THE POWER OF INNOCENT OPTIMISM

How I wrote a novel, sold it & got a movie deal, because I didn’t know I couldn’t

Amazing, all the things that happen when you're not looking. The town becomes a city, that ratty twig in the yard grows into a monster tree, a California cyber geek builds the first organic Porsche. And in one anonymous moment, you're life can change drastically, as I’ve recently learned.

I'm an artist. Despite the fact that I’ve been a marketing copywriter for many years (love those regular paychecks), I’ve always identified myself as an artist. That’s where my heart and soul live, plus I’ve sold lots of paintings in galleries. An artist, absolutely. Until the day, without planning or ceremony, I took a turn and became something else. For a long time, I wasn’t even aware that anything had happened.

The seed was planted eight years ago, when I wrote a short story. It was my first-ever fiction, and I entered it in a Southwest literary contest. That story won honorable mention, so I started another one. I stopped at page seven, though, because the theme seemed so big. Several years later, my friend Deborah Hoffman, a seriously wonderful writer, asked what I’d written lately. I searched my desk and located the abandoned pages. Deborah read them and said, "Just write it till it’s finished."

"Okay," I said.

I soon found I was comfortable writing one page a day. I’d think, tinker, and play with it all day, then pour it out on the keyboard every night. A year later I finished the story, Sleeping with Schubert, about a woman who gets inhabited by the spirit of Franz Schubert. I sent my manuscript into the world and soon had six interested agents. In the end, I chose Richard Pine, who, it turns out, is one of New York’s top agents. I didn’t know enough to realize how lucky I was.
After some revisions, Richard sent my manuscript to publishers. One week later, he left me a voicemail: "We have an offer from Random House. They want to publish your book. Call me when you have the chance."

Call me when you have the chance. Did I mention Richard’s a funny guy?

By coincidence, I was flying the next morning from my home in Tucson to New York. Richard asked if I’d like to meet my editor on Monday. I figured I could find the time.

A few days later, I was in the Random House offices, sitting opposite Jon Karp, a vice-president and senior editor. He was saying how much he loved my novel. My novel. Didn’t he know I wasn’t a licensed novelist?

With Jon’s editorial suggestions, I made the final revisions, then Richard asked me about sending the manuscript to film agents. Hey, why not? We made the connection, and one month later Richard called again.

"We have a movie deal," he said. "Have you heard of Lorenzo di Bonaventura?"
I hadn't, but I loved the name. Richard explained that Lorenzo had been the worldwide head of Warners and had set up his own production studio. By that time, hyperventilating had become my normal breathing mode.

It’s two years later now, and two ace screenwriters are hard at work on a script for Paramount. I have conversations with my agent, editor, publicist, producer, screenwriters, and other exotic types.

So, why are these people calling me? How did all this happen? And when, when, did everything change?

Just write till it’s finished.

Okay.

Not a big moment, just an "okay" one. Not even as big as yes. It was the power of innocent optimism, the moment I forgot to be afraid.
Maybe it was the way Deborah said it. "Write it till it’s finished" is light years from "Write a book." If she had said the b-word, I would have laughed at the notion. Instead, I fell into the page-a-day pattern that felt right for me. Obviously, it can be a practical approach to many things big and scary. If you want to run the New York Marathon, but you’ve never run before, you should not attempt it this afternoon. But if you run a little today and a little more each day for a year, you can absolutely finish the marathon. Writing happened to be my marathon.
And while my life has changed in amazing ways, it’s at least as startling to see the changes in people around me. Friends and family are having a ball. My parents, at average-age eighty, act like kids of sixty. Dad has been a meticulous editor of every draft, and I believe Mom has pre-sold a thousand copies to the Beth-El seniors.
To be honest, I was hesitant about writing this essay because I don’t want to obscure the fact that my book stands on its own. Agents were lusting over it, and Random House bought it long before they knew my story. I'm aware, too, that countless wonderful writers have never been published. They didn’t finish their books, or never got their manuscripts into the right hands, or they were too afraid even to try. Fortunately, I was propelled by innocent optimism, but where did it come from? I’ve had some good models, including my old friend Hortensia.

She lived in a rural Arizona town, where I was helping the community set up a health clinic years ago. We had all the paperwork finished and needed to present the case to the county board of supervisors. Hortensia was not highly educated and had no public-speaking experience, but she was a dynamo and was elected to "close the deal" for her community. As the meeting started, I put an arm around Hortensia and asked if she was afraid.

"Why would I be afraid?" she said. "I've never done this before."

Somehow Hortensia took the things we all learn about fear, caution and self-doubt and turned everything around. She’d never failed at public speaking before, or had a bad experience with the county supervisors, so why be frightened? Innocent optimism isn't about being naïve. It’s the open, what-the-hell readiness to walk through new doors.

So, Sleeping with Schubert will be placed in thousands of stores, I’ll do book signings, public readings, interviews. And it’s possible that no one will come to my signings or buy the book. Maybe they’ll laugh at my effort, and the movie won’t get made, and Random House will drop me as the worst failure in publishing history. Gulp. Sweat. Choke.

But why should I be afraid? I’ve never done this before.