Face it

As Adam opened the glass cover of the ornate clock he felt that it was at once strange and familiar. Strange because this wasn't part of the gran-visit ritual; familiar though, because at some level he remembered his childhood task.

In those days it had seemed important work, a mark of trust in him. He recalled the satisfying way the key turned, the way he knew to stop winding when he felt resistance against it.

Perhaps it was silly, but he felt something of that self-importance as he held the key in his hand.

Just as he was about to raise the key to the clock face, his gran's next words made him pause.

"So, Adam," she said. "How's that screenplay of yours coming along?"

He wasn't sure what to say. How did she know? "Er, screenplay, gran?"

"Oh come on son," she replied. "I know you've never mentioned it - but the number of times you talk about films, and how good or bad the writing is, and the amount of lines you come out with ... well, if you're not writing a film I'm a very poor judge of character."

He turned to face her, amazed at her intuition.

She looked him in the eye for a moment, and then grinned. "Oh alright. It was your pal Stevie's mum who told me. You know - works in the chemist? Anyway, I know it's not the kind of thing you usually talk about with your old gran, but I just wondered how you're getting on with it."

"Well, er, you know... still at the... er, planning stage really. Scoping it out, trying to write a synopsis, type of thing."

"Hmm," she replied. "That sounds like a lot of words to describe not a lot happening. Let me tell you something, Adam. The only way you can actually achieve something is by doing it. I know that sounds so obvious it seems stupid - but nobody ever went to see a film of a plan of something.

"In this life, what matters is what you do."



Story starts here.