It was a very emotional moment taking in your applause. Not because I love standing on a stage – it is comical that just before Chris Jones’ LSF Opening, I told a writer about my stage fright and how I cannot speak to an audience bigger than two people. Who knew that this very moment standing in front of you, became a crucial moment in another struggle. Right after Lockdown, my own mortality paid me a visit to remind me that I’m wasting my precious time.
To pick up on a Chris Jones thread, each of us has a role in the Universe. Somehow at the age of seven, I was aware that the Universe has a plan for me. At the same age, I also discovered how I can imagine my own story in my head. Growing up on a goat farm 70 degrees north – which I loved – one can wonder if God had a moment of confusion in his creation, when he distributed souls to babies taking their first breath and placed a screenwriter’s soul in such an inaccessible place. Maybe it was to give me the right parents, mine encouraged me to read books and ask questions, to be creative and play on a vast farm. I have strong memories of how my mother told me stories from the past, fascinated, I imagined the characters in my head, their actions and responses. I don’t think my interest in film ever came up; it was there from the moment I was born. Though a film camera was far from accessible, I wrote down my movie-stories in my school notebook, my teacher was amazed that, despite my poor grammar, I had an impressive talent for storytelling.
But life as a screenwriter doesn’t come easily. You must really love writing and have an enormous passion for the art of movie storytelling if you are to keep on going through a process that takes decades. This process is not only learning the craft, but also a process in your head, that for me has been a very long walk in the desert of low self-esteem. More than once have I given up on myself and the very strong mission to become a screenwriter; to end up realizing that my brain is carefully constructed only for storytelling and can never stop reflecting and dismantling every character and moment I experience, to add to my memory. I love spending time alone with the intoxicating feeling of disappearing into creative writing. Being a responsible adult, the stressing demands from society has given me a tough taste of the exhausting life in hardship. I lived a double life, by day I’m an instrument in the lives of ordinary people in struggle, before going home to secretly live out my true self as a writer. But the suppressed screenwriter in me kept screaming from the prison of my internal dungeon. Eventually, I hit the wall. With no one to share my interest with, and no audience to tell my stories to, I had to act and make a change. In 2016 I bought my first ticket to LSF.
Too afraid to speak to anyone, I was scared people would question why I had the nerve to show up, but soon learned: what is holding me back is all in my head. LSF arose with the sole purpose of helping people like me. To bring more movie-stories to ordinary people in strife, LSF gives the souls of writers a place to assemble, with the purpose of filling the industry with great new stories. I realised it is up to me to use this opportunity, the rest of the work I must do myself. And I do so because this is FUN.
Cancer came. And the worst horror you can watch is your own tumour Monster on a big flat screen at a hospital. The first thing that went through my head was: But I haven’t sold any scripts yet. Was my mission just a fantasy? It was like my own death was standing in front of me, holding a knife up to my face and threatening me to either fulfil my given goal, or I would find no reason to be here. Lucky for me, my tumour was a lonely monster the surgeons spent only two hours to fetch, and today the surgeons work like CSI agents constantly monitoring for possible terror cells in my body so I can live a long life as a screenwriter. When life after cancer has been a painful struggle through low energy and brain fog, writing turned out to be my best medicine. Between the moments of fog, I managed to produce script after script, developing story after story. The writer in me kept my head above the water, proving that living is just as important as surviving. My scripts get considered, which confirms I am doing something right, but any writer feels that second place is a loss.
Friday morning April 5th, magical things already started to happen when I walked from the hotel. Like a set up in a Truman Show, new friends and co-writers popped up everywhere. Little did I know that Chris Jones would drag me to his stage to make me face, and take in, other people’s applause. I didn’t expect feeling this safe on the stage in front of you, writer colleagues. I could feel your support and how you understood me better than anyone. Your applause forced on me, you clapped away all the years of pain and suffering to vanish in just 5-10 seconds. The trapped writer in me came out and the mask I wore was discarded.
Thank you, Chris. Thank you, all my colleagues, to all of you who came up to speak to me and accepted me, and to you who shared with me that you too have had cancer. Thank you for all the amazing support and community.
The Norway-girl on the stage.
2 Responses
Wow Lina
Your words resonate deeply, like the echo of applause in a quiet theater (should I add the word ‘literally’ here?). The stage fright you felt, the trembling hands—those moments are universal. But what sets you apart is your unwavering determination. You’ve penned scripts, woven stories, and danced with words, all while navigating life’s twists and turns.
Growing up on a remote goat farm, you cultivated a unique perspective—the kind that births captivating worldviews. And now, as you triumph over cancer, your resolve to write burns brighter. I assume your scripts, like hidden gems, emerge from the soil of your experiences.
May your storytelling flourish, like wildflowers in spring. May your words touch hearts, heal wounds, and ignite imaginations. And as you chase your dreams, remember that applause isn’t just for the stage; it’s for the quiet battles fought within.
Here’s to your future—a tapestry of scripts, a canvas of resilience, and a life well-lived.
I’d love to read one of your scripts.
With admiration and warm wishes,
A fellow storyteller/ screenwriter
China
Congratulations, Line. I emphasize with you. What does an old guy with more passion for writing than talent, do? Persevere? Struggle to stay in the here-and-now? How do I get someone to read my screenplay? How do I get an agent? How do I sell my script? I don’t know, and probably never will. I’m embarrassed to admit how many screenplays I’ve written, and how many rejections I’ve received (I’m a slow learner, okay?). I‘m not that delusional (well, maybe). What I do know is how writing has got me through divorce, pain, loss, stressful career, and now the loss of my wife and soulmate of forty-three years. Writing continues to save my life, my sanity, my reason to get up in the morning. It’s more priceless than money, fame, and screen credits. Read screenwriting books, take classes, study, write, and strive to write the best script you can. Persevere. Never give up. They can never take what you learn about screenwriting (and yourself) away from you. Journey not destination, indeed!