It’s another Friday night in newlywed land. My husband and I are tired from a long week of working, but still decide to go out and see a movie. Atonement is playing at 7:10 at our local art-house type cinema. It’s 6:40 when we leave our house and we are both having hunger pains. Not wanting to surrender ourselves to just eating popcorn and other junk at the theatre, we decide to take the high road and go through the drive thru at Carl’s Junior. But a little credit please --- we’re not actually planning to eat burgers and criss-cut fries, although those are supremely delicious. We’re ordering from the “Green Burrito” section of the menu. It’s the first Friday of Lent so we cannot have any meat, a tough restriction when dealing with fast food options.
Our drive-thru trip was quick and painless and as we shoved the food in our mouths while speeding to the theatre, we realized we would barely arrive in time to make the movie.
We wipe the last bit of refried beans from our mouths and finish chewing, feed the parking meter, and briskly walk to the front of the theater, where, oh crap! There’s a long line stretching the length of the side walk!
We arrive at the ticket counter at about 7:15, only for the salesman to break the sad news to us that Atonement is sold out.
Partially relieved because I hate being that person to walk into the theatre late, we chuckle to ourselves about how the hastiness of our meal was now unnecessary and realize we were not destined to see a movie. Everything else showing around the same time were flicks we’d already seen.
Luckily, the local independent Pasadena bookstore, Vroman’s, was next door, open and inviting. As we walked through one of the entrances, my husband immediately cycles through the list of books that he wants to buy in his head and is already off on a mission to find them, and I stop dead in my tracks next to a Valentine’s display when I hear a loud voice coming from upstairs. Is it the voice of God himself calling to me?
For months and months I have been praying for a sign about what I am supposed to do with my life. (In truth, I’ve really been praying for this my entire life, but it’s been a more consistent plea in recent months.) I will sit in church and listen to the priest talk about using your God-given talents to do “good” in the world and I agree that this a noble cause, but the problem is, I don’t know what exactly my God given talents are. I know what I like to do, but I haven’t quite yet figured out what special things I am adept at, and which path I am supposed to follow…)
Signs are probably everywhere and all around us, without us even realizing they are there, calling to us. Last night, as I walked into the bookstore, I am standing next to my husband and I tap his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”
“No. What are you talking about?” he said.
“That manly voice, coming from upstairs. He is talking about story structure and character arc. He’s talking about creative writing.”
“Well, go check it out.” Kiko says casually, not realizing what a brilliant and foreign suggestion this seemed to be.
“But who is it behind this voice? Who is the main behind the curtain? Is anyone allowed to listen? I haven’t signed up for anything? What does this all mean?” I thought to myself.
I slowly walk up the stairs and the voice gets louder and louder, and I am holding on to every word, like it was God himself giving me instruction. “I am not a good writer. I am a hard worker. And I am vigilante rewriter.” the intelligent-sounding voice said.
I turn the corner at the top of the stairs to see about 30 chairs set up in front of a podium, with bodies occupying about half of the spaces. This man mentions something about his students, and I am fearful only for a second that all these people know each other and this is somehow a class field trip of sorts.
I forget my fear and boldly plop my little behind down in direct eye level with the speaker.
It’s a Friday night. I am a young newlywed. And I am listening to a lecture about writing at the local bookstore.
Brilliant.
He talked about how writer’s block doesn’t exist. He talked about the essential things that every good story needs, and that the most important thing you can do is to give the main character a tangible goal.
My personal goal, as I strive to find an occupation that feels meaningful to me, is to figure out what direction I am supposed to take in my life.
Do I believe in signs? Yes. I now think they are everywhere and perhaps sometimes I do not notice them.
But last night, my sign could not have been more prominently dropped in my path. Of course, the best revelations come when and where you least expect them. So why not at a bookstore on a Friday night?
I did buy the speaker’s book. I felt it only right to do so, since he helped me realize I truly am meant to be a writer and I will some day have him to thank for pointing me in the right direction.
At the end when he was signing my book, he says to me “So you’re a screen writer. Well, you’re going to make a hell of a lot more money than I ever do, so make sure you send some of that to me.”
You bet. And someday, I’ll tell him Atonement ends.
Our drive-thru trip was quick and painless and as we shoved the food in our mouths while speeding to the theatre, we realized we would barely arrive in time to make the movie.
We wipe the last bit of refried beans from our mouths and finish chewing, feed the parking meter, and briskly walk to the front of the theater, where, oh crap! There’s a long line stretching the length of the side walk!
We arrive at the ticket counter at about 7:15, only for the salesman to break the sad news to us that Atonement is sold out.
Partially relieved because I hate being that person to walk into the theatre late, we chuckle to ourselves about how the hastiness of our meal was now unnecessary and realize we were not destined to see a movie. Everything else showing around the same time were flicks we’d already seen.
Luckily, the local independent Pasadena bookstore, Vroman’s, was next door, open and inviting. As we walked through one of the entrances, my husband immediately cycles through the list of books that he wants to buy in his head and is already off on a mission to find them, and I stop dead in my tracks next to a Valentine’s display when I hear a loud voice coming from upstairs. Is it the voice of God himself calling to me?
For months and months I have been praying for a sign about what I am supposed to do with my life. (In truth, I’ve really been praying for this my entire life, but it’s been a more consistent plea in recent months.) I will sit in church and listen to the priest talk about using your God-given talents to do “good” in the world and I agree that this a noble cause, but the problem is, I don’t know what exactly my God given talents are. I know what I like to do, but I haven’t quite yet figured out what special things I am adept at, and which path I am supposed to follow…)
Signs are probably everywhere and all around us, without us even realizing they are there, calling to us. Last night, as I walked into the bookstore, I am standing next to my husband and I tap his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”
“No. What are you talking about?” he said.
“That manly voice, coming from upstairs. He is talking about story structure and character arc. He’s talking about creative writing.”
“Well, go check it out.” Kiko says casually, not realizing what a brilliant and foreign suggestion this seemed to be.
“But who is it behind this voice? Who is the main behind the curtain? Is anyone allowed to listen? I haven’t signed up for anything? What does this all mean?” I thought to myself.
I slowly walk up the stairs and the voice gets louder and louder, and I am holding on to every word, like it was God himself giving me instruction. “I am not a good writer. I am a hard worker. And I am vigilante rewriter.” the intelligent-sounding voice said.
I turn the corner at the top of the stairs to see about 30 chairs set up in front of a podium, with bodies occupying about half of the spaces. This man mentions something about his students, and I am fearful only for a second that all these people know each other and this is somehow a class field trip of sorts.
I forget my fear and boldly plop my little behind down in direct eye level with the speaker.
It’s a Friday night. I am a young newlywed. And I am listening to a lecture about writing at the local bookstore.
Brilliant.
He talked about how writer’s block doesn’t exist. He talked about the essential things that every good story needs, and that the most important thing you can do is to give the main character a tangible goal.
My personal goal, as I strive to find an occupation that feels meaningful to me, is to figure out what direction I am supposed to take in my life.
Do I believe in signs? Yes. I now think they are everywhere and perhaps sometimes I do not notice them.
But last night, my sign could not have been more prominently dropped in my path. Of course, the best revelations come when and where you least expect them. So why not at a bookstore on a Friday night?
I did buy the speaker’s book. I felt it only right to do so, since he helped me realize I truly am meant to be a writer and I will some day have him to thank for pointing me in the right direction.
At the end when he was signing my book, he says to me “So you’re a screen writer. Well, you’re going to make a hell of a lot more money than I ever do, so make sure you send some of that to me.”
You bet. And someday, I’ll tell him Atonement ends.
