writing process

Only we can answer

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After an unexpected break, work has recommenced on fine-tuning the outline of the sci-fi adventure spec.

I don’t know how other writers organize their outlines, but mine tend to be a scene-by-scene breakdown on a Google doc. (Hats off to the users of index cards). Each scene is planned out in terms of what happens, sometimes what dialogue might be involved, and an underlying mindset of “what’s the conflict here?”

Even though I know what I need the scene to accomplish, I may not have all the information I need, so I’ll jot down a note or question in ALL CAPS as part of it (to help me not overlook it). The note or question is something that needs to be addressed, but can’t be answered just yet.

Things like:

-DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THIS? IF NOT, HOW TO DO THAT?

-WHAT CAN SHE DO HERE TO DEMONSTRATE WHAT KIND OF PERSON SHE IS?

-NEED 3 VARIATIONS ON THIS (SEE PREVIOUS DRAFT FOR LIST)

-POSSIBLE CLUE OR HINT HERE TO BUILD UP TO BIG REVEAL

You get the idea.

I find it better to write these down in the outline instead of something separate. I don’t trust myself to be that organized, and my desk/working area is quite a mess. It’s just easier to keep it all in one document.

It’s more helpful to take the extra time to deal with all of these now, rather than jump into pages and have to hit the brakes each time one of these needs to be addressed.

Dealing with these sorts of issues can also prove beneficial because while you’re handling the initial thing, it may also offer a new or at possibly an unexpected solution that can cover a few other things, or add a new detail that adds to or helps the story. It’s happened before.

For the most part, the outline is pretty solid, story-wise, so once all of these notes and questions are covered, it’ll be off to the races. I don’t think it’ll take too long, and shooting for another end-of-the-year finish in terms of completed drafts. One would be nice, two would be better.

It’ll get there, slowly but surely.

-Contest news! My animated fantasy-comedy made Second Round for comedy features with Austin. Another long-time goal achieved, so…yay.

Congrats to all the other amazing writers whose work also made it. I’ll be there to celebrate. How about you?

-As the writers strike continues, it’s taking a toll on the people involved. One of those people is friend-of-the-blog Jenny Frankfurt, who runs the Finish Line Script Competition. She could use whatever help you can provide, so please donate here if you can.

I did the math so you don’t have to

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It’s September 1st! New month, new season (kinda-sorta), school’s back in session, all that rot.

It also means there are 4 months, or 122 days if you want to be super-specific about it, left in 2023 for you to GET SOMETHING WRITTEN.

Totally not impossible.

Even if you average a page a day, that’s a completed draft of a feature (or a pilot), plus some extra time for notes, editing, and polishing.

Dive back into that script you finished earlier this year, last year, or whenever, and attack it with your red pen to edit the bejeezus out of it.

It doesn’t matter what you write, just as long as you plant that ass in a chair and DO. THE. WORK.

That script ain’t gonna write itself, y’know.

Why all the encouragement?

I find a certain appeal to closing out the calendar year having accomplished something writing-wise. You can simultaneously proclaim “Look at what I did!” while also be ready to work on it from the get-go on January 1st.

You’ve got 122 days and counting, so quit your procrastinating, hemming and hawing, and get to it.

And…begin.

Knowing your nails and how to use them

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Savvy and experienced consumer of literature I’m sure you are, no doubt you’re more than somewhat familiar with the classic piece For Want Of A Nail:

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

Sometimes we don’t realize how important something is that at first glance might seem completely insignificant.

The same concept could apply to screenwriting and the details of your story. A reader could see something and wonder “I don’t get it. Why is this in here?”

If you do the work and plan accordingly, the answer/reason will soon be obvious. That little detail is there for a reason, probably an important one, and without it, the rest of the story won’t work.

This is important on several levels.

It shows you put a lot of thought into putting the story together.

It shows you understand the concept of effective setups and payoffs.

It shows you respect the intelligence of your reader/audience and don’t feel the need to deliberately draw our attention to this sort of thing.

It always bothers me when a story sets something up and doesn’t pay it off, or has something later on in the story that comes out of nowhere.

Some writers go into it with a solid idea of how everything is set up and know how it’s going to play out, some come up with the bare bones of a foundation and fill in the blanks, and there are even those who sit down with a blank page, start writing, and see how it goes.

I tend to waver between the first two.

Sometimes you might even go back over what you’ve already written and discover an opportune moment to put in a small detail that can further enhance something later on in the story. It’s as if your subconscious was working in conjunction with your creativity and giving you an unexpected helping hand.

Are parts of your story set up that they start with a “nail” and escalate from there? Or does something happen later that could use a stronger setup?

You’d be surprised at seeing the ripple effect one little change can have on the rest of your script. Hopefully for the better.

There’s gold in them thar dumpster fires!

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Saw a great quote the other day that was along the lines of “Being a writer is like having homework for the rest of your life.”

From a certain perspective, that definitely has a negative connotation. Emphasizing the ‘work’ part of the word indicates drudgery and toil. Like, strictly dullsville, man.

The obvious solution is to make it a positive experience.

I know. Easier said than done, but bear with me.

(Writing should never seem like work anyway, but that’s another post.)

To be a better screenwriter, you need to read scripts and watch movies. You can see how the pros did it and figure out how that could potentially influence your work.

While watching your favorites and the classics can definitely help, I also suggest watching really shitty movies as well.

Hard as this might be to accept, there’s something be gained from it.

What was it that made them bad?

The possibilities are numerous, but a good percentage of the time – it’s the script.

As a writer, you can use that to your advantage.

Painful an experience as it might be, watch that bad movie from a writer’s perspective. Is it the writing that sucks? The story? The characters (and not the actors)? Is there a coherent sense of structure? Is there any structure at all? Does the story flow naturally, or do things happen because it seems like the story needs them to?

Maybe it feels like the writer didn’t take any chances, or worse, went for the very easy and cliched (i.e. expected) solution. Does anything in your script feel that way? If so, think about what changes you could make that would produce the same results, but get you there in a totally different way.

It may be 90-110 minutes of your life you’ll never get back, but at the very least you’ll get a better idea of what NOT to do when it comes to developing your script.

And that is a worthwhile lesson for any screenwriter.

Behold the tactile experience

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A few weeks ago, I printed a copy of the animated fantasy-comedy, and then posted on social media about holding the actual document in my hands and the sensations that resulted from doing that.

(Quick note – said sensations were of a very positive nature. There’s definitely something to be said about holding a physical manifestation of all the time and effort you put into this draft. It’s exhilarating. Uplifting, even. A true sense of accomplishment. And then eagerly accepting the next step of figuring out what’s wrong with it and how to fix it/make it better.)

The post yielded quite a wide spectrum of responses. From “Totally agree. It’s fantastic!” to “I can’t imagine NOT printing it” to “You still print out scripts?”

As I matter of fact, I do. I find it to be incredibly helpful when it comes to editing, proofreading, and overall polishing.

As more than a few people put it, “Printing out a script is a necessary part of my process. I can see things on a page I’m holding that I might not see on a screen.”

That can definitely apply to me. After I finish a draft, I’ll step away from it for a few weeks, then print it out (double-sided) and have at it with red pen in hand. I go through the whole thing page by page, line by line, marking it up as much as necessary.

Could there be some kind of subconscious connection between holding an honest-to-goodness physical printout in your hands and what it does to your creative process? Beats me, but it seems to really make a difference.

I’m much more likely to spot something that needs to be changed when it’s on a piece of paper rather than on a screen. A line of dialogue that doesn’t work or needs retooling. A scene that doesn’t flow the way I need it to, so I try rearranging it. Or those most common of miscreants – a typo, a misspelled word, or a rogue punctuation mark. It happens.

Sometimes I’ll have a page that’s totally mark-free, or maybe one or two little fixes. Sometimes the page has got more red ink and edit marks than actual text, or my notes and comments occupy a lot of that white space.

All of it – not uncommon.

One interesting side note – many’s the time I’d have to decide about cutting something I was hesitant to cut. I would then figure out what was best for the script and story, and not what I wanted. If cutting this or rearranging that resulted in the scene, and subsequently the script, being better, then so be it. The usual follow-up to that was I’d make the change, then immediately forget about what was cut because the new version was better.

Once all the changes and fixes have been taken care of this draft, I’ll go back to the beginning and start implementing those changes and fixes on the digital copy.

Also not uncommon – trying to read my own handwriting, which can occasionally border on appearing microscopic in size from me trying to cram too many notes on the page. It might take a few passes to read it, but I eventually get there.

Before I know it – voila! A new draft.

Printing out my scripts to do some more work on them in order to make the next draft better is a process that’s served me quite well over the years, and I don’t see any reason to stop doing it.