Chapter 49
Maggie gets the email as soon as she arrives home.
Maggie,
Great meeting you at lunch! Just spoke to your agent, we’re THRILLED to have you adapt Summer Rain! Send me pages as they’re ready! Excited to see what you come up with and super excited for your book too (pls send it to me when you’re ready). Welcome to FYC Studios!
—Charlie
She lets out a scream. She’s been so worried. Ingrid’s eyes were ice on the drive back, and Maggie thought she might try to talk Charlie out of hiring her. But now it’s done! She got the job! Ingrid was probably just nervous. Maggie will show her in the pages—she has nothing to be nervous about.
Maggie writes back, cc’ing Ingrid:
Hi Charlie!
WOOHOO! I’m so excited to get started on Summer Rain! Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity!
Warmly,
Maggie
Ingrid replies five minutes later to just her.
BTW this goes without saying, do not send Charlie ANY drafts directly. When we deliver the script, it should come from me.
Maggie has no intention of ever emailing Charlie without running it by Ingrid first.
Roger that!!! Xo Maggie
She opens up Final Draft, the software for screenwriting that Cassie says everyone in Hollywood uses.
But as the neon-green program loads, she fights a heavy dose of imposter syndrome.
She did a remarkably good job BSing her way through lunch, but this is her first screenplay ever.
Can she really pull it off? She shoves the doubts back.
Now’s not the time to chicken out—Drive it like you stole it, remember?
She starts typing.
INT. ISABELLA’S BATHROOM—DAY.
—
Hours later, Maggie reads over her first scene.
She thinks it’s good. She swapped out the parts that were based on her own life and gave Isabella a more typical moody, rebellious teenager backstory.
She wishes Willa were there to read it, to tell her if it’s any good.
But Willa’s still not back yet, and it’s just Maggie and her words, bouncing off the walls of insecurity in her head.
By Wednesday night, she works up the nerve to send it to Ingrid.
Let me know if you like the opening scene! Xo Maggie
Within an hour, Ingrid writes back:
What happened to the church lady stuff?
Maggie makes herself type out the words. I just thought the rebellious teenager stuff was more fun and relatable! You said you wanted the movie to appeal to the 13-24 female demographic, right?
She holds her breath as she presses Send. Thankfully, when Ingrid writes back, she drops the point about the church story, but there’s a bigger problem:
First off, the scene’s way too long. Have you planned this out? It’s not like writing a novel! A screenplay’s all about the economy of words. That’s why it takes years of practice. EVERY unnecessary page is wasted time and money for the studio—
Whoa. Maggie’s mouth goes dry. Shit! Ingrid hated the pages! She shouldn’t have sent them to her so soon!
This is Screenwriting 101. I shouldn’t have to tell you this stuff, the email continues. The best scripts pack an emotional punch with very few lines. That’s the difference between an experienced screenwriter and a novice, and believe me, the studio can tell.
Maggie writes back immediately.
Got it! I’m so sorry! I’ll totally start over. I’ll go and read other scripts. I’ll plan everything out and make sure the pacing’s better! Sorry again!
—
Maggie works around the clock, trying to read as many scripts as she can to cram years of experience into a few weeks.
She’s determined not to let Ingrid down.
Cassie was kind enough to send her all her notes from her screenwriting classes.
By the next transfusion, she’s managed to cobble together an outline for Summer Rain.
Ingrid takes one look at it and tosses it aside.
“This doesn’t work,” Ingrid says.
Maggie tenses.
“OK…What exactly feels off to you?” she asks.
“First off, it’s boring that the person she’s going to spend the rest of her life with is her old roommate,” Ingrid says. “What’s the point of going all the way to Europe if that’s what’s going to happen? It needs to be someone new and unexpected!”
“Really? Because I think it could be really powerful and inspiring for viewers to see that companionship could be right there all along…” Maggie starts to say. Her voice trails off, though, when she sees Ingrid’s unimpressed expression.
“It feels too small,” Ingrid says. “There’s not enough wish fulfilment.
And also”—Ingrid reaches for the paper and points to a paragraph—“this whole part about the two of them wanting their companionship to be recognized so they can get covered by each other’s health insurance?
What is that? People don’t think like that. ”
“I do,” Maggie argues. “It’s one of the reasons I agreed to the transfusion!”
Ingrid looks stumped for a minute. “For health insurance?”
Maggie nods.
There’s an awkward silence.
“Well, it’s not movie-worthy. It’s supposed to be a fantasy!” Ingrid says. “You’re making it too real. People don’t want real. They want atmospheric and delicious. That’s why Eat, Pray, Love worked! This needs to be the modern version of that.”
Before Maggie can say another word, Ingrid takes a pen and axes entire pages of her outline.
“Wait! Hang on a second! Can we just…?” Maggie pleads, trying to save her words.
“It’ll still be atmospheric, I promise! But I just feel like it should be real, too.
Think about it. She’s a young woman in Europe.
How’s she even paying for it? Does she have a GoFundMe? Is she doing OnlyFans on the side?”
“God no!” Ingrid makes a face. “She’s just there! People don’t care how she’s there. She’s just a DJ, like you said—”
“Can you really afford to get around Europe on a DJ’s salary?” Maggie tosses out.
“Can Carrie Bradshaw afford her Upper East Side brownstone on a columnist’s salary?” Ingrid argues back.
It goes on and on like that until Maggie finally relents.
Maybe Ingrid’s right. Maybe she should write the fantasy version that Ingrid is so convinced will sell better, complete with a Tuscan villa and a hot pool boy who doubles as a private chef.
There’s just one problem: That’s not the movie she wants to write.
And isn’t the whole point of being the writer so Maggie can write her vision?