I’ve just finished a ScriptMag.com article on “drive” for my column, Breaking & Entering, comparing how automotive engines work to propela car forward, to what it really takes to successfully propel yourself toward a career in screenwriting. Operating on four-wheel drive means constantly creating material, building craft, generating ideas, and studying the marketplace while preparing to market yourself.
The article was sparked by several stories I’ve heard recently, from folks working to launch their careers and making progress.
And then there were check-ins from two of my former interns. For me, the comparison between these two fellows really drove home the concept of drive. One has relentless drive and determination. The other has wicked smarts and skills.
Former Intern Number One (FI#1) is a highly motivated young writer. He has been at this for a couple of years since graduating from a screenwriting program. He keeps me updated on his progress – from shooting a web series, to persuading a literary agent assistant to read and respond to his query, to seeking advice on how best to turn that contact into a meaningful business relationship.
When FI#1 asks – and hisrequests are specific – I offer up advice, help rework his query letters, and I have also written a glowing letter of recommendation for him.
Like all good relationships, this is a two-way street.
Whenever I need help at a screenwriting conference or speaking engagement, FI#1 steps up. And he makes the most out of the experience by sitting in on classes, networking, and using any free time with me to plot out his next career moves.
FI#1 does not contact me constantly or needlessly, but only when he has something worthwhile to pass along. Here’s a recent update:
I’m working with a writing partner now and we are hitting it off like nobody’s business. It’s a great partnership. She takes my big crazy ideas and helps ground them down into a workable story. We took the graphic novel idea I had over last summer and found an artist who is working on helping us bring it to life. It’s all pretty exciting.
We even managed to fashion the idea into a TV pilot script that we are ready to start pitching. And one of my contacts is very interested in the idea and wants to help shepherd it over to his studio executive contacts.
So now it’s moving forward in two markets. All good things, right?
Thank you so much for all your insight and helping me stay sharp and motivated!
Exerting his drive in multiple directions, as I suggest in my article, “Driven To Succeed,” is paying off faster than I can write this blog. Latest update:
Our pilot got a script request off a query letter, so I reached out to a manager contact for advice on when to bring in a manager. Not only did I get advice, but she asked to see the script, loved it, and by the end of the day was sending it out to a production company that she knows is looking for something like what we have. Just like that!
“Just like that,” my ass. Smartly played!
I want FI#1 to succeed. And he wants to make me proud of his accomplishments.
Former Intern Number Two (FI#2) is still in college, and eager to break into the industry. He’s not exactly sure what he wants to be when he grows up, but he still has time to figure that out. He’s smart to be laying a foundation while still in school. He is extremely bright, articulate about story, and has an astonishing film vocabulary – truly one of the best I have ever seen. I was grateful to have his help last summer, as he plowed through every task I handed off.
FI#2 has kept in touch with me sporadically, mostly about the weather. Not exactly newsworthy.
When another former intern told me that her program coordinator – from a prestigious private university – recommended they keep in touch with the people that they worked with over the summer by sending a Halloween card, I was horrified. If you want to be treated as a professional, then you need to act like one – even when you’re just starting out.
For FI#2, there’s no joy in this crazy process of breaking in and moving forward in the industry. It’s a chore, rather than a step forward in fulfilling his life’s ambition. In truth, it is rough going. You might as well buckle up and enjoy the wild ride.
He recently asked for help with the “arduous process of searching for and applying for internships” for the coming summer. Vague, right? Negative attitude too.
I turned it around to specifics and positives:
“Arduous” is a tough place to start from. Is it really that bad? There are tons of resources out there.
Start by asking me to write you a letter of recommendation.
Then figure out what area you are most interested in working in/learning about – Agency? Prod co? Studio?
I rattled off a list of where to search for internships online. He was shocked at the many resources at his fingertips. (Seriously?) He then took me up on the offer to write a letter of recommendation.
It took a month for that task to move up on my To Do list. In the interim, I forwarded internship listings that I thought would be a good fit for him. I sent him a draft of a solid letter of endorsement, asking him to take a look and let me know if there was anything he wanted me to change, before I sent him a final copy on letterhead.
It’s been two and a half weeks since I carved out time from my producing projects, my script consulting business, and my responsibilities for the children’s literacy nonprofit that I run, to pull together a recommendation letter. And months of sending leads his way.
Not
a
single
reply.
Lest you think me callous, FI#2 is not sickly or, heaven forbid… dead – I’ve seen him posting on Facebook.
I’m not griping – well, maybe a little – but here’s my point:
If we were to wager on which former intern will most likely succeed in a business that is challenging to get a toehold in – and even more difficult over the course of a career, who would you put your money on?
Drive and determination win out – even over brains and talent.
Please tell me that you see the significant difference in communication styles between these two young men – highlighted with my italics – and that you recognize the practical lesson here. I coach my interns on ways to effectively maintain their relationship with me, as well as how to interact with other people in the industry.
I could load you down with practical pointers on how to network successfully, build industry relationships and have a savvy, professional approach that makes you sound like you belong in the business. But I’m not convinced that “drive” can be taught.
It’s partly personality and outlook. I do believe it is an ability that can be encouraged, cultivated, and refined. Time and experience helps, but I think you have to have the right mindset from the start – or figure out how to get into it pretty damn quick.
There are those who yearn for a career in film, but don’t have what it takes to make their dream a reality. The brutal truth – it takes more than aptitude or talent. It takes prowess, initiative, and the sheer hunger to succeed.
Paige, please settle this debate once and for all. I’ve had it with all the back and forth.
Is it really necessary to outline a script before you begin?
I adore the thrill of the moment. Creating little details is so pleasurable. It’s the tiny touches that are arousing.
Letting the story take me where it wants to go gets my juices flowing. It turns on my creativity.
But it seems like every guru out there insists you must outline!
Sure, some writers may need the protection of an outline, but I find it stifling. It prevents me from experiencing every sensation. I feel penned in when I’m longing to pursue my desires and express myself fully and completely.
Is outlining essential? Can’t I have a sublimely satisfying screenplay without it?
Sincerely,
Artistic Type
Dearest A.T.,
Aren’t you endearing! Wanting my blessing on your impossibly bad behavior. Apparently hoping to coax it out of me with some flimsy sex puns. For shame. On both counts.
The only thing that will make you happy is for me to say, “Yes, yes! Go! Dance like nobody’s watching; love like you’ve never been hurt. Sing like nobody’s listening; write like no one else matters.” (Apologies, Mr. Twain.)
Dreaming up details can be intoxicating. But that buzz, my dear, is keeping you from seeing clearly. You are writing with beer goggles on.
While that’s commonly translated to mean, “There are no ugly women in the bar at closing time,” the science behind consuming alcohol reveals the truth. A bartender bellowing, “Last call!” does not make anyone appear more attractive. Booze inhibits the brain’s ability to make good decisions. No problem – if you couldn’t care less who you wake up next to in the morning.
But the hallmark of good writing, and great storytelling, is deliberate decision-making. Creating a screenplay requires thousands of decisions. In a strong script, each choice contributes to telling the story. That is artistry.
Your thirst for “artistic freedom” is simply pleasuring yourself. Your true desire should be for your story to gratify an audience.
Dreaming up small details before putting the steel beams of structure into place is creating a story ass-backward. You’re taking aim without a target, playing “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” If that’s too dated a reference for the youngsters out there, substitute “whacking at a piñata.” Or scrap the metaphors altogether and acknowledge the sobering truth.
This willy-nilly approach to writing, which may entertain you at first, is most likely to get you stuck in an endless loop of rewriting. Ultimately a huge waste of your time and energy, as you try to make an unsuccessful script better, rather than creating a successful story before you type “Fade In.”
You cannot make decisions that meet the needs of the story when you don’t know what your story truly is about. You cannot know this until you can clearly see the big picture – knowing your hero, his conflict, his arc, the theme, and the structure. An outline is a powerful tool for envisioning your story in 3-D.
Ready to master structure? Click here for information on The Big Ideas Screenwriting Intensive. Get and amazing Structure Template plus SIX months of mentorship to turn your idea into a outline that will make your first drat polished and honed rather than in need of months of ripping apart and rewriting.
Since you consider yourself artsy, let’s try this example. French Post-Impressionist painter Georges Seurat created the painting technique known as pointillism in which tiny juxtaposed dots of multi-colored paint allow the viewer’s eye to blend colors, rather than having the colors physically blended on the canvas. His famous work, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, took two years to complete. Most of which he spent sketching in the park before painting a single dot. That would be the painter’s version of an outline. Discover more about Seurat’s work and career here.
I could condone you binge-watching TV, getting high on life or hopped up on caffeine, but writing without an outline is best qualified as drunk and disorderly. Don’t expect my stamp of approval.
At first, outlining may make you feel like your hands are tied, but the restrictions will actually free you. Ultimately, you will be able to go deeper and achieve something bigger and better than ever before. With the penetrating insight provided by a sizable outline, your story will reach new heights and get there faster.
Now that’s some persuasive innuendo.
No necktie required.
PS. You can purchase the Big Ideas Electronic Structure Template with intensive header and informative handout here.
I’ve gotten my script into the hands of readers, and the feedback I’m getting is that they don’t like the ending.
I don’t want to cave to peer pressure and the relentless push toward commercialized crap by grafting on a traditional, clichéd happy ending to my romantic comedy. Not all relationships work out in real life, right?
Some people just aren’t meant to be together. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of experience with this.
Paige, does Hollywood always have to have a happy ending?
Thanks,
On The Edge
Dear OTE,
Why of course you’re on the edge my friend, and so are your readers!
You’ve built up anticipation, gotten them truly excited and then left them hanging. You may have learned something about how to write a screenplay, but you haven’t mastered delivering the goods.
The Happy Ending is not a cop out. It’s about fulfilling your audience’s expectations!
Frankly, the happy ending isn’t always a happy one, but the one that leaves audiences feeling satisfied. A sad ending can still be a happy ending, if it’s the one that the film has been building to all along.
Genre films in particular, such as your rom-com, create very distinct expectations. These movies are popular for a reason – they take us on a familiar journey. There’s a comfort in knowing what kind of experience we will have when the lights dim. And that’s why specific audiences choose the specific genres that appeal to them. They want to be scared and survive, to experience vicarious thrills, to see the star-crossed lovers kiss, to go on an explosive, high stakes adventure.
In a horror movie, we expect all the kids who had sex to die. In a rom-com, we are rooting for the couple that is meant-to-be to finally get together. In the action flick, we want the bad guy to be served his just desserts. (All the better if the good guy doesn’t have to get his hands dirty in the end. Far better for the bad guy to be “hoist with his own petard.” Why do you think so many villains wind up in a roof-top fight with the hero and tragically fall to their death?)
Your job is to deliver on your audience’s expectations, but in a smart and distinctive way that is unique to your story, your characters, your world and your theme. That’s what makes you a stand out and not a sell out.
So OTE, it sounds to me as if you’re not getting much action yourself these days.
My prescription is to do a little socializing and have some fun. It might be just what the doctor ordered to give you a sunnier outlook and a fresh perspective on your final acts.
Wishing you a happy ending!
Got a question for the Good Doctor? Leave it in the comments below and Paige will get back to you.
Paige pops by to present Pet Peeves readers proclaim particularly pesky.
Dear Doctor T,
I’ve got a good script. I’ve been entering it in contests and getting nowhere. No wins, no placing, not even a “show” to show for it.
I’ve shelled out big bucks for coverage and gotten a bunch of picky notes.
Readers seem impossible to please.
What gives?
Yours,
Peeved
Dearest P.O.’ed.
I love writers. Truly. I respect the challenges of the medium and admire the art of storytelling. There’s nothing more exciting to me than diving into a script to find a well-written screenplay and a story that envelops me.
Total turn on.
That said, you can drive your reader wild – but not in the good way.
Are you guilty of rubbing your reader the wrong way?
Specifying songs. What if the reader doesn’t recognize the song? First, it makes us feel kinda stupid. Do you want to evoke that reaction in your reader? And it completely defeats the purpose if your goal is to convey something in the song choice – which, naturally, should be your goal. Your job is to communicate. When a song is integral to your script, specifying the tone and genre is your best bet. “A classic rock and roll song” or “country heartbreak ballad” speaks to everyone. Nope, not even including the lyrics will let you slide by with this one kiddo.
Using exact ages. Specifying an exact age for a character, unless it is essential to the story, undermines you by limiting our ability to visualize casting choices. An actor can be in his forties, but still play thirty-something; while 31 seems like a stretch. If your heroine’s goal is to find a husband before she turns 30, then of course, it’s essential to know that she’s 29. Character ages are best revealed through description, where we learn that they are a high school senior, in their 30s or 40s, middle aged, elderly, etc. (Ages listed in parentheses are particularly annoying.) (And distracting too.) Major exception to the rule – children. The difference between a 5-year-old and a 10-year-old is a million, so you must tell us the exact age of kid characters for us to understand them.
The Back and Forth. Nothing – I mean absolutely nothing – frustrates me more than a script that is so weakly written, that a few pages in, I must turn back to Page One to try to decipher who’s who, where we are or what’s going on. You may know your story up, down and sideways, but your job is to introduce the reader to the characters and draw us into the world you have created. Any time I have to flip back, I know I’m in for a bumpy ride and not looking forward to it.
Don’t talk to me. Description speaking directly to the reader is unsettling. Only to be used if you are conveying essential information about what we will see on the screen that cannot be communicated in any other manner.
Acceptable:
[NOTE: Spanish language dialogue appearing in italics will be subtitled on the screen.]
Unacceptable:
Paige appears cranky. Believe me, if you were trapped in a car with her stuck in traffic for an hour, you’d agree.
Don’t write self-referential description. You are drawing attention to yourself, but not in a good way. It’s a rare writer who can pull it off successfully:
Riggs smiles at him innocently. Strokes the collie’s fur with one hand. With the other, he reaches into a paper sack and produces a spanking new bottle of Jack Daniels, possibly the finest drink mankind has yet produced.
We readers see this enough to give it a label – writing that is “Shane Blackish.”
I have met Shane Black. You are not Shane Black.
So Peeved, maybe you’re not the only one who is annoyed. Ticking off your reader is the wrong way to get us hot and bothered about your script.
Give us a good read instead of a hard read, and we are both more likely to wind up with a happy ending.
I feel I can turn to you for help with my problem. Everything was perfect until I started rewriting.
You see, my script and I have been together for a while now. A long while.
At first, the mere thought of the concept thrilled me. It was intoxicating to run my eyes over the words on the page. Then the sheer delight of the first draft. Followed by the turn-on of submitting my baby to contests with high hopes for our future.
Then came the rewriting. And more rewriting. And yet another draft.
Eventually, that rush disappeared.
The excitement was gone.
Taking a long, hard look at my script, I grew terrified that it might be, well… boring.
Simple.
Ordinary.
Predictable.
Stuck with a bland story, I felt desperate to recapture the magic.
I gave the hero a dog. Then a love interest. With a falling-in-love montage. I gave the bad guy more henchmen and the henchmen bigger guns. I created a massive car chase. I added explosions. Then aliens. Then exploding aliens.
Now, I just feel confused.
Can you help me?
The Big Bang
Dear Banger,
In my professional opinion, you are indeed suffering from a serious condition. You have all the symptoms:
Your vision is impaired.
Your memory is clouded.
You’ve spent so much time cozied up with your script, you’ve developed a fever. That high temp left you limp – no longer turned on by what got you hot and bothered about your story in the first place.
If you’re feeling confused, your readers are certain to be baffled.
Your passion for your story is still there, it’s just your confidence in what made it great in the first place that has vanished.
Think of it like this:
In the beginning, you chose a big, beautiful pine tree. The strong trunk supported lush, green branches. The air was fragrant with its scent.
It was a good Christmas tree.
Then, you began decorating it. Adding special touches to ensure that your tree was one of a kind.
First, it was twinkly lights. Nice. Then tinsel. Some shiny ornaments. An angel for the top. Plus, you must have a shining star. So an angel on top of a star! Construction paper chains and strings of popcorn and cranberries for a homey touch. And a big red bow that played “Jingle Bells” when anyone got near it. Then more tinsel so there weren’t any bare spots.
You’ve crossed the line from “decorative” to “disaster.”
The more time aspiring writers spend rewriting their script, the more likely they are to become convinced that their original idea alone is not enough to satisfy us. Uncertain, they layer on more and more provocative detail in hopes of attracting our eye.
In the words of famed action movie producer Joel Silver, “I want an explosion the size of Cleveland.”
We all love fireworks baby, but you need some well played build up to truly enjoy the grand finale.
You are suffering from the syndrome I call “Too Much Tinsel On Your Tree.” Many new writers fall prey to this disorder in the rewriting process. Often, the source of the infection is typing “Fade In” without an outline in place. You know what they say sweetie, “No prior planning, no happy ending.”
The beauty of your original story is lost because you buried the allure of the concept under heaps of distraction. Your audience is likely lost too.
Stop embellishing!
Strip that tree bare, and get back to the charm and elegance of your original idea.
Add a few carefully chosen, distinctive touches that work with your story to enhance its natural appeal. One at a time.
You don’t need razzle-dazzle to captivate an audience. A hot idea, strong writing, and enthralling storytelling will sweep us off our feet every time.
