Just Effing Entertain Me

Hope, Reality, and Finding Balance Between the Two

Good morning, Effers! I’m heading out to have coffee with Elliot Grove, the man who founded and runs Britain’s Raindance Film Festival, and then hopping on a train to Stratford-Upon-Avon. So in the spirit of keeping you entertained (who loves you?) I thought I’d include a chapter excerpt from my upcoming book. If you’ve been reading the blog for some time, you may recognize this:

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I have had more than one blog reader write me and say HEY, waitta minute! You shouldn’t give aspiring screenwriters false hope! Hollywood IS a zero-sum game. Only a tiny percentage of aspiring screenwriters will ever make it and all the pep talks and airy-fairy, positive thinking in the world can’t change that!

Right. And wrong.

Sure, yes, the odds of selling a script are slim. They just are. But – not impossible. And when I say that I don’t believe Hollywood is a zero-sum game what I mean by that is that if someone else makes a sale that does not mean that nobody else will or can. Hollywood needs fresh material shoveled into its maw regularly. The demand for entertainment is literally never ending.

Even so, the cold, hard truth is that the odds are terrible that you will actually sell a script. Ever. Also terrible, the odds of publishing a novel, becoming a famous – or even regularly working – actor, not to mention becoming a famous artist. Or the President of the United States when you’re a black man.

The fact that the odds are terrible for anything is no reason not to try. If nobody tried anything difficult, the world would be rife with – with stuff not tried. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Blah, blah, blah.

Now. That said, screenwriting is particularly awful in terms of odds. You really are better off going to Vegas and feeding quarters into a slot machine for like five years straight. Seriously.

So wow, right? Why bother?

Because it’s fun and you can’t resist. And you might – you really just MIGHT break in. But more important, in my view, than the fact that you might break in is that you also likely will learn a whole lot about yourself and in doing so potentially find that you’re not really a screenwriter – you’re a novelist. Or short fiction writer. Or kick-ass essay writer. Or poet. Or super good scrapbook maker with clever captions. Writing in all forms is joyful and important. We need the written word.

The thing that gives professionals in Hollywood an eye twitch and a puckered forehead is that there is a huge number of aspiring screenwriters who figure they are immensely talented (read: entitled) and who figure that breaking in on their first script that they wrote high after watching THE MATRIX again is going to be an easy, great, super cool get rich quick scheme.

Nobody who thinks this would ever admit it, even to themselves. Message boards are full to overflowing with untalented “writers” who figure they are just bad ass enough to make it big in Hollywood. Daily, all over the world, some jackass comes up with a movie idea and tries to write a script. But here’s the thing – some of those jackasses ARE talented and DO have a good idea and for god’s sake if the only new ideas and scripts came from INSIDE Hollywood, Houston, we have an awful, incestuous problem. Oh – we already have that problem.

Remember, the oak tree was once a nut that thought it was an acorn.

Here’s my measure: If you’ve had some validation from a competition placement or a professional who’s read your script and been honestly impressed and encouraging, you shouldn’t throw in the towel. If you enjoy the process – don’t throw in the towel. If you love writing, movies, literature and creating – don’t throw in the towel. If you get ideas and are always staring into the middle distance imagining great characters and great scenes – don’t throw in the towel. If there’s anything about the five-year-slot-machine metaphor that scares you – throw in the towel. Do it now. Spare yourself the heartbreak and the disappointment. But we who won’t quite trying – we know that little thrill of pulling the lever – again.

If trying feels bad then throw in the towel. If you are discouraged, bitter, resentful, pissed off and alienated because you have not made that million dollar spec sale, definitely throw it in. The adventure is in the process. Thinking about terrible odds sucks joy out of the process.

Reaching for dreams and expressing yourself on the page is its own reward. Writers who know that they will never be disappointed they never make a sale will never take a huge blow to the ego if they die without having left a celluloid or digital legacy behind them. Because overt success was never the point. Thomas Edison once said: I never did a day’s work in my life.

Choosing a Great Title

Hello, everyone! Lookit me! Blogging twice in one day! Because somebody is stuck in their flat in London nursing a cold but otherwise being very productive. All for youuuu!

When a reader or exec picks up your script, naturally the first thing we read is the title. And based on that alone, we make a couple of assumptions. If your script is a comedy, the title should sound a little funny. If your script is a horror or thriller, the title should sound a little creepy. The title is a hint of what’s to come. Sometimes a title will simply be a bit intriguing; I’m not quite sure what to make of it. But I know that at some point in the script it will become clear to me what it means.

Titles can be poetic allusions, clever word plays or fairly straight up descriptors. Some writers come up with the title first and inspired by that, write the script. Some script titles reflect a line of significant dialogue or an important plot twist, either directly or indirectly.

A miniscule list of some titles I have loved; I know I am forgetting so many more:

KOALAS ON MOTORBIKES
THE L WORD
LIFE AMONG THE RUINS
SOON I WILL BE INVINCIBLE
YOU’RE DEAD MEAT PIPLOWSKI

In fact – there are many of you out there who have met me in person who can attest to the fact that I am much more likely to remember your script’s title than your name. As long as I saw the title, I will generally remember it. It’s a neat party trick. People love it.

Make sure when you title your script that you cover as many bases as you can:

• Does the title hint at the genre?
• Is the title as succinct as possible?
• Does the title in some way embody the themeprint of your script?
• Will the title look good on a poster and will it intrigue passersby?
• If the title isn’t clear immediately, will it rise to the surface within the script?

The title is the shingle you hang on your script’s cover. It says: Read me, I am a terrific romantic comedy. It says: Wow am I gonna look great on a movie poster – can’t you picture Robert Pattinson? It says: Check me out – I am epic. It says: I am a clever writer and this is a great script.

What if a title has been used before? Well, movie titles aren’t copyrighted but still, unless the movie was a million years ago and grossed all of $25 at the box office, you probably want to come up with your own title. Look up the title in the IMDB and find out the last time it was used and in what context. If you are really attached to the title and it was a TV movie in 1978, go for it. But if you have a moving family drama do not title it ORDINARY PEOPLE because that’s just dumb. Or even WILD AT HEART – audiences have long memories and so do execs. Come up with a variation of a title you love.

Make a list of the themes within your script and then brainstorm offshoots of those themes. Go through your script pages and look for significant dialogue that you love – can you pluck that dialogue out and use it? Think of AMERICAN BEAUTY – the way Alan Ball used the imagery of the rose throughout the movie but also the perfect, beautiful way it alludes to the plot from a thematic point of view.

A great title is no substitute for a great script but like the sour cream atop a baked potato or a cherry atop a sundae or a jalapeño atop nachos – is its crowning glory. Don’t waste the opportunity!

What are some of YOUR favorite movie titles?

Do You Have Talent?

Lately I am running around like crazy getting ready to leave the country for fully five (if not six) weeks starting next week. Teaching in NYC, London, Oxford and possibly Mumbai with a nice little two weeks in Israel in-between so as mama can swim in the Red Sea and enjoy the desert and hot sun for a bit of a respite. For most people, “Israel” and “enjoy” do not belong in the same sentence, much less thought bubble, but for me, there are parts of Israel that are incomparably beautiful and relaxing…You just have to blur your eyes a bit and not notice the soldiers just to your right, or the razor wire surrounding the checkpoint. But anywho.

So as per busy schedule and also teaching at Warners next week (fun!) and honest to Betsy, we have a LOT of new readers on JFEME lately, so I’m re-running a much aged post that kicked off a lot of interesting conversations and is still absolutely germane.

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Can talent be taught or are you just born with it? Have you got it? How do you know?

It’s an awkward thing to talk about, right up there with prescriptions for odd body parts and the balance in your checking account. It’s easy to say other people aren’t talented but you’d never admit that you do – or don’t have talent yourself. The subject engenders great anxiety; you run the gamut from suspecting you are talented to seriously doubting that. Maybe you’re not talented – you’re proficient. Can proficiency, nurtured daily, blossom into talent?

I believe that most writers with talent are born with it. And once given that gift, become 1) a savant who soars meteorically with no formal training, 2) dead to it because they are not encouraged or courageous enough to explore it or 3) doggedly committed to developing and shaping that talent until they find a way to use and express it. We want to shoot for options 1 and 3.

Writing talent is a bit ephemeral; those who read professionally can tell immediately if a writer really has a gift or if they are just a well trained mechanic. But it’s hard to describe; it’s as if a ghost walked through you. There’s a ripple of something impossible to nail down. Proficient writers may be engaging – but not haunting. Writers with no natural knack for it, well, that’s like nails on a chalkboard.

How do you know if you have talent? Well, I not only cannot diagnose each writer theoretically but would never be so presumptuous as to make such a sweeping proclamations. Who can really define talent? Who can be the final word on that?

That said, here are some indications that you might have natural writing talent:

*You have been writing from a very early age and have always delighted parents, teachers, friends and relatives with what you wrote. You started to believe them and kept writing. It was a thrill.

*In emails, letters and birthday cards, your words delight people. Not people you put on the spot and ask, but people who tell you that for no reason whatsoever.

*You love to read and you consume books voraciously. You mark pages that have beautiful passages and read and reread them. You think about the green light at the end of the dock.

*You obsess over words – you love to define and understand them. You will stop writing something for 20 minutes until you find just the perfect word for that sentence. Then you’ll change it six more times before you’re satisfied.

*You really don’t care where you write or what you write with. You get strangely lost in your writing and don’t hear the call to dinner or the train coming.

*Words have colors and sounds to you. You love to say “willow” and “ululate” and “melancholy” and “hot, humid gardenia-scented summer.”

*You freak out when other people use or spell words incorrectly.

*You are never satisfied with your writing; you’re pretty sure you suck.

*You read writers who have “it” and get a sort of plummeting thrill. You wonder if you’ll ever be as good as them.

*Sometimes you feel like a freak.

Here are some hints that you may not have talent:

*You compare writing to needing to breathe. You make much of this, wear a beret and have a poster of Ernest Hemingway in your bedroom.

*You ask other people if they liked your writing. This does not embarrass you. Their answers are always construed as YES!, regardless of vague smiles.

*You are really, really sure you have talent and tell people that frequently, once more ignoring vague smiles and sidelong glances.

*You are convinced that you will rush to the top of the heap once your talent is recognized and think bitterly about the fact that it hasn’t yet happened. This fundamental unfairness bothers you a great deal.

*You love what you write immediately. You move on and you don’t look back. You pride yourself on this. Any word will do. You are after speed and efficiency.

*You are so sure you’re talented that you feel you don’t have to read the classics, take a class or otherwise do any work. Your talent is natural, inborn and incorruptible.

*You think that writing is easy and fun. In fact, you know it is. Because it’s easy!

*You don’t think anybody else has “it” except maybe like Brett Easton Ellis because you heard American Psycho was like, gnarly!

*Writers who are said to have “it” do not impress you. You think they got a lucky break that should have been yours and soon will be.

*You feel like such a lucky rock star that you have talent and feel sorry for all the other poor saps who don’t yet realize how untalented they are and how very talented you are and how rich you soon will be because selling a script is easy.

More than anything, writing is a weird obsession; we love it, we hate it, we hope to succeed, but mainly we just can’t stop. Yes, it is absolutely true that some writers are more talented than others. But in the spectrum of writing out there today, everything from literary fiction to essays to how-to and cookbooks, there may be a place for you. Maybe it isn’t screenwriting, but if you love to write – keep doing it and see which discipline is the place for you. Don’t be hasty to judge whether others have talent unless you’re being paid to make such a slippery call. If you’re not such a whiz with words – work on that. Conversely, if you are a writing savant, if your grocery lists are what others would enshrine as great poetry, maybe you need some discipline and focus.

Nobody can truly say with finality who has talent and who does not. However, in my experience working with writers, I have noticed a strange inverse relationship between the quality of the work of writers who claim to have talent and those who are much more humble and neurotic. The best scripts I have read were given to me tentatively and the worst usually arrive with a red carpet and fanfare. It’s quite interesting to me that those most convinced they have talent are generally dead wrong.

In a world filled with great writers, large and small, published and unpublished, it is dangerous to assume you are a genius. Humility is a good thing. For those who just aren’t sure, here’s the thing: Keep trying. Validation from a professional source, whether that be a publication, an agent, teacher or competition is incredibly valuable. Keep working on developing your writing skills but have realistic expectations. You may never be Don DeLillo but maybe you’ll be Janet Evanovitch. Hey, don’t laugh; she’s rich. And say what you will, she can obviously spin a tale. Serially.

I’m smart enough to avoid the dangerous, thorn-lined path of who is a “real” writer: Ludlum versus DeLillo, King versus Poe, Fitzgerald versus Chabon, Frey, Palahniuk, Sherman Alexie, Danielle Steele…oh, it’s just going to turn into a brawl. Tastes are completely subjective but whether a writer has “talent” is easier to measure. I’m not at all a fan of William Faulkner’s work. But it is universally established that he was a formidably talented writer.

Here’s the reality – everybody has talent. For something. Music, cooking, teaching, ping pong, diplomacy, animal husbandry, organizing, motivating, salesmanship, growing stuff, making stuff, swimming – something. Everybody has a talent. But not everybody has writing talent.

To me, it is a matter of great curiosity and some indignation, that consistently, the general public seems to feel that writing is somehow easy. Maybe it’s because of the way we look, or the way we often work at home in our socks, or maybe we’re just so cool we make it look easy. But the perception that what we do is somehow easy and can be learned by purchasing a few books on the topic is maddening and when I’m in a bad mood – demeaning. So many writers were outsiders growing up…the freaks, the geeks, the homebodies – and we were misunderstood and abused for it. And now we’re cool? And now our talents are instantly accessible by dilettantes and pretenders?? The occasional indignation that arises like hot lava. And dilettante, by the way, is the word we writers use when it’s gettin’ ugly and we’re pissed. Oh yeah, we fight with words. Gol darn it.

The thing with talent that makes it a fun and provocative topic is that it is as elusive as hell and almost impossible to define. Which is why, ironically enough, “it” is a fairly accurate word for talent. Although of course, “it” is generally used when referring to actors and entertainers meaning they have a certain indefinable charisma and magnetism.

Do you have writing talent? Maybe. Maybe you do but you don’t know it because you never tried. There are plenty of stories of successful writers who started writing much later in life. The fact is that there is just no be-all, end-all definition of writing talent – who has it, where you get it and whether it can be cultivated, taught or picked up at Walgreens on sale.

Do you have talent? Yes of course you do. At something. It might be writing. It might be wood carving. You can’t really find out until you try. The only thing I can note, from my experience, is that writers who claim to have talent boldly and flatly and with pride consistently give me scripts that don’t reflect that. The hallmark of a talented writer seems to be – again, from my experience – a great neurotic fear that they do not have talent at all. I cannot explain why this happens.

Movies are by definition populist entertainment and it is the proliferation of movies as popular entertainment that has, in my opinion, created a sense that anyone can write one and that it’s fun and easy – like taking up golf or knitting. Is Roger Federer talented? Incredibly. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t go enjoy a game of tennis for the sake of the game. It just means that you probably won’t receive the accolades and earn the accomplishments that he has. If that’s okay with you – go play tennis. Maybe – just maybe – you are that Wandering Erstwhile Swimming Bedouin who just hasn’t had a chance to try writing but in fact, that talent was nascent within you all the time. You can’t know until you try. And if you want to try – then you should.

Here is my short list, in no particular order, of the necessary supplies to have in your travel bag if you want to be a successful (read, paid, produced, appreciated) writer:

Determination

Perseverance

Talent

Social Skills on a spectrum from charismatic to an ability to speak to people at all

Intelligence

Curiosity

Heart

Individualism aka “voice”

Luck

It is a provocative subject, this talent thing. I have no doubt that everyone possesses it. In one form or another. Anyone – and I include myself in this – can be taught to do math. But not everyone can be a super string theorist or Albert Einstein. Anyone can be taught to swim, but not everyone can be Michael Phelps. I’m a swimmer. I love to swim. I more than love to swim, I lurve to swim. (Woody Allen reference, people, keep up with me!) but I will never, ever be an Olympian swimmer. I don’t care because for me, it’s just the love of the water itself. If you love to write – you should WRITE. And write and write and write. Of course there are examples of successful screenwriters who are less talented than other successful screenwriters who got lucky, who knew the right people, who were in the right place at the right time. But they have talent. Every single one of them. This I believe to be true.

The Horribly Embarrassing First Script

We all have one, even me. Especially me. I have my first script locked in a vault in Arizona, cryogenically frozen, only to be rejoined with me in death as we are both shot into space, far, far into another galaxy. Please don’t let the aliens discover the two of us and think my script is representative of the human race! I’m embarrassed in advance!

Whoa. This is brings up so many horribly uncomfortable feelings. But I digress.

Let’s put things into perspective: Completing a script is a huge accomplishment, no matter how sucky it is. “Writing IS rewriting.” You’ve probably heard that before. After that very first, snowy-white draft is done, it’s really only just begun…

After you finish your VERY first script:

• Don’t worry about the page count. It’s not important now.
• Put the script away; reread it in a few days or weeks.
• Get some reads from a handful of respected peers.
• Organize your notes by element and make a rewrite plan.

When you get feedback, try to break down the comments by element:

Main Idea (premise): Did it seem original or remind them too much of another movie. Did they “get it?”

Character: Was your reader able to identify the main character? Did they relate to this character? Did they see this character change over the course of the story?

Antagonist: Was your reader able to identify the antagonist? Can they articulate the antagonist’s motivation after having read the script? Was the antagonist formidable and interesting enough? Did they truly think the main character might not be able to face this antagonist down?

Pacing and narrative: Did the script move along at a steady pace or did the pages feel very descriptive with not much going on? Did the story continue to spool out at a steady rate? Did the reader get bored or lost?

Set-up: Was it effective? Did the reader understand, early in the script, what the over-arching conflict was?

Resolution: Was it resolution satisfying? Did the reader feel that the ending made sense and that there was closure and change for the main character? Did the ending satisfy?

New screenwriters need to be very forgiving of a first script and consider it a valuable learning experience. Here’s a little truism: All first scripts are terrible. That’s okay, this is the process. Don’t judge yourself too harshly and don’t let others do that either. Your next script will be better. And so will the one after that. Trust me.

Demystifying the B Story!

Hello, wonderful readers! I’ve been working hard on the book this weekend – I even turned down an offer to see a movie! I think I deserve a cupcake! I ran across this gem, which will be in Chapter Five, and thought you might enjoy it!

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There are of course charts, graphs and stacks of books on every aspect of screenwriting. And at times it can all feel quite academic and intimidating. I know I used to feel that way about subplots. Subplot – what do you mean? I just figured out the main plot! Aaargghhh!

But think of it this way – your character has more going on in his or her life than the adventure at hand, right? Your character has or had a job, a spouse or significant other, parents, siblings – a life. So the B story – or subplot – is going to be related to something else going on for your main character, if not something going on with another significant character in your script. It’s another, lesser complication and it also adds to the lesson or journey for your main character.

Writing subplots is part of writing three-dimensional characters – the adventure happening to them does not exist in a void, right? Stuff was going on for your character before the story began and stuff will go on after the story ends. Characters cannot exist in a bell jar. Subplots not only create a more compelling, fleshed-out story, they are part of a more compelling, fleshed-out character.

Your script might have several strands or subplots that all thematically connect and relate to the main plot. A subplot doesn’t necessarily have to take up much screen time but it will definitely have a beginning, middle and end.

A great way to study and really GET subplot is in sitcoms. Just because they are quite overt. Rachel and Ross decide whether to live together – subplot – Joey auditions for a part as a dinosaur. And you’ll notice the connect-a-dots with the subplot interrupting the main plot only enough to play itself out pretty efficiently.

Subplots do a lot of things for your script: They flesh out the world and the characters and they also serve as a way of creating more tension in the main plot because we want to get back to THE GOOD PART and see what’s going to happen! I could say a bunch of academic stuff here about how the subplot needs to be in service to the theme – but, is that academic? Or just plain obvious? Right? The subplot is some kind of version – even an opposite version – of the theme in the main plot.

Here’s some subplots you may recognize:

LEGALLY BLONDE: Elle tries to help her manicurist friend with her love life.

BEETLEJUICE: Lydia’s horrible mother, Delia, is an “artist” who seeks to turn the house into an avante garde haven for her pretentious friends.

MILK: Harvey’s relationship with his boyfriend is strained by his ambitions.

3:10 TO YUMA: Dan Evans tries to earn his son’s respect.

HOT FUZZ: Nick Angel’s friendship with Danny Butterman.

SCARFACE: Tony Montana’s relationships with his wife and his sister.

STAR WARS: The love triangle between Luke, Princess Leia and Han Solo.

POLTERGEIST: Craig T. Nelson’s relationship with his work – the evil company that paved the burial ground in the first place.

So take a look at your script – do you have subplots going on? And are those subplots in service to the main character and the main plot? Does each of your subplots have a setup, a complication and a resolution? Does the subplot (or subplots) fit organically into the larger plot? Does the subplot speak to the theme?

Remember, subplots don’t need to be complicated, necessarily. Subplots are complements to the main plot. They add nuance, complication and emotional complexity. You don’t need to overthink your subplot – I’ll bet you already have at least one. Just make sure you set it up, complicate it and pay it off.

Slow, Slow, Quick Quick Slow: Music in Writing

Just about everything in life has a rhythm or a pattern. The seasons, the day, your life. And so does writing. First act, second act, third act. Set up, complication, resolution. Feel, do, complicate, resolve. And all of this while other stuff is going on like walking, eating and picking up the phone. Your scenes should have an almost balletic feeling to them.

As every comedian knows – ya gots to land the joke. And in this case, ya gots to land the scene. Keep things moving – whether that means physically or with the dialogue, or as is often the case, both. Look at the HOW on your page. Yes, you’ve got the beat, yes your character work is good, but does the scene flow? Imagine that you are a camera: How does this scene look when you watch it? Is the dialogue flowing back and forth between your characters fluidly? What is happening in the background? Is a waitress efficiently balancing an order in her arms? Is the front door opening and closing – what is the choreographed scene happening here and how are your main characters part of it?

In real life, a phone ringing can interrupt a conversation. In reel life it can too – but you made it happen just when it did for dramatic or comedic effect. Feel the rhythm on your page. Is it there or is it stepping on some toes at this point? That’s okay if it’s a little clumsy right now, but eventually you want to choreograph your scenes in such a way that the scene has a genre-appropriate flow to it. Do you need long pauses? How about short bursts of dialogue and action? Is your romantic comedy couple doing the mental tango while they eat dinner? Is your script a fox trot, a quick-step or a dramatic paso doblé? If you were to set your script to music, what would the music be?

This scene from David Mamet’s STATE AND MAIN could be set to music. Check it out:

ANGLE interior Walt’s office.

WALT
I have to tell you, I can not express to you how happy…

MAYOR
And we’re glad to have you here…

WALT
My golly, you know? All my life I grew up in the city, but every summer…would you like a cigar?

MAYOR
(off cigars)
Aren’t these illegal?

WALT
Why would they be illegal?

BILL
…there’s a trade embargo against Cuba.

Pause.

MAYOR
Well, you know, Walt, I just wanted to say that anything I could do…

WALT
That’s very kind of…as a matter-of fact, one I hate to bother you with…

MAYOR
…not at all…

WALT
…we need the shooting permit for Main Street…

MAYOR
Whatever you need. The City Council, of course, has to pass on your…

WALT
…the city council…

MAYOR
On your “permit,” but that is less than a formality.

WALT
…it is?

MAYOR
I am the City Council. We meet Friday, and I…

WALT
George, that is so kind of you.

MAYOR
And, my wife wanted to, wanted me to ask you, we’d like to welcome you, we’d, she’d like to have you to dinner at our house.
(beat)
I don’t mean to be…

He hands an invitation to Walt.

WALT
Are you kidding me? We would be de…

Phone rings.

Walt motions to an aide, who writes in green on a production board…Tuesday 12th, dinner, Mayor.

MAYOR
Well, I won’t take more of your time…

BILL
Walt, it’s Marty on the Coast…

MAYOR
We’ll see you Tuesday, then…

Walt starts for the phone.

WALT
It’s one of the great, great pleasures meeting you…

Mayor leaves the office.

BILL
It’s Marty on the Coast -

WALT
On the coast? Of course he’s on the coast, where’s he gonna be, the
Hague…

Walt goes to the phone.

WALT
(into phone)
What? Marty! Hi. We’re…
(pause)
The new town is cheaper than the other town. We’re going to save a…for…because..because we don’t have to rebuild the Old Mill, they’ve got an Old Mill…they’ve got a firehouse…they…

A production assistant comes in, installing a piece of equipment. She brushes past the drywipe board, where we see she wipes out “Dinner with the Mayor.”

WALT
Baby, baby, I want to save the money just as much as you do..no, no it’s not coming out of my pocket, it’s going into my pock…my…my and your pock…yeah? Okay. A product placement – tell me ab…he’s going through a tunnel.
(to Production Assistant)
Whoa, whoa, whoa…you wiped out the board. DINNER WITH THE MAYOR, TUESDAY NIGHT, write it in red. That’s all we need, to miss dinner with…

First A.D. sticks his head into the room.

FIRST A.D.
We can’t shoot in the Old Mill.

WALT
(to phone)
Wait a sec, Marty.

Mamet uses ellipses to create breathing room around his dialogue. It makes it feel as if it overlaps more. Overlapping, slightly stilted dialogue is his trademark. It creates a rhythm in the scene.

And here’s a scenelet from a comedy I wrote a million years ago. Quick primer: A newly empowered Ella spirits her Granny away, leaving Lena, the bad-gal extraordinaire pinned to a tree.

Confused, Lena stares after Granny.

LENA
Hey! What about me?

Suddenly – THWANG!

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh. And pins her to the tree.

Lena looks at the pinned arm incredulously when -

THWOCK

- Another arrow pins her other arm.

Ella lowers the bow calmly.

ELLA
Get in the car, Granny.

LENA (o.s.)
Hey!

Lena struggles in vain.

LENA
You can’t just leave me here!

WHACK! A pine cone hits Lena’s head. She stares after Ella and Granny miserably.

A moment in a scene of mine has no business being next to a great Mamet scene – but my point is this. Do you see how, in that scenelet of mine, the movement is almost storyboarded? I draw attention to certain parts of the moment purely by where and how I used the words. Notice the creative choice I made:

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh. And pins her to the tree.

I didn’t write:

- An arrow slices through Lena’s coat at her shoulder millimeters from her flesh and pins her to the tree.

I chopped the sentence up because it “lands” better. It’s a little funnier to note that the arrow pins Lena to the tree after the brief pause that the punctuation mark created.

Does your scene have a rhythm? Or is it clumsy? Is it as pithy as possible? If you took away the dialogue could you still understand what was going on based on body language, etc.?

Well, as Gene Kelly sang in AN AMERICAN IN PARIS – I got rhythm. I got music. I got my gal, who could ask for anything more? Who could ask for anything more?

Just Effing Excerpt: Cool Moments

Good morning, everyone! So wow, you have no idea how demanding writing a non-fiction book is. Or maybe you do. Good lord. Color me chastised. I’m working so hard (with the help of several talented colleagues and helpers) to get the Just Effing book put together. Question: How do you take a blog written over three years with 200K PLUS words and turn it into a nifty 75K word book? Answer: NOT easily!

So anyway, since the archives from The Rouge Wave are no longer accessible (sorry, guys!), now and again I’ll put an excerpt from the book on this blog. There are a lot of new JFEME readers, in fact, who may have never seen this article and sans the archive are like, whatsa big deal?

Aha. Well, let’s talk about COOL MOMENTS and how to handle them responsibly:

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You know you do it. You get addicted to thinking up Cool Moments for your script. When you describe what you’re working on to someone else, you excitedly tell them about the scene where you have dreamt up a special effect or particularly dramatic moment in which your character, suspended upside down, has a tear roll down (up) into his eye as he lets out his last, sad breath. Just as the giant spiders attack.

And you know what – that’s a great moment. But it’s just a moment, not a whole scene and depending where you are in outlining or otherwise writing your script, this Cool Moment might be more useful waiting its turn while you finish solving some of the tougher issues with your script.

In a recent discussion of outlining using the 12 Sequence method, Rouge Waver thekhalif (IF that’s his real name!) noted that he uses something like the 12 sequences but breaks his outline down even further, into smaller and smaller components.

There are many ways to approach organizing ideas, beats and information about your script. Some writers literally write a 60 beat beat sheet.  I prefer to organize 10-page sequences but also slice honeydew melon with a butter knife and hasn’t shaved my legs in – whoops – WTMI.

The point being that some writers like to collect and organize Cool Moments or even specific beats ahead of time and out-of-order and others like to beat out the macro sequences and then let the Cool Moments emerge as the pages are being written. Ideally, writers should leave the process open to interpretation.

But the trick is not to let your method of staying organized become your worst enemy. Writers need to produce product in order to be competitive. Writers who get stuck in the miasma of dreaming up Cool Moments wind up in a self-defeating pattern and don’t churn out finished scripts as often as they could.

But Cool Moment addicts need our love and understanding. And they need to be the first to admit they have a problem.

Scripts are blueprints for movies, a visual medium, so we screenwriters are always picturing movie moments, if not living them – or trying to, with mixed results. Your script should be packed with great moments – as long as those moments are in terrific scenes in compelling sequences in a powerful act of an entertaining script.

I cannot express how many times I am working with a writer on a specific issue with their script and they interrupt with like, this cool visual that will go in that spot! FOCUS, PEOPLE! That cool visual does not help solve your logic issue or premise question. That cool visual does not give your character a powerful arc.

Here’s what you do to stay focused. Buy a pack of index cards and keep them with you. Every time you think of a great moment or cool visual: Write it down. Perhaps even jot down the act you think that moment belongs in, or the scene to which it is otherwise connected. Have fun with it. Keep a whole stack of great ideas for your script.

Be careful. Cool Moments offer instant gratification. But a script full of Cool Moments does not a great script make. The underpinnings need to be there and that is the work that leaves us staring at a blank screen and wishing we were dead some days.

Focusing on moments or visuals while ignoring larger issues like narrative and character arc will mark you as an amateur eager to get to dessert when you haven’t finished your vegetables. Ensuring that you have a solid premise, making sure your structure is tight and that your characters are well-developed is job one.

If you are a Cool Moment addict, that’s more than okay, that’s – well – cool. You are going to be the next Quentin Tarrantino or Wes Anderson. But you can’t get there if you aren’t also willing to do the Less Cool stuff. Go buy yourself a pack of index cards and fill those suckers up with great stuff. Then put a rubber band around the deck and get back to work.

Just Effing Entertain Me Book

Hello everybody! Thanks for all the great entries in the action line competition we’re doing, this is really fun – I’m going to have fun judging these! Keep ‘em coming until end of day tomorrow! Just Effing is again changing come next week. Not to worry; same URL, etc., but the blog will now be part of my new Julie Gray website, where you’ll be able to download podcasts and sign up for classes and MORE! But one side effect is that The Rouge Wave archives will no longer be available. Those have all been indexed and are in the process of being re-purposed into a brand new baby book. Well – no baby, actually – The Rouge Wave clocked in at over 200,000 words! When you’re writing a book, you worry about word count, not page count. You take the total number of words and then (generally) divide by 250 to figure out the number of pages. Yeah, so that would be an 800 page book on screenwriting. Not so good. Normally a non-fiction how-to book should be MAYBE 80,000 words. On the outside. So. Somebody has been doing some editing dontcha know. It’s been great fun and I must say, I DID write some pretty good stuff. If I say so myself! I apologize that the archives are no longer available for public consumption but just think – in a few months (hopefully!) you’ll order your brand new, shiny copy of Just Effing Entertain Me, thumb through it and say hey, I remember THAT post! And that one! And oh, musta missed that one. I just need to figure out how to have a scratch-n-sniff cupcake on the cover. Ha.

That is all. Now get back to work.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it.

Do you find yourself staring out the window when you should be writing, fantasizing about what your writing career will look like when you’re finally fabulous? Well today’s Oldie but Goodie will inspire you to harness those fantasies and turn them into real goals! Read on…

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The Mission Statement

Many Wavers may have heard the story about how Zach Helm (STRANGER THAN FICTION) wrote a mission statement as a way of establishing a clear vision and control over his career and his future. What? You never heard that? Yeah, he’s making a lot of money right now, guys.

How many Rouge Wavers have articulated definite goals about their writing and their careers? Interestingly, we often plan our weekends far in advance. Our holidays and get-togethers are meticulously planned. How many here already have some sort of plan for Labor Day? A fair percentage do. And yet – what is your plan for your writing? Really – not a dreamy plan, not a fuzzy, philosophical plan but a real, business-oriented career plan. And that, Rouge Wavers, is how you use “plan” or a “plan” derivative seven times in one paragraph. Watch and learn.

The Wave-inatrix is loathe to wander into Oprah/The Secret-Land (though she is in fact an admirer but we can argue about that another day) but articulating and comitting to paper your writing goals really is an empowering experience. Something about staring at: I will get a manager by January 1st, 2008 makes one sit up and pay attention. Really? How? Uh, okay how many scripts have I written? What kind of shape are they in? Better start doing some research and buy a Hollywood Creative Directory!

The Wave-inatrix, like many writers, used to have visions, in her less experienced (read: naive) days, of success being defined as something like…oh…a million dollar spec sale. Whoooo everybody do the Wave! High five!

But now, several scripts and years later (shut up) a realization has dawned upon me. And that realization is that it is better to set smaller, more realistic goals. A million dollar spec sale is about as likely to happen to a newer writer (though I suppose I now qualify as medium-rare) as is a narwhal sighting off the Santa Monica Pier.

Make realistic goals, dependent upon where you are as a writer. Things in an ascending scale, like:

I will finish this script by September 1st

I will finish another script by January 1st

I will find representation by the end of 2008

I will be a WGA member by mid-2009

I will pick up my socks

But that’s not really a mission statement – wait – let’s capitalize that: Mission Statement. See? Already it feels real and important.

What do you want, ultimately, as a writer? Anyone who just said “million dollar spec sale” even under their breath, even with the three-beer excuse, does not get a cupcake. And I really mean it this time. Go ahead, look at the nice picture up there. You don’t get one.

Seriously – what do you want? To earn your living as a writer? Okay. To do that you’re going to need to be a WGA member. To do that you’re going to need a rep. To do that you’re going to need write some excellent material. See how it’s all connected? Set short, medium and long-term goals.

First, write a Mission Statement. It might be a one-, two- or three-page manifesto of your life as a writer exactly as you would like it to be six months, two years or five years from now. Be realistic. You know where you are as a writer and you know you have to put the time in.

Write your Mission Statement in the present tense. Be specific.

I live in a spacious home in Venice. With two dogs. Not the kind that shed. I am a member of the WGA and I drive to meetings in my lime green Ferrari. With the top down. Unless it’s chilly. I work on assignment and do rewrites and “script doctor” jobs. I get paid over $50K for each job. I am great at pitching and am respected. I am working on a feature film that will be sold for over a million dollars and because of my experience and talent, I can expect that amount easily. The movie will be shot in Rome, and I will be on set while it is. For now, when I return from my meetings, I work poolside on my laptop and watch the pool boy clean the leaves from my pool. I have great health insurance through the guild and so I can afford to leap off the diving board as I show off. I beckon for the pool boy to please call 911.

That’s just MY Mission Statement – each person’s will be unique. But imagine it. Exactly what kind of life do you want to lead as a writer? Jump ahead, in your imagination. Get your head out of this particular frustrating script. Look to the future, write down what you see there – as if it’s already happening – and then commit, on paper, to just how you’re going to get there. Visualize every step and believe you can do it. Imagine the wind blowing through your hair in that lime green Ferrari. Imagine the joy of working on assignment, of being sought-after and respected.

It might be a cliche, you might even have this on your coffee cup but it bears repeating, because many things mom used to say really are true. You will get cramps and die if you swim after lunch. And -

“If you can imagine it, you can achieve it; if you can dream it, you can become it.”

William Arthur Ward

The Compelling Question

My gift to you on this lovely Tuesday is a really awesome Oldie but Goodie. (Wait. Since it’s a re-post, does that make it a re-gift?) Okay, okay– it’s not so old, but it’s REALLY good. It’s already helped me develop an idea I’ve been kicking around. Today we’re talking about The Entertaining Question. Piqued your interest? It should. We’re in the entertainment BUSINESS, after all.

Oh, and– there’s still time to sign up for tonight’s discussion with Julie, Margaux, and Kevin! They’ll be taking your questions on what it takes to get noticed in screenwriting competitions. Check out all the info in the sidebar—–>

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The Compelling Question

So your structure is great, your character arcs are satisfying, your premise is original, the dialogue is snappy and organic and you have a theme. Or, you think you do. But what is the entertaining question in your script?

The entertaining question is tangentially related to the theme. In fact, in some ways one might say that it’s a specific expression of theme – posed as a question.

A significant part of the screenwriting learning curve is figuring out what theme really means. Many new writers say that the theme of their script is something like: Love is all you need. Or an eye for an eye. Or time heals. Or family ties endure. Okay, these are not themes. They are truisms and – I’ll go ahead and say it – cliches. Kill me with a spork and do it now. You know why these tired cliches are a no-go? Because the answer is freaking self-evident. When anything is self-evident in life, it’s boring because now we have no reason to engage with it. Yup. Love heals all, alrighty….oh forgive me, I nodded off there for a minute.

Now, there is one glorious example of something being beautifully self-evident and that is when you are fighting with your boyfriend and it’s SELF-EVIDENT he is wrong and then you’ve arrived at Valhalla, Nirvana and Avalon all at once. But that’s another post. In scripts, a self-evident or cliched theme is boring. And boring anything when it comes to screenwriting is death.

Okay imagine Google Earth. You see the globe, right? That’s the equivalent of saying the theme of your script is time heals all. Uhyep. Uhyep it sure does. So we’re staring at this globe, right? Mining for a deeper, more specific theme is taking that Google Earth image and zooming in on a continent. Then a country. Then a city. Then a street. That’s where you’ll find an expression of your theme as an entertaining question.

So one might go from, on a global level, “time heals all” to something very focused and entertaining like “If your brother slept with your wife, could you forgive him? Ever?” See what I did there? I mean, you’re going to start off with whatever your premise is, but the entertaining question is an expression of theme in a very personal way which allows the audience to engage it in a WWYD way.

Whenever audiences can engage with the material in such a way that is both meta (the premise) and micro (the entertaining question) then the experience of viewing your movie is both universal and personal. And because movies are a vicarious and cathartic experience for viewers, posing an entertaining question is the brass ring, is it not?

Audiences LOVE to think: Oh god, how can he DO that! I wouldn’t do that! He should do this instead of that! Take one of my favorite movies of all time, DOG DAY AFTERNOON. The theme (or meta observation, if you will) is: Love drives one to desperate acts. But the entertaining question is: What would you do if you robbed a bank to pay for your lover’s sex-change operation – and it went terribly wrong? Is there a way out? Can this situation be salvaged? Okay that’s kind of clumsy, let’s try a few others:

WHEN HARRY MET SALLY: The meta-theme is friendship can lead to love. But the entertaining question is: Can men and women be friends without sex entering into it? Ever?

A SIMPLE PLAN: meta-theme: Greed destroys humanity. Entertaining question: If you found a briefcase full of money on a downed plane with a dead pilot – would you take it?

3:10 TO YUMA: meta-theme: Pride forces a man to take risks. Entertaining question: Would you risk your life for the money to save your family and your pride even if you would wind up dead to do it?

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE: meta-theme: Destiny overcomes hardship. Entertaining question: Would you have the courage to risk your life to save the girl and go on national television when it would be easier to give up and accept your destiny of helpless poverty?

REVOLUTIONARY ROAD: meta-theme: Marriage requires sacrifice. Entertaining question: If you loved your spouse but HAD to experience change and excitement, would you leave the marriage to go get it? Or stick with it? What if there were children involved?

BLADE RUNNER: meta-theme: What makes us human? Entertaining question: Could you kill a replicant that had human emotion – even if those emotions were programmed?

You can see that some entertaining questions are more compelling than others (in my half-assed iteration of them this morning) for example, the BLADE RUNNER entertaining question is wildly engaging. I mean – wow!

So take a look at your script today. Can you articulate your theme – or meta-theme as it were? Don’t beat yourself up if it’s something kinda cliched like “friendship lasts forever.” Just use that Google Earth function in your brain and try to locate the specificity of that theme within your story. Zoom in. Zoom in more. Zoom in again – what, specifically is the micro of that theme, expressed as a question that has an element of what would YOU do? So you are poking your theme with a stick and asking – DOES friendship last forever? Can it? What if THIS happened?

Now, instead of serving up a big bowl of yes of course it does, you are adding some texture to that. Because in reality, cliches and truisms are ideals. Yes, it would be great if friendship lasted forever. And maybe in the emotional ending of your script, it does. But I have to wonder, along the way (whether reading your script or watching your movie) if the resolution really will be so neat. How will this friendship arrive at that happy conclusion? Well, if you’re going to entertain me, not without a bunch of pretty big bumps in the road, right?

Heads-up tip. If your entertaining question is super specific (Would you marry Bob even if you knew he slept with Stephanie, like three years ago at that party behind your back?), try to articulate that in a slightly zoomed out way: Could you maintain a friendship with a friend who betrayed you with your boyfriend without ever dealing with it head on? Or something.

p.s. Dear Anonymous: yes, I am mixing meta with micro when it it should be macro and micro but this week I am a big fan of the word “meta” and the opposite of meta is “kata” but nobody knows that including me before I looked it up. So stuff it.