The Writer's Voice entry, "Camelot & Vine"

When Casey Clemens slams up against her 40th birthday her Hollywood acting career is floundering, her married boyfriend is cheating on her with his wife and she doesn't like herself any more than anyone else does. Then a freak accident lands Casey in the sixth century and she inadvertently saves the life of her hero, King Arthur. To protect herself, she tells the king she's a magical wizard from the future. (At least it's partly true.) King Arthur's thrilled. Britain is being attacked from all sides by invaders and he could use a good wizard. He's got Myrddin, but Myrddin's more scientist than sorcerer. Casey learns from Myrddin, makes friends and begins to like her new life. She's a good actor; for a while, her lie is her secret.

King Arthur's powerful ally Lancelot harbors his own secret: his affair with the king's wife, Guinevere. A wizard who knows and sees all is inconvenient, to say the least. Lancelot gives Casey a choice: leave or die. But Casey's stuck in the Dark Ages, unable to leave, surrounded by enemies and struck by a realization: she's in love with King Arthur and she's not going anywhere--not yet.

Camelot & Vine

 The day before my fortieth birthday was my last day as Mrs. Gone. For nine years, every American who turned on a television knew me as their wacky neighbor with the solution to their household cleaning problems. They're Gone! That's right! Gone! cleans everything! Which it didn't. I bought it once (not that the Gone! company would give me a free bottle) and never bought it again. That didn't mean I wouldn't endorse it on national television for a cut above union scale.

Being a product spokesperson was good work. I owned a sunny condo in the fashionable Los Angeles suburb of Toluca Lake. I drove a relatively new BMW coupe. The cleaning lady came on Tuesdays. I ate take-out and never cooked. I went to yoga occasionally, and occasionally showed up at acting class. I auditioned for and sometimes got parts in low-budget films.

I thought of it as an acting career until the day before my fortieth birthday when, on the set of my latest Gone! commercial, the director shouted, "That's a wrap!"

As usual, I handed over the product bottle to the props guy, returned my earrings to the costume girl and, avoiding the candy at the craft services table, strode directly out the studio doors.

The director followed me to my trailer. "Casey," he said.

"Bill. What?"

He dug his Nike toe into the studio lot asphalt. I waited. He cleared his throat and stared at his feet, like a kid who's afraid to tell his mom he got a bad report card.