Some days this is quite the struggle. You slave away on a script, send it out (contest, query, what have you) and hope for the best.
Unfortunately, a lot of the time, the best isn’t what happens. There will be rejection. A lot of it.
But every defeat is temporary, and a chance to regroup and try again.
In the beginning, when somebody tells you “no”, you take it personally. But you eventually grasp the concept that they’re addressing the writing, not the writer. You hunker down and keep going, continuously striving to improve.
The “no”s will still come, but eventually you get to the point where you simply shrug it off.
“Why even bother?” some might say. “Why keep doing this to yourself?”
Because the longer and harder you work at it, the closer you get to reaching that goal.
Because we feel this is a goal worth pursuing.
Because we’re compelled to.
Because we believe in our abilities.
Because we love doing it.
Success, especially when it applies to screenwriting, does not come easy. Or quickly. You will need an unlimited amount of patience and perseverance. This is going to be a long, perilous journey.
I’ve started walking. Who wants to come with me?
And I think this is a pretty good way to get things started.
Before we get to the gist of today’s post, let’s address the elephant in the room: my western did not advance to the quarterfinals of the PAGE contest.
Honestly, I was a little surprised; I thought it would have done better. After a brief wallow in disappointment, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on. It’s just another one of those things over which I have no control. I still have a ton of confidence in this script and might submit again next year. Also waiting to see how it fares in Austin and the Nicholl.
True, it was a rather lousy way to start the weekend, but over the next couple of days, I managed to redirect my focus, which included a nice long run that involved traversing the Golden Gate Bridge, and attempting something I’ve always wanted to try:
Making a pineapple upside-down cake (from scratch, naturally).
Guests were coming over for dinner, and I’d made pies for them before. But this time, I wanted to try something entirely new and preferably a little challenging. I’d say this falls into both categories.
I scoured the internet for an ideal recipe, found one to my satisfaction, and followed the directions to the letter. The result? It looked like it was supposed to, and that’s where the similarities end. A little too sweet and the center was still kind of goopy. Nevertheless, my guests still liked it, and K & I split the last piece after they left. Not bad for a first attempt.
Why did it not turn out the way I expected? A lot of reasons. The oven’s a piece of junk. It didn’t bake long enough. The ingredients and the amount of them probably need to be tweaked. No matter what, I know now that I can adjust all of these next time and get closer to the results I seek.
Except for the oven. It will forever remain a piece of junk until it dies. Which can’t happen soon enough. But I digress.
Notice all of the comparisons you could make between baking and writing a script? Trying something new and long-sought-after. Seeking advice and guidance. Following the guidelines. Doing what I was supposed to. An okay-but-was-hoping-for-better initial result. Planning ahead on what to fix/adjust for next time.
If a less-than-determined baker ended up with the cake I made, they’d probably denounce the whole process, give up entirely and probably buy pre-made stuff at the supermarket. But we’re made of sterner stuff. We hit a snag or some kind of unforeseen development, and we compensate as best we can. We learn what not to do next time. Sometimes you end up with something jaw-droppingly amazing, and sometimes you end up with something totally inedible.
With this whole experience behind me, I can now focus on projects of the immediate future, which includes another round of editing and revising a script, and making a pie or two for a dinner party this coming weekend.
It’s my intention to have the results of both of these undertakings be totally and utterly irresistible when they’re done and ready to serve.
Well, that’s that. The results are in, and it looks like it was mighty close. Practically a photo finish. One that will be debated by scholars far and wide long after the fact.
(I almost said it failed to get either, but opted not to. More on that in a sec.)
It did, however, place among the top ten finalists, so I guess that’s something.
An honor to be part of this elite group? Most definitely. All ten finalist scripts are being distributed to Screencraft’s network of industry contacts, so all I can do now is hope for the best (while working on new scripts, of course).
That being said, how can I not feel pangs of frustration from not achieving either of the top two? Could the script have been better? Probably. Is it solid enough now? I like to think so. For all I know, it came in third.
I totally get how this is part of the process and should be thrilled the script made it this far. Believe me, I am. Very much so. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I, along with every other writer who entered the contest, wasn’t entertaining daydreamy thoughts of being proclaimed the winner. But that’s not how it worked out.
Honestly, it hurts. Or maybe stings is more fitting. Either way, it feels like “I tried my best, but it still wasn’t good enough.” This sensation will linger for about a day, eventually fading but not totally disappearing. By that time I’ll have dusted myself off, ready to jump back into my normal routine of full speed ahead. I’ve got a few irons in several fires, plus a few projects I prefer to keep on the QT. For now, at least.
I mentioned being tempted to say the script failed to win. True, it didn’t win, but maybe “fail” is too harsh a word. The script did exceptionally well, which I suppose is a reflection of my writing ability and how it’s developing. This is the third consecutive year I’ve had a script place in some manner in a contest, so I must be doing something right.
So for now I’ll keep in mind that sage piece of wisdom uttered after all competitions:
Lots of resolutions and goals being bandied about today, but that’s just the first step.
All the things you want to accomplish this year as a screenwriter. What are you doing to make them a reality?
It’s going to take a lot of work. It’ll be frustrating at times, but isn’t this something you’re willing to put yourself through hell for in order to see happen?
Give yourself some goals, but be realistic.
Write. Edit. Rewrite. Polish.
Watch. Analyze.
Read. Study. Learn. Hone.
Network. Connect. Share. Support.
Enter contests. Attend conferences. Pitch.
Research. Query. Reconnect.
Keep trying.
Don’t give up.
Enjoy yourself.
Make 2016 the year you make something happen for you.
Time now for a question I’ve been pondering quite a bit lately:
When talking about yourself and your accomplishments, how much is too much?
Yes, you should be very proud of whatever success you’ve achieved. You want to have confidence in your writing and your abilities, but you also have to be careful about overdoing it.
It’s a fine line between “My script made it to the Nicholl semis! Yay!” and “My script made it to the Nicholl semis. Am I not amazing?”
Then there are the writers who continuously mention their success (“That reminds me of when I was working on my PAGE Silver-winning script…”), or even worse, exaggerate. I’ve read of a writer who touts having won a prestigious contest, when the truth is they won for their genre, not the overall grand prize. Two very different things.
Some people tend to forget that claims can easily be verified on the internet. So don’t lie, unless you enjoy the truth coming back to bite you on the ass.
I’ve had dealings with writers and directors who would rattle off their accomplishments without any prompting whatsoever, including one filmmaker who, during a 45-minute conversation, mentioned at least three times the fact he’d made three films and two mentions of how an A-list actor was interested in one of his scripts (a claim now several years old, and as far as I know, nothing has yet to come from it).
Counter to that, I’ve read updates from writers who, despite their success, remain relatively tight-lipped (“Sold a script today. Looking forward to working with ____ on it.” And that’s it.). I can appreciate that. You’ve said what you wanted to say, left it at that, and moved on.
Speaking for myself, I opt to keep quiet. If somebody asks, I’ll mention having some moderate contest success, but prefer to not be the instigator. I don’t mind tooting my own horn, but I don’t want it to drown out the rest of the conversation.
Maximum Z 