Текст книги "Catch the Wolf of Wall Street"

Автор книги: Jordan Belfort

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Биографии и мемуары

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Текущая страница: 33 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“Okay,” he said eagerly. “Let's see what we got here,” and he started reading, and reading… and why wasn't he laughing?There was a terrific joke in that first paragraph, and he had blown right by it.

A minute later he looked up. “This really sucks!” he said.

“Really?”

He nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah, it's really bad. I mean, it's absolutely terrible. It doesn't have a single redeeming quality.” He shrugged. “Start over.”

“What are you talking about? Didn't you read that first paragraph?”

Tommy looked me square in the eye and said, “Who gives a shit about the diner? It's fucking boring, and it's ordinary. Let me tell you something, Jordan. There are two things about writing you can never forget: First, it's all about conflict. Without conflict, no one gives a shit. Second, it's about the most of.You know what the most ofmeans?”

I shrugged, still wounded by Tommy's contemptuous dismissal of my diner story.

He said, “It means you always write about the extreme of something. The most of this, the most of that, the prettiest girl, the richest man, the most rip-roaring drug addiction, the most insane yacht trip.” He smiled warmly. “Now, that was what your life was all about: the most of. You get the picture?”

Indeed I did, and indeed I couldn't write it.

In fact, for a month straight, day and night, I did nothing but write—only to have Tommy review my work and say things like: “It's wooden; it's irrelevant; it's boring; it sucks moose cock.” Until, finally, I gave up.

With my tail between my legs, I walked into the prison library, searching for a book to read. After a few minutes I stumbled upon The Bonfire of the Vanities.I vaguely remembered seeing the movie, and, as I recalled, it absolutely sucked. Still, it had something to do with Wall Street, so I picked it up and read the first two paragraphs…. What utter nonsense it was!Who would read this crap?

I closed the book and looked at the cover. Tom Wolfe.Who the fuck was he?Out of curiosity, I reread the first few paragraphs, trying to figure out what was going on. It was very confusing. Apparently there was a riot in progress, an indoor riot. I kept reading, trying to stay focused. Now he was talking about a lady; he can't see her, but he knows by the sound of her voice what she must look like: Two hundred pounds, if she's an ounce! Built like an oil burner!With that, I dropped the book and started laughing out loud. And that was it. I was hooked.

I read that book from cover to cover—698 pages in a single day– and I laughed out loud the entire time. I was blown away. Mesmerized.Not only was it the most brilliant book I had ever read but also there was something about the writing style that resonated with my soul, or as Tom Wolfe might have put it: With my heart and soul and liver and loins.

I swear to God, I must have read that book two dozen times, until I knew every word by heart. And then I read it again, to learn grammar. Then I paid my trusted laundry man, Mark the meth dealer (who happened to be an avid reader), ten cans of tuna to go through the book with a fine-tooth comb and write down every simile and analogy on a separate piece of paper. Then I read it over and over again until I could recite them in my sleep. And before I knew it, a voice popped into my head: my writer's voice. It was ironic, glib, obnoxious, self-serving, and often despicable, but, as Tommy explained it, it was funny as all hell.

However, I wouldn't actually write my memoir in jail; I would simply learn how to write. In fact, when I came out twenty months later, I didn't have a single page. The date was November 1, 2005, and I was scared as all hell. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I think most people write out of inspiration or desperation. In my case, it was desperation all the way. I had an unspeakable past and an uncertain future, and no way to reconcile the two.

So I sat down in front of my laptop and wrote what I thought to be the perfect opening sentence. It was how I felt while I was in jail all those months, and it was how I felt my first day on Wall Street. In point of fact, it was how I felt at that very moment, staring at the blank computer screen.

“You're lower than pond scum,”I wrote.

1*Name has been changed

2*Name has been changed

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again, I'd like to thank my literary agent, Joel Gotler, for all his support. He's been many things to me over the years, but most of all, he's been a friend.

I'd also like to thank my editor, Danielle Perez, for all her wonderful insight. I've learned more about writing from Danielle than from all my English teachers combined—from kindergarten through college.

And, of course, I'd like to thank my publisher, Irwyn Applebaum, who helped me in so many ways that I can't even count them all, and also many thanks to Barb Burg, Theresa Zoro, and Chris Artis in Bantam Dell's publicity department.

Many thanks to Alexandra Milchan, for working so hard on the movie side of things, and, of course, to Scott Lambert as well, who's been both a friend and an adviser to me. Scotty and Alexandra are married—and what a couple they are! Going out for dinner with them is like watching two gunfighters throwing down, albeit with BlackBerrys instead of guns.

I'd also like to thank Terry Winter, who read the unpublished manuscript and signed on to adapt the book for the movies before there was any buzz on it at all. He's an absolutely brilliant writer. I felt very comfortable with him adapting the book—figuring that anyone who could make Tony Soprano seem sympathetic was the right guy for me.

And I'd also like to thank my parents, Max and Leah, for always being there for me; my two wonderful children, Chandler and Carter, who've chosen to respect their dad for the way he lives his life now, not in the past; my ex-wife Nadine (aka the Duchess) for being such a wonderful, caring mother; and to the newest addition in my life, little Bowen Boulliane, who brightens up my life with all his Bowenisms.

And many thanks to my good friends Bo Dietl, Kris Mesner, Michael Peragine, Paul Scialla, John Flynn, Todd Kissel, Bob and Toni Shottenhammer, Renne and Anne Sandera, Johnny Marine, Marc Glazier, John Macaluso, Javier Perez (the world's best soccer coach), all the boys at Starbucks—Mitch, Dr. Al, Tre, Jim T.—and to Petros at Petros Restaurant in Manhattan Beach, for all the times I've tied up his tables, writing this book, and to Milo at Shade Hotel, for the same reason. And, of course, to all my fans who bought Wolf I,especially the ones who wrote me letters of encouragement. They were so important to me.

And, lastly, I'd like to thank the most positive influence in my life, George Benedict, who, by sheer example, proved to me that a leopard can definitely change his spots. There is no person in my life who has ever been kinder and more supportive of me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JORDAN BELFORT lives in Los Angeles. He served twenty-two months in prison and spent one month in rehab.