Page 25 of Snow Balled

“Good, because you’re definitely going to get it.” Ronnie’s excitement carried clearly across the distance. “So, you know how Miami is one of the stops on the tour?”

“Yes.” I’d never been on a long press tour for a mainstream film like this, but I knew the drill. Miami was scheduled toward the end of the trip, if I remembered correctly.

“Well, there’ll be a brunch for you guys and for some of the prominent locals in the industry.”

“And?” Now I was getting excited… Ronnie’s tone had rubbed off on me.

“And, one of the people attending is Miranda Morales Sanchez.”

“No!” My gasp was so loud it probably reached the far end of the cabin.

“Yes!” Ronnie all but squealed.

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Ronnie said. “Aiden told me himself.”

“But she’samazing.”

That was an understatement. Miranda Morales Sanchez was one of the most influential female directors in the US. I’d seen every one of her films.

“My god, I can’t believe I’ll get to meet her.” I’d probably end up too tongue-tied to speak, but just being in her presence was enough for me. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it.”

“Thank you for telling me. It’ll give me something to look forward to.”

“That’s not why I told you.” Ronnie sounded a little exasperated. “You have to show her your screenplay.”

“What?” My voice came out in a loud screech, and from out in the main room, I heard Zeus bark once in response. But Ronnie couldn’t be serious. I was the very definition of a rookie screenwriter. Showing the script to Miranda would be like a child showing Wolfgang Puck the toaster pastry he’d made.

“Don’t say you can’t, because you can,” Ronnie said. I wasn’t sure when she’d gained the ability to read my mind.

“It’s not even finished,” I said, noting the shocked quality of my voice.

“Well, finish it, then. What else have you got to do? I can’t imagine you sitting around playing pinochle with Otto and the others.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Sure, you can. And what’s more, I’m going to get Aiden to make sure you do.”

“Seriously, Ronnie, it’s not that good.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s so damn hard to write.”

“That’s what every writer I’ve ever known has said.” She laughed. “Please try to remember that this is good news. It’s a chance to get your screenplay into the hands of the best possible director for it.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Finish your script,” she said promptly. “Your desire to write the screenplay is so strong, it almost got you squashed like a bug in the middle of nowhere. That means you want it bad. You owe it to yourself to finish it and show it to Miranda.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think, just write,” she demanded.

The corner of my mouth tugged upward. “I think you get the best results if you do both.”

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