Embracing my inner Stan

“I used to be embarrassed because I was just a comic book writer while others were building bridges or going on medical careers. Then I realized that entertainment is one of the most important things in people’s lives. I feel if you’re able to entertain, you’re doing a good thing.”

That’s a quote from Stan Lee that has been ringing true a little more often for me lately.

When another writer asks me “What do you write?” or “What do you like to write?”, my go-to answer is “fun, popcorn adventures.”

Serious dramas, character studies, and examination of the human condition just aren’t my thing. If I can give you 100ish minutes of pure escapism, I’m a happy guy.

“Write something you would want to watch” I always tell newer writers. I go to the movies to have fun and enjoy myself, so that’s what I like to write.

I’m a member of an online writing group, and I always felt very self-conscious when I’d submit pages. Other members were PAGE and Nicholl-winning writers, and I’ve got an animated story about a young witch, her talking cat, and the state of New Jersey. Who wouldn’t feel a bit silly about that when other scripts are about dysfunctional families and dissolving marriages?

Interesting side note to that: some readers had a tough time adjusting to the fact that it was an animated story, while others marveled at how fun and creative it was.

I think it was going to Austin that helped me turn the corner on how I viewed the overall picture.

When you get together with a whole lot of other writers, discussing your script is an automatic part of the equation. I was quite proud of how my script had turned out – both as a script and for the competition, and wanted to convey that pride while talking about it. So I did. When somebody would say “What’s your script about?”, I’d smile and tell them without a moment’s hesitation.

It’s safe to say just about every reaction was a positive one. Each person thought it sounded great, plus a few “I’d like to read that”.

My current project is a rewrite of the sci-fi adventure. Similar kind of situation. Scientists. Monsters. Diabolical plots. Typical me kind of stuff. It’s still very rough, but you can see my enthusiasm for it on the page. Why not take it and run with it, head held high, so to speak?

I submitted the first ten pages to the online writing group, pitching it exactly how I wanted to, including the apt descriptor “This is a fun, silly romp.” I wanted the other members to know what kind of story they should be expecting. Hopefully some of them keep that in mind. It’ll be interesting to see what the reactions are.

Like Stan Lee says in his quote, I used to downplay what my scripts were about because I thought people might look down their noses at that sort of thing. But after seeing how others have reacted to my scripts and what I like to write, I realize that a lot of the time people want to hear that sort of thing. They want to be entertained.

There’s just as much of a demand for fun popcorn escapism as there is for serious drama.

I can appreciate the latter, but am much better suited for writing the former.

And in keeping with the spirit of the post – Excelsior!

The other three little words

My, what a rough week this was.

PAGE semifinalists and Nicholl quarterfinalists were announced. My script was not on either list.

Disappointing, especially since I think it’s a pretty solid script.

At least that’s what my readers say.

But like you always hear: it’s all subjective.

Your first thought when you get that notification that includes “Unfortunately,…” is probably “I must be a really shitty writer”.

Not so. I’ve read a lot of scripts of exceptional quality that also didn’t advance, including one by a previous Nicholl top 10 finalist.

There is absolutely no way to tell how a script is going to do in a contest. You send it, hope for the best, then move on to whatever the next thing is.

After I’d posted about not advancing, more than a few writers responded in kind.

“Me too.”

“Another swing and a miss.”

“Whoo! My eighth consecutive year of not advancing.”

It’s taken me a lot of time to accept that while it’s great to see your script do well in a contest, when it doesn’t do well is no absolute reflection on you as a writer.

Again: it’s all subjective.

One writer I know was frustrated after years and years of their script never doing well in a contest. That script then went on to place in the top 50 for the Nicholl.

This isn’t to say that your script couldn’t do with a little more work. That’s really up to you.

If you’re among the horde of writers whose contest journey has come to an end, give yourself a minute to vent and air those grievances, then decide what you’re going to do about it.

Is your script as solid as it can be, or would it be worth your while to give it another read to see if anything could use some tweaking?

Something to also keep in mind: winning a contest can be a stepping stone to a career as a writer, but it’s not the only way. A script can not do well in a contest but still attract the attention of somebody interested in making it.

As another writer put it: “I’d rather write a script that would be a good movie, than one that wins contests.”

At this point I don’t know what my plan is for next year’s contests. I’m too busy working on scripts to worry about it.

Which reminds me of another three important little words:

Don’t. Stop. Trying.

Took a while, but oh so worth it

The last batches of notes are coming in for the animated fantasy-comedy spec, and believe you me it is SO MUCH better for all of them.

I had faith and confidence in the story and the writing when the initial drafts were done, but it was the as-always-invaluable feedback I got that really helped fine-tune and polish to what it is now.

Bonus – everybody really liked the story and had fun reading it

Bigger bonus – the jokes worked, including more than a few “I actually laughed out at this”. This was a very important issue for me, and I’m elated that this was the result.

I’ve completed a quick tweak/polish and will probably do one more read-through just to be sure before I start sending it out to the big contests next week.

(Reminder for those who enjoy working under pressure – Nicholl early bird deadline is Mar 1 – next Wednesday)

In years past, I’d seek out notes from just about anybody and everybody. When you get numerous sets of notes, and many have conflicting opinions, it does no favors for you or your script.

Lesson learned. Now after each draft, I reach out to 2-3 readers with the same level of experience as me, or more, when possible. It might take a few rounds of doing this, but each draft gets the script to where it needs to be.

With my western, I thought my writing was as good as it was going to get. But working on this script has shown me that I wasn’t done yet. I’m the last one to toot my own horn, but this one seems more solid and put-together on several fronts.

They say you should be able to hear the writer’s “voice” when you read their script; that it sounds like something they would have written. I think that’s always been the case with each of mine, but for this one, you can hear me loud and clear.

You win some, you lose (or don’t place in) some

Another screenwriting contest season come and gone, at least for yours truly.

My western’s record with PAGE extended to 0-6, and didn’t make it to the quarterfinals in the Nicholl. After last year’s debacle with Austin, I opted to skip it this year.

(Side note 1 – I don’t pay to get the reader/judge notes, so don’t know why the script fared how it did for either contest. The Nicholl used to offer notes after the top 5 were announced, but not sure if they’re doing that this year or you had to pay upon registering.)

(Side note 2 – A very hearty congrats and good luck to the 359 writers who made it to the Nicholl QFs. I wholeheartedly applaud the Academy’s decision to limit submissions to one script per person. Other contests should follow their lead.)

My initial reaction to the news from both competitions was “I must be a really shitty writer to keep failing like this.”

But as my ever-supportive wife, a few friends who are also consultants, and several other trusted colleagues in my writers’ network reminded me:

It’s a really good script.

You’re not a bad writer.

IT’S ALL SUBJECTIVE.

This script has also done moderately well in some smaller contests, so it can’t be that bad.

I know a writer whose script advanced in the Nicholl after several years of bupkis. I also know another writer who made it to the top 50 one year, then the same script didn’t even make the quarterfinals the following year.

And as a few others pointed out about the prestigious contests and the scripts that do well in them: it may be a good script, but would it be a good movie? I’ve read some contest winners (and some top vote-getters on The Black List); some were very well-written, and some just didn’t do anything for me. One or two even made me question why they did as well in the contest as they did.

Furthermore – did any make me eager to shell out the cost of a ticket if it were available on the big screen?

Not really.

But again, that’s just my take – i.e. SUBJECTIVE.

At the very least, reading these scripts could be helpful in a “developing your craft” kind of way.

So where do I go from here? I’m rewriting a pair of newer scripts, and haven’t decided if either will go the contest route. Possibly, but right now I couldn’t say.

I’d rather focus on getting them in decent shape. If that means skipping contests next year, that’s fine by me.

From the archives: If only you could eat a bad script

pineapple upside down cake
Let the metaphors commence!

Author’s note: got some other stuff that requires my attention, and a recent discussion about pineapple upside-down cake reminded me I did a post involving it a few years ago, so hope you enjoy this blast from the past from July 2016.

“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.”