Category: Social Networking

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“You Should Write A Movie.”

“It’s him. Why wouldn’t it be him?” my friend Artsy Mommy asked me the day after Mr. Screenwriter signed my blog.

“What’s the big deal?” she wanted to know. “He’s just a writer.”

Just a writer. I laughed out loud. She had clearly expressed what most of the world thinks of my chosen profession. This is one of many reasons why I love Artsy Mommy—for her honesty—and for what came next.

“You should write a movie about this,” she smiled as she helped me toss another load of muddy clothes into my washer.

“About this?”

“Inspired by this. By the people you’ve met on the discussion board, by meeting someone famous online—by you freaking out pretty much all the time about it.”

“It would be pretty funny. A stay-at-home-mom and writer meets someone famous on the Internet. I like it. I could fictionalize it—but people who meet on the Internet—that’s a good starting off point. Something we can all relate to.”

“So get to it.”

“Yeah, right. With what free time? At four in the morning? ” I laughed.

Six months later, I was sitting in front of my computer screen, rereading the first draft of my script, “The Friends I’ve Never Met.”

I glanced at the clock. 4:44 a.m.

I hardly remembered any of the writing process these past few months. I’d been waking up at 4 a.m. instinctively—on the nose, without an alarm clock—and writing in a trance-like-state until my daughter woke up at 8 a.m. every morning.

I’d read a couple screenwriting books, visit Mr. Screenwriter & The Facebook Movie’s discussion board for advice and inspiration, and rework that morning’s write using my cue card system during the three hours she was in preschool. I knew the first draft was done when I woke up at 7 a.m. one morning instead of at 4 am. I’d hit 120 pages.

It was one of those pieces that insisted on being written. And then—like no piece I’ve ever written before— it insisted on me telling the world about it. It’s a very stubborn, persistent child. It won’t give up.

But then, neither do I.

***

Update: I wrote that movie. I shopped the screenplay around for two years, and when I ran out of money doing that, I published it to Kindle, Kobo Nook and iBooks! It has been my best-selling ebook to date!  Thanks so much to everyone who believed in me along the way! 🙂

The Friends I’ve Never Met  – find it on Kindle, Kobo, Nook, Sony, iBooks, Copia, Smashwords and more!

Read the background to how I came to write the screenplay and the many adventures I had around it:

starting here:

I’m Afraid to Ask, But What Is Poking?

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“You’re Not Being Punked.”

When I write, “until the day I found a way to speak with Mr. Screenwriter on the phone,” you must remember that I worked from home with a four-year-old tugging at my pant leg every ten minutes.

Therefore, if I wanted my impulsive plan to work (and by impulsive, I mean impulsive—I’d only come up with the idea a half hour before, when my clever four-year-old suggested in a matter-of-fact-tone, “If you want to speak to him, you should call him.”), it was imperative for the Flickering Babysitter to hold her clever attention for at least 10 minutes.

The fact that I also absent-mindedly poured her a bowl of Cheetos bigger than her little blond head while he and I were conversing is not one of my proudest parenting moments. But it did give Mr. Screenwriter and I something else to talk about.

“I just put on Rocky and Bullwinkle for my daughter, so I can get a quiet moment to speak with you. I don’t even know what Rocky and Bullwinkle’s about. Working from home doesn’t always work out for me,” I laughed.

“How old is she again?” he asked.

“Four.”

“She might be a little young, but try Pinky and the Brain,” he said, and he went on to explain why he and his daughter liked the show. We were having a regular conversation. I didn’t think I sounded like a stalker or a bimbo, but apparently I did sound Canadian, because he made a joke about my o’s. I laughed and relaxed a little, catching my breath so I could ask him my next question.

“So, I guess you’re really answering my emails?”

“Yes, Heather, you’re not being punked.”

That’s what it took for me to finally believe. Yes, Virgina, he really was Mr. Screenwriter! I could finally let go and start enjoying my time on his Mr. Screenwriter & The Facebook Movie discussion board. Maybe I’d even stretch my legs a little. Or a lot.  It was the best thing that could have happened.

Posting on a public discussion board for the first time helped me find my funny, and reading about his work (and how  much he seemed to love doing what he did) inspired me to try to write a screenplay of my own—something I’d never dreamed of trying until I happened upon that discussion board in December 2008.

I suppose my journalism training has made me overly suspicious of everything I read—especially items I read on the Internet—plus, I’ve probably watched Conspiracy Theory a few too many times. But if I weren’t an over-thinking-paranoid-yet-impulsive frosted flake, I wouldn’t have these great stories to share. There is a method to my madness.

I don’t regret much in my life, but I do regret deleting Mr. Screenwriter’s blog comment because, well, it was damn funny. And who doesn’t want to drive traffic to their blog? Who cares how it happens, as long as the readers get there?

Apparently, me. Apparently, I am the freak of nature who cares a little too much about pretty much everything. I wish I’d had Cher near my computer that day, smacking me silly, “Snap out of it, Blondie!” Why did I have to be so perfectly principled? It’s not like I’d posted photos of me pole dancing— “More of this at heathergracestewart.com!” (Besides, I couldn’t possibly have any photos like that, in case you’re wondering).

Luckily, my fits of over-thinking and panic have miraculously failed to scare Mr. Screenwriter out of my life, so I am still treated to his brand of funny from time to time.


Read how this story started:

Prologue: The Fine Line (between persistence and stalking)

1) a-The Fine Line: “Do What You Want”

b-Emails from L.A.

c-“I”m Afraid To Ask, But What Is Poking?”

Read the NEXT chapter: “You Should Write A Movie”

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“I’m Afraid To Ask, But What Is Poking?”

“A new comment on the post #179 “Will Mr. Screenwriter Add Me As A Facebook Friend?” is waiting for your approval.”

I stared at my inbox in disbelief, then looked around for a brown bag to breathe into.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.  Breathe out. Mr. Screenwriter—the guy who wrote my favourite movie and some of the best television ever written—just signed my blog? Mr. Screenwriter just signed my blog!

Okay. It’s easy to figure out who everyone in my story is—it’s not like I’m making it hard for you—and everyone in my story is just fine with that, but I’m sticking with the Mr. and Mrs. Names. They’re funny, and they have a nice ring to them.

“I’m afraid to ask, but what is poking?” Mr. Screenwriter wrote me. He was referring to the title of a second post he’d read on my blog about Facebook, “You’ve Been Poked.” He was in the process of writing a movie about Facebook, and wanted to understand how it worked.

The whole thing was very funny—but hard for me to believe. I’m from Ottawa. I’ve only traveled to the States a couple times. I’ve never been to Hollywood. The only famous person I’d met was Gary Sandy, WKRP’s Andy, in the elevator of an Edmonton hotel. I was about twelve years old, and recognized him right away. “Hey, I know you!” I grinned, and gave him a hug (my personality hasn’t changed much since twelve). I think my parents turned red, but chuckled. I then went on to tell Mr. Sandy how I was taking drama classes and was going to be famous some day. My parents tell me he got a kick out of me that night.

As for the blog post Mr. Screenwriter signed, you won’t be able to find it. One day, in one of my fits of panic and over-thinking which my dear family members and friends have come to refer to as—actually, they can’t quite find the term for me yet—I decided to delete the posts. They were getting a lot of traffic, and it bothered me.

Yeah. I know. Trust me to find a reason to panic about a blog post getting a lot of traffic. This won’t surprise any of my good friends or family members. As my dear friend Lucky Man Larry puts it, “It’s okay. I’ve become immune to your panicking.”

At the time, I didn’t like all the questions I was getting about it in my inbox. I just wanted people to read my blog for the poems and stories–not because some famous person had signed one of the entries.

There was also the not-so-minor fact that for about six months, I thought I was corresponding with Mr. Fake Screenwriter—that me and the more than 10,000 readers of his Facebook discussion board were being bamboozled, conned, fooled, punked, getting the wool pulled over our eyes.

I thought this despite that I’d called his studio to confirm with his assistant that this was the real deal.  I would think this until the day I found a way to speak with Mr. Screenwriter on the phone.

Read how this story started:

Prologue: The Fine Line (between persistence and stalking)

1) a-The Fine Line: “Do What You Want”

b-Emails from L.A.

Read the NEXT Chapter: “You’re Not Being Punked”

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The Fine Line: Emails from L.A.

“Your friend’s on T.V.”

“My friend?”

“Your friend whose name I can’t pronounce.”

“Ohhh! My FRIEND! Mr. Sitcom Actor!” I squealed, and ran from the kitchen, where hubby and I had been making dinner together, to the living room. It was three years after the Crazy Phone Call, and since that time, not one restraining order had been placed against me. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I have never had a restraining order placed against me. Seriously. Please, keep reading.

Mr. Sitcom Actor had, in fact, recently told me I should refer to him as my friend, “even though you’re in Montreal and I’m way over here in L.A.” It never surprised me when he responded to my emails—he’s a dear-heart like that—but I knew it was a rarity for a famous person in Hollywood to give a rat’s ass about someone who could do nothing for them. I enjoyed our rare yet lively e-conversations.

I caught the tail end of the ad that was on for his series, but it was enough to get me jumping up and down, clapping, as I always did when hubby told me my friend was on our TV screen. Our one-year-old was sitting in her high chair, and started clapping along with me.

“Dat? Dat dere?” she asked, big eyes blue and wondering.

“That’s my friend. Mr. Sitcom Actor. He sends me emails from L.A. Well, not really.
I email him, and he’s sweet enough to email back.”

“Nice haih, dat,” Monkeydoodle mumbled through her peas.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. He really does have great hair.”

I’m going to stop typing immediately and clarify something before I get deluged with excited emails from you, dear readers. This is a fun game to play, keeping you guessing about all the parties in my story, but no, I didn’t get emails from McDreamy in my in-box. Patrick Dempsey wouldn’t return to our TV screens, set my heart racing, and make me put extra mousse in my husband’s hair until a whole year later.

As I finally sat down on the sofa, dinner plate on lap–this has got to be one of Murphy’s Laws–our daughter’s face turned beet red, and she announced an event to us for which anyone with an operating olfactory nerve required no announcement:

“Poop!”

I laughed, and was reminded of an email Mr. Sitcom Actor had sent me a few weeks back. We’d been comparing diaper duty–he’s quite the hands-on Dad and had admitted he and his wife were “knee-deep-in-it” –and, having read some of my poems, he’d told me I should write a Mommy Rap about changing diapers. “That would be hilarious!”

I never did write that rap. Life gets in the way; or perhaps that’s just not how it was supposed to happen. If I’d started practicing my rapping when Mr. Sitcom Actor suggested it, maybe I’d have learned to sing on key and sound bad-ass enough. But then I wouldn’t have earned my “The girl can’t rap, but she sure can write” t-shirt sent to me by The Sex People, along with a delicious strawberry cheesecake, delivered to my door.

Who the hell are The Sex People? I’m sure that’s what the cheesecake delivery guy wanted to know, with every inch of his being, since I wasn’t expecting him, and had answered the door in leggings and the new black stilettos I’d been modeling for my girlfriend Artsy Mommy. He must have thought I was running a very different kind of home business.

Back to The Sex People. The simple answer is I met them online when Mr. Sitcom Actor joked with me tongue-in-cheek, “Yes, Heather, let’s be friends, officially,” when I’d asked him if that was really him on Facebook—as if you have to be on Facebook to make your friendship official. He soon posted a link to a discussion board led by Mr. Screenwriter, which I thought looked quite interesting, so I joined.

Before I knew it I was online every day with a bunch of friends I’d never met, chatting about the in’s and out’s of screenwriting, sex in the movies, baseball, and our messy, beautiful lives.

It was the stuff movies are made of.

Read how this story started:

Prologue: The Fine Line (between persistence and stalking)

1) a-The Fine Line: “Do What You Want”

Read the NEXT CHAPTER: The Fine Line: I’m Afraid to Ask, but What Is Poking?

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The Fine Line (between persistence and stalking)

Those of you who’ve been following this blog for a while now know that I write in a few different genres. I’ve written non-fiction books for youth on Canada’s Prime Ministers; I’m a published poet, and I’m a magazine features writer.

A little over a year ago, I started on the roller-coaster ride of my life: my journey into the world of screenwriting. I’d soon discover that writing the script wasn’t the hard part. Sure, I’ll tell you a bit about that process–but that’s not the story here. The true blood, sweat, and tears this past year have come from trying to get someone–anyone in the industry–to read it, comment on it, and give me a hand perfecting it and selling it. I’ve also been searching for an agent and working on another script so that I have a body of work to show someone when they finally agree to read my first script.

About six months into my efforts, I managed to get in touch with an agent who booked talent–mainly writers and actors–for Broadway productions. He told me that, while he had enjoyed reading my script and was very much willing to help me as best he could by offering advice, he didn’t really have any ‘in’s” in the Hollywood film industry. He was, however, one of the first people to engage in a dialogue with me about the industry and about what I was up against, and he was also incredibly helpful in getting my script into the hands of a well-known Canadian actor-director. This actor had his own American TV series some years ago and is now directing films–we’ll call him Mr. Canadian Actor. Mr. Canadian Actor scribbled some great input into the margins of my script–really incredible stuff including critique, questions, and suggestions for scene direction, which I incorporated into a new draft. He then accidentally left my script on a seat in Arrivals at the Vancouver airport. But that’s another tale, to be told at another time.

After a few friendly emails from–let’s call him Mr. Broadway–I had the instinct that he could probably give me some perspective on what should be my next move with a well-known screenwriter-producer I’d been interacting with online–we’ll call him Mr. Screenwriter. Mr. Screenwriter had offered to read my script and eventually sent my script to a big U.S. agency. Being the polite Canadian I am, I kept wondering if “thank you” was adequate. Some people had told me I should make some grand gesture. I’d already said thank-you enough times and in enough ways; I felt that I was starting to sound like a bit of an idiot. I didn’t feel doing any more would be appropriate–since when does thank-you not genuinely mean thank-you?

There are a few things I’m not willing to do in this journey, and one of them is ass-kiss, and the other is name-drop (hence the use of Mr. Names. I’d like to get to the Mrs. Names, but sadly, there are so very few Mrs. High-Up’s in the industry. That’s another whole chapter. I’ll get there). So I wrote Mr. Broadway and asked him if he thought sending a gift to Mr. Screenwriter was a good idea or very, very bad idea (my instinct).

He e-mailed back this note: “There’s a fine line between persistence and stalking.”

I burst out laughing. I was so loud, in fact, my five-year-old came running into my office, asking, “What, Mommy? What’s so funny?” It was then that I realized I had a story here. The story of little, 5’2″ me, just a girl from the Ottawa Valley, trying to break into Big Bad Hollywood as a writer.

This is that story. I’m not sure if it’s a book or a script or just a bunch of fun blog posts. Stay tuned to find out!

Chapter 1: The Fine Line: “Do What You Want”

**So far, there are SIX posts in this series. Read them all here–in order, from the post at the bottom to the post at the top:

The Fine Line series by Heather Grace Stewart