Winning the film competition has changed his life, but I’m not sure if it will change mine. I’d expected winning to make me feel more successful or look shinier. Perhaps the reason it doesn’t feel real is because I’m still the same person I was before winning.
I’m not any better of a writer. My work is the same quality. It’s just recognized now. And I can’t help wondering if I deserve this recognition.
I’ve heard other writers talk about imposter syndrome before, and I thought it a modest brag. But now I get it. If I didn’t feel like a winner before, something like a cash award isn’t going to change that.
Art can’t be about validating oneself. If you don’t feel validated before a standing ovation, you’re seriously going to question the honesty and/or sanity of those clapping. Art has to be about expression. Which is why the one woman crying in front of me at the theater while watchingSole Searchingmeant more to me than everyone else standing up afterward. I know her tears were real. Without us having ever met, my words somehow touched her.
So maybe I am changed. Not in the way I feel successful, but in the way I’m inspired to keep writing, whether I feel successful or not.
Our win did give me the encouragement needed to submit my finished romantic comedy to all my producer contacts, though I wrote it to reach Karson. If it doesn’t get made, I’m not sure how I’ll share it with him.
I ponder this on my drive to Lincoln High. I’ve got to get my mind in gear for students. They have to be my audience now. I want to teach them the love of literature, but I also want them to find the courage to win the battles in their own life stories. And they’ve got stories. I mean, the mess I created with Karson started back when I was their age. Back when my sister and I began to envy each other in high school.
I park in the teachers’ parking lot and head down the empty halls to my classroom, telling myself to focus. Karson used to tell me the same thing, trying to get me to focus on him, and now that he’s not with me, I can’t get my focus off of him. I can even almost smell his cinnamon scent.
I stop and close my eyes to inhale deeply. Yep. Spicy gun oil. My imagination is like no other. I shake the sense and continue forward, past the new resource officer’s room.
The trick for leaving my worries behind has always been to get lost in someone else’s story. I’d started doing this as a child at bedtime. I couldn’t sleep unless my mom read us a book. When she quit reading to us, I’d read with a flashlight under my covers. When I got caught and my flashlight taken away, I began making up stories in my head. I’d tell them to Jewel, but when we stopped talking, I had to start writing them down.
All my years of envy had melted away like candle wax when Jewel and I reconnected, but this new gratitude washes clean any remaining remnants in the votive holder of my heart. Kai had wished me love with Officer Angry Eyes, but maybe my happy ending is with my sister. I’ll treasure my time with her even more because of the years we spent apart.
Maybe that’s enough. Or maybe it’s God who has to be enough when others fail us, like Thad said. I can avoid envy by always being grateful for Him in my life. Aware He is working in the bad as well as the good. I can have a heart at peace.
I shrug at the simplicity of it all. I understand life in a new way, yet the more I learn, the more I realize I don’t know. So I’ll keep reading to understand those around me, and I’ll write to better understand myself.
I pull open my classroom door, making a mental list of the books I’m going to teach this year. I’ve pulled my favorite quotes to hang around the room. I’ll quote them so many times that when my students graduate, they may forget everything else, but they won’t forget the best lines of heroes and heroines. Those lines from writers in the past will help define their direction. Then they’ll have no choice but to become heroes in their own right.
On that note, my phone rings the soundtrack from the latest Wonder Woman movie. My heart skips with delight that my sister might be calling about the new tradition I suggested of taking the kids to Enchanted Forest on the last day of summer before school starts.
I drop the armload of books on the nearest desk and dig my phone out of my purse. I blink at the name on the screen. It’s not my sister’s name.
I hold my breath before realizing I’m going to have to breathe in order to answer. I exhale in a rush. “Hello?”
As I wait for a response, I try to recall if I’ve gotten a new phone recently. Did my contacts get messed up? This happened once before when Kai became Kai-Kai and Charlie’s last name was swapped with a Charlie I used to date. The technical glitch created confusing moments like when I thought my roommate was telling me he missed the sound of my voice. But I haven’t gotten a new phone since then, so the person on the line must be who my contact list says it is.
“Gemma? This is Zach Price.”
I bulge my eyes toward the wall. I’d sent him my screenplay because I’m a glutton for punishment, not because I had any inkling he would be interested. “Zach?” Wow, that came out with more enthusiasm than any playwright should ever use for a producer.
“Yeah.” Small chuckle. “Is your screenplay still available? If so, I’d love to chat when I’m in town next week.”
“Yes.” I blindly reach for the desk so I can take a seat before falling on the floor. This is why Charlie told me I need an agent. So they can keep negotiations afloat while my emotions jump overboard. I’ve never wished I was a better actress more than I do right now. “I’d love to get together.”
“All I need from you is a new ending to the script.”
My overinflated lungs exhale at the request. I should have been expecting this shoe to drop. “What do you mean?”
“Most of the story seems very authentic. You were even able to make the ridiculous seem believable, even when the writer stows away on a fire truck.”
I bite my lip. He’s not only critiquing my story, he’s critiquing my life. “Thanks?”
“But I don’t buy the ending.”
I lean my forehead forward into my free hand. I’d just claimed to Kai that I knew happy endings, but this one hadn’t actually happened yet. I’d written it so I could profess my love to Karson through the Gemma character. The real happy ending won’t actually happen until he watches the movie.
“I don’t think Jenna would lead the cop on a high-speed chase just to have him pull her over.”
I twist my lips in disappointment. “Why?” I question. “Because she’s such a good driver he can’t catch her?”
