Winter Jacket: Finding Home by Eliza Lentzski Page B

process. Writing was such a personal and intimate entity that it felt like a personal attack whenever a book editor suggested revisions. “But every single word? There wasn’t anything that could be repurposed?”
    “You leave those decisions to me,” Troian instructed. “I’ve got a more important job for you.”
    My stomach began to churn uneasily. I hoped she didn’t need me to accompany her to another party. “What do you need me to do?”
    “Write an episode.”
    “Already?” I squeaked.
    Troian nodded. “Time to start earning your paycheck, Bookie. And since you’re the brain who came up with the idea of making Paige part mutant, I want the reveal to be in your episode.”
    I whistled lowly. “Are you sure? That seems like a monumental plot twist to entrust to me. Maybe Edward should take it. Or Gloria. They have loads of experience.”
    “I’ve made up my mind about this,” Troian said in a tone that defied further challenge. “It was your idea, so you get to do it. Now all you’ve got to do is figure out how it happens.”
    “Yeah, that’s all,” I scoffed. The churning in my stomach had turned into full-on nausea.
     
     
    Back at my apartment, I frowned and tapped my pencil against my notepad. My first real assignment that required me to do more than re-write jokes or tightened up dialogue had me intimidated. It was only my second week on the job, and I was still flailing about, trying to get my footing.
    “Something wrong, hun?” Hunter asked. We were both in for the night and were spending time together with the help of video chat while I stared at my blank notebook, willing inspiration to strike.
    “I’m feeling a little out of my element,” I admitted. “Troian assigned me my first episode today, but I don’t know the first thing about scriptwriting.”
    The first step in crafting an episode-long script was the treatment—a narrative that tells what happens in the episode from beginning to end. No scenes. No dialogue. No long descriptions. This was only a two-page document, but eventually when I worked on the full script, I’d have to be director, cinematographer, and writer all rolled into one if I was going to pull it off.
    “She must have a lot of faith in you.”
    “Or she’s crazier than we thought,” I retorted.
    I had warned Troian when she’d first offered me the job that I was no screenwriter. I didn’t know the formatting or shorthand jargon or how much detail to put into the narration. I was an English teacher who wrote short stories.
    “Were you always a good teacher? Or did that come with time?” Hunter pointed out.
    “No. I know you’re right,” I sighed. “I need to give this some time and I’ll figure it out.” I worried my lower lip. “There’s just so much that’s brand new all at once: new job, new co-workers, new house, new part of the country.”
    “It’ll become normal soon enough,” she optimistically remarked.
    “Probably,” I hummed in agreement. “And I got hit on today.”
    “That sounds encouraging,” she smiled. “Were they at least cute?” She was either really good at hiding her jealousy or she was that confident in our relationship.
    I made a noncommittal noise. “Too much stubble for me.”
    “Man or bearded woman at the carnival?” she asked.
    “This guy named Guillen. He’s another writer on staff. He’s a little smarmy,” I said, making a face. “The kind of guy who uses the same tired pickup lines on every woman he hits on and then acts like a wounded puppy when it doesn’t get him results. Our intern Sonja told me he used the same lines on her when she first got hired.”
    “Sonja, huh?” Hunter repeated. “That’s a pretty name.”
    “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
    A pale blonde eyebrow arched on my laptop screen. “Do I have to come out there and mark my territory so this Sonja girl knows you’re not available?”
    “I miss you.”
    “Don’t distract me,” she scolded.
    I laughed. “She’s