Important

Though you may not yet know his name, Niles “Pop” Goodrich could soon be the most influential writer in Hollywood. For years, he’s been polishing his debut screenplay, and though it’s not exactly what he had in mind when he began the process, he has every confidence the final draft is better than 90% of scripts that see the green light.

“I think I offer a unique perspective,” he says. “No one’s ever seen a movie like mine before.”

The screenplay, a semi-autobiographical tell-all Goodrich describes as “brutally honest,” follows the journey of a struggling writer looking for love and meaning in a cruel, uncaring world. Hounded by the fear of rejection, one man presses on, and takes on society with a laptop and a Starbucks Gold Card.

“You get free refills in the same visit. No one cares if you stay all day.”

Goodrich considers himself a strong feminist, and has crafted the unattainable objects of his protagonist’s affections into people in their own rights. They see straight through his attempts at impressing them, even his charming self-deprecation. “Women are beautiful, and they’re smart,” Goodrich tells me. “They’re able to put their sexual instincts on hold to get done what they need to get done. I wish I could do that.”

Goodrich and interviewer share a meaningful stare. CUT TO:

INT. BEDROOM, NIGHT.
Two bodies violently wrestle under the blankets.

INTERVIEWER
Oh Niles, you’re such a good lover!

GOODRICH
I think it’s important to focus on a woman’s pleasure above all else. People tell me I should be a masseuse because I have great hands, but I think my tongue is better.

INTERVIEWER
Oh, Niles!

#coffee, #gross, #idiot, #misogyny, #pretention, #writer

Fan

He had his computer at the coffeeshop not because he worked better in public. Later, he would have to erase everything and start again, all these stray thoughts infecting his own, but he couldn’t be at home anymore today. Those walls felt like obscurity. These were mediocre walls, covered in quirky animals and newspaper clippings, but they were public. He could learn from these walls.

A young man did a double-take as he passed by. Trojan looked up a few times and saw him looking over, checking his phone, and looking over again. The attention was unsettling, and he had to ignore it. He wrote a line of poetry.

bent over ocean wave held at ten thirty

Lately, he was always putting numbers in things. Most of his documents started with “ten thousand” before he figured out what he was saying. Seemingly, he wanted to say something important.

“It is you,” he heard. The young man was next to him, and was looking down closely. “You’re Armando Truck. I saw you at a reading in college.”

Trojan was not Armando, and rather disliked his work, all washed out with mothers and sex, but he saw no need to contradict. He shook the young man’s hand, and spoke with an ordinary amount of friendliness.

The young man sat down. He began talking about his girlfriend, how she didn’t seem to pay attention to him anymore, how he was just going through the motions in life, that he’d never really believed in anything. Trojan wasn’t sure if he should comment, if he was listening, if he was meant to be there.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Trojan said, and the man stood up and hugged him.

“That’s so true.”

#agorophoba, #artist, #fandom, #microfiction, #public, #validation, #writer