#Screenwriting Rejection

[garvescope]

In film, polite rejection is the norm. But unlike startups, Hollywood's culture of silence keeps filmmakers from leveling up. . #IndieFilm #ScreenwritingTips #filmsky #HollywoodTruth #FilmIndustryTalk #FilmmakerLife #RealTalkHollywood #ScriptNotes #HonestFeedback #StartupVsHollywood #Garvescope

[byler-alarmist]

Just saw an "aspiring screenwriter" on this hellsite post the dumbest, shittiest ending that they think would be "perfect" for S5. Of course it's Will being reminded by Mike that they are best friends and Will beautifully, nobly sacrificing himself to the Upside Down for the good of all.

All I can say is......don't quit your day job, kid

[filmcourage]

I've Spent Years Writing A Screenplay... And Now No One Wants To Read It - Matthew Kalil

Watch the video interview on Youtube here.

[vanilleandclove]

let the light in; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader

the trials of postpartum can strain any relationship especially when your husband is rarely home from work. sometimes you wonder if you’re living the life you envisioned for yourself a decade ago.

warnings: blood- a lot of it. postpartum depression, sleep deprivation, asthma attacks, surgery scars, just found out sylvester stallone is a trump supporter (FUCK YOU), breastfeeding, some terrible parents, anti-vaxxers (get vaccinated i swear to god), arguing word count: 7.9k notes: i’ve seen & had that eye exam done on me, i still have the scar! however, it’s my eyeliner guideline. so sorry for my lack of updates, i am currently on summer break & i am an aspiring film/screenwriter so that has been occupying my time! chat with me at any time, love you all, thank you for your support and patience. 

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MONTH ONE

The first month the majority of it was spent in the hospital, you were bedridden due to the constant bouts of blood hemorrhaging; something that only scared the shit out of Jack. You’d get better, your blood count would improve but as soon as it reached a level that you could potentially be discharged, you’d hemorrhage. This last time, Jack swore he was about to lose you, so he found solace in seeing your baby girl during the times Jenna forced him out of the room. 

“Your mom’s a fighter hon” he spoke to the incubator, playing with your daughter’s tiny hand through the gloved side, she was kicking like no tomorrow. When she would cry, it’d be soft and quiet, he swore she cooed at least once. 

She smiled slightly from the comment, Jack wasn’t too sure if it was the combined 6 hours of sleep he had gotten that week playing tricks on his brain or reality.

After a good two hours, Jenna cleared him to go back into the room, letting your mom take over to watch your daughter. So far, she’s been good, constantly checking up on her on the times you and Jack couldn’t; he still wouldn’t let her in the room.

“Abbot I need to speak with you” Jenna whispered just before he entered the room, his eyes were tired, his body was giving up, but his ears perked from her statement, “She went into hypovolemic shock, she lost about 25% of her blood. I’m not saying she’s circling but, now’s the time I need you to make a decision”. 

“What? About what? She was just talking to all of us this morning and you- you want me to figure- what are you saying?” Jack shook his head, “We wanted this- I should’ve just-“.

“Jack, there is nothing you or Y/n could’ve done to prevent this. She’s in stage 2 still, I don’t see it becoming stage 3 unless there’s an incident where I’m not here. We gave her two transfusions today so she might be feverish. So far she isn't rejecting medication or fluid, we still want to move her to the ICU as soon as a bed opens up”. 

When he walked into the room, he could smell the pungent remnants of blood, even with all the cleaning, he saw you fast asleep, color drained from you. 

His first instinct was to rub your knee that had felt even more bony, grabbing your hand that was becoming veiny. You were breathing faster than usual, your skin was cold but not clammy, he checked your pulse and felt the rapid beating of your heart. 

“I’ll come back when I argue with these fucking people in the ICU- won’t leave until they have a bed ready” Jenna cleared her throat.

“Can you get her mom- Y/m/n, she’s in the NICU?” Jack’s voice broke. Jenna nodded to him before tapping on the doorframe and leaving. 

There were flowers from the entire emergency department in your room, Diego’s family who had heard the news when he was due for a checkup, Heather who had brought both of you change of clothes and covers every other day. 

“We are not having sex again” You groaned, waking up on the floor of Jack’s carpeted hotel room, Jack who was right next to you. The sheets entangled the two of you. 

PTMC’s annual company getaway for attendings and department heads, this time celebrated in the beloved city of Albany for some reason. When Gloria had broken the news about the location, only a select few were interested. You and Jack had to pry Robby out of his house to experience the outside world, Heather and him had just called it quits, Heather was fine- Robby, not so much. 

“What even happened?” Jack stretched, admiring the exposed skin and breast from you moving beneath the sheets. Your hair was disheveled, skin supple and the sunlight hit it just perfectly through the blinds, “I love you”. 

You looked at him the moment the words came out, “I look like a mess- I’m pretty sure that’s my mascara smeared on the pillow and my nose is severely clogged” you laughed, the congestion not easing up. “You and rough sex need to be studied- intensively”. 

“May have gone a little too hard, I’m sorry love” he apologized, moving your hair out of the way to kiss your shoulder. 

“A little?” you scoffed, “Don’t worry Doctor Abbot, I for one, enjoyed every last moment” you teased, capturing his lips in the process, “I love you” you muttered as you kissed. 

It was a memory Jack fondly recalled during times of arguing, or now, where he didn’t know if there was going to be another day. 

“Oh my god” he heard a voice emerge from the door, it was your mom, heart breaking at the sight of you with the wires connected to you, the blood bag giving you a transfusion, your rapid heartbeat. “She’s going to- this isn’t goodbye- Jack tell me this isn’t-“.

“No. It’s not, I just knew you wanted to see her, when they move her to ICU you might not be able to” Jack shrugged off her anxiety little by little. “She’s strong, not letting up on anything, every medication she’s not rejecting. Jenna gave her 2 of epi and one of levophed”. 

“What could- how did this happen?”.

“Her scans were clear, nothing to do with the cesarean, they’re hoping it’s just from postpartum- gives her a higher fighting chance” Jack answered, “When she gets to the ICU, they’ll do more tests”. 

“I’ll stay with the baby” she whispered, giving you a kiss on your forehead, “They took her away for some eye exam”. 

“They’re opening her eyes?” Jack’s heart broke, he’s seen the procedure a handful of times, it was brutal, they’d force the baby’s eyes open, it would sometimes scar. 

“You both are doing the best that’s allowed Jack, let me take care of your baby, you take care of mine”. 

MONTH TWO

“Can you help me up?” You croaked, just about to spit out phlegm. Jack immediately helped you up, rubbing your back as you spit up. A small blood clot came out alongside your phlegm from the intubation tube. 

“It’s normal love” he rubbed your back more and more, your throat raw and hurting, you were out of the ICU, this was seemingly your last week of being in the hospital.

They were able to coordinate visits with you and your baby twice a day, sometimes once if you or her were asleep. You wanted to cry every time you saw your baby, more wires attached to her, you wanted to take away her aches and pain as she grew stronger. 

“Do you have water?”.

“You have an I.V. baby, 30 minutes post-intubation I’ll give you some” he sighed, kissing your cracked lips, “How are you feeling?”. 

“Fine, all things considered” you answered, eyes staring at the clock, “How’s our baby?”.

“She’s good, surprisingly she’s growing out of the apnea quickly” Jack told you, “She has your eyes”. 

“No PDA? NEC?”.

“Mild case of NEC, her heart is strong” he answered, “A little jaundice, nothing too extreme, blood is good, she’s sneezing”.

“She’s sneezing?” your eyes betrayed you as you began to tear up, “Can I see her?”.

“After 30 minutes baby” he told you, kissing your forehead, “What do you want to eat?”.

“Pizza”.

“Non-greasy, bland, prison food requests” Jack clarified.

“Turkey sandwich is fine- or mashed potatoes” you shrugged, your arm was bruised from the I.V. 

“I’ll be back” he replied, grabbing his phone in the process of leaving. 

MONTH THREE

“Fuck” you groaned, your nipples not producing any sort of milk, “How am I gonna get her to latch there’s nothing”.

“She’s doing fine on formula honey, don’t strain your stomach” Jack muttered, holding your tiny baby girl in his arms, she got the clear to go home last week. 

“I want to breastfeed, she deserves a mom who can breastfeed her” you grit your teeth, no amount of pumping would draw enough milk for her. 

“Okay stop” Jack sighed, placing your baby in the bassinet that stayed by your bed, “It’s okay, she came early, your body didn’t have time to-“.

“Produce milk” you scoffed, your breasts were engorged all things considered, still, no milk, “I can’t even- she cries when I hold her” you began to tear up, “It’s like she doesn’t even feel that I’m her mom” beginning to slightly start to heave, you looked at the tiny baby in the bassinet, “She sees me the same way I saw my mom”. 

Jack could only sigh and rub your knees, “No she does not” he told you, “Look at me, please?”. He didn’t continue until you glanced up into his eyes, “She senses your worry- that’s why she cries, she knows you tense up and worried you’re going to hurt her. She loves you so much, she doesn’t want her mom to worry”. 

You sniffled, “What if I can’t do this?”.

Jack chuckled, looking between you and your baby, “You loved her before she was even thought of” he placed a kiss on your kneecap, “You and I are going to do this, together”. 

Your tiny baby squirmed and sneezed in her sleep, mending your shattered heart, “Beats having a clogged milk duct at least” you made light of the situation, placing a kiss on your baby girl, seeing her coo in response. 

MONTH THREE + A HALF

You cursed yourself for being a jinx, it was Fourth of July and everyone gathered around Robby’s backyard. Normally, you and Jack host, but since you two have become parents, the house has been a mess. 

You sniffled as you tried to ease the pain of your clogged milk duct, slowly massaging yourself in Robby’s bathroom. Defeated, you decided to text Heather to get Jack. It took less than three minutes for him to be next to you as you pleaded to just solve the damn problem.

“Can you just- just suck it out?” you embarrassingly asked, annoyed and irate from the pain and uncomfortable heaviness. 

“Are you sure?” he asked blankly.

“No. I’m just saying this to turn you on- yes! Please” you sarcastically threw out, as much as this could be a fantasy, you were angry and in pain, “Who has the baby?”.

“Heather took her upstairs for a nap” Jack told you, taking off the straps from your bra to reveal his own personal fantasy, “Wow”.

“You’re turned on from this?” you quirked a brow, “I hope you know a glob-“

“Yea yea I know what fatty milk feels like-“.

“Oh really?” you teased, offering your breast to your husband, “Don’t gag or else if this happens again I’m going to Jenna”. 

MONTH FOUR

“‘You sure you’re okay with working? You can always take a half shift” Dana asked you, it was your first time outside of the house longer than thirty minutes. 

You had to admit, you missed the feeling of your baby on your skin, her tiny coos. She wasn’t that much of a crier, it became worrisome when she’d just laugh things off from things that would objectively hurt a newborn. Fell down on her face on accident? Laughed it off. Scary game of Peak-A-Boo with daddy? Laughed it off. She lulled herself to sleep while laughing. 

“I need to be on my feet Dana” you shrugged, “Plus Jack wanted daddy-daughter time”. 

“How’s the baby?” Dana asked as you both approached the nurse’s station.

“She’s good, loves Jack more than me at this point” you joked, “Girl the spit up- I didn’t know tiny bodies could produce that much” you sympathized with her.

“No blowouts?”.

You shivered before looking at Dana, “You don’t wanna know” you shook your head.

“Doctor Y/n welcome back!” you heard a voice emerge from behind you. 

“Hola!” another tiny voice came into your earshot. 

Turning around you saw Diego and his mom, Serena, herself pregnant. You smiled at the pair, giving Diego a hug then Serena. 

“What brings you two here?” you asked, a tad bit of worry that it was an emergency. 

“Ah just OB check up, Jenna told me you were back and we wanted to say hi before we left” Serena answered, “I have to say, motherhood looks good on you” she added. 

“Thank you, cómo va la escuela Diego?” you nodded, putting your attention on the little boy. 

“Bueno, mi mamá recibió su y sus clases de español-inglés” Diego answered, taking a second to translate in his head, “We are doing well!”.

“Él está aprendiendo mejor que yo” she slightly butchered with her accent. 

“That’s wonderful, just know the vacation is still on the table- you have my number” you told her, bidding them both goodbyes. 

“I don’t get how you do it” Heather spoke up, looking at her charts, “Hell you and Samira neck and neck with patient satisfaction scores- probably holding all of us up collectively”.

You looked to your side to see Samira chatting up with a patient in North 4, you decided to give her a gift today by approaching her in the room, “Good morning Doctor Mohan”.

Her eyes lit up, bewildered by seeing you before excusing herself from the patient, “You’re back?” she smiled, slightly excited and nervous for what you were about to say.

“Since you’re a senior resident, I know you’re familiar about my certain formality to get physicians to maybe consider surgery-“.

“Yes” she immediately answered.

“Samira- formalities” you laughed, “Doctor Mohan would you like to scrub in with me for an exploratory laparotomy today?” you posed the question, her aggressive nodding and smile was enough. 

Luckily, you had two already prepped and ready, the first one would be with Samira’s assistance the next would be on your own. You felt your surgery scar lightly pump, it was slowly healing and forming a keloid from the pressure you put on yourself. 

“Well would you look at that?” you gasped, seeing metastatic cancer in your patient, she was 27 and coming in to see if her own leukemia was cleared, “Shit” you fully got a scope of the situation, seeing aggressiveness of the cancer throughout the woman’s body. 

One thing they don’t fully warn you about postpartum, your hormones take forever to regulate. Your eyes began to tear up and the walls began to slowly close in more and more. 

“Susan call in Walsh- now” you choked up, feeling your vision become to blur, gaining focus as you knew this woman needed your strength to give her a fighting chance. Taking as many samples as you could, closing her as quickly as your hands would allow. 

You left as quick as you could, taking out the phone you shoved in your pocket after talking to the nurse who sent her samples to pathology. 

Dialing Jack as quickly as you could, feeling like you needed to hear his and your baby’s noises.

“Hey baby” you sniffled, taking a seat on the floor.

“Hey, what’s up honey?” he yawned, “What happened?” he quipped early as he heard your sniffle.

“I- Uh- I had a patient, 27, Julian operated on her for leukemia; she’s been in remission for about two years. I did her lap today and she has mets all over her organs and I-“ you started to choke up, “Can I talk to our baby girl?” you asked, hearing Jack lightly shuffle.

“You’re on speaker”. 

“Hi my love” you cooed, “I miss you so much baby girl, Momma is going to be home soon okay? And you’ll get all the tummy kisses”. 

You heard her cooed lightly, feeling your heart swell up, mending the hurt.

MONTH FIVE

“Wanna have sex?” you posed the question as Jack was laid up on the bed, glasses and all with his stubble growing. 

It was Football Sunday, your baby loved to sleep in on Sundays as if she just knew. Her nursery was all decorated, settling on pale yellow and green for her color scheme. It was chilly in her room and you swore she snored just like Jack. 

He chuckled before taking off his glasses and taking his eyes off your television, looking at you at the edge of the bed, teddy lingerie clad on your body. “Baby” he muttered, slightly in a darker tone. 

“C’mon it’s been…” you looked at your phone to see the date, “Exactly 6 months since we had sex… little Abbot might just be angry at me”. 

“Do you want this?” he asked as you straddled on his lap, “I’ll take up your offer as long as you’re not gonna be in pain” he continued. His hands found themselves on your hips, caressing your ass softly. 

“Since when did Jack Abbot not want to have rough sex with his wife?”.

“Since I almost saw you die after birth” he quickly quipped, killing the mood instantly.

You never once got off Jack quicker in your life, if anything you took any chance to climb your husband. Biting your lip before returning to the bathroom where your pajamas were laid on the floor, walking out quick as you could to prepare your and Jack’s breakfast and wake up your baby.

“Baby” he spoke up as he heard you sniffle walking throughout the house, baby in your arm cooing lightly as she looked at her mom. 

You took a breath, “Not in front of her” you replied, “I can’t have this conversation in front of our daughter”.

“When are we going to?” he struggled with his emotions, fixing his prosthetic that was locking too uncomfortably, “We haven’t once talked about it. Either I’m at work, you’re at work, or we are both deflecting with her”.

“Okay no- correction, you’re at work for insane hours and on the off chance I pick up a shift, it just happens that you aren’t working” you quipped back as you got out the pancake mix, “You want to talk about it? Floor is all yours”. 

“You almost died” Jack blurted, “Someone doesn’t just move on from that, hell no amount of therapy is even working to get that image out of my head”. 

“I’m alive Jack!” you scoffed, “You’re treating me as if I’m fragile, I’m alive!” you were angry, out of line, and slowly becoming someone you would want to smack.

“I saw your blood pressure drop into a number I see patients code Y/n” he broke, “The amount of blood I saw I felt as if-“.

You turned around to see Jack become silent, hearing your baby’s coos become light whines. “Baby it’s okay, daddy’s just-“ you were at a loss of words, playing with her hand as your eyes remained fixated on your husband. 

“I can’t sleep because I stare at you breathing” he shuddered, “I hold onto you and check your pulse because I am scared of you” he confessed, “I have nightmares of you losing all of that blood, I can smell it, I can see your life just drain-“.

You rested your spare hand on Jack’s chest, feeling his heartbeat erratic, “Put your hand on my chest” you instructed, seeing him shake his head, “Jack, put your hand on my chest”.

He obeyed, feeling your heartbeat beneath your chest, your inhale and exhales being even and consistent.

“I’m alive” you whispered to him, “I'm not porcelain, you won’t break or lose me”.

“I just-“.

“I know” you nodded, “I am here Jack”.

MONTH SIX

“That’s it mama” you cooed as you sat on the living room carpet, supporting your baby as she sat upright, she babbled endlessly with a smile plastered on her face. 

You smiled at your little girl, look up at the television sparingly to check the time, it was 10 pm, almost time for her bedtime routine and your Jack check up from work.

“Let’s go take a bath baby” you muttered, picking up your little girl before tickling her stomach, “Bubbles mama!” you blew raspberries on her stomach, leading to an explosion of her cute little laughs. 

Bath time was always yours and hers thing. Jack would get her up in the morning and have some time before he crashed, feeding her and making sure she had the best attempt of solid foods. Sometimes he’d sleep with her on his belly despite the worry it brought you that she’d squirm and fall one day. 

Her little toes kicked the bubbles onto your blouse as you bathed her, her babbles louder and louder as you reached her hair and gently washed it with warm water. It was a cold night in Pittsburgh, even the windows frosted over.

She’d yawn upon you changing her and lathering the lotion and baby powder. She didn’t need stories to sleep but you rambled on about your day no matter what, played her favorite noises of the month- this month was jungle sounds. By 11 pm, she was fast asleep, slowly babbling herself to dreamland for five minutes before succumbing to her tiredness. She had Jack’s brunette-copper curls, his facial freckles. God, she was the perfect combination of you both.

You know for the amount of stress this baby put on my body, I was hoping for a carbon copy

You texted Jack, waiting for a response as you brewed a chamomile tea. You weren’t much of a tea person, after Jenna said it was recommended since you were hemorrhaging, you decided to lay off the coffee. 

Abbot genes are strong, how are my girls? Good, baby Abbot is asleep, mama Abbot is making tea. How’s my man? Fucking swamped at work, I miss you on night shift. Walsh is driving me insane. Be nice, she’s a lifesaver Wtv, I’ll see you at home. Love you. I love you too

There were nights where you missed the cuddles, the late night football reruns, the showers together. It was nearly impossible due to your schedules and your little girl, you wouldn’t change a thing though. 

MONTH SEVEN

“Woah babygirl” Jack spoke up as he caught your baby while she stood up holding onto the couch for dear life. Jack’s voice only induced her threat assessment leading the poor girl to cry thinking she did something wrong.

She bounced lightly before letting go, hitting her head on the coffee table in the process leading to Jack’s threat assessment to kick in. She didn’t cry, she did however, chomp on her father’s nose as he picked her up to examine her head. 

“What was that?” you asked as you walked out of the garage, scouring for your luggages.

You and Jack decided it’s time for your baby girl to see Boston, your mom had been begging to see you both. You caved after Jenna and Doctor Varma cleared her- only if the people around her didn’t kiss her and were vaccinated, she was already almost caught up with babies her age, just tinier. 

“She hit her head” Jack spoke with concern as you examined the same thump on her head, fresh set of eyes. 

“That’s okay” you reassured him, “Eyes are fine, she’s responding to stimuli- oh my god I’m talking like our daughter’s is my patient” you caught yourself.

“You don’t think?…” Jack hinted, your daughter looking at you with confusion.

“Abbot’s have hard heads” you joked, “Trust me I married one” you placed a kiss on his lips, wandering off to finish packing yours and the baby’s necessities. 

You decided flying would be the better option, the drive would just piss Jack off. Taking all the precautions, your baby girl was still a babbling angel who was overly scared of When Harry Met Sally. She sneezed a lot, loved to teeth on Jack’s nose and fingers, gave the best butterfly kisses, loved to grab your face with her saliva coated hands.

Upon landing in Boston, it was freezing, leading your little girl to hold her own hands in her stroller and shiver as you reached your mom, who luckily, had a spare blanket with her. 

“I fixed up both rooms for you and my little chums” your mom stated as Jack carried your luggage’s in, “Is it okay if your sister comes for dinner? Or still no visitors?”.

“She can, just don’t have the kids all up on her” you told your mom, letting your little girl out of her seat as she slept for her nap, holding her gently as she only woke up to be moved and went back to sleep. 

“Did they ever figure out why she has GERD?” your mom asked, serving you and Jack water.

“It’s normal, she wasn’t fully developed at birth, her GI tract is just different” you shrugged, playing with your baby’s curls as you walked around your childhood home. 

“Hopefully she grows out of it, so far she hasn’t been needing the breathing machine since she’s on a new dose of steroids” Jack spoke up, kissing the top of her head as he walked past, not forgetting to kiss your lips afterward.

“Any luck breastfeeding?” your mom lightly asked, getting the meat out from her fridge.

“She’s good with formula, I tried and it’s just a no-go” you answered. Feeling your little girl stir before blowing a raspberry in her sleep, “Told you, snores like her dad” you teased. 

MONTH EIGHT

“Look!” Jack shouted excitedly, tapping your shoulder several times. 

You looked away from the television to see your baby girl bouncing on her butt while looking at the Steelers game. Making loud babbles as she saw the footballers tackle each other. 

“Mama, they're winning!” you smiled, looking at your girl bounce even more with excitement, she loved her floor time for no apparent reason, hated being in her room. 

You and Jack heard the door knock which triggered your little girl to look back at you and him, Jack got up

to answer the door. Being greeted with his brother and his kids.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked as you picked up your baby girl. 

“Can’t check up on my brother?” his brother shrugged, you timidly approaching the door in confusion. 

You made sure to cover your baby up as much as you could, furrowing your brows. Jack told both his brothers and his mom about the baby, how you both wanted to wait for a year until you introduced non-vaccinated people, even then you still had your reservations. 

“Outside” Jack sternly said, looking back at you both. 

You bounced your baby as she lightly began to cry from the sight of her uncle and her dad leaving. She knew he was going outside but not that he was returning. From the glass in the door you saw your husband argue with his brother, visibly annoyed. 

“You know daddy has some crazy family” you gossiped with your daughter, only for her to chomp on your nose in response, thinking you were being playful.

Later in the night, you decided to talk about it with Jack. Figured he was still upset even hours after it passed, he remained silent at dinner, your bedroom was awkwardly stretched into an elongated and uncomfortable silence with only the vents of the heater to be heard. 

“So…” you lightly trailed off as Jack dressed himself for bed, your daughter slept in her own nursery- an angel who allowed you both to sleep in and would have to be woken up rather than waking you. 

“Look I told my mom, I didn’t want anyone around her who wasn’t cleared medically” he agitatedly responded, “For him to just show up? Knowing he could have hurt her-“ Jack’s own breath cut him off. 

You adjusted your position on your shared bed, furrowing your brows slightly, “You underestimate our baby girl” you lightly joked, “She’s a fighter”. 

“S’Gets it from her mom” he scrunched his nose, putting a sock on his foot before removing his prosthetic to lay down beside you. 

“Her mom didn’t fight in a war” you chuckled, “Though I do kick ass at my job”.

MONTH NINE

“7 year old boy, was caught playing with his father’s gun and ended up shooting himself in the chest” the EMT went over as the nurses arranged all the medication. 

You and Jack were working together on night shift as you had to hold a surgical seminar in the morning for prospective fellowships, therefore Heather and Robby were babysitting. 

“Was child protective services notified?” you asked as you fixed your safety glasses, intubating the young boy, slowly feeling a stabbing sensation prick your incision sight, sucking in a breath lightly.

“Social work is talking to the parents now, not too sure about afterwards” Cassie responded, she rarely worked nights but the times she did, she’d oddly get a lot of pediatric cases.

“I’m going to wheel him up- Cass update me on the parents” you nodded towards her as you steadfastly ran with your surgical team, already gowned due to your surgery of a teen ectopic pregnancy. 

As you were wheeling the kid up, you could only feel the slight tinge of a burn on your lower abdomen. The adrenaline high you were running on due to the emergency department being overwhelmingly clogged and boarded, was wearing thin with each passing step to the operating room. 

While you held the child under your scalpel, a tiny and timid voice floated in the air of the sterile room.

“Doctor L/n”.

“I’m in a child’s chest cavity, you mind holding off on questions?” you sternly quipped, dull ache cascading across your abdomen.

“Doctor L/n” the voice repeated, more worried. 

You looked up only to see horrified looks of your entire surgical team. Scrub nurses furrowing their brows, training surgeons, the anesthesiologist. You slightly winced, feeling another prick before you heard a voice on the intercom.

“I’m taking over Doctor L/n, Bridget said social services need to see you” Emery’s voice spoke up as she scrubbed in, the same puzzled and worried look painted on her face as well. 

You shrugged off your gown and discarded your gloves, walking back into the scrub room to wash your hands only to see dark stains through your navy scrubs, you lifted your scrub to reveal your cesarean scar to be open, violently red and bleeding with no warning. The cold air touched the wound, leading you to suck in a breath and attempt to wash with water only for the pain to get worse. The incision in itself was thin, the wound now almost looked as if it were a gash. 

Making your way upstairs as the burning sensation grew vapid and unnerving. Meeting up with Bridget who was already talking to social services.

“Oh this is Doctor L/n, she’s our head of trauma, she was operating on Henry just now” Bridget introduced you, making eyes to the one on the left who was seemingly flirtatious towards her. 

“Good evening, nice to meet you” you slightly grunted out in pain, absolving it with a feigned smile. 

“Good evening to you too. Henry’s mom wants to claim the gunshot was completely accidental but after a couple neighbors who had seen the dispute came forward it looked to be inflicted by his father” the social worker revealed, “We just wanted to know how the wound looked to you, the EMTs weren’t able to capture a photo for evidence”. 

“There was no exit wound, I’m too savvy with forensic analysis but it appeared to enter from the back rather than the front ruling out self infliction” you revealed, “My colleague Doctor Walsh is finishing up in the OR. We have several documenters who are in the operating room as we operate for both educational and lawsuit purposes- I can give you that as soon as it’s available”. 

As the social workers took their leave you turned to Bridget with your dilemma, “My scar opened” you breathed.

“What?” her eyes popped, looking towards your abdomen.

“I don’t know how- or why. I just- I need someone to stitch and clean- Jack can’t know about this” you quickly told her.

“Honey, why not?” she whispered, concerned.

“Because- look, we just started you know again and that took us forever to reach” you sighed, shaking your head lightly, “If he found out about this, we’d be back at square one”. 

Bridget nodded, looking over at Javadi who has finally done another night shift rotation, “Javadi, Doctor L/n needs your help in south 6” she smiled at the medical student, gaining a nod. 

You made your way to south 6 only to see a puzzled Victoria staring at the blank bed before here.

“I thought Bridget said-“.

“I’m the patient” you smiled with a sigh, lifting up your scrub top to reveal the bleeding wound, “Opened while I was wheeling Henry up- can you please help?” you pleaded.

Victoria didn’t hesitate to sterilize and stitch you up, gaining points for you to maybe offer a scrub in offer. It seemed only right. 

MONTH TEN

“Have you seen-“ Jack’s voice emerged as you bathed your daughter, he was dressed in the brown-olive suit you bought him for your anniversary about three years ago, “… My tie?”.

You tickled your daughter's stomach, her hand holding your pinky as you turned your head to look at your husband, “Where are you going?” you quirked a brow. 

“Some veterans thing- I told you two days ago”.

You quirked your head to the side lightly, biting your lip slightly to convey a piqued interest, severely regretting this past week where things you’ve been told have been flying out of your head. 

It started with Heather and Robby, both being serious under-communicators as people who traditionally and painstakingly, can’t have a moment of silence. 

“And I literally told him, wet towels don’t belong on the bed and it’s just- I don’t know! It’s a serious pet peeve of mine, he’s known that since the first time” Heather vented as you typed on the computer, it was barely 6:45 in the morning. Normally her and Robby would walk to work together, today, you could swear you heard the keys to her Acura jingle.

You furrowed your brows, almost mistakenly not marking a patient's height from your physical charts that you kept on you just in case. “Hm?” you asked, eyes fluttering to look at Heather once more.

“You know what, I’ll let it slide, you and Jack must not be getting sleep”. 

“Oh he is!” you scoffed, fixing your reading glasses from falling down the bridge of your nose, “I get the chomping, crying, diaper blowout baby, he gets the, too sleepy to be hyper, an angel by all accounts baby”. Your brows formed stress lines as you spoke, a pang in your chest radiated as you realized, you just complained about your husband who- by all accounts- has been so helpful, one may think it’s overbearing.

Heather nodded, “You know if you guys need anything, we’re down the street”.

“Robby’s wet towels may not be the best for my baby girl” you winked.

That brings you back to today, where your husband stands dressed in his suit, you in your sweats and old Boston University shirt. You could only scoff at the man upon instinct, feeling as if your emotions betrayed your mind that tried so hard to not argue. 

“Everything alright?”. 

“Yeah- just need to put her to sleep” you locked your lips, laying your daughter on your shared bed as you rubbed lotion on her squirming body, her gummy smile beautiful as ever.

Her tiny legs kicked and kicked, her little squeals and slightly sniffles from her legs being above chest level. Her squinted eyes from the smile she gave you, she loved her momma, loved the times spent with her that she didn’t understand that she was cherishing little by little as a stored memory. 

“I don’t have to go,” Jack’s voice spoke up from the corner of your room, just next to the en-suite door. 

“No. Just go, they’re expecting you there anyways” you sighed, a tad bitter, a tad tired. A whole lot of confusion and anger towards your own memory system.

Jack nodded, giving you both a kiss as he walked out, squeezing your upper arm just before taking his leave. You felt the cold metal of his wedding band send shivers and goosebumps on your skin. 

It was 8 pm when he had left, now at 4 am, waking your daughter up for her preemptive feeding to combat the 4:30 am alarm she has built into her. You enjoyed motherhood like any mother could, enjoyed your little girl, but; nights like these where the house is quiet, your husband is gone, all you can hear is the suckling of the baby bottle as you zone out into the abyss, wondering if Pittsburgh instead of D.C. was the right move. If you had taken the fellowship in California, pursued your internship in Maine, took a different path, what would change? Would you be fiddling with your wedding ring as your husband stays out of your home, as you feed the gentle and warm human in your arms who’s slightly grunting from swallowing the milk. 

When you hear the key enter the doorknob, it’s 6 am, the sun peeking through the sky as it gradually becomes a lighter blue. Your daughter fast asleep in the bassinet she’s grown out of but loves nonetheless, her coos paused for quick seconds as her nose sniffles. Eyebags marrying your under eyes, purple and green, somewhat yellow as if you’d been punched. Jack knew you couldn’t sleep without him, he silently judged himself for the unintentional torture he caused. 

The first words you had uttered in hours, your throat hoarse and dry from lack of hydration, “We’ll talk later” was all you could muster. Picking up your baby girl to take her to her own room before paddling off into your and Jack’s. Feet tired and fully holding you all together. 

Later didn’t come until you had gotten 5 hours of sleep, praising the schedule you were afforded for the past several months. Jack was in for the limited time he had as he had work later that night. So of course, at 4 pm, you had picked the fight as you laid your baby down for her nap- her naps were always long enough to do things around the house and not worry for her wails- she was a passive baby, like her father. 

As you and Jack sat opposite each other across your shared backyard patio, the sun beaming brightly. You licked your lips before daring to speak, cracked from dehydration. 

“I knew motherhood would be a troublesome thing to go through” you cleared your throat, staring off into the distance just shy from Jack, “I knew it, I still know it. I just- I thought—“ you carefully wanted to pick your words before realizing, it didn’t matter, Jack would see right through you, “When it comes to us parenting, we don’t see eye to eye. We don’t talk, we don’t kiss, hell you can’t even give me your good graces knowing I may not remember certain things- that there are a million and one things floating in my head and she’s always going to be number one”.

“Babe, I truly didn’t care if we didn’t go or not I just made a promise that I was not just going to back down on” he sighed, “We don’t see eye to eye. That’s what makes us work, we’re different and yet we have someone in common, someone warm and gentle. And that whole kissing thing, I kiss you every single night even when you slobber from your open mouth snores” he confessed.

“Jack that’s not the point” you ran your hands through your hair, “You’re leaving me alone in times I need you- you’re everything and nothing all at once these days and I just- I hate myself for saying it, I feel left alone in this”.

The words didn’t hurt, but they did sting enough to visibly change Jack, the statement registering and processing in his head as he realized what you’ve been feeling. 

“You can’t just be here when it’s good, and leave when it’s not” your voice cracked, your throat felt raw and scratchy, “I love you- with every part of me, I love you, but I can’t be treated like I’m last in every single part of your- our- life” you began to cry, the days of sleep deprivation and running on an adrenaline plus caffeine induced high caught up to you and you instantly gave up, holding yourself up onto one of the patio chairs. 

“I thought I’d be better at this” you vented, slightly hyperventilating, “I thought something would just click and it’d be all driven on instinct- now I just wonder if this is even how I wanted things to be”. 

Jack let you cry and vent for an hour, he knew he’d have to somehow consolidate those feelings into some form of improvement in his parenting and loving you. 

MONTH ELEVEN

“Good girl mama” Jack cheered as your daughter clung to his hands while they practiced walking, her balance had improved within the past few weeks- almost confident enough to not need support. 

They say the worst parents to have are doctors. Nevertheless having two parents as doctors especially in emergency medicine. So when your daughter began to have increasingly common asthma attacks, your mama-bear mode was kickstarted severely.

This time, it happened when you were on the clock.

“Okay leave it- Doctor Abbot hands off your baby girl” the peds ward nurses kept shouting as Jack kept trying to get your baby girl to breathe evenly. 

You didn’t know, having been in surgery when she was admitted. Though the looks everyone gave you and the comment from Bridget to avoid the peds ward, it only sent you into a downward spiral. Sure enough you saw her in the database, saw that Jack was somehow labeled as her emergency room doctor. Upon reaching her room you were only met with every mother’s nightmare of their baby not breathing and their husband beginning to break.

You stood there in shock as they gave your baby high flow oxygen and stimulated her chest for her breathing to even out, one raspy and wrathful cough escaped her mouth- you could feel her throat pain from that alone. 

“She came in because of an asthma attack- we’re going to do a combo of albuterol and ipratropium, Jack almost had to code her” Doctor Varma explained to you, looking at you both as you stared in shock and horror at each other. You gulped and nodded before fully entering the room, “She’s doing fine hon’, asthma attacks can be severe but they can be treated easily and quickly- she’s a strong girl like her parents” she added on before leaving you both.

It was quiet in the room and held onto Jack’s hand for dear life, your knuckles pale from the grip. You could feel his hurt. 

“We were just walking, she got her balance controlled and then-“ Jack’s breath hitched, “She just wouldn’t breathe and I tried and-“.

You hushed him lightly, kissing the top of his curls, you could smell the sweat from the stress. 

The worst parents to have are doctors, for multitudes of reasons. The overwhelming health diagnoses, the fact that they need to know and have your history, the easier access to medical care, the arsenal of equipment and prescriptions kept at home. But mainly because they know about everything that could go possibly wrong when their child’s life is at stake. 

MONTH TWELVE

Your daughter wouldn’t grow, courtesy of the steroids stunting her growth. No matter how tiny, the precious little girl was a runner. 

Whether after bath time and almost slipping just before Jack caught her, the nonstop drumming in her high chair, she was a mover and a lover of sound by all accounts. 

Except birthdays, when all there was was loud noises and constant moving. So when she tugged on your skirt that you noticed something was different and overwhelming her from her flushed face and disheveled dark, copper, hair that she got from her dad. 

Jack’s family, no matter what you guys were doing, were cordial. The way they handled COVID and the election put a damp stain on their relationship with Jack to the point he even questioned if he wanted them in your daughter's life. You allowed for sparing interactions where Jack would’ve said no to any and all. Though you gave restrictions, you won’t tell them to get vaccinated, they won’t tell you that they believe in “facts”.

You knew it meant a lot to Jack’s mom, the only son who fully moved and made a living for himself. The eldest son was the last one to have kids, who would’ve thought. 

You excused yourself from your sister and Heather as you walked with your daughter inside the house where she led you to her room, settling down in her rocking chair, her eyes faltering and blinking sparingly, poor baby was tired. 

Smiling, you scooped your little girl into you and sat down on the rocking chair, her head to your chest, rocking slowly to lull her asleep.

Jack opened the door after a few minutes went by, remaining quiet as he approached you both, kissing your forehead as he massaged your scalp. 

“Your mom’s handling the presents” Jack murmured, caressing the handle that supported your baby girl, her pigtails now even and cleaned up as you fixed them while she slept. 

“We survived one year” you sighed, bumping Jack’s fist he had formed, “Thought I’d never see the day”.

“That you have a baby?”.

“That I have a baby with Doctor Abbot, who by all accounts made me overwhelmingly nervous on my first day of work” you joked, looking up at your husband.

“Wow, I have a baby with Rambo,” he joked back.

All you could do is smile, to be fair, Rambo was the first nickname Jack referred you to. And one of the first words your baby said, hell, if you didn’t have your own predispositions on Sylvester Stallone, you’d thank him. 

dividers by @cafekitsune

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Villain Monologue

Villain Monologue - a long speech by an antagonist, antihero, or “bad guy”.

Villain monologues may reveal the speaker’s inner humanity or be an opportunity to showcase the bad guy’s wickedness.

Strong performers can bring these characters to life, but movie monologues start with a great screenwriter.

How to Write a Villain Monologue

Define the purpose of the monologue. Monologues can progress the plot, delve into character backstories, and much more. Understand how your monologue operates and how its placement fits into the architecture of your script. Ensure you are intentional with each word.

Hear your monologue read aloud. When you have a draft of your monologue, read it aloud and then hear an actor or peer read it. Assess how natural the speech sounds and ask yourself if your specific villain would speak this monologue.

Instill truth in your villain. Though your character is fictional, their wickedness may be more symbolic than realistic. Ground the villain in reality. Villains should have goals, reasons for their actions, band a three-dimensional personality beyond their malice.

Play with different forms. Villain monologues come in many different styles. There are origin stories (in which a character explains why they behave the way they do), torture descriptions (in which the villain tells what violence they will enact), and calls for sympathy (in which a character expresses remorse for their wrongdoing).

Revise your monologue. After drafting and hearing your monologue, edit as you see fit. Some parts may be unclear or overwritten—edit your writing until it comes across as you intend.

Tips for Writing Villain Monologues

Counter your protagonist’s traits or speech patterns. If your protagonist speaks cheerfully and quickly, give your villain a dark, measured cadence. Villains can be foil characters to your main characters, and monologues can show off this contrast.

Position your villain monologue toward the end of the narrative. In some stories, but not all, the villain is the supporting character, not the protagonist. For this reason, you must give the audience or readers time to get to know the character. Only after that point, and often during a final confrontation, should your villain finally get their shining moment to change the audience’s mind or confirm their notions of this character.

Try giving your villain a catchphrase. Sometimes writers utilize the power of threes: Repetition is a helpful tool, and repeating a phrase thrice in a story can help audiences track a beginning, middle, and end. If your villain has a catchphrase, let them speak it toward the start, the rising action, and the climax.

Examples of Great Villain Monologues

Apocalypse Now (1979): Colonel Kurtz details the horrors of war in his monologue, sharing that he poisoned children with polio. Kurtz deduces that the best soldier is the one who cannot feel and instead transforms into a killing machine devoid of empathy.

The Matrix (1999): In the cyberpunk movie The Matrix, Agent Smith interrogates a captured Morpheus and tells him of his plan: to destroy Zion, the underground city where those who have escaped the Matrix go to be free. The monologue underlines how Smith is Morpheus’s antithesis: The former has chosen to live within a planned system, and the latter wants to break free from it.

The Incredibles (2004): Even an animated movie can feature a fantastic villain monologue. In The Incredibles, the character Syndrome shares his origin story: He was a fan of Mr. Incredible and wanted to be his sidekick, but Mr. Incredible rejected him. This embittered Syndrome, who then manifested artificial superpowers to wreak havoc on the Incredibles.

The Dark Knight (2008): The Joker gets a few famous supervillain monologues in this Christopher Nolan film, which sits between Batman Begins (2005) and The Dark Knight Rises (2012). First, the Joker tells Bruce Wayne’s love interest Rachel how he got his scars, and later, he tells Batman just how similar the two are.

Inglourious Basterds (2009): Anti-Semetic SS officer Hans Landa delivers a monologue disparaging Jewish people and the police to hawks who have to search for rodents to keep the circle of life going. Set in World War II, this movie, and Landa’s monologue, showcase the ideologies that led to the persecution of countless lives.

Game of Thrones (2011–2019): Cersei Lannister is a power-hungry character who gets many monologues across this hit HBO drama’s eight seasons. Toward the end of the series, she torments Ellaria Sand, who poisoned Cersei’s daughter. Cersei explains the equal vengeance she will seek on Ellaria’s imprisoned daughter.

The word “monologue” derives from the Greek roots for “alone” and “speak,” and it is the counterpart of the word “dialogue,” which comes from the Greek word for “conversation.”

Monologues can address other characters in the scene or be one character talking to themselves or the audience.

Monologues serve a specific purpose in storytelling—to give the audience more details about a character or the plot.

Used carefully, they are a great way to share a character's internal thoughts or backstory or to give more specific details about the story.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[cordjefferson]

Hi! Not sure if you still answer questions on here, but I feel lost as a screenwriter right now. In my final year of film school, I’m afraid the “industry” we are about to be let out into no longer exists. I don’t want to go back to journalism, but I also don’t want to fail at screenwriting in vain. I’ll keep going, but just wondering if you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place. Hope you’re well.

A few days after Trump was elected the first time, I called my dad to complain and commiserate. He listened to me worry for a few minutes and then he said, "You know, when I was a young man, it was common to wake up and find out that Medgar Evers had been killed or that Malcolm X had been killed or that Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed, or that another person had been lynched somewhere not too far from where I grew up. It was terrible, but we had to go on living our lives."

It was a helpful reminder that shit's always sucked -- in many ways it used to suck worse. That doesn't mean your fear is unfounded. You have every right to be afraid as all the world's ghouls circle their wagons in an effort to eternalize their wealth and influence, thus making our already intractable problems feel even more intractable. But the great news is that now is the perfect time for you to make your art.

Hard times can make for excellent work. Consider that punk rock and rap blossomed under Reagan. I'm currently in the middle of a novel called The Oppermanns, which follows a trio of German-Jewish brothers in 1933 Berlin dealing with the rise of Nazism. It's a great book on its face, but the whole piece becomes even more interesting when you discover that it was written by a German-Jew in real time as the Nazis rose to power.

Even if what you write isn't taken seriously at first, making art is never a failure. Artists aren't athletes, meaning you don't need to produce your best work before you turn 35 and your knees give out. Creativity is a lifelong pursuit. You'll only get better at it the more you live, learn, and grow. And because the winds of industries and the world are always changing, allowing their vagaries to scare you into inaction would be a death sentence.

I had a very long dry spell in the year 2014. I went to meeting after meeting trying to get into a TV writers' room and was rejected over and over again. After almost nine months of being told no, I finally emailed my manager one night to say that I was going to quit "working" in TV and go back to what was left of my journalism career. He asked me to stick it out for one more month, and two weeks later I got an interview with someone who hired me. Work has fortunately been pretty steady ever since. So, of course, stubborn persistence is also a valuable tool in all of this.

I can't imagine I'm saying anything that you don't already understand somewhere in your heart. You know that you've picked a challenging career. The arts are infamously cutthroat and chancy, and many of your contemporaries are going to quit somewhere along the line. It's a tough road to hoe, and the only thing that makes it at all tolerable is the ability to find value and joy in the making of your thing, whatever that may be. If writing something feels like it's been done in vain because you don't sell it or it doesn't become a hit TV show, I recommend you don't do this work. Only do it if the doing of it is what sustains you, because the doing of it may be what has to sustain you forever.

I'm rooting for you from afar. XO

[tekilluas]

(smoking that faifawine joint pls help)

finally caught up to p10L and faifawine has undoubtedly my fav story arc....by far. (i'm sure this isn't an unpopular opinion.)

screenwriter and og writer was in their BAG with them fr. not only is it rare to really see a couple communicate so much and so well and freely, it's rare that their conversations are so distinctly specific. their banter is so interesting because they catch on to the underlying meaning of the other's words. especially with the whole pretense of flirting tips, which is such a funny pretense to begin with because they've faced each other earnestly, clearly and without pretense from the start. faifa doesn't know much about (romantic) love before wine, but after wine, everything is so second nature that he doesn't even realize he understands all of it.

it's so smart to have an introvert x extrovert story where *both* learn from each other and learn to break habits that place them in repeating emotional cycles. (it's such a canon event to have an introvert see through an extrovert's exterior and vice versa.) it's so smart to have them be so seemingly distinct and unusual on the outset, to then have them essentially create a language between them that only they can speak.

from "your heart isn't broken, it's just a little chipped. i'll fix it" to "don't hang up until you see my face" to then "would it be wrong to kiss you" and "love is being so damn happy to see him rejecting someone else to be with me"???? even worse, from "the world brought two people with problems together to share them with each other" (wtf was this line like idek anymore) to "i hate that notebook. i hate counting down for our story to slowly end" and "we love each other so much, don't we?" then "i never understood why people fall in love until it happened to me." all in true romcom fashion. i don't know if i can get over the fact that faifa, utilized quite a bit for comedic relief, has quite literally the best dialogue.

like yes, some clichés are present as they will be, but they're done so well bc none of it is done for drama's sake (ironic bc of those episodes), but for the sake of the characters' own growth. it really is special to have characters like faifawine, and they're special to me not just bc you can feel through the screen that they love each other, but bc you can clearly understand why. and you can feel that they're in their own world as two people who really, really see each other.

tl;dr i love them so bad

[moondancer71]

timeless

'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this. So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.

Summary: Screenwriter, Daenerys Targaryen, has landed the job of a lifetime, to remake the 1947 holiday classic, His Merry Wife! The original made Jon Stark a household name. However, he tragically died on Christmas Eve, 1948, cutting his promising career short. Dany’s boss, Tyrion Lannister, President of Golden Lion Productions, rejects Dany’s changes to the film’s ending, which would remove the heroine’s happy ever after with her love interest. Tyrion sends Dany to Highgarden Castle in hopes that visiting the filming location during the holiday season will spark Dany’s creativity and renew her belief and love for the original ending. While on a tour of the castle, Dany turns over a magical hourglass that transports her back to 1947 during the filming of His Merry Wife! Will she be able to return to her own time without changing history?

Ice and Fire Jonerys Discord

[moonlitconfessions]

Episode 11 — The Backlash

The clip of Zayne’s words—“Talent should never be punished for telling the truth.”—rippled across the industry like a fault line splitting concrete.

In the morning, your inbox was flooded. Not with rejection, not with silence, but with offers.

Small agencies reaching out. Directors you’d only heard about in green room gossip. An indie film studio in Busan even sent you a script with a personal note from the screenwriter that read: “I wrote this role with someone like you in mind. Turns out, I was just waiting for you to exist.”

You’d thought that fighting back would cost you everything. But instead… it cracked something open.

Still, not all consequences come with applause.

That same day, as you walked into makeup, Siena was already seated in the next chair, eyes on her phone, legs crossed like a queen on a crumbling throne. Her reflection caught yours in the mirror.

“You must be tired,” she said sweetly. “Being brave is so exhausting when it’s only for show.”

You didn’t look away. “And being cruel must be exhausting when it never works.”

Siena gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll see.”

That was the warning.

And sure enough, hours later—just before your revised scene was about to air in the network teaser—news broke.

“Zayne Li Allegedly Dating Rising Actress [Y/N], Production Team in Turmoil” “Special Treatment? Accusations Fly as Starlet Skips the Casting Process”

Photos. Twisted context. Blurred headlines.

Your first thought wasn’t your own reputation—it was his.

You rushed to his dressing room.

“Zayne,” you said, voice low, tense. “You saw the articles?”

“I did,” he replied without looking up from his phone. “They move fast when they feel threatened.”

You closed the door. “They're dragging your name into this now. You defended me, and now they’re acting like you gave me everything.”

He finally met your eyes. Calm. Steady. “You earned everything. They know that. That’s why they’re panicking.”

You wanted to believe that. You did. But the industry was cruel. People believed what they wanted.

“I can make a statement,” you offered. “Say it’s not true. Distance myself. It’ll help—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t need to erase what we are to protect me.”

Your breath caught. “What are we?”

He stepped closer, just enough to feel the heat from his skin. His voice dropped.

“Something real,” he said. “And if they can’t tell the difference between performance and truth, then let them choke on it.”

It wasn’t a confession in the cinematic sense.

But it was honest. Heavy with meaning. Weighted with more than a kiss ever could be.

That night, when the teaser aired—with your scene restored and your lines intact��the response was overwhelming.

“Hana’s character just stole the show.” “Who is this actress and why wasn’t she lead from the start??” “Forget the drama, give her the spotlight.” “This is chemistry. This is story. This is it.”

Even as gossip blogs screamed “scandal,” fans were screaming support.

And yet… Siena wasn’t done.

The next day, you were called in for a meeting with one of the higher-ups—an executive known for his false smiles and silver suits.

He greeted you with a handshake and a script.

“I wanted to offer you this role,” he said smoothly. “A supporting part in a bigger production. Guaranteed press. Excellent screen time.”

You opened the script.

And felt your stomach twist.

The character was a caricature—a meek, beautiful woman used and discarded. No depth. No arc. No dignity.

You closed the script.

“Is this a reward,” you asked, “or a bribe to step back into the background?”

His smile thinned.

“It’s a stepping stone,” he said. “The kind actresses like you don’t usually get.”

You stood.

“I’m not climbing stairs that only lead down.”

You walked out.

You didn’t cry.

Not this time.

You called your handler. “Tell the indie director in Busan I’m interested. I’ll read the full script tonight.”

That night, you received a single text from Zayne:

“Let them whisper. We’ll rewrite the ending.”

And you smiled.

Not because it was romantic. But because it was true.

Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @regalillegal @zainaaryam @bidisasterforevermor @iisjihye @yourcaleb @zaynessbeloved @rione-x @plsdonutpercieveme @creator-freak @lunia-likes-pomegranet @beaconsxd

[firstkanaphans]

wandee goodday anon reporting back, i enjoyed it so very much. loved the characters, loved the dynamics, wanted to punch dr ter in the nose a few times. i loved that there wasn't a episode 11 of doom?? and how generally light and colourful the show is, both in mood and visually especially as i watched never let me go (phuwin's kissing is my enemy but that's off topic) just before lmao, the contrast was something else.

i also was delighted to have a side couple that a) was established from the start and b) only had drama totally unrelated to their relationship and stayed wholesome and loving each other the whole time, cher bestest boyfriend/brother in law/son in law/gym manager 💕💕.

the whole one night stand to fwb to fake dating thing in 2.5 episodes was hilarious and so was the fake dating to swimming in denial for about the whole rest of the show taking about one or two episodes, thank god yak got clarity soon enough because i would've tried to punch him too but he ended up having the patience of an angel. i was highly entertained that being seen in a same sex relationship as a public figure was a problem for him that lasted a whole 5 minutes too.

dee is the loveliest bean and i love a character who stands their ground when the person who rejected them just magically realises their feelings when a new love interest appears, like how many times was ter basically told to get lost ffs.

oh right i also love a forgiving parents for things that are actually forgivable moment because i've had enough of the shittiest parents of the decade in drama-land crying over their faults for a minute and the kids are like yknow what it's okay i don't mind about the trauma you gave me anymore ✌️🤪

had fun spotting a few places from other shows (golf's gay café, vivi's place in love sea -love what they did to it btw, dee's place might be one of my favourite fiction apartments-, boston's pace) and had even more fun laughing at emi's hair extensions, who did that to my girl?? and that ~american~ champion whatshisname's thick ass french accent.

all in all, 10/10 show, greatinn are wonderful together, might rewatch in the future, can't wait for the memoir of rati heartbreak (i was already looking forward to it bc of actual plot reasons but now that i've seen the guys in it can act good and kiss pretty, it's all bonus points).

I'm so glad you liked it! Sorry it took so long for me to respond to this. I was actually in the process of re-watching Wandee Goodday myself and wanted to finish it before I answered this ask. It's such a good show and stands up very well even on a rewatch.

Since you watched after the fact, you avoided most of the fandom drama, but when I tell you people hated this show and yet continued watching week after week just to shit on it. It was one of my more bizarre fandom experiences for sure. Like I get why there was drama surrounding Only Friends. I don't get why there were such a visceral reaction to a cute little romcom.

The highlights for me were the incorporation of casual sex into the narrative in a way I felt was realistic and, of course, OyeiCher who still have my whole heart. Emi's extensions were an absolute travesty.

One thing I did notice on my rewatch which I missed the first time through is that Yak often switches his polite particle to "ka" when talking to Dee, which is very soft and flirtatious. The reason it stood out to me is that I've noticed Great does this with Inn too and I wonder if it was his choice to change the dialogue rather than something that was in the script?

Memoir of Rati only has 2 or 3 Qs left, so I'm hoping we will get it by June. I have a lot of faith in this screenwriter and am very excited to see GreatInn again because I miss them terribly 😭

[arminthada]

Behind the Casting of Spare Me Your Mercy & other insights into oneD originals

This is an old interview from February 2024 when oneD originals were just announced and SMYM had not started filming yet. This is screenwriter Lux and director Wo talking about casting Tor Thanapob and JJ Krissanapoom for the lead roles.

When the first batch of oneD originals were first announced, I found it really interesting that many of the leads in these supposedly "big budget" original series for One31 were mostly independent actors/actors not under One31 management (Tor Thanapob, JJ Krissanapoom, Mai Davika, Baifern Pimchanok, Peach Pachara...)

More recently, P'Lux (the screenwriter of The Empress of Ayodhaya and Spare Me Your Mercy) posted a thread on Twitter discussing the casting/audition process for oneD originals but probably the same process apply to number of one31 series in general.

"Normally, when there is a role that requires an actor, the creator/project owner will inform the channel (One31) about the character/appearance/age/abilities they want. There might be examples of actors that [the creators] think are right for the executives to consider. The channel will specify which actors (in the channel) will come to audition. The casting department will contact them and ask if the actors are interested. Not everyone wants to audition for every role (re: some actors only audition for specific roles, some audition for multiple roles in one project). There are often actors who reject roles. If they want independent actors outside the channel/company, the casting department will contact them and ask for their willingness (to go to casting) in the same way. Then, an audition will be scheduled. The decision-makers are the channel executives/project creator/director/scriptwriter. They will discuss together. If the role is important, difficult, or not what you want, sometimes they will schedule another round of reading. They may do it more than once. In one project, one actor might audition for multiple roles. To see which role is best, most suitable. The OneD Original project places great importance on acting. It wasn't easy to finalize the actors."

This sentiment was also echoed by P'Aom Thammaruja, the casting director who said that the 8 people in the cast of Taste (an upcoming oneD original from the creators of Hormones The Series) were chosen among hundreds of candidates. Out of 8 people, only 3 are One31 actors (Charlette Wasita, Boom Saharat and Obey Punnavich)

Mabel (girl w/ pink background in the center) said all cast members were selected via auditions. Mabel went through two auditions herself. Mabel also said the Taste workshops are intensive and filming will begin this month. She also said the cast members have difficult schedules but the filming schedule has been set. (source)

While P'Lux is talking about this as an insight into oneD originals' casting process, but this casting process is mostly true for many projects across the industry, not limited to just One31.

[greafest]

Artistic references in squid game. There were a lot of them within season 1, more subtle homages than whatnot. Here were the ones with less discussion around them that I wanted to talk about, and that I wanted to try and tie to the characters of our series.

Visual references such as René Magritte’s Empire of Light often pop up in the backdrops of Squid Game. Interestingly enough, although the paintings are often interpreted as visual illusions meant to challenge our perception, Magritte himself rejected a single fixed meaning. Some believe the paintings are meant to depict wealth inequality. Which we know as a whole represents the entirety of Squid Game, and aligns with its most prominent theme— the centering around human contradiction, especially in how it places familiar elements in unfamiliar contexts solely to evoke a sense of disorientation amongst the players. Paired with the fact that the games are created as entertainment for the uber wealthy (a whole other potential post in itself about how the games are essentially a wager on class wars)— the use of these backdrops for philosophical value are definitely intentional. It’s not just for aesthetic value or to nod at Inho’s art obsession. All of this has probably been noticed before, albeit it’s still a very nice reference to talk about.

A scene which is shown further in the season displays a crowbar with blood on the handle. It didn’t immediately strike me as an artistic expression until I watched an analysis video by yogvampowerment via tiktok (love them). It had me thinking about René Magritte’s The Survivor and how it encompasses the psychology of characters such as Gihun and Inho well. Especially in both their roles as the protagonist and antagonist. The idea of an involuntary sacrifice and its consequences, though not solely onto the victim but perpetrator as well; a role most wouldn’t immediately jump to think also has its own mental consequences. The painting depicts a gun with a visible bloodstain on the butt, set against a seemingly domestic and peaceful background. The elements of the painting are meant to convey survivor’s guilt, and the different people who are affected in times of crisis. Squid Game is all about survival despite human conditioning. Even outside the games, the real world creates its own kind of crisis— one where people are pushed into desperate choices. Which is what shaped both Gihun and Inho in the first place. As we all know, Gihun becomes a changed person after the games. He ends up carrying an extreme amount of survivor’s guilt, even though he doesn’t directly kill anyone by the end of Season 1. He’s a shell of his former self, though more socially nuanced and aware which came at a cost. Inho has his own form of compartmentalization (an interesting mirror to Sangwoo). The drinking to aid his seemingly strong detachment when watching the games, his own self corruption that he wishes to pass onto Gihun in the name of nihilism, which is a belief he continually doubles down on so strongly likely because of his lingering shame over going down that path in the first place. To me, both character origins and the unexpected consequences they face as a result parallel the meaning of the painting. It also just reinforces to me the idea that Gihun and Inho were direct (and purposeful) counterparts to each other. Both of them are marked by their participation in systems of violence, even if their roles differ.

Literary odes to the book The Catcher in the Rye, another one of the many books on Inho’s desk featured in Season 1 that stood out to me. The book is about two siblings and holds a heavy emphasis on innocence and criticism of the “adult” world from the perspective of an adolescent. Holden, the adolescent mentioned, has his own loss of innocence and tries to shield that of other children from the harsh realities he was forced to face. Holden’s brother becomes a screenwriter for a theater which Holden dislikes—as he believes that his brother has prostituted himself by writing for the commercial entertainment industry. There are subtle parallels between Holden, his brother, and a certain pair of brothers within our series. More clearly, the relationship between Holden and his brother directly reminds me of Junho and Inho. Specifically how Junho potentially feels about the fact that Inho has become an “overseer” of such games. Inho is someone who (in Junho’s eyes) has sold himself to the rich and now profits from exploiting the very people he once swore to protect. The story as a whole also calls me back to the “innocence” of the games, and how there is a manufactured effort (on Inho’s part) to mix the world of finer art and philosophy with the softer life of the South Korean child. It wouldn't surprise me if Catcher in the Rye was placed on Inho's desk as a deliberate source of inspiration, perhaps reflecting his desire to find that same sense of lost innocence in himself and in others (which ties into the dynamic of 457 and Gihun— but once again, a discussion for another post). I’m hoping this speculation finds its way to Season 3 and will help in shaping some aspects of the dynamic. I would love to see Inho still being obsessively focused on the innocence in philosophy and morale Gihun continues to hold onto.

[swingingthehatchetnow]

How to telepathically tell Curt Mega (the real one, not the secret agent) that I am getting a degree in screenwriting and would do literally anything to help adapt SAF into a movie.

How to telepathically tell him that I’m not weird, I promise, I just really really feel so strongly that it needs to be a movie, but I’m afraid of reaching out professionally, because that means either 1.) rejection or 2.) by some stroke of luck, starting a career and I don’t feel ready for that despite how much I really really really really really want to be a screenwriter

How to telepathically connect with people in the industry you’re dreaming of working in. In the vaguest sense of the word, I have connections. (One of my professors was an executive producer of The Breakfast Club (but like,, I don’t really have connections, because it’s not like I could just say “hey prof, wanna produce a passion project movie musical about spies?” (I just know him in a student-professor way (but it’s not nothing))))

Curt Mega if you see this by some miracle, hi, I’m really interested in making SAF into a movie. If you don’t see this, I’m still interested.

[transmutationisms]

I read your review of Poor Things and I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the section in Alexandria? It was horrifically executed on many levels but narratively, that part of the film is about Bella learning about class structure. She rebels against the cruelty of society through charity then by working as a prostitute, during which time she has cruelty inflicted upon her instead. Finally, she realizes that God’s creation of her was ultimately cruel, and then she runs away with her ex-husband-father only to realize that her prior self-mother was fundamentally characterized by cruelty, especially to her “lessers.” She then decides once again that she does not want to be cruel, but then she achieves this by taking God’s place as the doctor-patriarch and ruling his household with a new pet goat. The entire film is also about Bella learning about feminism: the arbitrary oppression of women is not only nonsensical, it’s bad! But then the ending has her reproduce almost all those power structures and cruelty she claims to reject, and has the unfortunate consequence of positioning her as ultimately equally cruel/callous as God, the guy she meets on the boat who shows her all the starving people, and her former self-mother, etc. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on why this is or like, what the director’s message was beyond self-contradiction and taking cheap shots at starving people?

so i would quibble a bit with the idea that bella's experience in the maison-close is exclusively or even primarily portraying sex-for-pay as a site of cruelty. i think it's more depicting paid sex as work, and work as unpleasant and repressive, and that's why the maison is the site where bella gets involved in socialist politics—if moral philosophy is the arena by which she responds to the injustice of the poverty in alexandria, then labour politics plays the analogous role where the maison is concerned. her problems there aren't inherently with the idea of being paid for sex, but with specific elements of the work arrangement (eg, she suggests that the women should choose their clients, rather than vice versa). ofc she has some customers who are cruel or thoughtless or rude, but i didn't read the film as suggesting that was universal to sex work, and the effect of the position is more to demystify sex, for bella, than to convert it into being purely a site of trauma or misery. now i don't think this film offers a particularly blistering or deep analysis of sex work or socialism or wage labour, dgmw, but i do think the function of the maison is different narratively to that of the alexandria section.

anyway to answer your actual question: yeah so this is really my central gripe with the film. lanthimos (slash his screenwriter tony mcnamara) spends much of the film gesturing toward bella's growing awareness of several hierarchical structures that other characters take for granted: the uneven nature of the parent/child relationship (god took her body and created her without asking); class stratification (alexandria); the 'civilisation' of individuals and societies via education and bio-alteration (bella's talk about 'improving' herself; her 'progression' from essentially a pleasure-seeking child to an educated and 'articulate' adult). these three dimensions often overlap (eg, the conflation of 'childishness' with lack of education with inability to behave in 'high society'), though, most overtly, it's in that third one that we can see how these notions of improvement and biological melioration speak to discourses about the 'progress' and 'regress' of whole societies and peoples, and voluntarist ideas about how human alteration of biology (namely, our own) might produce people, and therefore societies, that are better or worse on some metric: beauty, fitness, intelligence, morality, longevity, &c. this is why i keep saying that like.... this film is about eugenics djkdjsk.

the issue with the alexandria section to me is, first, it's like 2 minutes (processed in the hollywood yellow filter) where the abject poverty of other people is a life lesson for bella. we're not asking any questions like, how is that poverty produced, and might it have anything to do with the ship bella is on or the fantastical lisbon she left or the comparative wealth of paris and london...? secondly, everything that the film thinks it's doing for the entire runtime by having bella grapple with learning about cruelty, and misery, and the kinds of received social truths that lanthimos is able to problematise through her eyes because she's literally tabula rasa—all of that is just so negated by having an ending in which she bio-engineers her shitty ex-husband, played as a triumphant moment. i don't even inherently have an issue with the actual plot point; certainly she has motive, and narratively it could have worked if it were framed as what it is: bella ascending to the powerful position in the oppressive system that created her, and using her status to enact cruelty against someone who 'deserves' it—ie, leveraging her class and race within the existing social forms rather than continuing to question or challenge them. if that ending were played as a tragedy, or a bleak satire, it would at least be making A Point. but it's not even, because it's just framed as deserved comeuppance for this guy we were introduced to in the 11th hour as a scumbag, so it's psychologically beneficial for bella actually to do the sci-fi surgery to him that literally reduces him to what's framed as a lower life form. unserious

[mrepstein]

It was his first cousin, photographer Basil Hyman, who painted the most vivid picture of Brian for me, supported by portraits of his favourite relative in his book, A Personal Memoir of 1960s Britain. Basil told me about their time together at the same school, where Brian often performed Al Jolson songs and My Yiddishe Mama during break. He spoke of an ‘incredible’ visit to the Diaghilev exhibition and how Brian taught him ‘the way to make an impression entering a room’ and said: ‘He played me Love Me Do first on our record player.’

Basil’s father was Queenie’s brother and Brian often visited their London home, most memorably on a certain Friday night when he was upset about The Beatles being rejected by every label. ‘He was ready to give up, but my father said, “Try one more time,”’ said Basil. ‘The following week he went to EMI.’

Covid delays meant filming had not started when Basil Hyman died in 2021, but he had read my script and later his son James, owner of the world’s largest magazine collection, helped with archive material.

Brigit Grant - Midas Man screenwriter (Jewish News - Oct. 12, 2024)

(I’ve previously posted some of Basil’s photos of Brian - you can see them HERE)

[livtoseeabrightertomorrowarchive]

Helloooooooo PSU!! Your favourite Screenwriting and Film Studies professor is back to help you make the magic happen!! I am stoked to be back for another year of teaching, I can't wait to reconnect with all my favourite people, and meet some cool new friends too!!!

In other news, if any of my students happen to see me on the dating apps, please, for the love of god, swipe... left?? Whichever way is the rejection way. Being on the apps is mortifying enough without having to worry about having to fend off horny freshman too...

But otherwise, if you see me out and about on campus come say hi!! Just don't sneak up on me... the last person that did that ended up with a broken wrist (which is absolutely not a threat, that's just what happened!)