Page 3 of Cleats and Pumps

Emotions swirled through me as I wrote scene after scene of the musical. I had never written a screenplay or, for that matter, a novel, so I had no idea if what I was doing was right, but I figured once the words were down, I could find someone to make it work.

My focus was on the music. Each song funnier than the last, with lots of tongue in cheek. In the case of the Queen and King, my grandparents, they were sad and painful. I didn’t try to make those funny.

My grandmother had been full of self-righteousness. My granddaddy had been the only person who actually loved me, but he was unreasonable in his own way. He barely kept food on the table, and more than once, food had been scarce. Fish he always seemed to have plenty of.

I still won’t eat fish. Not even sushi.

Of course, I changed the order of some events. At the end, when the card soldiers swirled around me, it was the Cheshire Cat who stared at me, slowly disappearing and freeing me from my bondage.

Metaphorical? Hell, the entire thing was a metaphor for my life. Considering metaphors often went over my head, it was rather strange that I was writing this musical. Weeks later, I sat back and stared at the computer screen. I’d written a script, at least sort of. I’d found a program that did most of the formatting. I knew it wasn’t good and needed a ton of editing and probably rewriting, but I had a foundation.

I’d recorded all the songs and was happy my keyboard was attached to my computer to spit out the sheet music for each. Sure, they were only drafts, but I could mentally hear the orchestral tracks. For now, though, I didn’t need to write down where the different instruments would come into the songs. Basics, that’s what was important.

I called my agent. “Bitch, what do you want?”

he answered like he did every damned time I called.

“Keith, I… well, I have a question. I met Peter Kafta a few years back, and he told me he represented a few stars on Broadway before he switched to country.”

“Yeah,”

Keith asked hesitantly. I knew he was probably freaking out, thinking I was going to go with a different agent. So, I quickly got to the point.

“I, um, I wrote a Broadway show based on Alice in Wonderland, but it’s queer, mostly drag queens, and, well, it’s bizarre. I wondered if you could get him to take a look.”

Keith was silent for several moments before he replied, “Linc, why are you writing Broadway musicals?”

I laughed. “Let’s just say it was for therapeutic reasons.”

He let out a beleaguered breath before saying, almost too quiet to hear, “Send it over. I’ll see what I can do.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, dear,”

I said, knowing that would lighten the mood. Sometimes, I accused him of acting like my spouse, which almost always made him act even worse than before. Luckily, he chuckled before he hung up.

I sent him the document along with the recordings and sheet music, just like I would if I’d finished a song for an artist. Then, I went to bed and slept for twenty-four hours. The writing process had taken a lot out of me. I was both ADHD and obsessive. When a project got stuck in my head, I worked myself to death until it was done. The musical was more intense than anything I’d ever done, so I was still tired even after waking up.

I knew the only cure for creative jetlag was physical exercise. Well, that and sex. Considering I wouldn’t be getting any sex without opening my Grindr app, I decided to spend some time in the gym. Hopefully, that would reset my brain. Who knows, maybe a cute gym rat might be willing to take care of the sex part for me too.