He took to the streets, newly invigorated, and started his engine. He was going to make it big. He just knew it. He was destined to be something great.
He was but an ordinary child from an ordinary family, from an ordinary city. And his parents did ordinary things. But he had always learned to dream big. His parent’s thought he was insane for the ideas he pulled out of his tiny head, and scolded him for taking too many risks. They just wanted him to live an ordinary life, with an ordinary family, in an ordinary city, with an ordinary job. But he was never supposed to be satisfied with ordinary. Oh, no. He always knew he was destined for something great.
He had decided a long, long ago, that on the day he turned 18, he would take to the big city, in search of his big dream that would make him go down in the books as one of history’s greats. Ludicrous as that may sound, to him, it made perfect logical sense. And, when the day came, he took to the streets, newly invigorated, and started his engine. He backed out of the driveway, and took to the freeway. The freeway bound for that most illustrious of cities.
The drive took him over troubled waters, mountains upon mountains, and to places he never knew existed. But, alas, he had arrived. He never knew if the big city really existed. He had only heard stories of it. His strength to believe in its existence only came from his gut, that kept telling him he had to go there. And, on the day he arrived, he was instantly enthralled by the city’s enchantment.
He didn’t have much money that he brought with him. He only had the $3,000 his parents gave him for his 18th birthday, and the car he was given when he was 16. She was old, but she was reliable. Hadn’t broken down on him over all those miles. He knew it wouldn’t be easy making it here with only what he had. But he knew he could do it. He knew that this was his cross to bear.
He headed for the local church. He had promised his parents that he would attend church regularly in their absence. And he was a man of his word. But he also had ulterior motives. He knew that he could ask for shelter here in his time of need. So he did. And he was given shelter. So that’s how he got past the first few weeks. In those first few weeks, he went out in search of jobs, and found one as a dishwasher in the local Chinese restaurant. Definitely not the most illustrious jobs out there, but he needed something to cover the bills. Then, he went to look for a place to stay.
He finally settled on one that was well within his budget. He was content with the progress he had made so far. One month in, and he already had a job, and a place to call his own. Despite his place being infested with pests, he was determined to not let this hold him down in his quest. Soon after, he took to pursuing his dream. He quit his job, and took to the streets of the city that he now called home.
He knocked on every door of every office of every production company in the city. He knew his screenplay was going to be a big success. But he wasn’t even offered a chance to pitch. He wasn’t even allowed in the front door. He was rejected the moment he walked in. The first time, he wasn’t fazed. He told himself that the studios had made a huge error in rejecting him. The second time, he was a little perturbed. Was it something wrong with him? The third time came. And the fourth. And then the fifth. And rejection upon rejection kept piling on his already shattered self confidence until it eventually gave to the torrential downpour. He grabbed the biggest bottle of vodka he could find, and headed home. He drank well into the wee hours of the morning that day. It was truly a sight to behold.
Once the pinnacle of self confidence, glowing with the radiance of a thousand suns, he now sat, shattered under the weight of his own failure, blaming himself for even thinking he could be something big. For even thinking that the ordinary life, with an ordinary family, in an ordinary city, with an ordinary job was a life not worthy for him. He was devastated. He took his manuscripts and threw them out the window. He never wanted to see it again. He slept for days from that moment, without a bite to eat.
He lacked the drive that once fueled his passion. He was afraid to leave his bed. It was, as if, he had fallen into a deep, dark, coma. But the ringing of his phone woke him. It hadn’t run dry yet. He looked at his phone. It was from a number he wasn’t familiar with. Who could it be? He picked up. Had his father changed numbers?
“Hello?” he inquired.
“Yes, hello? Is this the writer of In Search of Home?” said the voice at the other end.
“How do you know that title?” he asked. He was confused. He had only printed one copy, and deleted the digital version. There was no way anyone could have found the manuscript.
“Pardon the sudden call. I should really introduce myself,” said the caller. “I represent one of the top studios within the nation, and I recently came across your work. And, upon further inspection, really think we could do wonders with this on the big screen!”
“But I only printed one copy, and I threw it out!” he shouted, dazed. “How do you have it?”
“Sir, I’ll explain upon meeting you in person. Are you able to come into discuss the details of this project?”
He answered the caller swiftly, and grabbed his keys. He made his way down to the studio promptly. There, he was greeted by the mysterious caller. She was an executive at a major studio, and had come across his work when she was walking through his neighborhood, in search of inspiration. She, too, was a writer. But, she knew she never had any talent in writing. Her talent was in finding unearthed talent. But, on the day she passed his apartment, she wasn’t looking for artists. She was looking for inspiration to write her own piece. But, as luck would have it, she just happened to pass by his apartment at that exact time he threw his work out the window. As if a certain Charles Dickens wrote the story of his life, she picked up his manuscript, and put it in her bag. She had forgotten about it, until days later when she was cleaning her office. She read it, fell in love with it, and contacted the number on the manuscript.
Perhaps luck was shining on him after all.
The two instantly hit it off from there. They discussed, intricately, the details of how the show would pan out. Soon, they were getting the ball rolling, getting the details ironed out in this moment of fruition. He was ecstatic. And so was she. For years she had been searching for a story like his. And here she was, finally making it happen. And here he was, realizing his true potential. And despite all the delays in production scheduling, his smile never left his face. And her smile never left hers. The two knew that this was the start of something big. Something, magnificent.
The first day of shooting finally rolled around.
His eyes made their way around the set — from the actors to the cameras, this was just what he had imagined. This was his moment.
“Ready. Set. Action.”