What???s more fun? Being a screenwriter or a novelist?
This week, my agent is submitting my new Young Adult book to publishers and my husband’s film is being touted to distributors at the American Film Market. We’re both nervous and excited.
I’m hoping for the call that goes like this:
Agent: Are you sitting down?
Me: Yes (even if I’m not)
Agent: The bidding war is now at 3 mill for two books. (I’d get the whole lot)
My bloke’s waiting for the call that goes like this:
Producer: They bought The Caller for ten million.
Sergio: Oh my God!
Producer: You’ll probably get nothing.
I’m nervous about bad feedback:
It’s too quiet – (this year’s rejection buzzword.) But at least I know what the book is. I was the very last person to have tampered with it.
My husband is nervous because he hasn’t seen the film yet. We know the script’s fabulous. We know the trailer is amazing. And the director and cast incredible. But the whole thing? No idea till an official viewing.
Sounds like novel writing wins, but I’m not so sure. Sergio still has that scary and amazing hour-and-a-half to look forward to; sitting in the cinema, watching Rachelle Lefevre and Stephen Moyer bring his words to life as people gasp and laugh and don’t fidget even a tiny bit.
Most importantly, soon my husband will walk red carpets and flit around LA pool parties. I’ll be in my seedy Glasgow attic office checking my Amazon rankings.