I can't write

A summer day in July. My creative partner told me she had a story to tell. A story about a shy girl who’s just as ambitious as the the ones who can command the room. A story about family and friendship and this shy girl finding the confidence to be who she’s meant to be.

“But I can’t write,” she says.

Months later, my creative partner is still working through the script. She’s frustrated, dejected, wants to stop. She’s never written a script before, never saw herself producing a film, doesn’t think it makes sense to keep going.

“I can’t write,” she says.

I tell her the story she’s working on matters. People need to see it. Quiet girls who need to believe that they can dream loudly. Wallflowers standing in the corner of that same room whose hearts are pounding silently with excitement and fear with a mind full of ideas that don’t get heard.

“You can write!”

So I help her through it. Read every page she sends to me. Write my own thoughts and give whatever guidance I could.

Then another month passes and she calls with news.

“We got it,” she says.

Six figures to produce the film she didn’t know how to write. Six figures to tell the story she thought would never leave her mind.

“Wallflower,” she says. “This story is for my Wallflowers.”

Six months later and we’re on set. Cameras and Directors and Actors and Producers. 6:00 a.m. call times. Midnight closing times. We don’t know what we’re doing but we’re doing it.

When it’s over, there’s a Wallflower. A Wallflower we made from the story she couldn’t write. A story that has already changed our lives forever.

As I write this, I’m sitting in a suite in South Beach, Miami. Later today, Wallflower will be showing at the film festival of our dreams. That silent girl in the corner of the room will be on a big screen for everyone to see.

“But I can’t…”