl I’d seen in the limo approached us, I flagged her down.
“Hey baby,” she said.
I considered clamming up again, but I refused to back down in front of a crowd.
“Hi, miss…”
“You can call me Miss Kitty.”
Miss Kitty reminded me of Britany Spears. Both of them were tan, beautiful and dressed in ridiculous clothing. Her face bore a slight resemblance to the singer’s as well, but like most teenagers, I had a difficult time concentrating on her face.
“I’d like to buy a ticket, Miss Kitty.”
“Five dollars.”
I opened up my wallet and pulled out a twenty.
“Oh, I don’t have change,” she said.
When I searched through my wallet again, all I came up with was four ones. Miss Kitty looked back to the Random Insanity guys, but they were in the midst of yelling something about their show. She shrugged her shoulders and tore off a ticket. I presented the money and she took it without question. Miss Kitty made a mental note of my position and walked toward another part of the crowd, which had swelled to about 50 students.

Eric slapped me on the shoulder and laughed hard.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Dude, you’re the only one who bought a ticket. You’re gonna wrestle Miss Kitty!”
I looked over at the Random Insanity guys. They had stopped their rant and began chatting with my new feline-named friend. She pointed directly at me. One of the hosts walked our way.
“Congratulations,” he said, taking my hand. “Are you ready to put on a little show?”

To be concluded…

Top Image Flickr Creative Commons Clean Kitty by Sandra Forbes

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I spent my writing sessions this week converting my very detailed outline into the first 10 chapters of my novel. I’ve hemmed and hawed about how I’m going to split it up into serialized parts. I want to make sure I give you guys and gals enough meat in each part of the book so it doesn’t feel like a rip off. This is all very new to me, but I’m going to do my best and I hope that you’ll enjoy what I put out there.

Here’s a little more information on the book. I’m trying to nail down what Amazon category I’ll put it in. As an homage to one of my favorite TV shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I’ve found it fits best into Young Adult Contemporary/Urban Fantasy. If you’re not a fan of that genre, I hope you like me enough to become one for a few books here and there.

This week’s story is going to be the first part of three. If you’ve known me for a few years, you’ve likely at least heard mention of this tale. Before I got hitched, this was my first date story. This was the college adventure that told my friends and loved ones I was a “wild and crazy guy.” Enough build-up. Let’s get into it.

Ms. Kitty and Mr. Cohen, Part I

I don’t know why I did it to myself. Four classes in a row. I supposed that taking an 8 a.m., 9 a.m., 10 a.m. and 11 a.m. class back-to-back every Monday, Wednesday and Friday would give me some kind of afternoon burst of freedom. Instead, it left me exhausted and weird. It didn’t help matters that my last class of the day was an absolute waste. Archaeology was an interesting subject. It wasn’t quite as compelling when the teacher read directly from the notes on her presentation slides, while showing them to you in a dark, echoing classroom. I would have crashed and burned right there if I didn’t have something to look forward to that afternoon.

Elizabeth was the kind of classmate who would wake you up if you fell asleep. She was my Biology 101 safety net in that regard. The previous semester, we’d bonded over her love for Jewish culture and the fact that I’m Jewish. Months ago, we’d committed to cooking a Jewish-Italian meal at her apartment and today was the day. It wasn’t a date, but as a lowly freshman, I was overjoyed to get out of the dorms and tell my friends I went over to a girl’s apartment. I was certain it’d be delicious, entertaining and that it’d get me some street creed among my peers. Elizabeth would pick me up later that afternoon for a grocery run, so I tried to shake my archaeology daze with a quick walk to the ATMs. That’s when I saw it. A limousine with a scantily clad woman sticking her head out of the sun roof.

On a major college campus, you’re bound to see some oddities. Wacky outfits, fraternity pledge pranks and wandering professional wrestlers, to name a few. This stretch limo in the middle of the library parking lot was enough to give me pause. The windows of the vehicle were tinted, so there was no way to see what else was going on inside. All I had to go on was the woman. She appeared to be in her 20s. She wore her makeup well and had the face of a knockout. Her body was cloaked with a fur coat and a ridiculous feather boa. I wondered if I’d walked onto a movie set without even knowing it. The woman must have noticed me staring.
“Hey there.”
She elongated each word, as if to draw me in with each passing second. Years and experience later, I might have stuck up a conversation. Instead, I uttered a nervous, “Hi,” and went on my way.

My quick pace away from awkwardness led me to the ATMs. After withdrawing a few twenties, my curiosity got the best of me. What was that limo doing there, I wondered. Who was that woman? By the time I got back to the parking lot, the vehicle was gone and the woman with it. It wasn’t the last time I’d see either.

Disheartened with the lack of resolution, I headed to the dining hall. As I walked around the back door, I noticed several hallmates sitting at an outdoor table. I shared my story with them almost immediately.
“Did you guys see that limo?”
My RA spoke up.
“Yeah, it’s in The Pit.”
The Pit was the center of campus. It was flanked by buildings on all sides and I’d never seen a vehicle larger than a golf cart driving through it.
“A limo? In The Pit?”
“Yeah. And a rolled out red carpet.”
My stomach told me it was lunch time, but I couldn’t eat yet. Not when I had a chance to solve this mystery. Not when I could see that woman again. Maybe this time, I’d talk to her too.
“Thanks guys. I’m gonna check this out.”
I steeled myself against the hunger and doubled my pace to The Pit.

To be continued…

Top Image: Flickr Creative Commons “La Dolce Jell-O” by Bonita Suraputra

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It’s Saturday morning as I’m writing this blog post and short story. I just finished the outline for the first season of Ted Saves the World. Even though there’s a lot of work left, I’m very happy to move down to the next step on the to-do list. If all goes well, I’ll have the first draft finished five weeks from today.

Last week, I told you that I’d share some of the stories of my life with you. I thought I’d start with something lovey-dovey. My first kiss. Enjoy.

—

It was dangerous. Leah and I walked hand-in-hand on the shoulder of a dark road not 200 feet from where I’d gotten in my first traffic accident a year earlier. I felt invincible when she was with me. Her long, slender fingers intertwined with mine as the cars passing by gave us a wide birth. Leah’s arm dangled lower than mine and she bent her elbow to accommodate. She had yet to fully grow into her body, a fact I wouldn’t notice until years later in still photographs. We turned off the narrow pathway and onto a residential street. It would have been easy to drive Leah to her friend’s house for girl’s night. But I was in the business of spending as much time with her as I could.

As we walked under the street lamps her face became illuminated. It was thin like her frame and contained punctuation marks of freckles on her cheeks. Her lips were full and pink. She had no need or desire for makeup. The two of us walked up her friend’s driveway and I began to feel a familiar knot in my stomach. We’d been on four dates and we’d walked together in school almost every day for a month. I had yet to go beyond a peck on the cheek and a hug. The knot reminded me how afraid I was of rejection and how much pressure I’d put on myself to get into a fairy-tale relationship. Instead of enjoying these heartfelt goodbyes, my fight or flight response was working overtime.

“Have fun,” I said.

“Thanks. What are you going to do?”

“Think about how much fun you’re having.”

Leah laughed. Her laughs were hearty and genuine. They made me feel like the funniest person alive. Every so often, I’d make her laugh hard enough that a vein would come out on her forehead. Pulling that off was like winning an award for me.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.

“Alright. Bye.”

I leaned in toward Leah’s face. Everything inside me told me to turn and avoid her lips at all cost. Instead, I went for it, and she accepted me. I’d watched her lips move when she smiled or talked or laughed but it was different when I pressed them against mine. There was a lightness to it. A gentle, temporary touch. The kiss was brief, but it made my worries evaporate and transform into joy. We paused for a moment after we pulled back to soak it in. I didn’t know it then, but a first kiss can tell you volumes about a relationship. Ours foretold tentative and caring compatibility. I watched her walk inside and floated back home.

Top Image: Flickr Creative Commons Kiss by Marcus 

I wanted to be the leading man. That wasn’t always the case growing up, but by my late teens, I was tired of being a wallflower. I was short and chubby and inconsequential. There were certain things I couldn’t change about myself. What I could change, however, was my actions. I began taking risks and taking on challenges. I wanted to tell real-life stories that would make me seem extraordinary.

Between my senior year of high school and the middle of college, I’d lost 30 pounds to fit into a varsity slot on the wrestling team, ran 50 miles in a 24-hour period during a charity event and wrestled an adult entertainer in a kiddie pool of Jell-O in the center of campus. The events themselves were exhilarating. Gaining the ability to tell these stories over and over for the rest of my lifetime was pure joy.

By the time my junior year rolled around, I tried telling other stories. I wrote plays and short fiction to be able to tell stories about characters I’d created. Some were thinly veiled representations of my own life. Others were fantastical adventures inspired by shows like “The Twilight Zone,” “The X-Files” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Whether the stories came from my own life or from my imagination, I craved the reactions of my peers.

While it took me about a decade after college to find myself, my love for storytelling never faded. I continued to seek out adventures and come up with ideas for new scenarios. I wrote several books filled with plot ideas for other writers. Now it’s time to bring some of my own ideas all the way to completion.

On this blog, I’ll be talking about my upcoming projects. I have three serialized novels in the works with the first scheduled to come out this summer. I’ll also be sharing some of the adventures from my life: my first love, my first book, my first game show appearance (Who Wants to Be A Millionaire in 2012) and more. If you enjoy my real-life tales, my assumption is that you’ll like my fictional ones as well.

Check back every Wednesday for new posts. Sign up to my mailing list to get behind-the-scenes access, early release info and an opportunity to be a part of my creative process.

Thanks for being here. I can’t wait to share my stories with you.

 

Top Image: Flickr Creative Commons adventure freedom volcano by Yoann Jezequel