Page 21 of All That Glitters
He smiled and shook his head. He nodded at the sunset. “So I can have my favorite person to share moments like this with.”
She snuggled closer to him. The air felt charged with something familiar, and yet new. She looked at him briefly, wondering if he felt it too, but his gaze was fixed on the sunset. She turned to watch it with him. “I’m glad too,” she said softly.
Chapter seven
Boot Camp for Flaky Writers
The official Tony Harding Screenwriting Boot Camp began that morning with self-appointed Drill Instructor Debbie Campbell establishing the ground rules over coffee and gas station donuts.
“Okay, listen up, recruit,” she said, pulling out a small notebook and clicking her pen. “Here’s how this is going to work. You will write every day. Every. Day. Weekends, holidays, hangover days; I don’t care if you’re struck by the plague. You write. I have ten bucks riding on this.”
“What if I’m literally dying?” Tony asked, taking a bite of his chocolate glazed donut.
“You can die after you finish the script. I’ll even write a nice obituary: ‘Here lies Tony Harding, who finally finished something.’” She made a note in her book. “Rule number two: I am your shadow. Where you go, I go. If you’re writing, I’m watching. Think of me as your exceptionally cute, very persistent guardian angel.”
“Guardian angel or warden?” He grinned.
“Both,” she said cheerfully. “Rule number three: No excuses will be accepted unless they involve actual bloodshed. Your own bloodshed. Other people’s blood doesn’t count.”
“What about—”
“Nope. No what-abouts. The beauty of this system is its simplicity.” She tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. “Oh, and rule number four: for every page you write, you get one Tony Point. For every day you skip writing, you lose five Tony Points.”
“What do Tony Points get me?”
She leaned back in her chair, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That’s to be determined. But trust me, you’re going to want them.”
Their primary training ground became the beach. Tony would sit with his back against the sea wall, scrawling as fast as he could on his yellow legal pad. Debbie would lie on a towel a few feet away, a book resting on her stomach and sunglasses on. She might have looked like she was relaxing, but Tony quickly learned she was a watchdog, ever ready to pounce on any perceived slacking.
“This scene needs some action,” Tony muttered to himself one afternoon, tapping his pen against his teeth. “Maybe Marcus bites someone. But not in a gross-out way. Make it in a sexy, vampire-y way that makes teenage girls swoon...”
He trailed off, his gaze drifting down the beach to where a heated women’s volleyball game was in full swing. The players were college-aged, bronzed and athletic, and way more interesting than anything on his legal pad. He watched for a moment, a small smile creeping across his face.
“HARDING!”
His head snapped back around like he’d been electrocuted. Debbie was sitting up, peering at him over the top of hersunglasses, her expression stern enough to make a Marine drill instructor cower.
“Eyes on the page. You can watch sweaty girls jump around on your own time.”
“I was just looking for inspiration!” he protested. “Maybe I could have my vampires play volleyball.”
“Is your main female character a five-foot-ten blonde with a killer spike and legs for days?”
Tony glanced back at the game, then at his notes. “Not yet. But that’s a great idea.”
“It’s a horrible idea.” She lay back down. “Now back to writing, recruit.”
Twenty minutes later, inspiration struck like lightning. Tony suddenly bolted upright, nearly knocking over his water bottle in his excitement.
“Oh! Oh, what if—” He started scribbling frantically, his handwriting becoming increasingly illegible as the ideas poured out. “What if the initiation isn’t just about being turned? What if they have to complete these increasingly ridiculous challenges? Like, the first one is drinking a beer without using their hands to open the can. They have to use their fangs. And make the last challenge something outrageously epic and vampire-y.”
Debbie peered over her book, watching him with the exasperation of someone watching an energetic puppy discover its own tail. She thought about it for a moment. “That’s actually not terrible.”
“I think I’ll use it.”
“Good. Then, write. Write, write, write.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, turning back to his legal pad.
