I’m about to go to William Goldman’s funeral, a man who mentored hundreds of screenwriters. Some of them are Tony Kilroy, Brian Koppelman, Aaron Sorkin. I’m a twenty-eight-year old nanny who works six days a week, has a terminal illness (okay that’s a little dramatic, I have a chronic illness that will become terminal in like twenty years) and barely writes anymore. All week I’ve been imagining horror scenes of how this funeral goes. What’s funny is, this is the exact thing I’d write to Bill about.

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