I know things were not looking up for me, when the thirteenth manuscript I had submitted on the Chief Editor´s desk was still being stamped as ¨REJECTED¨. Even from the view of my cramped center aisle mini desk, I could see that it was the ¨REJECT¨ stamp Mr. Barnes slammed against my 153-page story.
I just submitted it fifteen minutes ago, I don´t think he even got past the first chapter.
I swear, if he would just give me a chance, my chapters get better over time.
When you´re a struggling newbie writer, no one wants to take a risk on your ideas -- especially if your ideas are labelled as "too controversial" or "too feminist".
All these old geezers are allergic to thought of having strong female characters. They keep wanting me to write about perfect women --and what they meant by perfect is someone quiet, prim, and proper, and beautiful by societal standards. Having no flaws and a size zero waistline with perky C cups would just be cherry on top.
But no woman could ever be that flawless. No human for that matter could ever be flawless.
My supervisor, Marcus, took my manuscript away from the big boss' table and slammed it at my desk. He really does not have to be so obviously disdained.
This is my first week here and I had already submitted thirteen different ideas. THIRTEEN.
They should cut me some slack for the effort.
"I know you are a good writer, Samantha. I have seen your profile, and your works in Uni. You just got to try harder with the ideas. This industry is hard. Even with your big shot parents backing you up," he lit his cigarette and puff the smoke towards my direction.
They always have something to say about my parents.
It's not my fault I was born into old money. Also, I knew he liked that last story I submitted, he smiled ever so slightly at me when I told him I´m submitting the manuscript to Mr. Barnes.
Was I hallucinating it?
"Noted, Marcus. I know it's a privilege to be here." I took my rejected story off my desk and threw it at the trash bin. In all honesty, I still don´t know if Marcus Simmons is against me or supporting me. He somehow managed to motivate me while also simultaneously roast the hell out of me.
He took one last puff of his cigarette before disposing it off in the bin near my desk. I hate it when he does that.
I opened my laptop and stared at the goddamn blinking cursor. Dammit. My mind just went blank and that disgusting cigarette smell is not helping me at all.
I rummaged through my bag for the perfume I stashed for this exact situation and sprayed it all over my desk. What a waste of perfectly good perfume.
But I surely can´t start this manuscript if my station reeked of Marcus. Menthol-flavored cigarette scent is not motivating at all.
I got in as an intern writer at The Pendulum, a very successful publishing and film production company. Some of the most brilliant minds in the art industry came to work here. The best films of the last century came from inside these halls. Everyone whose everyone in the film industry knows that 'The Pendulum' is the place to be. To even get an internship at this prestigious institute is as cutthroat as Wolf Street.
Most people only appreciate the actors and actresses playing the characters, but I am much more interested in the planning of it all. After all, I'm good at living life behind the scenes.
I can't say that I did not get this coveted internship without my parent's influence or my famous sister´s help. I know I have skipped quite a few steps to get in here. I just know that I was shortlisted when they looked at my last name. The 'Leigh' clan (if you can call it that) is quite powerful in this city.
Not Samantha Leigh though, Samantha gets her thirteenth, 153-page manuscript rejected.
Growing up, I have this dream of becoming the person to change the film industry. I´m sick and tired of all these movies showing cliche plots and weak characters all the time.
But it seems like this internship would only change my mind.
No.
I must get over this hurdle and start writing something that Mr. Barnes would bother to read. I can't give up on my first week.
"Hi, you´re the intern, right?" a chirpy voice took me out of my reverie.
"Yeah, that would be me. I´m Sam," I offered her a handshake, but the chirpy-voiced woman just stared at my hands like she´s disgusted. I awkwardly retreated my hand and laid it flat on the desk.
"I'm Rebecca. Becky to my friends, and I am your new mentor," she smiled. I can´t say it was friendly one.
"Am I being transferred to another team? I just spoke to Marcus a while ago,"
"Yes. You´re under my team now. You know Marcus. He disposes off people who he thinks are not suited for The Pendulum. But before he does that, he sends them my way for a good beating,"
"What do you mean?" I do not like the way those words sounded.
"It means it's your last chance before you´re off this boat,"
Oh.
"I am working on it, Becky. I swear I have this great ide—," she cut me off before I could finish my rebuttal.
"You should call me Rebecca," she said like it is a matter of fact. "I have read your manuscript--all 153 pages of it, and all I can say is, you need to get laid,"
"Excuse me?!" I choked on air at her bold statement.
"You have no expertise on love and dating, am I right? Your little love story isn't so lovely to me. It lacks… love."
"I can´t say that I´m an expert at dating, but I have relevant experience," I lied.
The closest thing I know about dating was when I dated Josh Marti in Junior year. He walked out on me because he saw me took off my retainers when we're about to eat dinner. Isn't that a normal thing to do when you have retainers?! He said he was disgusted at my un-lady like attitude. We only lasted for two days.
"What does it have to do with my story anyways? I created a love story, not some smut,"
"Exactly my point, Samantha. How dare you write love stories when you know nothing of love?"
No one ever really knew what Love is exactly. We each all have construed versions of it.
"Go out, find a date, fuck said date, and then write a story about it. That is your first assignment,"
I cannot believe what I just heard. I am not going to be a bitch for Hollywood.
I walked out before Becky´s words of wisdom would include selling my body to some hotshot exec from California -- which is a cool story idea but also would likely turn into a smut, which would in turn mean that Rebecca wins.
I need some coffee.
I walked out of the office to go to my favorite Little Nook. No, really, it's a coffee shop called the 'Little Nook'.
The place is old and small, and the tables are dusty, but it smells like freshly brewed coffee and old paper all the time. It's just the perfect scent to recharge.
I should admit that for coffee, I am a bitch.
"Luke, I want caramel macchiato please," I smiled at my favorite barista. I can never order another caramel macchiato after knowing the existence of this coffee shop. They make the best ones.
Eighty percent milk, twenty percent coffee. Don´t ever let people tell you otherwise that this is not the golden ratio for Caramel Macchiatos.
"You´re here again." He is always annoyed at my presence here.
"I'm your only regular customer, Luke. You should really give me some loyalty points,"
"I´d rather you not come here. When you´re here, bad things usually happen,"
I´m not a believer of superstition or any faith for that matter but thinking about all the times I´ve been in this cafe, I cringed at all the unfortunate things I have caused because I´m clumsy and always all over the place.
"I´m so so sorry about the last time, Luke. I did pay for the espresso machine I broke right?"
"It was passed on from my grandfather, Sam. It can´t be paid by money," he looked at the shiny new espresso machine on the counter and sighed. He had tried to teach me how to use his espresso machine after weeks of coaxing and being my dumb self, I broke it.
It amazes me how I destroy everything I´ve touched at this point.
"That old thing was a bother, Luke. I don´t think you are the type to believe in superstitions, you´re too young for that. I know you´re secretly happy I bought you a new one,"
I could see a little hint of excitement in his eyes, but he masked it so well.
He deeply sighed.
"Come on, Luke. It's not like I have anywhere else to go. Besides, I know you love having me around," I teased him and danced around the counter, knocking a few mugs along the way.
He looked at the shattered glass and with shook his head side to side.
"Just add it to my bill," I meekly said and whispered a little 'sorry'.
I handed him my card and he looked at me hard -- straight into my privilege.
"What would make you stop coming here?" he exasperated. He was sweeping the floor and picking up the bigger shards of glass by hand which he shouldn´t do so without gloves.
"An idea that would keep my butt on my office chair."
If I had something to work on to impress the pricks at The Pendulum, I would literally be nowhere else. I can´t believe I said the word butt to his face.
"I could help you with that, if that means no more mug casualty at my café."
"Really? give me one then."
Just as we were about to discuss business, two rowdy teenagers entered the cafe basically screaming at each other. The pink-haired girl went straight to the counter and ordered one unicorn cloud caramel drink. I´m not sure I´ve ever heard of that drink before.
Luke looked at the new customers and smiled. I don't know what that smile meant but he pointed at them and whispered to me.
"Maybe you should ask them. They looked like the kind of kids that lived a movie-kind of life. Maybe they could give you some inspiration."
"Are you kidding me? How could they ever give me inspiration?"
"It's not going to hurt you to try. Also, get these drinks to them and the mug is already paid for."
Luke handed me the unicorn drink and one black coffee. These kids have really contradicting tastes for coffee.
"Fine," I exasperated. I can´t say to any possible leads for a good story. Also, they do look like main characters.
I have this habit of judging people based on the aura that they give off.
After all, fiction is inspired by our current reality-- with just a few tweaks here and there for profitability.
I walked towards the girls' table, trying not to trip and embarrass myself.
"Hi, here´s your order," I placed the unicorn drink and espresso shot on their table and just basically gawked at them as I am too awkward to start a conversation.
The pink-haired girl looked at me like I just ruined her day. She scrunched her nose and pretended to act like I smelled horrible -- not very main character of her.
"Is there anything else we can help you with?" the girl with the espresso shot asked. She did not even look at me.
I racked my brain for some logical excuse that I can come up with. Asking them for an idea for something to write about seems like a very lame reason even though it is the truth.
"I am creating a survey and need your inputs,"
"Is that so?"
Come on, Samantha. Really? A survey? I really am having a writer´s block. Damn, Rebecca would be too happy to kick me off the ¨boat¨ now.
"Yes." I tried to sound as convincing as I could. "It's a study on how teenagers...view...modern dating?"
Damn, Becky really got through my head. Now here I am, asking literal teenagers for dating advice.
Pink-haired girl proceeded to laugh at me and took a sip of her unicorn flavored drink before laughing again.
"What's so funny?"
"Of course, it is funny, and creepy to ask teenagers about modern dating. Are you perhaps interested at one of us?"
"No!" I almost screamed. This is not the turn of events I pictured out.
"Then what?"
"Just a survey."
"Just a survey, okay. Well, here´s a prime example of what it is," Pink-haired girl stood up and walked towards the unsuspecting customer that just entered the cafe and kissed him right in the mouth.
What in the world.
The guy looked completely taken aback but also very pleased as Pink-haired girl was pretty. She whispered something to him, and they both walked back towards us.
"Here´s an answer to your survey, we´re dating now," Pink-haired girl announced to which espresso shot girl laughed.
I don´t know what exactly is happening but I took mental notes of this weird situation. This might come in handy when Becky decides to roast me again. I will tell her that this is exactly why I don´t date. Romance is dead in this generation.
"Don´t tell me you're one of those boomers that believes in ¨Romance¨ and ¨Chivalry¨ bullshit?" espresso shot girl suddenly asked.
"First, I am not a boomer. I´m just twenty-three for Pete's sake. Second, yes. I still believe in romance, ¨
¨Well, here´s my answer to your little survey. Modern dating sucks. I say be a hoe and break all these men."
"Or women. I won´t judge. After breaking them or getting broken by them, capitalize on your heartbreak, and write a song about them. Dedicate a whole album, if you may."
Why are these teenagers so angry at the world? But also, what an inspiring thing to say.
I might just use the phrase ¨Capitalize Your Heartbreak¨ as the title of my next manuscript.
Now, how do I break hearts?