Day One

FADE IN:

INT. APARTMENT — DAY

A modest yet beautiful apartment is filled with partially unpacked boxes. Despite the decent dimensions, there is barely space to move about the room. What should be rapid clicking of a keyboard sounds more like minute hand ticks of a clock.

V, with unkempt hair and three-day-old eyeliner she forgot she was even wearing until she rubbed it onto her hand after a yawn, sits at her desk (read: dining room table) attempting to write. She's 27.

V

You didn’t think this was the screenplay, did you? Jesus fucking Christ, guys. I know exactly one (1) thing about script writing and that will not a screenplay make.

Her brow furrows and she takes a generous sip of wine. Noticing the margins in this post editor, she takes a second, larger sip. 

V (CONT'D)

(willing herself to continue) 

Whatever. Point being, I'm definitely new here in screentown.

She groans, wincing, keenly aware of how stupid she looks talking to her laptop and subconscious of how dumb "screentown" was. She shakes her head and restarts her performance for her imaginary audience.

V (CONT'D)

Storytelling and I go way back. Practically flew out the womb together. I'm no stranger to dreaming up worlds or expanding upon the worlds I fall in love with. As a kid, I would get lost in television for just as many hours as I would spend with my nose in books. Unlike my peers, I didn't feel a need to separate the two. Literature wasn't superior to me, just a different way to tell the story. I always wanted to be a creator of worlds and a guide through the imaginable.

She nods to herself, proud of that one. She reaches for more wine, taking another generous 'sip', when it hits her. Holy shit! I should be writing this down! She slams the glass down, hard enough that she checks it over for cracks. Returning to her keyboard, the metronomic drone of sporadic clicks quickens to an underwhelming second-hand pace.

V (V.O.)

Fast forward to my late twenties. I'm burnt out and not getting any younger. Stuck in a bullshit job that is running me into the ground. I would say 'I don't know where I went wrong', but it was probably somewhere between my Big Meltdown and dropping out of university after the accident. I'm sick to death of just floating through my life and I'm ready to start taking calculated risks.

The click of the keyboard builds almost exponentially with each new word.

V (CONT'D)

For the first time since my starry-eyed childhood, I'm looking forward and setting goals. I'm writing every moment I get and pushing myself to do and be more. My little stint as a poet really brought out a deep love of form and the challenge it presents. There is something to be said about being presented with a strict structure and working out when and how to adhere to it, and when you're ready to bend and twist it to your will. I love the journey of beginning as a student of form and growing to something more competent.

A smile spreads across her face that she fails to notice until it starts to hurt. The clicking of the keys is feverishly loud as she types as fast as her fingers will take her. Fat fingered false starts trip her up every few moments, resulting in heavy thumps as she quickly backspaces through her mistakes before beginning again.

V (CONT'D)

More importantly, I'm tired of hiding in my little fanfiction safety net. My prose is the strongest it has ever been and I'm serious about writing for the first time since the accident to put everything on hold. I want to make a choice, one that ultimately may not end how I hope it will, but I want to make a choice and get proper serious. I want to blend my love of language, form, television, and storytelling into one and take a stab at writing screenplays. This is the beginning of some sort of journey. One of uncertainty, fueled by tenacity and wine. It could be life changing, or it could be a total bust, but I know that is ultimately dependent upon me and the drive and work I put behind it. I'm not saying I'm going to whisk myself off to Hollywood or Vancouver just yet, or at all, but I am going to get serious about learning to apply my writing chops in a new form. I'm going to build up skills and create a portfolio, and take it from there.

Reminded of the wine, she reaches for the glass and attempts to throw back the contents, only to find she emptied it on her last sip. She sets the glass down with a sigh and returns to her keyboard.

V (CONT'D)

For now, the journey is as follows: Study television shows and their screenplays, keep fucking writing, learn as much as I can about the craft (beat) of writing television, not witchcraft, but I guess that couldn't hurt either. I hope you'll join me on finding out exactly where the fuck I'm about to go.

FADE OUT.

END OF ACT ONE