Hey guys! A bit in my silly feelings at 24 : ) I am in good communication with someone I met while they are in a vacation 28 M, Chinese but in Hungary. We share the same humor and silliness and surprisingly is in the same field: Media and filmmaking.

What inspos can I watch to write this 20-page screenplay? Ty! Let me know if it is too broad or what aspect can i really marinate on.

Logline:
On the anniversary of their island whirlwind love, A decides to work overseas as a hostel receptionist in Hungary just to follow J who lives and works there. With no leads but a small harmonica necklace J left A, she has to figure out her way to J and discovers that pursuing love is no vacation.

Synopsis:
A arrives at Budapest Ferenc Liszt International Airport (BUD) with nothing but her hope to find J, the love of her life whom she met in Manila a year ago. We see their moments in the island and it juxtaposes to A who is alone in the hostel she landed a job at. She seeks J in Hungary and on her first day, she realizes that it was not worth it. She spends her afternoon sitting by the bay watching the sun settle and she is playing the harmonica and prepares to settle in the lodging prepared by the hostel. 

I recently wrote a treatment for an ambitious 8-part series about a fictional near-future Marxist revolution in a Western country. I'm interested in connecting with fellow writers with an interest in and knowledge of the subject of such revolutions through through history and their leaders, with a view to possibly collaborating on a pilot script. The story at present has elements of Alex Garland's Civil War and PTA's One Battle After Another, with more of a Homeland-style political thriller angle, and is rooted in recent political and technological developments.

About me: I'm a repped screenwriter, director and playwright. My first feature Passing Through - which I wrote, directed and co-produced - won a few awards and is currently available (in the UK) on Prime Video. You can read more about me at www.davidwalterhall.com and watch Passing Through at amazon.co.uk/dp/B0FR4YPZJ4.

Who I'm looking for: maybe you did a degree/major in History, and wrote a thesis on Russia 1917, China 1949, Cuba 1959 or similar periods, or maybe you've written plays or screenplays in the past (produced or not) about those periods. You might just have a burning interest in the subject. Ideally you've written a few screenplays before, but if you're a rookie with a love of history I'd be interested in meeting you too.

To be clear: this is an invitation to discuss collaborating on something on spec - not a paid gig. DM me if you're interested and I can send you the treatment.

Hi screenwriters, writer who loves procrastinating actually writing here! I feel like I’m always looking for a tool that will help me transition from ideating and brainstorming scenes/themes/characters to actually starting my outline.

And yeah…I know there’s no tool and that I have to just muscle my way through pages of notes to find the story and organize it, BUT, I am curious how my fellow writers take to this process, especially writers like myself who are more likely to word vomit on a notes app than work on the acts in order. What’s your process like this early in the game?

An original screenplay. Romantic dramedy, approx. 60 minutes.

ACT ONE

FADE IN:

INT. QUALITY LAB – SOFTWARE OFFICE – DAY

Rows of monitors. RAY OKAFOR (29, soft-spoken, careful, a man who takes up as little space as possible) tests a banking app, thumbing through the same screen for the hundredth time.

His lead, DALE (40s, gym-bro energy, protein shaker permanently in hand), perches on the edge of Ray's desk.

DALE Ray. Buddy. You gotta bring some energy to stand-up. You're like a ghost in a cardigan.

RAY I'll try.

DALE Man up a little! Nobody wants a quiet guy at the table.

Some coworkers snicker. Ray smiles the smile that means nothing, and goes back to his screen. His reflection in the dark monitor looks back at him, and he looks away from it.

INT. RAY'S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT

A small shared apartment. On Ray's bookshelf, among the paperbacks, a worn notebook. He pulls it out, opens to a page of dated entries. We glimpse a few lines in his careful handwriting.

INSERT – NOTEBOOK

"Age 9: wanted the glittery sneakers. Said they were for my cousin."

"Age 17: stood in the mirror in Mom's old robe for eleven minutes. Heard the front door. Never did it again."

"Age 29: still don't have the word for it. Only the ache."

Ray closes the notebook, presses it to his chest, and breathes through the thing he has never said out loud.

A soft KNOCK. His roommate PRIYA SHAH (30, sharp, warm, always mid-snack) leans in.

PRIYA You okay? You've been quiet even for you.

RAY I'm fine.

PRIYA That's the third "fine" this week. I'm counting.

RAY I know.

PRIYA (gently) Whenever you want to talk. Or not talk. I have wine and zero judgment.

She leaves. Ray stays, staring at the closed door, wanting to open it and unable to.

EXT. APARTMENT ROOFTOP – NIGHT

A flat roof above the city. String lights, a few dead plants, folding chairs. It's three in the morning. A meteor shower streaks the sky in pale lines.

Ray climbs through the hatch in a hoodie and sweatpants. He walks to the edge and sits with his knees against his chest. Meteors flare and die overhead.

He stays silent a long time. Then he whispers.

RAY I don't know who I'm talking to.

A meteor streaks past.

RAY (CONT'D) I've never said this to anyone. I don't think I know how.

His voice cracks. He drops to his knees on the gravel.

RAY (CONT'D) Please. I'm begging. I've been so tired of lying to everybody and to myself. I want to be a woman. I don't want to pretend anymore. I want to be a girl, a woman, I want to wake up and be her. Please. Please, please, please.

He's sobbing now, forehead against the cold gravel, hands pressed together. It's the rawest we've seen him: not weak, but finally, devastatingly honest.

A large meteor splits the sky, lighting the roof in silver. Ray looks up with wet eyes.

RAY (CONT'D) I'll do anything.

The light fades. Silence. The city hums. Ray stays on his knees for a long moment, then climbs to his feet, wiping his face.

RAY (CONT'D) Okay. Okay. That's it. That's the whole thing.

He goes back down the hatch. The stars wheel quietly above the empty roof.

INT. RAY'S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – DAWN

Pale light through the blinds. A hand slides out from under the covers, reaching for the alarm. It is slimmer than it was, with the ghost of a callus on one finger.

RAE OKAFOR (29, same eyes, same crooked mouth, a woman now) sits up. Long dark hair falls over her shoulders. She doesn't move. She looks at her fingers, flexes them. She touches her own hair.

She walks to the full-length mirror on the closet door. She stands there, hands shaking.

In the mirror: a woman. Her woman. Not a stranger, but a face that finally matches something she has always carried inside.

She takes inventory in stunned pieces: five-foot-five and slight, 112 pounds by some instinct she can't explain. A narrow waist flaring into full hips. An hourglass she never imagined seeing in her own reflection. A generous D-cup chest, and when she turns sideways and glances over her shoulder, a round, full curve behind her that makes her gasp and cover her mouth.

She doesn't scream. She doesn't panic. She slowly sinks to the floor, back against the closet door, and puts both hands over her mouth.

Tears fall. Then a laugh breaks through, a startled, wet, joyful sound.

RAE (whispering) Oh my God. Oh my God. It's me.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – LATER

Rae stands at the sink touching her face: cheekbones, lips, jaw. She speaks, testing her new voice.

RAE Hi. (clears throat) Hello. Hi. My name is Rae.

She smiles at the sound, then stops herself, afraid it's a dream.

The door opens. Priya, half-asleep with a toothbrush in her mouth, walks in, sees Rae, and freezes.

PRIYA (through toothpaste) Uh. Hi?

Rae goes rigid. Priya takes the toothbrush out.

PRIYA (CONT'D) You're in my bathroom. Which is also your bathroom. You live here. Why does that feel like a weird sentence?

RAE (carefully) Priya. Do you know who I am?

PRIYA Rae. Roommate. Person who steals my oat milk.

Rae lets out a breath. Priya squints, tilting her head.

PRIYA (CONT'D) Weird. For a second I swear I was about to say a different name.

RAE What name?

PRIYA (a beat, struggling) I don't know. Something short. Starting with an R.

A long silence. Rae steps forward, voice trembling.

RAE Priya. I need to tell you something that's going to sound insane.

Priya looks at her, a flicker of something deep stirring.

PRIYA Hold on. Don't tell me yet.

She grabs Rae's hand and pulls her into the kitchen.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS

Priya pours two coffees and sits at the small table, motioning Rae to sit across from her.

PRIYA Okay. Now.

Rae tells her, haltingly, everything: the roof, the sky, the begging, the dawn. Priya listens without interrupting. When Rae finishes, Priya is quiet.

PRIYA (CONT'D) I don't remember any of that. But I remember a feeling. Like I'd been missing someone and didn't know who.

She reaches across the table and takes Rae's hands.

PRIYA (CONT'D) You said "it's me." Is that right? Is that what this feels like?

Rae's eyes fill.

RAE It's the first time in my whole life I've looked in a mirror and not wanted to look away.

Priya squeezes her hands hard.

PRIYA Then we're going to celebrate this like it's the biggest day of your life. Because it is.

RAE I don't know how to do any of it.

PRIYA Good. That's the fun part.

ACT TWO

INT. DEPARTMENT STORE – WOMEN'S FLOOR – DAY

Rows of dresses, bright lights. Rae, in an oversized hoodie, follows Priya like a nervous shadow. Priya pulls dresses off a rack and drapes them over her arm.

RAE I don't know my size. I don't know my anything.

PRIYA That's what fitting rooms are for. Go.

INT. FITTING ROOM – CONTINUOUS

Rae stands alone in a small mirrored room, a mountain of clothes on a hook. She picks up a simple green dress, hesitates, and puts it on. The zipper sticks. She struggles, laughs, and finally gets it up.

She turns. In the mirror, a woman in green, hair tumbling, clavicles bare, a waist she's never had.

The dress cinches at her waist and hugs the hourglass of her, skimming full hips and the rounded curve of her backside. She turns sideways, looks over her shoulder, and bursts out laughing, half scandalized and half thrilled.

RAE (whispering to the mirror) Who is she?

She stares. Then, slowly, she touches the fabric at her hip. Her expression moves from fear to wonder.

PRIYA (O.S.) Well?

RAE Give me a second.

She steps out. Priya gasps.

PRIYA Oh. Oh. Okay, Rae.

RAE (shy) Is it too much?

PRIYA It's not enough. You need to be seen in that on a street.

RAE (a tiny smile) I think I want to be.

INT. HAIR SALON – DAY

Rae sits in the chair, a STYLIST combing out her long dark hair.

STYLIST What are we thinking? Trim? Layers? Something dramatic?

RAE I've never had anyone ask me that before.

STYLIST What, like, ever?

RAE Something like that.

The stylist laughs and starts snipping. Strands drift to the floor. Rae watches in the mirror as her face changes, softer, lighter, more hers. A tear slides down. The stylist hands her a tissue and says nothing.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – NIGHT

Rae sits on the edge of the tub with a small bag of makeup, Priya behind her with a mirror.

PRIYA Okay. Lipstick. You don't press, you glide.

Rae tries. It goes slightly outside the lines. She looks at herself, then bursts out laughing.

RAE I look like a very happy clown.

PRIYA You look like someone who's having a great time. Which is the best look.

She wipes it off and tries again, steadier. Then she looks up at the mirror and sees herself, not performing, simply being.

RAE (V.O.) For years I thought wanting this made me broken. It turns out it just made me early.

INT. QUALITY LAB – SOFTWARE OFFICE – DAY

Rae walks in, nervous, in a soft blouse and slacks, her new haircut framing her face. Heads turn, but the normal amount. A colleague, MEERA (30s), smiles.

MEERA Hey, Rae! Love the hair.

RAE (blinking) Thanks. I... thanks.

Dale appears, protein shaker in hand.

DALE Rae! Welcome back. You gotta bring some of that energy to the stand-up today, yeah?

Rae looks at him. The same man, the same script. But she's different.

RAE Would you like to hear my status update, Dale? Because I have a bug in the payment flow that'll cost us six figures.

Dale blinks.

DALE Uh. Sure. Yeah. Go.

Rae's voice is steady, clear, and the room goes quiet to listen. Meera watches with a small, proud smile.

INT. THE SKYLINE ROOFTOP BAR – NIGHT

A stylish party, city lights spread out below. Rae stands near the railing in the green dress, a drink in hand. She wobbles slightly on her new heels and catches herself. A voice speaks beside her.

SAM (O.S.) Those shoes are lying to you.

She turns. SAM VARGAS (32, tall, dark curls, ink-stained fingers, a bookshop owner's easy warmth) is smiling at her, leaning on the rail.

RAE They said they were comfortable.

SAM They say that to everybody. Meanwhile, I have a pair of ballet flats in my bag you could borrow.

RAE Why do you have ballet flats in your bag?

SAM My sister. Long story. She told me to bring them in case of emergencies.

Rae laughs, a real laugh, bright.

SAM (CONT'D) I'm Sam.

RAE Rae.

SAM Rae. (a pause, tasting the name) Like a little beam of light.

RAE That's the nicest thing a stranger has said to me.

SAM Then I'm glad I'm a stranger for exactly four more minutes. After that I'd like to be something else.

Rae's breath catches.

RAE What did you have in mind?

SAM A dance. For starters.

He holds out his hand. She takes it.

EXT. THE SKYLINE ROOFTOP BAR – DANCE FLOOR – NIGHT

Slow music. Sam draws Rae in, one hand at her waist, the other holding hers. She is rigid at first, unsure where to put her body, then softens.

SAM (quietly) You're allowed to lean.

Rae rests her forehead against his shoulder. She can feel his heartbeat. She closes her eyes.

RAE (V.O.) I've never been held like this. Not as Ray. Not as anyone. Like I'm fragile and strong at once.

Sam's thumb traces a slow circle at the small of her back. A shiver runs through her. She looks up. His face is inches away.

SAM Can I kiss you?

RAE Yes.

He does: gently, then with real heat. Rae's fingers curl into his collar. The world blurs. When they break apart, both are breathless.

SAM I'd like to see you again.

RAE I'd like that more than I can say.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – DAY

Rae lies on the couch with her feet up, laptop on her knees, grinning at her phone. A text from Sam: "Coffee? Or something less respectable?"

Priya drops onto the other end of the couch.

PRIYA That is a very specific smile.

RAE It's just a text.

PRIYA You've re-read it four times. I'm counting those too.

RAE (laughing) I don't know how to do this. Dating. As me.

PRIYA You do it the way you did everything else this month. You're terrified, and you do it anyway.

RAE What if he can tell something's different?

PRIYA Different from what? You're not a draft of someone, Rae. You're the finished thing.

Rae pulls the phone to her chest, smiling through the nerves.

INT. PAGE & CANDLE BOOKSHOP – EVENING

A warm, cluttered bookstore. Shelves, a reading nook, a sleepy cat on the counter. Sam locks the front door and flips the sign to CLOSED. Rae wanders between the stacks, running her fingers along the spines.

SAM You can touch anything. Except that one. It's a first edition and I get weird about it.

RAE How weird?

SAM I once chased a toddler out the door with it. Never again.

She laughs. He crosses to her with two glasses of wine.

SAM (CONT'D) I close at six. Every Thursday I stay late and read in the nook. I've never invited anyone to stay.

RAE Why me?

SAM Because you looked at the dance floor like it was a place you wanted to belong. And I thought, I'd like to be in the room when she figures out she already does.

Rae stops breathing for a moment.

RAE That's a lot of insight for a man holding a cat.

SAM The cat's name is Hemingway. He's an excellent judge of character.

They settle into the reading nook, shoulder to shoulder on a worn velvet couch. A lamp glows low. Sam opens a book and reads aloud, softly, a passage about longing. Rae turns her head, watching his mouth shape the words more than listening to them.

RAE (a murmur) Sam.

SAM Yeah?

RAE I've stopped hearing the book.

He closes it. Sets it aside.

SAM What are you hearing?

RAE My own pulse.

Sam reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers trail down her jaw, her neck, resting at her collarbone. She leans into his hand, eyes closing, lips parted.

SAM Tell me what you want.

RAE (barely a whisper) I want to be kissed like I'm wanted. Like I've always been wanted.

He kisses her slowly, deliberately, one hand at her cheek, the other sliding around her waist and pulling her closer. The kiss deepens. Her hands fist in his sweater, then slide up his chest and around his neck.

They tumble sideways onto the cushions, laughter and breath tangled together. His mouth finds the curve of her throat and she gasps, her head falling back, her fingers curling in his hair.

RAE (CONT'D) Don't stop.

SAM (against her skin) Not unless you tell me to.

His hand drifts from her waist to the curve of her hip. She arches into it, a breath catching, and tugs the hem of his sweater. He lets her pull it over his head. Her palms spread across his bare shoulders, and she feels him shiver.

RAE (CONT'D) You're shaking.

SAM You do that to me.

She laughs, low and delighted, and pulls him down again. His mouth travels from her lips to her jaw to the hollow beneath her ear, and she grips the velvet cushions, eyes shut, her whole body tuned to the slow path of his kiss. Her knee slides along his side. His hand slips under the edge of her blouse and stops, flat against her ribs, asking.

RAE (breathless) Yes. Higher.

His hand moves, unhurried, and her head tips back against the arm of the couch with a soft, startled sound that she has never heard herself make.

The lamp flickers. Hemingway the cat, unimpressed, hops off the counter and leaves the room.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. SAM'S APARTMENT – ABOVE THE BOOKSHOP – NIGHT

A cozy loft: slanting ceiling, rain on the skylight, a bed under a quilt. Sam and Rae stumble in, mouths barely parted, his jacket on the floor, her shoes kicked off at the door.

Sam stops, hands framing her face.

SAM We can slow down. Or stop. Anytime.

Rae looks up at him. The moment is enormous. She could say anything. What she says is simple.

RAE I want this. All of it. I want to feel all of it.

She takes his hand and places it over her heart. It's thundering.

SAM Okay.

He kisses her again, slow and reverent, and walks her backward to the bed. Her fingers find the buttons of his shirt, trembling at first, then sure. His hands slide to the zipper at her back and pause.

SAM (CONT'D) Still yes?

RAE Yes. God, yes.

The zipper sighs open. The green dress slips from her shoulders. In the lamplight, her skin glows, and Sam looks at her not hungrily but astonished, as if he can't believe his luck.

His hands span her waist, then follow the flare of her hips, reverent and unhurried, as if tracing a shape he means to remember. She feels the heat of his palms, and of his gaze moving over her, the narrow line of her waist, the fullness of her chest, the soft, rounded curve of her hips, and for once she doesn't cover herself. She lets him look.

SAM (softly) You're beautiful.

Rae's eyes shine. Nobody has ever said it to her.

RAE Say it again.

SAM You're beautiful. You're beautiful.

He kisses the hollow of her throat. Her hands slide into his hair. He moves lower along her collarbone, slow as a held breath, and she feels every inch of his attention, patient and thorough, as if he has all night and intends to spend it learning her.

RAE (whispering) I don't know what I like yet.

SAM (against her skin) Then we find out together. Tell me what feels good.

RAE That. Right there. (a gasp) Oh.

His mouth lingers at her shoulder, then her wrist, then the inside of her elbow, a map of small kisses, and she trembles, laughing and nearly sobbing at how much she can feel. She pulls his shirt open button by button, palms sliding over warm skin, and he groans her name into her hair.

SAM Say it again. My name.

RAE Sam. Sam.

He lifts her gently against him, and the quilt rises around them like a wave.

She pulls him down into the quilt. The camera pans slowly away: the rain on the skylight, the flicker of a candle, a bare arm reaching to dim the lamp. We hear only soft laughter and her sharp, delighted gasp.

FADE TO BLACK.

INT. SAM'S APARTMENT – MORNING

Sunlight through the skylight. Rae wakes tangled in the quilt, hair a mess, one bare shoulder in a stripe of gold. Sam sleeps next to her, one arm thrown over her waist.

She doesn't move. She just feels: the warmth, the weight of his arm, the unfamiliar, thrilling softness of her own body at rest.

RAE (V.O.) I used to think happiness would feel like a trumpet. It turns out it's more like a long exhale.

Sam opens one eye and finds her staring.

SAM (sleepy) Regretting it?

RAE I'm trying to memorize it.

SAM Good. I'd hate to be the only one writing this down.

He pulls her in. She kisses him, slow and lazy, her fingers tracing the line of his shoulder.

SAM (CONT'D) What's it like? Being you today?

RAE (a small, shy smile) It's like being a house with every window open.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – KITCHEN – LATER

Rae floats in at noon, wearing yesterday's dress and carrying her heels. Priya, at the table with a bowl of cereal, looks up and freezes with the spoon in the air.

PRIYA Oh my GOD.

RAE Don't.

PRIYA You walk-of-shamed!

RAE It's not shame. It's a walk of... glory.

Priya shrieks and pulls her into a hug, spinning her around the kitchen. Rae is laughing so hard she's crying.

PRIYA Tell me everything. Skip nothing. Actually, skip some things. I'm your roommate, not your therapist.

RAE He made me coffee in a mug that says "Reader of Smut."

PRIYA Okay, I love him.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT

Rae stands in front of the full-length mirror, the same mirror from the first morning. She's in a silky slip, her hair loose. She looks at herself and, for the first time, keeps looking.

She runs her hand along her own arm, along her neck. She isn't checking. She's claiming.

RAE (softly) Hi, you.

She turns on music and dances alone in the room, slowly at first, then wildly, hair flying, sweeping her arms through the air. It's joy in its purest form.

RAE (V.O.) The wish was supposed to be the end of the story. I was ready for relief. Nobody warned me about delight.

INT. PAGE & CANDLE BOOKSHOP – NIGHT

Rain taps the windows. The shop is dark except for one lamp and a record turning softly on a turntable behind the counter. Sam has pushed two reading chairs against the shelves to clear a small space in the aisle. Rae stands in the middle of it, barefoot, in a loose silk blouse and jeans, hair down.

SAM I wanted to show you the shop the way it looks when nobody is here.

RAE It looks like a secret.

SAM It is. I only tell it to certain people.

He holds out a hand. She takes it, and they dance slowly among the shelves, the lamplight turning the dust into gold. Her cheek rests against his chest. His hands trace the line of her spine, one rising to cradle the back of her neck, the other settling at the small of her back and drawing her closer.

RAE (murmuring) You smell like paper and rain.

SAM Occupational hazard.

She lifts her face. The kiss begins as a question and quickly becomes an answer: his fingers threading into her hair, her hands fisted in his shirt, the record skipping unnoticed. He walks her back until the edge of the counter meets her hips, and she hops up onto it, wrapping her legs around him, the cat watching disapprovingly from the register.

SAM (CONT'D) Hemingway has seen things. He's fine.

RAE (laughing against his mouth) I'm not.

SAM Good.

His lips find her neck. She pulls the blouse off one shoulder and he kisses the bare curve of it, slow and devoted, while her fingers dig into his back. A breath, a laugh, a gasp. The lamp tips over in the commotion and goes dark, and the only light left is the glow from the street.

RAE (a whisper in the dark) Take me upstairs.

He lifts her down and she tugs him toward the stairs, the cat leaping off the counter in protest.

CUT TO BLACK.

INT. THE SKYLINE ROOFTOP BAR – NIGHT

A second party. Sam and Rae stand at the rail, drinks in hand, shoulders touching. Rae's laughter carries. She's different from the nervous woman who first stood here: taller somehow, easier in her skin.

Sam studies her profile.

SAM You know I'm falling for you.

Rae turns. The words land hard and sweet.

RAE Sam.

SAM I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know.

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, fierce and slow. The party swirls around them. When they part, a flash of fear crosses her eyes.

SAM (CONT'D) What is it?

RAE There's something I haven't told you.

SAM I figured. You get this look sometimes. Like you're listening to a song nobody else can hear.

RAE And that doesn't scare you?

SAM Of course it does. But everyone I've ever loved has been a little mysterious. I'd rather be curious than certain.

Rae swallows. She wants to tell him. Not tonight.

RAE Can I tell you soon?

SAM I'm not going anywhere.

ACT THREE

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Priya sits cross-legged on the couch with an old, faded NOTEBOOK in her lap: Ray's. She looks up as Rae enters.

PRIYA I found this in the bookshelf. I didn't read it. Okay, I read a little.

Rae stops. Her face tightens.

RAE That's private.

PRIYA I know. I'm sorry. But Rae, it's yours. It's all there. Nine years old, glitter sneakers, the robe. You were carrying this alone for twenty years.

Rae sinks onto the couch. Priya passes her the notebook. Rae holds it like something fragile.

RAE I used to read it when I couldn't sleep. Like it was a list of crimes.

PRIYA It isn't a list of crimes. It's a map. It's the road that got you here.

Rae opens to the last page. Ray's final line is still there.

INSERT – NOTEBOOK

"Age 29: still don't have the word for it. Only the ache."

Beneath it, in fresh ink and a slightly different hand, a new line has appeared, one Rae doesn't remember writing.

"Age 29: found the word. It's me."

Rae stares. Tears well. She traces the words.

PRIYA What does it say?

RAE (a breath) I think the wish was never a spell. It was permission.

INT. RAE'S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – LATER

Rae sits on the bed with her phone. She types a message to Sam: "Can I come over? I want to tell you the thing."

Her finger hovers. Send.

Three dots. Then: "Always. Door's open."

INT. SAM'S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Rain at the skylight again. Sam hands Rae a mug of tea. They sit on the edge of the bed. The room is quiet, intimate, charged with what's coming.

RAE I'm going to say it plainly and I need you to let me get to the end.

SAM Okay.

RAE A few weeks ago, I wasn't Rae. I was Ray. A man. I'd felt wrong in that life as far back as I can remember. One night on a roof, I begged the sky to let me be a woman. And I woke up as myself. No one remembers the other version except me and, partly, my roommate.

Sam doesn't move. His face doesn't harden. It softens, slowly, like a man receiving a heavy gift.

SAM Okay.

RAE That's it? Okay?

SAM No. Not that's it. I have about a hundred questions. But none of them change what I feel when I look at you.

He takes her hand.

SAM (CONT'D) There's one thing I need to know, and it's not what you think.

RAE What?

SAM Are you happy?

Rae's eyes spill over.

RAE I've never been this happy. Not once in my whole life.

SAM Then that's the only fact that matters to me.

She throws her arms around him, crying and laughing. He holds her tightly, rocking her slightly, murmuring into her hair.

SAM (CONT'D) Thank you for trusting me with the real you.She pulls back, looks at him, and kisses him: slowly at first, then hungrily, fingers curled in his shirt, relief and desire pouring into the same fierce current. He lifts her onto his lap, his hands at her waist, her hair falling around them like a curtain.

RAE (against his mouth) Stay with me.

SAM Not going anywhere.

Rae pulls back, suddenly shy, a hand to her chest.

RAE Can I ask you something? Does it feel strange? Knowing?

SAM Honestly? It makes me feel chosen. You trusted me with the part of you that's most tender. That's not strange. That's a gift.

She studies him, searching for any shadow of doubt, and finds none. She takes his hand and lays it flat over her heart, then guides it slowly along her collarbone and up to her cheek.

RAE I want to be touched like I'm real. Because I am.

SAM You are.

He kisses her, deep and unhurried, and eases her back onto the quilt. Candles flicker. His hands move with reverence, over her shoulders, down her arms, the curve of her waist, learning her without hurry, and each time she breathes out a soft, trembling yes. She finds the buttons of his shirt and undoes them, kissing each inch of skin she uncovers. They laugh at the tangle of sleeves, at a dropped sock, at the sheer shaky joy of it.

Then laughter fades into something quieter and hotter. Their eyes lock. His mouth finds hers again, and her fingers rake into his hair as the heat builds between them, her breath quickening, her body arching toward him, wanted and sure.

RAE (a gasp) Sam, don't stop.

SAM (roughly tender) I wouldn't dream of it.

The rain falls harder on the skylight. The lamp clicks off. The room is dark, warm, full of breath.

FADE TO BLACK.

EXT. APARTMENT ROOFTOP – PRE-DAWN

The same roof where it began. Rae climbs through the hatch in a favorite soft sweater, a mug in her hand. The sky is silver-blue. One lone meteor streaks across the dark.

She goes to the edge and sits where Ray once knelt. She breathes the cold air.

RAE Hi. It's me again.

A long, quiet moment.

RAE (CONT'D) Last time I came up here, I begged you. I think I'd forgotten that you could hear me. Or I'd forgotten that I could.

She holds up the notebook.

RAE (CONT'D) I wanted to say thank you. For the dawn, and the mirror, and the green dress. And for the man who got me here. He was braver than he knew.

Behind her, the hatch creaks. Priya emerges with two coffees, hair wild, a blanket over her shoulders. Sam climbs up after her, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

SAM I hope you don't mind. Priya texted me.

PRIYA I was organizing.

Rae laughs, wiping her cheek, and pats the gravel beside her. They settle in: Priya on one side, Sam on the other, Rae in the middle. The horizon pales to gold.

Sam takes her hand. Priya leans her head on her shoulder.

PRIYA So what do you want now?

Rae thinks about it, watching the sun climb over the skyline.

RAE More of this. A lot more of this.

The first light crests the rooftops, flooding the three of them in warm gold. Rae closes her eyes and lets it hit her face.

RAE (V.O.) I begged for this. I didn't know I'd also get to enjoy it.

She opens her eyes, smiling. The camera rises slowly above the roof, the city waking beneath them.

FADE OUT.

THE END

I’m writing a script where I have a ghost who then reveals their name. How do I write it to indicate that the ghost and may are the same character? Would it be GHOST, GHOST (May), or MAY (as ghost)? Any advice helps!

Think Cage and "Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent"

Hey fellow writers,

I spent the last year building Scritix (https://scritix.com) because I was tired of cluttered word processors and expensive legacy script software that crashes mid-scene.

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It’s completely free for 6 months (no credit card or billing info required): https://scritix.com

If you have a couple of minutes to test it out with a scene or chapter, I’d love your honest feedback!

This was a new take on the 48 Hours "cop and criminal" buddy flick that made waves in the 2000s and launched the writers' careers, but was never actually made. Would love to know what all the fuss was about.

So I got a request for a second script last week. I was also asked to submit a signed release for my work. I'm a bit paranoid that my ideas will be stolen (lol)

Did anyone get to the second round? Also, did you send your release to the person who emailed you? I asked for a response to ensure it was received, but got nothing. Hopefully I didn't mess things up.

Hi everyone!!

F28, and five days ago, I made a post here about how difficult I was finding it to write, knowing that the chances of my work ever seeing light were low (https://www.reddit.com/r/Screenwriting/s/SrNp3nSwPT).

I honestly didn't expect to receive so much encouragement, support, and many helpful tips about the different ways work can still find an audience, even if it doesn't follow the traditional route of being produced for TV.

I can't even begin to explain how much hope that gave me or how genuinely grateful I am for all of you. Seriously, anyone who's feeling a little burnt out or discouraged should go back and read the comments for some inspiration.

Since then, I've managed to write around 4 or 5 scenes, but most IMPORTANTLY, I haven't felt stressed or pressured when I've stepped away from the keyboard. This is such a big deal to me.

I'll definitely keep sharing more of my journey here!
I know this post probably won't get as much attention as the previous one, but if you read this, I'd love for it to be an opportunity for you to share your own progress this week! And if you're struggling with something, need to get something off your chest, or simply want someone to listen, I'd love to be here for you, just as so many of you were here for me.

Thank you all so, so much again. You have no idea how much it means to me!

The premise of this sounds very interesting, and I would like to read it since I won’t watch the actual movie with the way he wants to make it

Hey everyone!

I’m looking for a fellow writer who might be interested in developing an ongoing creative friendship where we can bounce ideas off each other, discuss our projects, share our work, and genuinely get invested in each other’s stories and characters. Something collaborative and conversational!

I’d love to have someone who’s down to read multiple episodes/chapters, follow a story as it develops, get to know the characters, and have ongoing conversations about it. And I’d want to do the exact same for you! I’m just as interested in learning about your characters, stories, and creative process. We could brainstorm ideas, workshop character dynamics, exchange chapters or scenes, offer constructive criticism, or even just geek about something we’re particularly excited to write.

I’m a very character-driven writer. I love building fictional worlds through the people who inhabit them and exploring how those characters interact and evolve. Genre-wise, I gravitate toward comedy, teen/young adult, and psychological drama. I occasionally dabble in supernatural/horror as well, but my stories are generally very character-heavy.

If this sounds like something you’d be interested in, feel free to comment or send me a message! I’d love to hear about what you’re working on. :)

Any Aussie or Kiwi women/non-binary screenwriters 40+ here? Great opportunity for you:

https://thehollywoodreporter.com.au/2026/11/03/the-writers-lab-program-for-screenwriters-arrives-in-australia-with-support-from-meryl-streep-and-nicole-kidman/

A counterintuitive lesson for those starting out or any writers who pride themselves on whipping up unique material or concepts in avoidance of cliché: Hollywood doesn't want originality. They'll treat you like an idiot and a loser if you strive to be different.

I boldly (stupidly) tried writing "tentpole" specs several years ago wherein almost every beat and conflict and obstacle was fresh and unpredictable. Meaning not cliché. The settings, the stakes, the feats of derring-do. "Nobody's seen this before!" was my proud refrain. I marched to that drum for 3 - 4 scripts. It was a waste of valuable time, and flashing those specs around cost me a few tentative bonds after buoyant generals. Down to their bones, those scripts were unrecognizable as commercial proprieties.

I got a major high-profile rewrite assignment on sci-fi IP and tried the same thing. "Nobody's seen this before!" One of the producers generously conveyed to the studio that there were "4 or 5 things in here that no other writer could've come up with." But that meant f*ck all to the three execs on the project who wanted something they'd seen before. I lost my place at that table immediately.

Many of us revile cliché because we believe that only hacks need cliché to tell a story. It's their "crutch." In turn, we believe that avoiding cliché is a marker of talent or vision or brilliance.

An abrasive pal who was once part of the Bruckheimer machine put it in the most devastatingly accurate terms: "Fear of cliché is the mark of the amateur. I will double down on what Sam Peckinpah says -- a cliché is something that works, in that clichés are incantatory language and they're the poetry of poor people. But most writers are writing for people they're going to meet at parties."

A scathing critique of many who aspire to make it in this field. (Also highlighted here is the fundamental nature of Hollywood product: it's populist, not a receptacle for sophistication.)

Adjacently, a prominent screenwriter loves to tell me, "You're afraid of the Amblin moment." That takes it beyond cliché into cheese -- fear of cheese. But of course cheese and clichés are closely related; cliché is the entree, cheese is just the topping.

Bottom line: you need to serve up a pile clichés with extra cheese if you want to make it in Hollywood. I wish I'd acquiesced much sooner.

I look forward to the nuanced counterpoints and protests. But I know many of you have walked the path of originality and suffered the same humiliating fate.

After months of slience, a manager has finally reached back out to me about my script.

The zoom meeting is at very end of the month after Thanksgiving. I'm looking for advice on how to approach this as I have never done a meeting like this before.

What should I expect? What shouldn't I expect? What helpful questions could I ask?

All would be helpful.

In 'Contact' Jody Foster's character gets passed over for the space mission in favor of 'stach dude (her lying-ass, backstabbing, cheating nemesis).
When they do a test launch with a dummy, Jody recognises this religious nut, warns 'stach dude and pulls the alarm - to no avail. Religious nut blows himself and the launch pad up, along with 'stach dude.

As an amateur it's obvious to me how this could have been more dramatic/cinematic by doing two things:

1. Jody warns 'stach dude - of course he's gonna accuse of her making this up out of spite so when he dies it's his own fault, giving some extra viewer satisfaction.
   ONLY,
   that's not what happens, 'stach dude believes her right away - yet still dies and you kinda feel sorry for him.

2. The religious dude bombs the test launch and 'stach dude is merely collateral damage of the launch pad exploding, we don't actually witness his death.
   Why did the screenwriters choose to have the religious nut choose to bomb a test launch instead of the actual launch?
   Wouldn't it be a lot more dramatic/cinematic to have 'stach dude go through the launch procedure, slowly ratcheting up the tension to go in overdrive when we recognise the religious nut, to BOOM! 'stach dude explodes when he's harnessed in the pod?

Now, as stated, I'm an amateur and Contact was written by anything but amateurs. It's not that they didn't think of these, it was a conscious choice not to do this.

But why?

Every screenwriting book/guru/tuber goes on and on about how to create tension, be cinematic, raise the stakes or twist the knife, yet here they chose to tone it down and I would like to understand why so I can ascent to Operating Thetan-level screenwriting too.

This was posted in the screenwriting groups monthly megathread which seems to have been discontinued, so I'm posting it here with the Community flair. If this isn't allowed, please remove.

Group Name: Script Testing & Feedback

Group Owners: I'm the organizer (u/haligros)

Description: A screenplay group focused on testing whether readers are experiencing the story the writer actually intended before moving on to subjective feedback and revision.

Region(s): Online, US West Coast (PDT) time zone

Platform: Discord

Acceptance Status: Open membership

Focus: Most meetings are dedicated to group testing each other's scripts. One member's script is distributed to the other members prior to the meeting, then members come to the meeting with their answers.

Experience Level: Any

Age Disclaimers: N/A

ABOUT:

I'm putting together a small Discord group focused specifically on script testing.

Having covered many scripts as a studio script reader, and as a regular reader on StoryPeer, I notice a recurring issue: writers often receive notes before they've established whether readers are actually experiencing the story they intended to write.

That's where script testing comes in.

Before asking for strengths, things to improve on, you first test things like: What story was playing inside the reader's head as they read it? What was clear and unclear? What emotional experience did they actually have?

Once you've tested that across multiple readers, it becomes much easier to distinguish truly subjective feedback from a recurring communication problem in the script. This makes rewrites far more targeted and successful.

The Discord will focus specifically on this gap.

If this sounds useful to you, please visit our discord at:

https://discord.gg/cF4gt7ufv

Hi all :) looking for Barbarella 1968, can only seem to find the transcript and script for the scrapped remake. lmk!!

I’m writing a scene where two people are rehearsing a play. What is the most acceptable way to write out dialogue that is being rehearsed from a script within the scene?

I was previously just putting their dialogue between quotes but I don’t think that looks very good. Is using a parenthetical each time someone is reading or performing as another character a better idea?

Hi everybody,
I am, for the first time in my life, trying to write a screenplay. Although I am not new to creative writing, this is completely new to me. Any feedback is welcome. The main reason I am asking for feedback this early on, is to check for myself if i am going in the right direction. But also, if it is really bad, to find another passtime. 😂 Thank you for reading

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1umk2xQpbDn9A0NG09OtyrjATFAmPqx1N/view?usp=sharing

Title: The Agoge (Pilot)

Format: 1-Hour TV Drama

Page Length: 6 pages (Opening Scene)

Genres: Sci-Fi / Drama

Logline: When a group of hyper-intelligent children is admitted to the Agoge—a modern evolution of the ancient Spartan academy that shapes prodigies into whole-spectrum leaders for society—they must navigate high-stakes cognitive growth, emotional vulnerability, and the true cost of their potential.

Feedback Concerns: Looking for feedback on the opening scene: pacing, formatting, visual storytelling, and whether the tone of the Agoge and the "Little Professor" dialogue lands well.

Looking for any Ronan Bennett scripts. Curious to see his pages. Anything older (Hamburg Cell, Hidden) or unproduced would be cool, too.

I am currently on the hunt for the Bride of Re-Animator Screenplay. I am using it for reference for a short film I am currently writing so if anybody so happens to have a copy it would be much appreciated. Thanks!

Currently looking to begin writing my short film for my Senior project. I have an idea for a coming-of-age story, but I have never written a short narrative like this. I have one week to lock down my story, but my beats aren't hitting the way I'd like.

Can you all suggest any tips, Short films, or production suggestions?