My work is featured on a podcast and I joined it!
My Rom Com is discussed on The Shit No One Tells You About Writing
I am on the Shit No One Tells You About Writing Podcast talking about the opening scene to my rom com. At the time of the podcast it was named A Hollywood Romance in Italy. But based on their feedback I've change the title to Love, For Reel.
It was amazing getting to meet Cece, Carly and Bianca and their feedback was stellar. I sent in my submission to Books with Hooks at the beginning of August. Honestly, I submitted a very early draft to the
m to stop myself from submitting to agents, not thinking that they would respond or ask me on the podcast—palm to face. My manuscript has since been through quite a few revisions, plus a major one since being on the show and getting their feedback. I've included the revised scene and the original scene here so you can compare and see what you think.
Revised Scene:
Chapter One
Emily
I grip my lavender iPhone like it might sprout fingers and squeeze my hand back reassuringly. The golden Italian landscape is getting closer and closer out the plane window. My stomach clenches and unclenches like it’s trying to perform CPR on my guts. I look away and try to pull up my email again. Still no service. Not only had my original flight where I was sitting in first class been canceled, but the only seat I could find was in coach on this tiny plane with absolutely no wi-fi probably because it was built in the seventies. I’m not even exaggerating, there are ash trays in the arm rests. Actual ash trays.
I sigh.
Edna next to me places a wrinkled hand on my arm. “It’ll be alright dear. We’re almost there.”
The obnoxious man to the other side of me with slicked back hair and a matching shiny track suit holds up his latest model Android. “I have two bars. I’m telling you, trade in the iPhone. They’re trash.”
He had been telling me, that along with many other life tips on this flight, including how I should wear my hair—a paler blonde would suit you better—where I should invest my money—trust me short term corporate bond funds are the way to go in this current market—and my personal favorite, which dating app I should be on—you need to get Fine Print, it’s for professionals that are all vetted or you can get a join code. Here I have one right here and then we’ll be matched automatically. When I informed him, I wasn’t interested in joining any dating app he looked at me like I grew another head.
I try dialing my assistant on the off chance that somehow it goes through. The flight attendant catches me as he’s walking by.
“We haven’t landed, you can’t use your phone yet.” He tells me with a look that says I should already know that. “And your tray table needs to be up.”
I grab my script off the table, then my pens, and my pastel index tab post its. With my phone in one hand and all that in the other I can’t actually close the table.
“Can you hold this please?” I hand Edna the jumbled mess.
She takes all the things with a gob smacked expression like I just plopped a child in her lap. She’d probably be happier if I’d asked her to hold an actual baby. Well, sorry lady, at thirty-five with no man, you’ve got the wrong woman. Not that I’d want a baby, if I had a man. I was more the casual dating kind of girl. I don’t like to let things get too serious, and what is more serious than a baby? Not a lot. But there had been a few times lately when I saw a mother and child in the park when I was on my run, or at the grocery store and I felt a strange twinge low in my belly. I tilts my head, as if I the thoughts can run out of my brain with gravity. This was a rabbit hole I did not need to dive into.
The phone goes to voicemail. I let out a long, low frustrated breath. What time is it in LA? Why wasn’t Marissa picking up?
Edna flips through the script. My heart races. Why did I hand it to her? “Ooh, will I be able to watch this in the theater? You know last Christmas my grandson bought me a membership to the movie theater down the street. I can see three movies a week.”
I did know. She had told me about ten times since asking me what I did as we were taking off, and I informed her I work for a production company as an Executive Producer. She also told me in detail all the movies she had seen since receiving said membership. Somehow, I had the unfortunate luck of being seated in between the chattiest people I have ever encountered on any form of transportation, ever.
“That’s the plan.” I snatch the script back, and instantly feel ashamed of my snarky behavior. It wasn’t her fault she looked at confidential pages. I’m the one that thrust them at her.
“Velvet Antlers, it has a ring to it. When can I watch it?”
I dial the phone again. “Well, my boss still needs convincing. I can’t really talk about it.”
“That is a really cool title. Hey, I thought you were the boss.” Slicked back hair says. Why can’t I remember his name?
“There’s always another boss, but I’ll be sure to mention you like the title.”
Mr. Tracksuit sucks his teeth, clearly not a fan of my dry humor. What was his name? Marissa would’ve remembered his name. Actually, if Marissa was here, she’d have been in his spot, or probably got us in first class even though they insisted it was full, and I wouldn’t be forced to chit chat with strangers.
Voicemail again.
“Dear you should really listen to the stewardess and put your phone away. You’re missing the view.” Edna sighs and gazes out the window. “I wish my Henry could see this, we always talked about traveling. We would’ve been married 50 years this December. He would have loved this. Look at that view.”
She motions out the window where the sky is a bright blue and the lush rolling hills of Tuscany are getting closer. Closer and closer and I still didn’t even have my rental car reservation yet or know exactly what time I’m supposed to meet Ms. Camillo.
“Mmm.” I dial again. “It’s very—grassy. But I need to call my... assistant. If the wi-fi had been working on this bloody plane I could’ve been on the phone the whole time.” I didn’t mean to say that part out loud. The look on Edna’s face could cut glass. I smile hoping to soften her glare, but it doesn’t. She hands me back my things and turns resolutely toward the window. She really isn’t catching me at my best today.
Voicemail. Again. Two measly bars of service appear and with them seven new texts, undoubtedly all from my boss. My neck is itchy all of a sudden, and the plane seems even smaller.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I repeat the familiar mantra in my head and take three deep breaths. In through the nose, out the mouth. I really do love my job and worked my arse off to get it, but there were… problems.
I check my email. Sitting there right at the top is one from Marissa sent a couple hours ago.
Emily,
No luck on the rental car. Apparently, there is a shortage. I’ll keep working on it. I’ve arranged for someone from the set to pick you up. They’ll meet you at baggage claim.
I have an OB appointment first thing tomorrow morning (8am) but will be available after that.
Hope the flight was good!
Marissa Meloy
(She/her/hers)
I blow out a long breath. My body jolts back, and I drop my phone as the wheels hit the tarmac. Edna picks it up and hands it back to me with a smug—you shouldn’t have been on your phone in the first place—smile. Sod it all! This was just great.
***
The baggage claim is crowded. People move around like bees in a hive, buzzing in and out, grabbing bags and wheeling them away. I’ve never been fond of bees. Love lavender, hate the bees that come with it. I check my backpack to make sure my little package is still there and all in one piece. I breathe a sigh of relief as I opened the small case. It was perfectly fine.
My seat-mate Edna is waiting at the turnstile too, struggling with an enormous raspberry pink suitcase, her spindly arms trying to grasp it from both sides. If my nana was in an airport trying to get her suitcase, I really hope someone would help her. But there no one else is paying attention, so I grab it for her.
Original Scene submitted to Books with Hooks:
Chapter One
Emily
I looked out the window gripping my lavender iPhone like it might sprout fingers and squeeze my hand back reassuringly. The golden Italian landscape was getting closer and closer out the window. My stomach twisted into to knots at the lack of a set plan, and possibly the hurtling toward the ground in a tin can. Well, controlled hurtling, but still. It wasn’t really the tin can thing, as much as the height of the tin can. I shook my head, looked away from the window and dialed the number as we continued our descent.
“We haven’t landed, you can’t use your phone yet.” The little Miss Marple type woman, who couldn’t seem to mind her own business, and my seat-mate for the last eight hours helpfully let me know. What was her name again? “And your tray table needs to be up.”
I nodded and grabbed my script off the table, then my pens, and my subdued pastel index tab post its. With my phone in one hand and all that in the other I couldn’t actually close the table. I handed Miss Marple the jumbled mess. “Would you mind holding these? Thanks.”
She took all the things with a gob smacked expression on her face like I just asked her to hold a baby. She’d probably be more pleased if I had asked her to hold an actual baby. Well, sorry lady, at thirty-five with no man, you’ve got the wrong woman. Not that if I had a man, I’d want a baby. I was more the casual dating kind of girl. I didn’t like to let things get too serious, and what is more serious than a baby? Not a lot. But there had been sometimes lately when I saw a mother and baby in the park when I was on my run, or at the grocery store and I felt a strange twinge low in my belly. I shook my head, physically shaking the thoughts away. This was a rabbit hole I did not need to dive into just then.
The phone went to voicemail. I let out a long, low frustrated breath. What time is it in LA? Why wasn’t Marissa picking up?
Miss Marple flipped through the script. “Ooh, is this a movie I’ll be able to see on LightStream? You know my grandson bought me a year’s subscription last Christmas.”
I did know. She had told me about ten times since asking me what I did as we were taking off, and I informed her I worked for the streaming service as an Executive Producer. As gigs go it was pretty good one, but there were problems. I liked LightStream’s steadfast stance on making sure all artists are appropriately compensated. And I liked their creative vision in making original content as well as showing tried and true favorites. I did not like the all hours of the day and night texts from my boss. We also didn’t see eye to eye on the movies and shows we were creating. And a lot of the original content had put us behind financially. I sighed. One step at a time.
I snatched the script back. “To have LightStream air it is the plan.”
“The title is wonderful. When can I watch it?”
I dialed the phone again. “Well, my boss still needs convincing.”
“Oh, I thought you were the boss dear.”
“There’s always another boss, but I’ll be sure to mention that you like the title.”
Miss Marple pursed her lips, clearly not a fan of dry humor. What was her name? Marissa would’ve remembered her name. Actually, if Marissa was here, she’d be in her spot and then I wouldn’t be forced to chit chat with strangers. Marissa would’ve probably even got us upgraded to first class.
Voicemail again.
“Dear, it’s really important to stay off your phone while we’re landing. Who do you need to call anyway?” Miss Marple sighed. “I wish my Henry could see this, we always talked about traveling. We would’ve been married 50 years this December. He would have loved this. Look at that view.”
She motioned out the window where the sky was a bright blue and the lush rolling hills of Tuscany were getting closer. Closer and closer and I still didn’t even have my rental car reservation yet.
I dialed again. “It’s beautiful, really, very—grassy. And that is sweet. I’m sure Howard would have loved it. But I need to call my... assistant.” After three years it still felt weird calling Marissa my assistant since we were friends first. “If the wi-fi had been working on this plane I could’ve been on the phone the whole time.” The look on Miss Marple’s face could’ve cut glass. I smiled hoping to soften her glare, but it didn’t. She handed me back my things and turned resolutely toward the window.
Voicemail. Again. With two measly bars of service, and five unread texts, undoubtedly all from my boss, I checked my email. Sitting there right at the top was one from Marissa
Emily,
No luck on the rental car, still. Apparently, there is a shortage. I’ll keep working on it. I’ve arranged for someone from the set to pick you up. They’ll meet you at baggage claim.
I have an OB appointment first thing tomorrow morning but will be available after that.
Hope the flight was good!
Marissa
Marissa Meloy
Executive Assistant in the office of Executive Producer Emily Taylor
LightStream
I blew out a long breath. My body jolted back, and I dropped my phone as the wheels hit the tarmac. Miss Marple picked it up and handed it back to me with a smug—you shouldn’t have been on your phone in the first place—smile. Great. This was just great.
***
The baggage claim was crowded. People moved around like bees in a hive, buzzing in and out, grabbing bags and wheeling them away. I’ve never been fond of bees. What can I say, I watched My Girl far too young—well I watched most movies far too young. I was precocious and we had cable.
I found my vanilla and pink Michael Kors wheeling suitcase easily enough and put my matching weekender bag, ironic since I have-not once used it for a weekend getaway, on top. To escape the crowd, I wheeled my bag out through the large sliding glass doors into the orange afternoon. I was blasted by a warm, almost floral air. I took off my pashmina and put it on top of my bag and slipped on my aviator sunglasses. I’m not sure how I was supposed to spot who was going to pick me up. I dialed Marissa again before remembering she had an appointment that morning.
“Excuse me. Emily Taylor?”
I clicked end on the call. “Yes. That’s me.”
The man smiled and nodded; relief wafted off him with the cheap cologne he wore. “Great. I’m here to pick you up.”
I nodded and cocked my head to the side. “How did you know who I was?”
“They told me to look for a petite blond woman glued to her phone.” Toby laughed, but when I didn’t join in, he stopped abruptly. “I’m Toby. I’m one of the PAs on Undead Creatures. My car’s right over here. I can take you to your hotel.”
I shook my head and followed him toward a small blue sedan. “I’d love to go to right to set to check on the production.”
Toby opened my door, then climbed in the driver’s seat. “Right. Well. They’re not shooting anything right now.”
I pulled the printed schedule out of my purse. “They should still be filming for a couple more hours according to the shoot schedule.”
“Whoa, your schedule is on paper? We all just have them on our phones.”
I nodded. I knew I was odd in liking tangible lists and schedules.