I’m neck-deep in catching up with reads owed on scripts and pilots, as well as trying to finish up the outline for the low-budget comedy, so time is quite a precious commodity at the moment.
But since this blog is all about offering up high-quality material, here are two links definitely worth checking out:
-A cover story from the Nov 1 Los Angeles Times about MARLOWE, a great script written by Louise Ransil. If you like film noir, true crime and hard-boiled detective stories, then take a look here. The script was also a semifinalist in the 2013 Tracking Board Launchpad competition.
-If you’re trying to break into the TV industry, take the time to explore Fighting Broke, a new website that offers up some very helpful advice and insight in doing just that.
One of my heroes. Master of comedic timing, and eternally 39.
Taking a little break from the script reader/consultant Q&A series today for something of somewhat significant importance. At our house, anyway.
Today is my birthday, which makes a person a little reflective of their life so far and what they’ve accomplished.
Have I achieved everything I’ve set out to do?
Not yet, I like to say, but I’m getting there.
Obviously, I’m not making a living as a screenwriter – yet. But with each script I crank out and each subsequent draft that follows, it gets me a little closer. Reassurances of “you’ll make it” from friends and trusted colleagues is always nice to hear.
Has it been frustrating? Without a doubt. But as I’ve said on many an occasion, to give up in any manner would simply be too devastating. Like many of us, I am compelled to write and hone my craft, mostly because it’s the only way I’ll get better, and maybe a little bit of daydream-laden hope that somebody will eventually be eager to pay me for the finished product.
I am, as they say, in this for the long haul. All the rewrites, the reads and notes from friends, the discussions with consultants, all of it helping steer me towards this much-desired goal.
When I read about another writer making a sale or getting representation, I’ll admit to being a little jealous. Especially if it’s somebody I know or at least am casually acquainted with. I’m actually quite happy for them – they’ve earned it – but there is that little part of me that thinks “Hope it’s my turn soon.”
In the meantime, I prevent myself from getting too melancholy about what I haven’t been able to do by reminding myself what I have done, which is have written some potentially kickass scripts (after lots of fine-tuning, of course), and what I can do, which is keep writing more kickass scripts, keep trying and not giving up.
Converting potentially acidic to tastily refreshing requires a little bit of knowing how
Notes on both my western and mystery-comedy specs have been flowing in steadily from friends and trusted colleagues over the past couple of months, and the results have certainly been a mixed bag of opinions.
The general message is “Love the concept, solid structure, but ____, ____ and ____ needs work.” The individual comments, of course, are much more assorted. Happily, none are of the “This sucks! Do the world a favor and give up writing!” nature.
Show the same material to half a dozen people, and you’ll end up with half a dozen different reactions. And as you would expect, each one is helpful in its own way, especially if it includes something you may not necessarily agree with.
But here’s where it gets even better – take all of those notes and use the ones that you think make the most sense. Apply them to your script. Does it immediately read better?
Now let’s take it a step further, but this time with those comments you don’t agree with. What is about them that doesn’t work for you? Give ’em another look. Maybe there’s something in there worth using.
I got some great notes on the western, and one of the suggestions was cutting or at least shortening some sequences in Act Two. Of course, my initial reaction was “Not a chance!”
But this was defeating the whole purpose of getting notes – to make the script better. And me being so obstinate about it wasn’t helping.
So I read it again, this time with a more open mind. Would this work? Would it accomplish what I needed it to? The suggestion started to make sense. I’d already cut 12 pages out of this thing, so there was no reason I couldn’t trim a few scenes down. It wouldn’t hurt the story, and could actually improve it in terms of moving things along.
You get notes to help point out what’s wrong with your script, or at least what needs to be fixed. You can use them however you want, but to totally disregard them isn’t doing you any favors.
One of the sad truths about trying to make it as a screenwriter is that it’s an extremely frustrating process.
On certain days, the frustration feels like it extends to the uppermost part of the outer edge of the stratosphere. To the nth degree.
What is it about screenwriting that people who don’t do it think it’s easy? If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you’ve given it a go, or at least know somebody who has, so you know full well that it most definitely is not.
We even try to warn those who think hammering out a first draft in a few weeks is a guaranteed million dollar paycheck. This is a long and arduous road, we say, but they don’t let that stop them. A legion of the truly unaware who will discover the scary truth soon enough.
Those of us who are fully committed (an apt phrase if ever there was one) finish the latest draft, then edit, rewrite and polish it so many times it enters well into double digit territory, hoping our writing and storytelling skills are improving with each new attempt.
But how do we know if that’s even happening?
We ask friends and trusted colleagues for feedback. We pay for professional analysis. The script gets reworked yet again.
We hope this newest draft is light years ahead of all of its previous incarnations in terms of quality, but sometimes it’s tough to be able to recognize if that’s the case. At least for me, anyway.
Whenever I send somebody a script for critiquing, I always say “Thanks for taking a look. Hope you like it.”
I know the script isn’t perfect – maybe even far from it, which is why I ask for help. Part of me knows it’s good, but can be better. It’s being able to identify the latter that gives me trouble. I’m so deeply embedded in a story that it’s tough to step back and be objective. Maybe I can not look at it for a few weeks, but even then it’s tough to look at it with fresh eyes.
Follow-up notes will tell me what they liked and what they feel needs work. There will be a fair mix of stuff I should have already figured out and some “How could I have missed that?” surprises.
So back I go into rewrite mode, hoping for improvement for both the material and myself, still not knowing if that improvement is there until I undergo the entire process all over again.
“You’d have turned down Gone With The Wind.” “No, that was me. I said, “Who wants to see a Civil War picture?””
It’s still an uphill climb with a few gaps here and there, but the overall story for the low-budget comedy is coming together.
I’m making a point of not rushing through it and being extra careful – almost to the point of meticulous – about how all the pieces interconnect. The more I work on it, the more the phrase “French farce” comes to mind, so lots of interweaving storylines, the intersecting of character paths, and the ramifications of each character’s actions on the others. At least that’s my interpretation.
A challenge, to say the least, but it’s been a fun ride so far.
A last-minute surprise factor was this response to the logline on an online forum: “It’s so straightforward now it’s hard to believe you could sustain interest through 100 pages.”
I’d like to thank that person for throwing down the gauntlet in making me work even harder than I already was. Never underestimate the motivational power of “Oh yeah? Just you wait and see what I can do.”
But back to the bigger issue. Statements like these always make me wonder about the person who says/writes them.
I never cared for the “I don’t see how this could be a story” line of reasoning. That tells me you lack vision and creativity. Just because you think it won’t work doesn’t mean it won’t. Nobody thought GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY would do well and look what happened.
Side note – My western received a handful of reader responses along the lines of “This isn’t factually or historically accurate, so I just couldn’t get into it.” They’re entitled to their opinions, but I feel bad about their inability to just sit back and enjoy an old-fashioned ripping yarn. Although one person was gracious enough to admit at the end of their comments “It would be better if you just ignore everything I’ve just said.” Consider it done.
Always remember the sage advice of William Goldman: Nobody knows anything.
I’m all for encouraging other writers. If your idea interests or excites me, I’ll tell you. If it doesn’t, I’ll explain why not and make suggestions of potential fixes. The last thing I want to do is discourage you or give you a lecture, and you sure as hell don’t want to hear one.
My criteria is pretty simple: If I read somebody’s logline or hear their story pitch and can instantly imagine the potential within that story, and more importantly, if it sounds like something I would want to see, then they’ve succeeded and gotten over the first hurdle.
Of course, having the actual script live up to or possibly even surpass expectations is another thing.
Maximum Z 