I'm a writer. I'd like to be a screenwriter. Someday. I like to think of myself as an artist. As a creator. Someone who makes things that someone else can see and relate to. That's the kind of movies I'd like to make.
I'm in Los Angeles now. In Hollywood. That's where the magic happens. Where movies happen.
Right? That's what everyone says. And by sheer majority, they have to be... well... right. Don't they?
My roommate, Daisy, and I were talking about it, and the world, our world here, it's a lot smaller than you would think. Like how our program chair said he's good friends with costume designer for Daisy's favorite show, where she's interning now. It's a freaking small world. And it's the world I need to be a part of, if I want to do... what I want to do. To write, and to make movies. I need to be here. And I am here. So it's perfect.
Right?
As I get settled here though, I start to wonder if it's a world I want to be a part of... The high-stress world of who-knows-who and who's-seen-doing-what. Maybe that's just the stars. And maybe I can't judge it yet. I've only just gotten here.
But I've always found my own way of doing things. I'm starting to wonder if that's what I'm meant to do with the rest of my life.
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