Like when I shopped my last screenplay, which is probably the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a cross between Jaws, Pulp Fiction and Free Willie, and it’s based upon songs written by Bret Michaels. Man, I was so proud of it, especially about the part where the whale is jumping over the rocks to swim out to the open sea while the two crooks are talking about Big Macs in France and the great white shark suddenly sneaks up from behind and gobbles the kid. Great stuff. But did they buy it? Hell, no.

It was just like that last script I wrote. A real blockbuster that combined the action of Raiders of the Lost Ark with all the sentimentality and family warmth of Goodfellas. There was this great scene where Joe Pesci is facing down this swordsman in a Middle East marketplace. You see, he’s been chasing the bad guys who have kidnapped his girl friend (played by Avril Lavigne) when he comes across this guy with not one, but two swords. But he just looks at him and says, “Do you think I’m funny? Do you think I’m here to amuse you?” Fantastic stuff. I saw it as the perfect vehicle for Cher.

But they didn’t buy that one either. Just like they didn’t buy my script about the concert promoter, who, in a moment of despair wishes that he had never been born. You see, his guardian angel hears him, grants his wish, and shows him a world where the promoter wasn’t around to produce shows by George Strait, Kylie Minogue and Tears For Fears. Instead, he’s a boxer trying for a shot at the title, and he’s relying on some wacko in an insane asylum for advice on how to win. I called it Rocky Silence Of the Lambs’ Wonderful Life. Hollywood never called me back.

I just don’t know what it is with Hollywood. I keep cranking out these great scripts and all the directors and producers in the world keep telling me that my words don’t add up to a hill of beans. I mean, I include all the right elements – action, sex and car chases – plus, I always include a chance to insert a hot song by someone like Ryan Adams or Norah Jones. But Spielberg never returns my calls, and DeNiro won’t even do lunch with me. Sigh… I guess it’s true what they say about Hollywood…

That this town just doesn’t understand originality.