What Did Your First Screenplay Look Like?

Mar. 08. 2022

Dear Issa Rae,

What did your first screenplay look like? I can confirm that it was probably better than mine, which is fine. I’m okay if I suck at first, as long as I'm starting, as long as the ball is rolling, even if it’s rolling backwards, sadly. My real question is what criticism do I listen to? I watch a lot of films/television and all of the content aren’t exactly Emmy or Academy award winners. Not to dismiss the recognition of those awards, but the real judge is the audience, even when the writing is shit. Shit writing can be a box office hit because there is an audience for everything. Which is great, it means everyone has a voice. But how does that apply to sharing your ideas with your superiors and peers and getting feedback that ultimately screams “I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” I ask myself, “is it my writing style?” “is it the concept” “is it my inexperience?” “Am I simply not right for this career?” I’d like to believe that I just need to believe in myself and my ideas because there will always be rejection at the end of the rainbow.

I cried after getting feedback on my first screenplay. And I worried that I am not strong enough to handle the cruelty of the industry I am aspiring to enter. I cried because the feedback didn’t feel like it was critiquing my ability to structure a story, or write a successful and engaging script. It felt like no one understood my concept, which then felt like no one understood me. I write, I draw, I sing, I dance, I pick up new languages, because I am fixated with getting all 7 billion people on this planet to understand me. And not just me, but learn to understand one another in general. The skills I previously listed are essentially communication skills. Just like body language, tone of voice, or facial expressions. Art can convey, and I explore many crafts because I can’t stand the idea of someone not being able to understand me or vice versa. I want to tear down walls and discover all the many ways I can connect with others and make them feel less alone. So, as pathetic as it may be that I cannot stomach being misinterpreted, I don’t wanna give up. But am I not allowed to cry about it? I didn't cry in front of my peers or my professor. Though I am not afraid to, because crying is an emotion. I am an emotional person. I am a person. I feel things. I don’t want to pretend that I don’t feel. Boss bitches feel too.

After crying my eyes out to my mother who understands me better than anyone in this universe, She encouraged me to get “a thicker skin”, which always transitions to my least favorite lecture: “Everything will always be harder because you are black. But you are also a black woman. Which means you are at the bottom of the barrel.” If I had a dime for every time my amazing mother reminded me that I am the bottom of society's popularity pyramid- she’s right. I love her for telling me. It doesn’t hurt my feelings because the same woman has reminded me everyday that I am a queen, that I matter, that I am valuable, That I am my own light in this world. It’s not my fault that the general audience won’t instantly see that. It’s ingrained in our culture; whether you see it or not, black women are the bottom.

I am scared. I am angry. I am pissed the fuck off. That I must adapt to a society that consciously and subconsciously makes me work harder than everyone else. I am angry because I have the best intentions, and biggest dreams, just like the next person, but the next person may not look like me. So, I might have to suffer and watch as my neighbors reach their goals faster than me. And I must accept that this is just the game, and I have to learn how to play it. But my life is not a game. My passions are not toys. And my brown vagina is not a disadvantage.

I thank the world for the future beat downs I am in store for, just as all the amazing black women who came before me experienced. They were held to even higher standards and even though they jumped through the flaming hoops that others didn’t, they displayed the magic that black women possess. They are proof that we are capable of weathering through the storm and painting the rainbow ourselves. It's not fair but it's a reminder that I am so strong. Just the same, it's okay to not feel strong, because those wonderful black women are holding us up on their shoulders, reminding us that we too will prosper.

So my first screenplay about a young black girl didn’t go over smoothly with my white professor and a room full of white students- I'll be okay. Because, for all the reasons why they didn't understand my narrative, I must keep going, so the next time a young black girl pitches a story based on her own experiences, her peers see her a little clearer, and understand her a little more.

“The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the black woman.”

-Malcolm X