I’m in Clarksville, TN for my niece’s wedding. Wandered into this restaurant.
Packed. Waiting list.
I don’t do waiting lists. I was ready to bail.
Then I walked past someone’s table and saw this.
God-level. Stuffed. Blueberry. French. Toast.
Hell yes.
This place does one thing ridiculously well — and it jumps off the plate at you.
It knows what it is.
Owns its lane.
Closes at 2:30.
You want dinner? I don’t care.
You want breakfast? Get your ass in here. But you’ll have to stand in line first.
Fine. You win.
Most scripts die because they try to be everything.
A little horror. Some comedy. A love story stapled on the side. Maybe some mystery for good measure.
They become a lukewarm buffet nobody crosses the street for.
But the script that knows its one thing?
That makes a stranger stop and say: Who tf wrote this?
Know your genre.
Break down films that nailed it.
Then get honest with yourself and ask:
What’s the stuffed French toast of your screenplay?
A story is not a series of events.
It’s a seduction.
You want my time? Invite me in. Make me want you.
What is the God-level scene, character, relationship, world, or feeling you’re swinging for the fences on?
That’s what I want to pull out of you.
That’s what I preach when coaching.
Stop mucking around with chives and garnishes.
Learn to make your star fucking shine.
People will wait in line for that good shit.
If you want to be part of that, sign up for the coaching calls.
That’s where the magic happens.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have fat stores to build before the next ice age.