The name’s Piphany. E. Piphany

If it weren't for that whole possible electrocution thing, I'd write in the tub too.
If it weren’t for that whole possible electrocution thing, I’d write in the tub too.

Progress on the first draft of the low-budget comedy spec has been slow but steady; averaging about 2-3 pages a day. It’s a smart move to accept the fact that the first draft of anything you write is going to suck, because it always does. And this one’s no different. Several cogs within this machine in drastic need of retooling have been identified.

So there I am, working on a scene, having the ongoing internal discussion of “Is this the funniest way to do this bit?” The scene as originally conceived is pretty straightforward, but the comedy part still needs something. A line of dialogue just won’t cut it. While I’m quite adept at witty conversation in person, putting it on the page is an entirely different animal.

Overall, it felt like things were slowing down and becoming tougher to work through.

No matter how hard you look, sometimes you can’t find the answer you seek because you don’t realize it’s just staring you in the face.

There was a scene much earlier in the script where, for no reason in particular, I used a joke of a particular nature just for the hell of it. Some might consider it a dumb joke, but I’m still in first draft mode, so it might not stick around for very long.

But there was something about it that really stuck with me. I thought it was pretty funny, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like exactly something I would come up with.

And there it was. The floodgates had opened, and my much-needed solution came gushing forth. These jokes would work perfectly throughout the whole thing.

Added bonus – it’s the kind of comedy I’ve known and loved my entire life. I’d been trying to write this in a way or style that’s not exactly me, whereas this rediscovered approach is practically spot-on. Coming up with these kinds of jokes is almost second nature. Hopefully I can successfully transition them onto the page.

But now I was presented with a new problem: stop here (around pg 48) and start over, or hammer my way forward?

Tempting as it was to start over, I’m opting to keep going forward (and start implementing the new jokes), mostly so I can just get this draft finished. The sooner I get to the end, the sooner I can start on the rewrite.

As I said, progress continues to be slow and steady, but it’s still progress.

-One week to the Great American Pitch Fest, so you still have time to register. Use code MaximumZ20 at checkout for a whopping 20 percent off!

That moment of clarity

Don't you love when these show up?
Don’t you love when these show up?

I’ve always said that with each draft of every script I work on, my writing gets a little bit better. Definitely a “learn as you go” scenario.

If you looked at my earlier work, you’d probably say it was pretty basic. Very straightforward. Average. With the later stuff, you’d see improvement. Better, but still some room to grow.

Among the helpful comments I received regarding the previous draft of my western was “give us more flair in the prose…make the details a bit more colorful.”

This can be a trap a lot of writers fall into. You want your writing to be vivid and descriptive, but it’s easy to overdo it and before you know it, the storytelling overshadows your actual story.

Since I started the rewrite, I’ve been doing my best to maintain an equal balance of both so the story is told in an entertaining way and easy for a reader to visualize what’s happening. If they feel like they’re actually there, experiencing it along with the characters, then I’m doing a good job.

Working on an action sequence earlier this week, I was struggling to come up with the best way to describe the events as they played out. Ordinary words weren’t cutting it, and the ever-present thesaurus wasn’t offering much help either. I knew what I wanted to say, but couldn’t come up with the right way to say it.

You can describe how something happens, but is it strong enough to hold somebody’s attention? Is there a “more colorful” way to say it? How could you add “more flair”?

If I were reading this, what would make me want to keep going? What would compel me to want to know what happens next?

Since this is, at its heart, my take on a pulp story, I decided to embrace that aspect and run with it. I mean really run. Let loose and color those words in the perfect shade of purple.

To say it made a difference is putting it mildly.

Words and descriptions that refused to make themselves known before were sprouting up left and right. This was exactly how I imagined the sequence and exactly how it should be written.

A key point to remember in all of this is that this is what works for me. Your writing and your style are totally your own, and only you can find the best way to do it.

I won’t say that everything from here on in for me will be as easy or productive, but it’s definitely a change for the better, and I for one am looking forward to seeing the end result.

 

 

Run at your own pace

It's the total opposite of a sprint
It’s the total opposite of a sprint

For the past couple of days here at stately Maximum Z HQ, yours truly has been doing everything possible to fight off a nasty viral infection (Note to self – invest heavily in Kleenex and Halls cough drops) because I’m doing my first half-marathon in over a year this weekend. I do expect to be well enough to run. Fingers firmly crossed hoping to at least break the 2-hour mark.

As a result of being sick, I’ve been home from work the past couple of days, which means a little more time than usual to work on the western rewrite. Latest update: page 38.

When I have a lot of time to write, I’ll give myself a short break after reaching a milestone, such as the end of a scene, or x number of pages written or after a certain amount of time (this also helps prevent premature burnout). Sometimes break-time involves perusing social media or screenwriting forums, just to see what’s going on out there.

What’s been going on this week has been a flurry of activity among my peers. One got a manager. Another finished their latest draft. Another had an agency request their script after a pitch.

And there’s me, filling a wastebasket with snotty tissues, coughing up things of a color not found in nature, and hoping to get to the bottom of the next page before the day is done. Slightly disheartening, to say the least.

But, like when I run a race, I remember that it’s different for everybody. I’ve been working on this rewrite for quite a while, and have confidence that it’ll be done sooner than I think.

I’m also overseeing all of the “Ask a…!” interviews, and have now added this into the mix.

Oh yeah, and training runs.

When you finish a race, you get a medal, and you wear it with pride. You’ve earned it. You finished an hour behind the winner? Big deal. Chances are you didn’t do it to win. You did it to test yourself, to see how you could do with this self-imposed challenge.

When you write a script, yes, you are going up against every other writer out there, but you do it the way that works best for you. You can only manage 30 minutes a day? That’s fine. You tell yourself you’re going to write at least 3 pages a day, and you actually do? Fantastic.

Will others get done before you, or accomplish things faster than you? Of course, but that’s nothing for you to worry about. Focus on you, not them.

I think it’s absolutely phenomenal that these other writers have each reached a certain point with their writing and careers. And so will I. Maybe not as fast, but it’ll happen.

Just gotta keep working at it.

See you at the finish line.

Getting a feel for the tactile experience

That's not ink. It's writer's blood (or at least it sure feels that way).
That’s not ink. It’s writer’s blood (or at least it sure feels that way).

The early drafts of my western spec all clocked in at 132 pages. “Way too long!” I was told.

Tips and suggestions on how to tighten things up were provided and implemented. 126 pages. “Still too long! Cut more!” they demanded.

Sleeves were rolled up. Knuckles were cracked. The pounding of computer keys continued. 122. “Keep going!” was the response.

I slaved, toiled and labored until I couldn’t take it any more. 117. “Almost there!”

Feeling rather drained, I took the most effective step of all: I printed out those 117 pages, armed myself with the almighty red pen and got to work.

For some inexplicable reason, when I edit a script on paper, it’s much more effective than working with a digital copy. Lines of text I’d always ignored would suddenly pop as something to cut, modify or move around.

I’ll scribble out an alternative line of dialogue. Try out an impromptu reorganizing of the scene. Cross something out, then change my mind and write ‘keep’ over it. Use my finger to literally block out a line to figure out if the scene still works without it.

Just the other day I cut out half the dialogue in a scene with no significant impact. Would I have been able to do that if I wasn’t working with actual pages? Hard to say, but I’m inclined to believe “probably not.”

As I worked my way through the script, I found more and more opportunities to cut or edit. Of these 117 pages, there’s at least one red mark on just about every page, which includes the plentiful use of red lines through words and/or sentences, and lots of circles and arrows (as in “move THIS to HERE”).

Exhausting as it was, the red pen portion of the process is now complete.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to digitally apply these edits for a couple of days. The US is currently in the middle of a big holiday weekend, which means extra work shifts for me. Love the holiday overtime, but it’s also less writing time.

I’m not concerned. It’ll happen soon, and I’m looking forward to seeing what the new page total will end up being, as well as the subsequent responses.

It goes without saying that “Yes!” would be ideal.

Finding the positive in a negative

 

Converting something acidic to tasty and refreshing requires a little bit of knowing how
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.