That's my name, don't wear it out:)
So, I was supposed to have an exciting day. I had an interview for an internship with one of Canada's largest TV production companies that makes programs for Discovery, Travel Network, Movie Central, CBC etc. That was supposed to be the excitement of the day.
Well the internship went well. I got it. I will be in the development office, reading and critiquing scripts that come in, coming up with ideas for shows (and, apparently, seriously pitching it to a broadcaster) and researching documentaries. Stuff like that. Stuff that's exciting and fun and that I would be really, really good at.
Now there is no promise of securing a full-time position afterwards but I think if I could work really hard, I may be able to pull it off or at least get a glowing recommendation from them as I pursue development with other companies (luckily in Vancouver, there are tons of production companies about).
So I am super duper excited about that.
Another cool thing comes on the heels of feeling low about myself for the last wee while. You see, I started questioning whether I am really supposed to be a writer. What if I only think I can write but I really can't and no one is telling me so? What if I have been kidding myself all these years? What if the talent that I hope I have is missing, or was never there to begin with?
Then I started wondering if I should bother writing my scripts to begin with. If only someone in the industry could read them and TELL ME that I have talent. Or that I suck and should just forget it. Accept that I won't be a writer and move on.
Well, in Hawaii, I got an email from one of the agencies I submitted my script to. They aren't interested. They read it and, well, that's that. They never told me why, just that they decided to pass on taking me on as a client. I took that really, really hard. One rejection to me meant that they would all reject me. And if I couldn't be a writer, who was I? What was I good at? Oh the mysteries of life.
Then today, I got a simple email back from a well-known producer who had read my script. She said:
I have read your script and enjoyed very much, however, it is not a project we are able to pursue at this time. We are currently looking for scripts that fit into a lower budget category and since it takes place in various beautiful European settings, it unfortunately takes it out of the running for us at this time. Like I said, I really enjoyed it and think you are a very good writer. I would be happy to read more of your work, if you think you have something that fits within our current parameters. Please do send more along.
Gah! You hear that? I am a good writer! That's all I needed to know to continue my hard work and my dreams. Will it be easy? No. But now that I have encouragement to keep going, that it's not all a lost cause, that I'm not like half the dreamers on American Idol, I WILL keep going! Plus, I just sent off another one of my scripts to her (an arguably better one) so who knows?
But that's not even the BIG excitement of the day. The "it could only happen to me" type of thing.
Today I was supposed to pay my tuition for school (yeah, it's a tad late since school is over in a few weeks). Anyway, I was going to put it all on my Mastercard but had to go to the Bank of Montreal on Burrard st (this is downtown Vancouver) to pay down my card a little bit.
As I entered the bank, I noticed I was walking behind this man who gave me the creeps, right off he bat. He had baggy, paint-splattered jeans, a black baseball cap, dark wrap around shades, long frazzled and dirty grey hair and beard.
And a big coat in which he kept his hands in both front pockets. It looked like he had something...pointy...in them.
So as we are walking to line up at the teller, I notice two security gaurds glance at him suspiciously. Already, I was suspicious.
We went through the maze of poles to the front of the line. I was right behind him. And suddenly I knew that he was here to rob the bank and I was going to be stuck in the middle of it.
Maybe I should leave, I thought. I was directly behind him, I could quickly run out. But I decided to stay. Because I had never been witness to a bank robbery before.
I thought maybe I was just paranoid too, but I knew. Enough that I opened my phone and began to text "I'm at the BMO on Burrard and I think it's going to get held up" to my bf. But before I could finish it, I was next in line. And the teller I was called to was directly beside the man.
As I walked up to my teller, I noticed the sketchy man passed his teller a slip of paper. I knew what was written on that paper. Give me all your money or I'll blow this place up or shoot you all or whatever.
So I nervously made conversation with my bank teller, while we both nervously kept glancing over at the other "transaction" that was taking place.
Now, we were talking for a long time and I was counting cash at some point, so I never saw the robber leave or get handed his demanded money.
But I did see the bank teller in tears, another teller phoning the police, the management show up and announce the bank was closing. And I managed to get out there just as the cops showed up and before it was all in lockdown. Hell, I couldn't stay for the show, I had an interview to go to!
My first bank robbery, Canadian style. No guns, no hostages, no "everybody get down on the ground!" Just a piece of paper calmly handed over while everyone else (except for me) remains oblivious.
So that was my day. And it's not even over yet :)
