In case you were prodding your thoughts, wondering, where the hell did Ashlyn Hunt get her idea for this unconventional take on fiction? Well, I’m glad you asked – speculate no further.

The inspiration for Broken Simmy came from my fascination, along with so many other locked-nosed junkies marveling over the elusive possibility of being famous. I grew-up pretending to be a singer, an actress, a super-model - the list goes on. Always I envisioned the privileged life. Naturally, the drug-addicted, sex-feen head-cases were not in this equasion. I just want to read about those unfortunate souls – not be them. Hollywood disasters make for great entertainment - not for to be idolized. But we do idolize unbalanced entertainers, don’t we? We hate to love them. They’re brilliant muscicians, actors, (some of them, anyways) but for whatever reason, upbringing, chemical imbalance (take your pick on a psychoses) we want the dirt, the gossip - the blood, rut, and tears that these train-wrecks seem to so effortlessly convey.

Well, have I got a gem for you trash lovers – Yari Simone - the fictional inspiration for my novel: I wanted an antagonist that we could all relate to - in one small way or another. She needed to be a likable character – one who is smart enough, and strong enough to escape adversity, but the ne’er-do-well stamp will forever be branded, offering only opportunities for suffering – and oh how the suffering prevails. Yari Simone holds true to that westernized desire to live the dream of a rock star – and we love her for that – we live through her for that. But no one wants to read a musician’s tale of happily-ever-after . . . boring! So I muddle things up a bit, just a bit. (ha ha)

I love this story because Yari has the immense and so envious potential to be great; but crap just seems to hold her back – some external, some internal, and the ever dash of self-destruction. She can’t be perfect. But she can be flawless to those that look deep within.

I wanted Yari’s life to start at the beginning – a kind of E-True-Hollywood-Story, if you will. And certainly through her words – firsthand is much more smutty and raw. So this fictional memoir can’t be short – it cannot be abridged. The reader needs it all – I need it all. And because of this thirst for every detail, every fact and nuance of her life, Yari Simone will become a series of tragic, yet highly entertaining novels. Until one day we all, me included, will discover the finale - the resolution into this troubled girl’s existence. Then the tale will be forever complete. Or will it?



                   

Chapter 16


Because the music demo was scheduled for the following Monday, Frank wanted me and the guys to practice through the weekend. I didn’t have a problem with the cram-session. Our rehearsals were productive, albeit Frank’s bitching never ceased. To me and the band's tickled delight, however, he had an appointment Sunday afternoon. Which meant the sore on our asses, him, would be on a temporary hiatus.

It wasn’t just me, but the guys, too, were fed-up with Frank’s everlasting nit-picking. There was no constructive criticism that came out of his pie hole; it was just plain nastiness. Sometimes his management persona was blatantly phony with the way he picked at nonexistent flaws, like he was going above and beyond his call of duty to prove to himself that he was the best at his job. This superhero manager shit needed to stop.

I confronted him after rehearsal Friday night. It wasn’t pretty.

“That version was unbalanced. Try it again,” he vexed after our fifth take of “Enchanted.” Frank was sitting in the basement corner like a balding Hitler, barking orders.

His high horse was due to be lanced, and I was going to be the one to do it. I had enough. The sound was perfect, and my voice was flawless. Where the hell did he see the need for improvement? My tolerance went only so far.