Turning points

Little Sad Writer’s Story

Today I want to tell a small story I’ve never told anyone before, just my family.

A few days ago, while searching for something in my desk drawer, I found an old receipt. It was the acknowledgment of receipt of a registered letter I sent in December 2012. The kind of document that shouldn’t matter anymore, except that it does. Inside that envelope there was a presentation letter and a screenplay. I had sent it to a famous Italian production company.

This is the acknowledgment of receipt

I wrote that script (in Italian) after completing a course in screenwriting. It had two working titles: Sotto la pelle (“Under the Skin”) and L’inconsistenza (“Inconsistency”), and I sent it with this last title. The story followed a coroner and university lecturer who wakes up one morning to discover he has lost his reflection in the mirror. He still exists, but the reflection is gone, replaced by his younger self, now walking the world in human form.

I loved that story. It was about our past, our mistakes, and how they eventually take shape and stand in front of us, saying: you ruined everything.

But this isn’t really about the story I wrote. It’s about what happened to it.

I never received a reply from the production company. Not even a refusal. Just silence. If you’re a writer, you know this silence well. You’re not famous. Sometimes you feel invisible, like the protagonist of my script.

Years later, in 2018, a famous director released a film. I didn’t see it immediately. I watched it later, maybe on TV or on my computer, I don’t remember exactly.

What I do remember is the first scene.

It was mine.

The concept was mine. The opening was identical to what I had written. The first scene was copied and pasted from my script. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The production company was the one to which I sent my screenplay.

They didn’t even call me to say, “Thank you, you were good enough for us to steal from.” Now, I know what you might think: I should have filed a claim. But I did nothing. At the time, I wasn’t sure I had the right to act. Later I realized I did. It was a clear breach of copyright law.

But when you don’t have the financial means to risk losing a legal battle against someone with money, power, and fame, you stay still. You do nothing.

I still have the receipt. I still have the letter. We even had email contact before I sent the script, they asked me to send it via traditional postal service. Six years passed between the moment I mailed it and the film’s release. Roughly the amount of time it takes to make a movie.

After that, I stopped trying to sell my scripts.

I have a complete outline for a science-fiction story for young adults, (similar and even better than “Stranger things”, settled in Europe), but who can I rely on? Someone once asked me for one of my short stories to turn into an animated short film. I trusted them. As far as I know, it was never finished. I have two published novels, ready to pitch. They’re the only stories I’m willing to send, because they are clearly mine.

I know this is a small, almost silly story in a messy, chaotic, and dangerous world. But small things can change your life. They can break your trust. They can stop you from moving forward.

If we zoom out, we see a familiar pattern: the small, unknown artist crushed by a larger system. How many times have famous singers been accused of plagiarism by unknown musicians? Sometimes the big names lose, but could I have afforded that risk?

Maybe I should have acted. Not for the money. Just to prove—to myself, more than anyone else—that I was good enough for a famous director to steal my idea.

(Any advice?)