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#FirstPageFriday

Theo Priestleytprstly.com@bsky.brid.gy
2026-01-16

My first #firstpagefriday post on here. A Guy Ritchie style feature set during biblical times. #scriptsky

Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2026-01-16

Sometimes I dip back into the dusty archives of unfinished stories because I started writing them before I was ready. I might be ready to finish THE CURSE YOU CARRY this year. #Scriptsky #FirstPageFriday

EXT. CITY BUS Stop - NIGHT Drizzling rain dampens the sounds of the city. No cars drive by, no lights twinkle in the distance. MARGO (40s) sits alone on a bench. Oversized clothing and hair that hasn't been brushed or washed in days. Not neglect, but profound sadness that consumes time and reason. An amber cone of street light illuminates her hunched body as her fingers pry away the skin of an ORANGE. MARGO (V.O.) There's this old saying about holding a grudge, that it's like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Margo tugs the last chunk of peel from the orange, tosses it to the ground. MARGO (V.O.) I try not to think about him. But I can't stop myself. Some days, it's all I think about... I know. Drinking the poison. She pulls the fruit apart to find the center black and spongy with rot. Margo chucks the rotten orange to the ground, wiping the sticky juice on her pants. MARGO (V.O.) But it'd be worth drinking all the poison in the entire fucking world if Karl Rostov would fucking drop dead. The CITY BUS pulls up and Margo leaves with it. int. community center - night Margo pads down a hallway in a repurposed elementary school. Harsh overhead lighting. Linoleum floors. Cinderblock walls. At the end of the hall, and open door awaits. A hand drawn sign leans on an easel: FROM GRIEF TO GROWTH SUPPORT NETWORK
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2026-01-09

Doing something different for #FirstPageFriday: A food reality show host finds herself at the center of a murder investigation in a MN hotdish competition. Can she discover the killer's recipe for murder before her goose is cooked? Also, enjoy one of my favorite hotdish recipes #Scriptsky 😋

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:g5hth7y5xktwhgcjzw4oxxrj/post/3mbyxo2oyds2e

I have it on good authority that when Penelope Parker died, she asked to be buried with just two things: the pearl necklace she wore to church every Sunday, and the sole copy of her famous asparagus and mushroom hotdish recipe. That’s because in the Midwest, they don’t fuck around when it comes to hotdish. What is hotdish? Well, I’m glad you asked because it’s the whole reason I’m telling you this story. Now, those accustomed to the ways of the upper Midwest may erroneously call this dish casserole. This is an honest mistake that will get you either laughed at or sternly told to leave (which is about as close to a fuck you as they have in these parts). The history of hotdish is rooted in the invention of modern condensed soup. The industrious housewives of that post-war era combined the bounty from their gardens and root cellars with this new condensed soup, topping them with whatever they had on hand, from bread crumbs and crackers to tater tots and corn flakes. Served piping hot, it’s a hearty household staple that’s raised generations in flyover country. Now, I didn’t know Penelope Parker, but I quickly learned that she was infamous in the Minnesota cooking contest circuit because she was the fifteen-time champion of the Minnesota Blue Waters Hotdish Competition, the toughest hotdish competition in the world (their words, not mine). Each year, professional chefs, small town line cooks, and grandmas from across the region converged on the little town of Luverne for a one-Cheesy Potatoes w/Corn Flakes recipe - Ready in 1 hr 15 mins - 6 ingredients - Serves 8-10 directions Take hash browns out of freezer, keep in bag, set aside. In microwave, melt 1 stick of butter in large bowl; mix in sour cream, cheese and cream of chicken soup. In 9x13 pan (sprayed with Pam), spread hash browns. Spread sour cream, cheese, and soup mixture on top. Melt 1/2 stick of butter on stovetop, mix in corn flakes, stir (smash them a little too) until butter is absorbed. You may need/want to add more corn flakes. Sprinkle corn flakes on top of sour cream, cheese and soup mixture. Bake 1 hour at 350. ingredients Units: US 1 (32 ounce) bag frozen hash browns (shredded or cubed) 2 cups cheddar cheese (can be reduced fat) 16 ounces sour cream (can be light) 1 (10 3/4 ounce) can cream of chicken soup (can be 98% fat-free soup) 3⁄4 cup butter or 3/4 cup margarine 1 cup corn flakes (more if desired)
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2026-01-02

Seems like I just can't give up on this story. It's been a one-shot campaign, a novel, and a pilot, so maybe there's something to it. #FirstPageFriday #Scriptsky

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3mbgvx47ao22v

TEASER INT. LAB BUILDING #1 - NIGHT Calculations on a monitor. A waterfall of green numbers on a boxy, old-school computer. The feverish clatter of computer keys. Gas-station coffee cups litter the desktop between stacks of paperwork. A faded RED BACKPACK rests on an office chair. DANIEL TABOR (30s) hunches over the computer workstation at the far end of the Quonset. His white lab coat is soaked through with perspiration and clings to his thin frame. DANIEL Come on... The calculations commence with a BEEP and Daniel inserts a floppy disk into the computer. JESSICA speaks into Daniel's mind. She almost sounds human. JESSICA (V.O.) You're too late. You can't stop him. Daniel swats at his head. DANIEL Shut up! Daniel punches a key, and grainy security camera footage of the building's entrance fills the monitor. On the screen, a tall man walks through the entrance with the purposeful stride of a sleep-away camp slasher. DANIEL SHIT! Daniel's hand shakes as it waits by the floppy drive. Across the room, the security lock CLICKS. The disc ejects. Daniel shoves it in his pocket. The door HISSES open and LEONARD (40s) strides in. His sinewy arms are littered with bruises and shitty tattoos.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-12-19

Just rewrote this opener for a workshop, and I feel like it does a better job of setting up the tone than the old page. Bonus points for any South Dakotan who gets a little jump scare at the therapist last name 👀 Call it very niche foreshadowing. #FirstPageFriday #Scriptsky

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3madpjyctnk2b

EXT. CABIN - DAY A classic log cabin against a backdrop of blue skies and stately pine trees. A FAMILY gathers in front of the cabin around a firepit. Gray-haired yet youthful GRANDPARENTS help a pair of adorable CHILDREN (ages 5-12) skewer marshmallows on sticks as their attractive PARENTS watch on with delight. A stock photo on a homepage. A thumb with chipped blue nail polish nudges the happy family, shifting everything up to reveal white text: JANKLOW FAMILY THERAPY Compassionate reunification for divided families. INT. PHARMACY - DAY CAT BARNS (30, White) stares at her phone, a mix of emotions swim under her calm demeanor. Fear. Longing. Excitement. Cat wears scrubs, and a denim jacket decorated with colorful pins. She slouches in the corner of the single row of chairs. PHARMACIST (o.S.) Barns? Cat's focus breaks, and she pushes past the TALL MAN who watches her from the aisle. She approaches the counter with a familiar smile. CAT Thanks. I already called in the payment, do you need ID? PHARMACIST All good, Cat. Any questions? The pharmacist staples some paperwork to a white paper bag before handing it over. CAT Nothing I can't handle. See ya! A quick smile and Cat departs, unaware of the TALL MAN still watching her every move.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-12-12

False starts, you say? đŸ«  I didn't include unfinished features in my year-end recap, but here is page one from an unfinished feature based on a short story. Still love the concept and characters, but cloning technology makes for messy story telling đŸ˜”â€đŸ’« Maybe for 2026! #Scriptsky #FirstPageFriday

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3m7sbcrmkzk2m

WHITE TEXT OVER BLACK SCREEN: fork verb /fîrk/ Forked; forking; forks 1 : to divide into two or more branches. 2. : artificial propagation of an organism from one ancestor or stock, to which they are genetically identical and expire after approximately 24 hours. EXT. ALLEYWAY - DAY White clouds drift through blue sky between tall brick buildings with no windows. An open palm on concrete. A black FORK symbol on the wrist like a cheap tattoo: ⭄ ALANA ELLIS (30s) lies on her back. Tangled hair, disheveled clothes. Her location concealed from any onlookers by the graffitied dumpster. The jingle of a cell phone ringer in the silence. Alana's fingers twitch. With a groan, she sits up. Places a hand to her head. Her shaking hand finds the phone in the pocket of her hoodie. Alana's body trembles as she accepts the call from PRIVATE. THE WOLF answers. A deep, male voice. Not human. THE WOLF (V.O.) Hello, Alana. ALANA Who is this? THE WOLF (V.O.) The Big Bad Wolf.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-12-05

Described as SPLASH meets HOT FROSTY, who doesn't need a silly dolphin rom com in their life for #FirstPageFriday

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3m7aihm3avk23

EXT. BEACH - DAY Sun shines on a pristine beach. White sand greets the gentle lapping of rhythmic waves as a few BEACHCOMBERS splash through them, collecting shells. On the touristy boardwalk, a VENDOR opens their kiosk and sets out tacky wares. Painted conch shells and sand dollars with SARASOTA painted in rainbow letters; sarongs and tropical-themed towels, and finally-- THUNK! A gaudy VELVET PAINTING of a long-haired, bare-chested MAN with a dolphin body from the navel down. The price tag is $200. The vendor scrutinizes the painting, marks it down to $100. With a satisfied nod, he continues setting up shop. But this isn't his story.... Past the boardwalk, down the street, up a block, then over a few more rests a stucco office buildings where a sign reads BOWMAN PROPERTIES, LLC. A dolphin sun catcher dangles in the open window of the second story, casting colorful light into-- INT. CRAMPED OFFICE - DAY The ocean waves echo through the open window, the ledge lined with a dozen different dolphin figurines. They twinkle in the morning sunlight, prized possessions. The rest of the office is stacks of papers, boxes, open files-- and seated at the center of it all, is MAGGIE (30s). Always quiet and unsure of herself, Maggie has a slight accent that's a dead giveaway to her Midwest roots--just like her MOM (60s) on the phone, back home in rural Minnesota. MAGGIE This has nothing to do with Curt, will you stop bringing him up?
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-11-28

Why not #FirstPageFriday? This one has become it's own kind of beast, but maybe in a good way. I mean, murderous ambitious couple looking to rehab their failing home repair brand who are eaten by their house kind of writes itself, just not in the way I initially intended. #Scriptsky

INT. HARDWARE STORE - DAY Dusty stacks of paint cans with heart-shaped logos. All with a bright orange 50% OFF sticker. A blonde WOMAN smiles, a film of dust on her face. She wears overalls and poses with a can of Heart 2 Heart brand paint, because this is LAURALEE HEART (40s). Or at least a promotional cardboard cutout of her. She peeks out from beside the stack of paint cans where almost no one can see her. But Vivian sees her. VIVIAN (20s)-- an Kardashian clone with blind ambition-- stares at Lauralee in horrified fascination. Like seeing a ghost. The crackle of an ancient overhead intercom system with the voice of a cheerful MAN breaks her trance. MAN (V.o.) ... and don't forget you earn points with every purchase with your Handy Savers card! She shakes it off, cuts down an aisle lined with tiny boxes. Vivian eyes each box of screws, then snaps a photo and texts it with the words THESE THE RIGHT ONES? Whispers draw her attention toward two WOMEN filming her. They're the same age as Vivian, and not ashamed of their behavior, despite Vivian's obvious discomfort. When Vivian locks eyes with them, the woman with the camera boldly approaches. CAMERA WOMAN We know who you are, Vivian. Vivian Yeah? Then leave me the fuck alone. She turns, tries to ignore them, but they keep recording. CAMERA WOMAN Everyone knows you both killed her.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-11-21

Not quite a #FirstPageFriday, but I love how @dcase-challenge.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy interpreted Cat, the passionate yet flawed MC in my feature, REUNIFICATION. If you want to bring the heart and soul of your characters to life, use #humanvoicesonly and #noAI. And be sure to give D a follow! #Scriptsky

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:e6nlkabpbbxrw4772zcadro2/post/3m666sykwws2d

Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-11-14

#FirstPageFriday for my untitled WIP that I have to say, has been pretty fun to dig into this week! 16 pages so far, so we might be able to kick out one last feature before the end of 2025. #Scriptsky

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3m5lpkae5gc24

INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT Gently closed eyes. The serene face of STACEY PARKER (20s), her long hair flowing off the edge of the table where she lies on her back. Her skin is ghostly white with dark splotches surrounding her neck where a length of nylon pantyhose digs into her flesh. A timid HAND brushes the hair out of Stacey's face. The hand belongs to a TALL MAN (30s). His face is shrouded in shadow, but his sturdy frame and weathered canvas coveralls show he is no stranger to hard work. TALL MAN Why did you make me do it? I know, I know. I'll take care of it... I'll take care of us. He lifts an axe, rests it on his shoulder as he takes one last look at her body. Tears glisten in his eyes before he lifts the axe over his head... then brings it down with sickening THUNK! Stacey's head tumbles to the ground. EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY Orange and red leaves skitter across the sidewalk as a pair of chunky black boots with silver buckles strides forward. We travel up fishnet-clad legs to find ALYSSA (20s), goth chick and true crime fan. A smile on her face and earbuds secured as the raspy voice of a PODCAST HOST talks. PODCAST HOST (V.O.) ... which makes Stacey Parker the fourth victim attributed to the Nylon Slayer in less than six months. Alyssa rounds the corner, leaving behind the colorful boulevard trees to head down a main road with stately brick buildings and historic storefronts. PODCAST HOST (V.O.) With no additional details available, we just have to wonder who th
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-10-24

Resharing the opening page from HEADLESS OVER HEELS since I'm fresh off a rewrite and I definitely never did anything like this with the name of my crush in high school... 😅 #FirstPageFriday #Scriptsky #Filmsky

INT. CLASSROOM - DAY A hand featuring glitter nail polish drags a pencil over lined paper in fancy, looping script: Zoey Hardwick... Zoey Hardwick... Zoey Hardwick... Z O E Y F R O S T ( 1 6 ) t a k e s h e r t i m e t u r n i n g e a c h d o t i n t h e l e t t e r I in HARDWICK into a tiny heart. Head in the clouds and heart on her sleeve, Zoey's been told she's too much and not enough her entire life. She steals glances across the classroom at a lanky teenage b o y w i t h f r o s t e d t i p s a n d a r i n g - n e c k T - s h i r t : M A T T H A R D W I C K (17). He looks over his shoulder, and they briefly lock eyes. Embarrassed, Zoey quickly looks back at her paper. T h e s h r i l l v o i c e o f M R S . F E R N S O N ( 5 0 s ) c u t s t h r o u g h t h e silence, grabbing Matt's attention. MRS. FERNSON Mr. Hardwick, can you name the three types of rock? MATT Uh, igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic. MRS. FERNSON Very good. Igneous rocks form from cooled magma or lava... Her voice fades as Zoey returns to her handiwork with an entire sheet filled with her dream married name until a HAND snatches it away-- MRS. FERNSON (O.S.) What do we have here? ZOEY Nothing! I was just taking notes... Zoey turns bright red as Mrs. Fernson's eyes scan the paper, then turn to Matt. She hands the paper back with a scoff.HEADLESS OVER HEELs by Leah Simmons and it's a photo of a headless manequin.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-10-10

Tis the season for weird, sexy, bloody stories đŸ©ž Definitely a reader favorite (ya freaks!) #Scriptsky #FirstPageFriday

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3m2tl3ztnbs22

Photo of a woman's partially open mouth and red liquid on lips, text INSATIOUS over top. By Leah SimmonsINT. BATHROOM - DAY A woman's mouth. The edges quiver, then shakily form a convincing smile. A L L Y S O N ( 3 0 s ) s t a r e s a t h e r r e f l e c t i o n i n t h e m i r r o r . Natural make-up, shoulder-length hair. She wears a nice blouse and pajama pants. Disassociation and sarcasm are Allyson's survival tools of choice, but you'd never know by her sincere and slightly flirty tone. ALLYSON Yes, well, I'm Allyson Denning, and I applied because of my extensive background in project management and sales... I'd say customer service is my real passion... Thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to get to know me today, and hope you consider me for this role. She tilts her head with a smile. INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY Allyson's hands fidget atop flannel pajama pants as she smiles into the glow of a laptop screen. She sits in a dumpy living room that's nothing like the chic virtual background the people on her laptop see. MAN (V.O.) How about some of your strengths? Allyson smiles, a little deader inside for hearing this question for the hundredth time. But she somehow musters her reply with believable enthusiasm. ALLYSON I'm a straight shooter. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. You always know where you stand with me! O n t h e l a p t o p s c r e e n , a M A N a n d W O M A N s i t i n t h e i r o f f i c e . The man yawns, doesn't hide it.WOMAN What are some of your weaknesses? ALLYSON I have to admit that sometimes I struggle to ask for help. But it's because I'm a hard worker; I take pride in doing things on my own... which can mean sometimes biting off more than I can chew. But it's something I'm always working on. WOMAN O f c o u r s e . W e l l , t h i s h a s b e e n s o great... Checks the resume, already forgot her name was-- WOMAN (CONT'D) A l l y s o n . W e h a v e a f e w m o r e i n t e r v i e w s to complete, but we'll let you know by the end of the week. The light in Allyson's eyes dims, but she manages a smile. ALLYSON Sounds good. Thanks again so much! Everyone waves at each other until the screen cuts to black. EXT. PATIO - DAY Blue skies and fluffy clouds. Massive cottonwood trees hang over a faded wood patio littered with discarded sandbox toys and plastic chairs. Allyson clutches a paring knife. She pushes back the sleeve of her blouse, her forearm lined with a collection of thin, horizontal scars. Neither scared nor embarrassed, she picks a spot with unblemished flesh and rakes the blade across the skin. A thin line of red appears. She watches, her heartbeat slowing. Peace washes over her until-- BUZZ! Her cell phone alarm. Next interview in fifteen minutes.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-09-26

Dusty and I are huge fans of serialized horror anthology podcasts for our road trips, really hoping we can get our own take of a sci-fi version off the ground this winter. Here's the first page of the pilot episode. #FirstPageFriday #1stPageFriday #Scriptsky

INT. OFFICE - DAY SFX: The inner-workings of a computer starting up. Quiet, whirling fans. The soft clicks of a keyboard. The voice of our impartial NARRATOR (any) cuts in: NARRATOR June 14th, 2097, satellite VANTA was seized after [REDACTED]'s repeated non-compliance with federal law. Unlike the other assets seized, VANTA lacked any documentation to determine the satellite's purpose or retail value. [REDACTED]'s Director of Operations, Dr. Eli Montauk, was assigned, Carla Simms, a federal auditor to assist and monitor the cataloging of the assets stored on the VANTA. The audit was required to be completed within sixty days. After the twenty-third day of the audit, all communications with the VANTA ceased. The only transmission recovered was a voice recording from Dr. Montauk. SFX: Radio static as a recording of DR. MONTAUK plays: DR. MONTAUK The containment breach is far more extensive than we thought... The data's gone, and now Carla... I don't think we can shut it off... it keeps coming back... The audio abruptly cuts to silence. NARRATOR Dr. Montauk and Carla Simms were never recovered. After the reconnaissance team departed, new auditors were dispatched to complete the cataloging of VANTA's cargo. This time, the pair of government auditors were assisted by AI to ensure completion and compliance. Neither agent was informed of the fate of the previous auditors. This is their transcript. SFX: Vantablack Theme Song
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-09-12

Why not have a splash of color for #FunPageFriday #FirstPageFriday? The opening scene for my silly rom com about a Midwestern gal who moves to Florida because she loves dolphins, only to find her true love in a cursed sailor 🐬 #Scriptsky

INT. OFFICE - DAY The distant sound of ocean waves echoes through the open window of a cramped office. The window ledge is lined with a dozen different figurines of dolphins. They twinkle in the morning sunlight from their perch, prized possessions. The rest of the office is a war zone-- stacks of papers, boxes, open files-- and at the center of it all, seated on an office chair talking on the phone, is MAGGIE (30s). Always quiet and unsure of herself, Maggie has a slight accent that's a dead giveaway to her Midwest roots (just like her MOM back home in rural Minnesota). Maggie Maybe you and Grandma can come in November? Now just isn't a good time. Work is sucking up all my time-- She sighs and looks at the inbox of dozens of unread messages on her computer screen. Maggie And sanity. I'm sorry, Mom, could you call me back tomorrow? MOM (V.O.) I suppose. I mean, it's not like you don't work on the weekends! Maggie Not yet, but if I don't figure out something soon, I'm going to need a third roommate to survive. MOM (V.O.) In that tiny apartment? I don't see how they can justify making you pay so much for such a small place. Maggie It's Florida, Mom. Everything's expensive. MOM All the more reason you should've moved to Minneapolis, like Andy. He's got a huge apartment! And his roommate Carl-- such a nice boy. I can't understand why he's still single.Maggie Yeah, neither can I... Maggie eyes the photo taped to her monitor of her brother ANDY and his roommate CARL kissing outside the Minnesota Twins baseball stadium. Maggie Look, I really have to go. MOM (V.O.) Alright, Big City Girl! You know, your dad would be so proud of you chasing your dreams like this. Love you. Maggie Thanks, mom. Love you, too. Maggie hangs up and sighs, her eyes back on the screen. Maggie Alright, shrimp cocktail for two hundred people can't cost that much... Her desk phone BEEPS and the terse voice of her boss, ROSARIO (60s) comes through the speaker. ROSARIO (V.O.) Maggie? Did you get the menus for next week finalized yet? MAGGIE No, I'm actually working on it right now. I'll have it over ASAP! ROSARIO (V.O.) Fine. Rosario ends the call, and Maggie frantically digs through her pile of paperwork. MAGGIE Now, if I were a menu, where would I be? She elbows a stack of papers onto the floor. Defeated, she groans and crouches down to gather everything. Her eyes peeks the paper at farthest from her reach-- THE MENU! Really stretching on all fours, Maggie looks like nothing but a rump with two legs when, DOMINIC (30s) enters her office.Smug demeanor and tanned beach bod, Dominic is a total Miami Vice wannabe, though he seems exotic and interesting to an outsider like Maggie. He smirks at the faded dolphin tattoo peeking out from Maggie's exposed lower back. DOMINIC Wow! Never pegged you as a tramp stamp kind of girl, Maggie! Maggie Oh, my God! Maggie slams her head into the bottom of her desk as she tries to tug her blouse down over her lower back. Her face is bright red when she stands to face Dominic. Maggie You know my name? I mean, I'm so sorry, Dominic! Is there something I can do with, er, help you with? DOMINIC I was wondering if you had the list of confirmed RSVPs. Rosario wants me to make some follow-up calls. Maggie Yes, the list! I'll email it to you right now! She hops into her computer chair and quickly gets to work. Dominic hovers nearby, glances toward the photos taped to her desk-- the one of her brother and Carl, and another with her parents outside a farmhouse surrounded by sunflowers. DOMINIC You're from the Midwest, right? Do you ever feel homesick, yearn for the landlocked majesty of the endless cornfields? Maggie Sometimes, but I love it here. When I came down for spring break, I knew this was where I wanted to move the first chance I got!DOMINIC Was that the same trip you got your dolphin tattoo? Chicks love dolphins. Dominic savors Maggie's embarrassment. MAGGIE Yes, well, the RSVP list is now waiting for you in your inbox. DOMINIC Perfect. So... big plans for the weekend? Maggie Nothing crazy, just doing the tour down at Dolphin Bay again. I've got a punch card, so three more visits and I get a free one! DOMINIC Exciting... well, I asked because the yacht company hosting the party gave me a pair of free tickets for tomorrow's sunset cruise. I thought since you're coordinating everything, you should come with me. MAGGIE With you? Maggie looks like she could melt. Maggie YES! I mean, what a great opportunity to walk through the timeline and check out the ATV set-up for the party. Good thinking. DominIC What can I say? I'm always planning something. Anyway, I'll meet you there at five. Oh, and wear something nice-- He glances at her frumpy floral blouse and skinny jeans. DOMINIC Florida nice, not Midwest nice. Maggie Oh, uh, sure. I'll see you then!
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-08-22

Sharing the first page of a rare pilot (I don't focus on TV writing much these days), but I wanted to try my hand at adapting a novel and writing something historic. #Scriptsky #1stPageFriday #FirstPageFriday

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:d4epq4u2e7x36isvel6qmukv/post/3lwyetwtuis26

Black background with the image of a planchette, text BEYOND THE SPIRIT DOOR, tagline NOT EVERY DOOR SHOULD BE OPENED.ACT I INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT A WOMAN's scream slices through the darkness. WOMAN (O.s.) You said you could bring her back! A pair of eyes SNAP open, stare at the overhead wooden beams. HENRY GLASS (12) tugs the blankets up to his nose. The eldest son, he always bites back his emotions and puts on a brave face. Even now, when no one can see him. The two lumps beside him in bed snore away-- his brothers, ROBERT (9) and JACOB (7). Blissfully unaware. Henry's trembling bare feet touch down on the hardwood floor. His thin frame stands tall, nothing but a silhouette in the rectangle of moonlight from the open window as he pads into the hallway toward the stairs. STAIRWELL Henry crouches on the stairs and peeks between the spindles of the banister. The light from the living room fireplace casts his curious face in long strips of shadow. The living room is a simple room for a simple farm family. Hand-built wooden furniture and bare wood floors with a mantle constructed from jagged, locally sourced slate. Henry watches his MOTHER (40s) pace in front of the fire. She wears a flowing white nightgown that clings to her sweaty skin. She shakes her head, mutters to herself. In her arms she clutches a bloody BUNDLE. FATHER (O.S.) What are you doing? Henry's FATHER (50s) grips Henry by the shoulder. A towering figure with a thick beard, he's as hard as the land he works. But there's fear in his eyes, something Henry's never seen before. HENRY What's wrong with Mama?
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-08-08

Had to pivot back to horror so I can finish FLYOVER COUNTRY one of these days. I figure Zooks has to get a creative credit for coming up with the core concept of this one: a small Midwest town that suddenly and mysteriously becomes a magnet for commercial airplane crashes. #FirstPageFriday

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3lvvq6zkc6s2i

INT. TALLY'S DINER - DAY Tally's is the only diner in town, the social hub with cheap coffee and a pie cooler the size of a Buick. The interior is unchanged since the 1940s, just like the rest of Courtland. Black liquid pours into a ceramic mug on a Formica table. NATALIE LAINE (mid 30s) pulls away the pot, leaving just enough room for cream. She tucks a loose strand of hair back, exposing the flesh-colored hearing aid curled around her ear. You'd never know from her poised customer service voice that Natalie hates this town and wants nothing more than to escape the boring trappings of her mundane life. MARV (50s), a dusty farmer in coveralls, smiles at Natalie as he dumps three packets of sugar into the fresh coffee. MARV Heard your sister's in the family way. Natalie returns her own well-practiced, almost genuine smile. NATALIE July 18th's the due date, though I think if she had her way, she'd give that baby an eviction notice tomorrow. MAN Aye-yeah, Donna was pregnant with all three of the boys in the summertime. More miserable than a hog in heat. NATALIE I bet... MARV Bailey's got to be what, twenty-five or so? Graduated with Duane, I think. Always figured you'd be the first one to get married and all that business. NATALIE Anything else I can get for you, Marv? MARV Nah, should be good. Be sure to tell your sister congrats, and send my best to your mother.
Leah from South Dakotaleahfromsd.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2025-07-11

Since I was talking about the isolation of the Midwest, I figured this was an apt page to share for #FirstPageFriday Still retooling this feature because, 2 years ago when I started writing it, the premise seemed extreme. Now, it doesn't feel extreme enough for the state of current affairs. 💀

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:upne6wvlygjgdrpue7s2lirm/post/3ltphhxw4kc2h

E X T . S O U T H D A K O T A - D A Y A tiny patchwork quilt of various shades of green. Middle America viewed from 40,000 feet in the sky. The dark line of the Missouri river snakes out of view. We pivot to a private aircraft as it cuts through the clouds. A U D R E Y P E N A ( 3 0 s ) p e e r s t h r o u g h t h e j e t ' s w i n d o w . LAWRENCE (V.O.) Somewhere down there's where I grew up. Tyndall, South Dakota. I N T . P R I V A T E J E T - D A Y The interior is all luxurious white leather and hardwood. T h e o w n e r o f t h e j e t , L A W R E N C E H A R K E R ( 6 0 s ) , l o c k s e y e s w i t h Audrey from across the aisle. He may be Fortune 500 rich, but he looks like an old timer you'd see at a corner dive bar. Meanwhile, Audrey's SHEIN blouse and knock-off Birkin bag mark her as an obvious outsider in his world. Smart and ambitious, she knows she can't blow this opportunity. LAWRENCE Nothing there for me anymore. Pretty sure they bulldozed the house I grew up in. Built a gas station. AUDREY Should I mention that in the book? LAWRENCE Why not? Stories start at the beginning, so I think you ought to at least mention where I was born. AUDREY True, granted, the beginning doesn't have to be the day you were born. It could be something else. Something profound that happened, that redefined who you are. LAWRENCE See! That's why I hired you, girl. You're always thinking.
Bryan Howell, for realsbryanhowell.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy
2024-12-28

LOW NOON A disgraced former sheriff must sober up and convince his townsfolk that a charismatic traveling preacher is actually a soul-sucking menace. #FirstPageFriday #ScriptSky

Page of a screenplay
AnneAnnewrites@bbq.snoot.com
2023-10-13

My current WIP is in French (first time I write a feature in French)-- pour ceux qui le lisent.
I don't have a title yet, but it's a slasher.

#FirstPageFriday

Cold open A dĂ©terminer INT. GARE MONTPARNASSE - JOUR LOUISON se met sur la pointe des pieds, essaie de voir par- dessus les tĂȘtes de la FOULE, le tĂ©lĂ©phone collĂ© Ă  l'oreille. LOUISON T'es sĂ»r que tu es dans la bonne gare au moins ? Une mer de visages anonymes qui vont dans tous les sens. Louison a l'impression de jouer Ă  oĂč est Charlie... LOUISON (CONT'D) Une casquette jaune, ça devrait ĂȘtre visible pourtant. ... sauf que CHARLIE elle est lĂ , Ă  cĂŽtĂ©. C'est Charlotte, la petite soeur de Louison, pas contente d'ĂȘtre lĂ , pas contente de grand-chose d'ailleurs si ce n'est du rock qui est en train de battre ses tympans et oblitĂ©rer la rĂ©alitĂ© qui l'entoure. Non, lĂ  c'est en fait oĂč est-- LOUISON (CONT'D) Titi! TITI Loulou! THIBAULT dit Titi vient d'apparaĂźtre, sorti de nulle part, une casquette jaune effectivement enfoncĂ©e sur sa tignasse mal peignĂ©e. Les deux amis se prennent dans les bras. Une embrassade qui dure. Et enfin se relĂąche. LOUISON Je suis trop contente! Et moi! TITI Louison donne un coup de coude Ă  sa soeur pour lui rappeler la politesse. Titi ne l'avait mĂȘme pas remarquĂ©e.
Lyssa Chiavarilyssachiavari@wandering.shop
2023-07-22

A tradition on Instagram is #FirstPageFriday, sharing the first page of your book, and I'm so excited to FINALLY be able to share the first page of ONE WORLD with you all!

A photo of a book opened to the first page of Chapter 1 and posed against a hand-drawn starry background. The text on the page says: Chapter 1: Nadin There was no sky here. There was only smoke. Thick, acrid, and dark. It squeezed my lungs until I choked on it. Not long ago—just this morning to the people here, those who had remained in this timeline, who hadn’t passed through the postern and spent months on an alien world thousands of years in the future—there had been swirling clouds above, and bright, cheerful sunlight reflected from mirrors around the village. But that was gone now. All that remained was darkness, ash, and destruction. Just like everything the geroi ever touched. My eyes struggled to adjust to this dimness after the blinding sun of the Veracruz morning I had just left behind. I lay there for a moment, my body aching from the force of traveling through the postern, the impact of hitting the ground hard as the tesseract ripped shut behind me. My palms were bleeding from scrapes against the rocks as I’d collided with the cave floor. The static had barely cleared from my eyes when I was wrenched upright by an Enforcer. His fingers dug into the bare skin on my upper arm, exposed by the short-sleeved shirt I’d put on this morning—perfect for the hot, muggy jungle where I’d been moments before, but far too lightweight for the cold air of Iamos. I tried to jerk my arm out of his grasp, but he merely held on tighter.

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