Typically I spend a good amount of time pitching on a project, convincing the producers that I’m the person for the job, that I’ll write the best version of the story. During this time I can speak passionately about why I love the story, and even clearly about how the story will unfold. Then, most of the time, but then of course sometimes not, but I guess I’ll say oftentimes, if I can say that without sounding arrogant, which is to say a woman with any confidence, like at all? I get the job.

Then I sit down to write it.

And I realize there’s been a very a serious mistake.

I realize that I actually can’t write, I actually can’t even spell or form sentences. I realize that I’ve never had an original thought in my life, I don’t know structure or how to make someone laugh or feel in a way that’s surprising or meaningful, I don’t know nuance even though it’s one of the words I can spell, but only because I was once accused of not writing with any, I’ve still never seen the Sopranos and when I watch a movie 99% of it leaves my brain shortly after, I am no cinephile, nor am I well read or well versed in history or current events. I consider quitting, turning myself in for fraud.

But then I remember that I know people.

I can tell when someone just desperately needs to be liked. I can tell when someone needs a compliment, when they’re missing their mother, why they’re looking away, why they ordered the salad, why they’re not drinking their drink, why they make jokes about their kid. I know when someone is scared even though they’re laughing.

I know worry because I’m always brewing a pot of it. I know insecurity, and it’s because of my own. And this is why I can do my job.

And so I open a new document, and one word at a time, I do.