Avoiding the dreaded unfilmable

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Don’t go this way!

I recently had the pleasure of giving notes on a friend’s script. It was an early draft, so it had some of the usual problems that were easily fixable.

But the one thing that really stood out to me was their use of unfilmables.

“Unfilmables?” some might ask. “What are those?”

I’m glad you asked. Here’s an example:

“EXT. PORCH – DAY

Jane sits on the stained deck chair her father bought for her birthday last year.”

If you saw that onscreen, you know what you’d see?

A woman sitting on a chair.

In other words, HOW DO WE KNOW it was a birthday present from her father? We don’t. How can you let us know? Maybe we see the father giving it to her. Or another character asks about it, and she delivers a one-line explanation.

If there’s an important detail to your story, you need to find a way to include it as part of the story, and preferably in the most organic way possible.

What’s on the page is what we see and hear.

Unless there’s a line of dialogue or some kind of action somewhere in there that reveals these kinds of things, the audience has no way of knowing them.

Here’s another:

“INT. KITCHEN – NIGHT

Kevin washes dishes. He thinks about that time he and his high school girlfriend crashed her mom’s car.”

What’s on the screen? A guy washing dishes.

HOW DO WE KNOW that’s what he’s thinking about?

Maybe we see the accident take place. Or hear Kevin talking about it. Maybe the story involves how the accident leads up to him washing dishes.

In my old writing group, one writer was insistent about leaving these sorts of things in. When pressed on why they were so adamant about not being willing to take them out, they’d launch into a long-winded explanation of why it was necessary to include them.

“So if we were watching this, you’d be there explaining things, rather than working them into the story and showing them on the screen?”

I’m not sure if they got the point.

Hopefully you do.

Just another gradual shifting of gears

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Start at first and take it from there

Notes continue to trickle in for the comedy-now-dramedy spec. General consensus – solid concept, underdeveloped, reads like a first draft, still needs a ton of work, and so forth.

All of which is fine by me. I wrote it in an extremely short amount of time, which is probably quite evident in the draft itself.  It’s also the fastest I’ve ever cranked out a draft, and to me that’s still a victory in itself.

Would I have loved for everybody to gush about it and claim it truly wonderful? Of course, but that ain’t gonna happen. As long as nobody says “This is terrible!”, I’m good.

Is it at least a decent script? Well, I like it. There’s a lot of potential in it, and the quality can only improve from its current state.

So while the thoughts of “what to fix and how to fix it” percolate, I’ll slide it to the always-expanding back burner and move on to the next couple of items on my agenda, which includes notes on some friends’ specs, followed by the first draft of a long-in-development project.

Exciting times, chums.

Several thoughts while you wait

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This was originally a clip of “Igor, would you give me a hand with the bags?”, but the greedy jackals at Fox have removed it. This photo proudly takes its place. RIP Mr Wilder

More feedback coming in on the comedy spec, so some tweaking and revamping is underway. Hope to be done with it soon.

In the meantime, I think these previous posts do a more-than-adequate job of summing up what a lot of writers, along with yours truly, probably experience and encounter during this process.

Enjoy.

Thank you. I’ll take that under consideration.

Knocked down, but not staying there

Not everybody’s going to like it

The great exchanging of two cents

Am I getting better?

 

 

 

 

Just the push I needed

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What are friends for?

Notes are coming in for the comedy spec, and reactions are pleasantly positive. My always-reliable readers have provided some extremely helpful notes, including an across-the-board opinion about a key plot point.

A lot of what they had to say made some good sense and are really helping solidify the script into something more-than-decent.

While they had nice things to say about the script, each reader threw in an extra little tidbit in the form of comments directed at the script’s writer.

AKA me.

“These two lines of dialogue are an anomaly compared to the rest of it. I know you can do better.”

“Great story, but I’d like to see you dig deeper.”

And these are comments from experienced writers who’ve read some of my other scripts, so they know what I’m capable of. They’re not just saying these things in a casual, generic feedback kind of way, or because they’re trying to be nice. They really mean it, and I take what they say to heart.

I thought the script was okay to begin with, but after getting comments like these, it makes me want to try even harder.

When you’re in the process of putting a script together, you really dedicate yourself to doing a good job, and then try to do better with each subsequent rewrite. It’s how we improve.

But it’s also kind of tough to be able to get yourself past a certain point. You think you’ve done everything you can, but then you get a bit of a supportive nudge and your journey resumes.

It’s quite the confidence booster to know there’s somebody out there rooting for you (especially somebody without a vested interest in you). They want to see you succeed just as much as you do. So you buckle down and throw yourself into making that next draft even better.

End result – you have a stronger script and their belief in you and your abilities is confirmed. Wins all around.

And when the time comes and they ask me for notes on their script, I have a strong suspicion I’ll be able to do the same for them.

Taming the beast we all must face

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Intimidating at first, but eventually, just a big ol’ pussycat

When I was part of a writing group last year, each week we would read and critique a few members’ sets of pages. Some were just starting out, some had a few scripts under their belt, and some had been doing this a while. You can probably figure out which category I fell into.

Simply put, some of the writing just sucked. Really sucked. Like painful-to-listen-to sucked. To my credit, tempted as I was, I never actually expressed my thoughts that way.

I fully understood that not everybody had a firm grasp on the basics, and I, along with a few others, made a sincere effort to explain what would help improve their work. While a majority were appreciative of our comments, a select handful got defensive, some even to the point of flat-out dismissive, of any kind of comment that didn’t reinforce their belief that their writing was fine just the way it was.

This was one of the things that helped me decide to leave the group.

One of the universal truths about being a writer is that not everybody’s going to like what you’ve written, and just about everybody will have a suggestion as to how it could be better.

While there’s nothing you can do about the first part, the great thing about the second is that it gives you options. A lot of them. You like what this person said? Use it. Don’t like what that other person said? Ignore it.

Some people will make suggestions based on how they would do it, which is all well and good, but what’s more important is how you would do it. Do you agree or disagree with what they’re saying?

You’ll be bombarded with a wide variety of opinions, but don’t feel like you have to incorporate every single one. And while you may be the final word on what works and what doesn’t for your story, you shouldn’t dismiss every suggestion either. Some of them may be more helpful than you realize. There are a lot of  writers out there with more experience than you, so their opinions should be at least taken into consideration. But it’s okay to disagree with them, too.

Speaking from experience, it takes time to learn not to take criticism of your material personally. The comments you receive may sting at first, but you have to remember they’re about the material, not you. Read them with a “How can I use these to get better?” frame of mind. That’s the only way you’re going to improve.

One last thing – make sure to thank the person for giving you notes, even if you totally disagree with everything they’ve said. Doesn’t matter if you asked them to do it or they offered. They took the time to help you out, and the least you can do is acknowledge that and express your appreciation for it. And it’s the polite thing to do. Manners still count.