I've gotta start answering my phone.

I have horrible phone manners. If I'm expecting a call from someone I keep my phone close, but most of the time it sits in my purse. I'm on the no call list, but it's still usually someone wanting to sell insurance or something. Or, someone from the daytime job. For the longest time I got calls wanting to collect debts from someone named Jeff. They would call early in the morning, and I was patient for over a year before I snapped and hollered, "Do I sound like a man named Jeff? This time, write down that Jeff doesn't have this number anymore."

I'm a little smart about it; I have assigned ring tones for people I usually talk to. Anyway, the phone rang with the generic tone for, "not in my phone book" this fine evening, and I huffed, "Who calls at six on a Friday night?"

I considered getting up to see who it might be, I really did. Then, I heard the voicemail chime. If the caller was interested enough to leave a message, maybe I should check it...

A friendly voice said, "This is Denise Gossett from Shriekfest. I'm calling to say your script is one of the semi-finalists."

I stared at the phone. If I hadn't been so lazy, I could have talked to a real Hollywood moviestar. Then, I ran for the door to go find Mikey. He speaks 'Maria' really well, but it still took him a while to make sense out of my incoherent babble about scripts and Los Angeles and semi-finals.

My script is a semi-finalist in an international screenwriting competition. That's a sentence one has to say several times before it sinks in. Tomorrow or in a week or so I might understand that I have a chance to be a finalist, maybe even a chance to win, but for tonight, all my thoughts are drowned by a happy, "Squeeeee!!!"

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