I spent ten years as a struggling screenwriter. The first five years were one of the best times of my life. The second five years, not so much.
A Piece of Eternity was written early in those first five years.
I had spent my twenties writing three novels, with three different agents and far too many editors praising a manuscript, then passing on it, but always wanting to see my next one. And almost always saying, “This is so visual, it should really be a screenplay.” I took that as a compliment early on, generally mumbled some neutral acknowledgment and ignored it a few years after that, then finally started wondering if I was writing in the wrong field altogether. So in my thirties, I switched, and life got wonderfully bizarre.
I landed an agent in Hollywood fairly quickly, after she read my second and third attempts at a screenplay. (Even I didn’t want to read my first.) The third one even found some interest with the first producer who read it, which put me in a strange position: I had a project (supposedly) coming together, but I had never made the rounds of meet-and-greets with a calling card of a spec script. My agent and I both agreed the second one was better as a follow-up than an introduction, and a micro-budget indie producer was interested in it anyway. And that third one needed a budget to give even the most artistically minded bean counter the vapors. So I needed another one, a big yet affordable one, and quickly.
A Piece of Eternity was the script.