The sour taste of bad scripts

I have often said that ANYONE can write a screenplay. They don't have many pages or words. They have strict formatting guidelines. They have formulas and predetermined plot points that make it easy for any writer to plug in information and churn out a first draft on the backend. I think every writer has experienced the 1-2 week first draft; and every new writer brags about it. "I was in a zone, man. I was like rattling off 10 to 20 pages a night. I was inspired." That's how easy it is to write a screenplay.

It's also very easy to write well in a screenplay. Go to any screenwriting message board that allows people to post their pages online. Pithy action. Witty dialog. Characters with bite. Scenes that pop. There's some good shit out there. Let's face it, there's a good chunk of writers out there who actually know how to write.

So why are most scripts AWFUL?

Every writer believes that they are undiscovered genius, but all these wannabes have clogged the industry pipeline with an unrelenting barrage of shit. Woe is to be that poor suffering inspired writer who has found the gateway to Hollywood locked because it's the only way to keep the garbage out.

The fact that every writer believes every other writer sucks must prove something. Writing is self-delusion. And writers need to open their eyes to the hard truth that their scripts are the feces that plug the toilets of this town.

And why is that?

Because despite all their brilliance, despite their great scenes and wonderful dialog, the script fell flat. The script was less than the sum of its parts.

And boy do I see this all the time. Decent scene upon decent scene linked together by the bonds of moronic plot devices. And while I could pluck out any page and it would read smooth and pure, when it's all together, it can't hold up its end of the story.

That is why the story is the key. And writers don't pay attention to that. They don't work at making sure their scenes build, one atop another. They don't give their scripts the "moron meter" or simple logic tests. They write circles around their problems instead of backing up and taking a path that wouldn't lead to those problems. When they force their characters to make stupid choices in order to move the script from plot point A to plot point B, they rationalize it with, "Nobody will care" or "It worked in so and so."

I've used this analogy before - Figuring out a story is like climbing a mountain. In theory, you can start anywhere from the base of the mountain and reach the summit. But in reality, there are only a few legitimate paths to the top. If you don't take the time to find those paths, you'll be off trail, you'll be bushwhacking through streams, you'll be walking in circles, you might never reach the summit.

You must attack your script from the right direction. No amount of fancy writing and great characters can save a bad story. At the end of the day, the script will leave a bad taste in the reader's mouth.

As is my mantra in this blog, writers must hold themselves to higher standards. They have to force themselves to do better.

Mystery + Revelation = Discovery

Wow. It's been a solid 4 months since I lasted posted on a blog that nobody reads. It really hammers home the insignificance of everything I write here. Kinda like my screenwriting career. Oooh... diss.

Anyway, today's revelation is the concept of mystery.

I've been trying to bone up on my horror writing skills since, well, there's ALWAYS a market for horror. If I'm gonna sell out, I may as well sell out for a script that can have 12 sequels. At the very least, that's 12 "characters created by..." checks I'll be able to deposit. And that's what this is all about, right? Hellz yeah!

While talking to a friend about horror, he commented that a common aspect of the genre is "mystery." Makes sense. THE RING and SILENT HILL were all about uncovering the mystery of "why is this happening?" THE SIXTH SENSE, SE7EN, SILENCE OF THE LAMBS - all classic horror/dramas - had a certain amount of mystery.

Slasher films are a "whodunit?" mystery.
Creature films (including Jason and Freddy) are a "where did it come from?/How do we kill it?" mystery.

Mystery is in many genres. Action movies often have a Bruce Willis cop trying to figure out, "What's the bad guy's real plan?" "How do I stop him?" "Who is the 'inside man' who's helping the bad guy?"

In RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, most reviewers and synopsis would describe the Ark as "mysterious." Where is it? What does it do?

The reason that mystery is so ingrained in screenplays is because mystery + revelation = discovery.

It's the motor of the screenplay. It gives us a purpose to keep on reading. We want the answers. Those moments of discovery offer the twists and turns that can carry a script for 110 pages. Without them, the script feels like it's trying to get its wheels to catch on a muddy embankment. The reader begins to ask, "Why should I care?" A mystery gives the reader something to care about.

Never forget the equation "mystery + revelation = discovery." Without revelation, there is no mystery. It's just a question that's been answered. The revelation is key because it gives the chance for thematic set-pieces. Scenes where something BIG has just happened. Something so big that the hero begins to put the pieces together. Indiana Jones in the map room scene. The "I see dead people" scene. Moments you remember. Moments that change everything in the story.

Most character arcs utilize revelations and discoveries. The hero suddenly sees the world in a different way. They've solved a mystery, albeit, the mystery may have led to a new mystery. But the mystery is the gas in the combustible engine that screenplays need.

This is all probably sounding very familiar. I'm sure many people have written about the need for screenplays to lay out questions and then answer those questions. And yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about.

But the word "mystery" carries a larger meaning. A mystery doesn't just reveal it's answer. In fact, a mystery usually doesn't even reveal itself. They need to be sought out. They need to be dissected and figured out. Solving a mystery requires an active protagonist who's willing to go to whatever lengths to plumb the depths of it. They have to solve the mystery. They have to be film noir detectives.

That's why mystery is so much more than just a question. A question is asked by the writer. A mystery is asked by the hero.

The "mystery" idea isn't a rule or a "must-have." In fact, many great scripts contain zero or limited mysterious elements. Comedies are relatively light on mystery and discovery. But if your script is having motor issues. If your characters are walking from one scene to another, but it's all feeling forced and pointless, think about adding mystery into the mix.

For a counter-example of this in action, take a look at the remake of PROM NIGHT. Why doesn't it work like a slasher flick should? Because all the cards were played early. You don't know anything more at the end of the movie than you do at the beginning. Your world has never been changed.

Oh, Spellcheck, why must you hate "Dialogue?"

But for whatever reason, it has no problem with "dialog." That u and e have caused me an insignificant, yet still existent, amount of angst. I mean, who the hell writes "dialog" in a script? The word looks like it describes a record of your outgoing phone calls. Now, "dialogue," that's something a screenplay should have.

Oh!... speaking of "dialogue," I had a point to make.

You can read anywhere that dialogue is supposed to serve 2 purposes - create character and move the plot forward. If it doesn't do one or the other, it's wasted.

Sure, we all read that rule, but we don't really pay attention to it. Think of all the superfluous dialogue in most movies. Line after line that only sets up a mediocre joke. Also, how many raunchy things does Stifler have to say before we understand that his character is... raunchy? Ummm, 1?

So we discount this rule all the time.

Well, I recently made a discovery (look at me, way to go Colombus, but the Indians were already on the fucking continent). My opening pages were floundering and I couldn't figure out why. I had a hard time reading through my dialogue and the whole script seemed to be pulling itself through mud. It was witty dialogue, it had character personality in it, and it explained the world of my script. What was wrong?

It comes down to "Forward Momentum Dialogue" and "Backward Momentum Dialogue."

My characters were trying to establish themselves to the reader and the other characters on the page. They were revealing their backstory. They were throwing quips around about how they felt about certain things. In essence, everything they said was dealing or reacting to something that happened in the past. It was backward momentum. They were laying the bricks for the road they had already trod upon. Well, what's the f-ing point of that?

It messed up the entire momentum of the script. Things were slogging. It felt talky. And worst of all, I didn't give a shit. The dialogue was throwing its weight to everything that the characters had no control over.

This was especially tough to figure out because it all occurred in my setup. After all, "get in late, get out early." I had started my script as late as possible, but I needed to lay the foundation for the reader. Well, shit, you can't build a foundation for something you're already standing on. But unless you go back to the true beginning (which means a script that shows a time-lapse growth through your character's first 20-something years, ugh) then you have some backstory explaining to do.

And this forms the real bitch of writing the setup. How do you get all this information in there but not get bogged down with characters explaining themselves? Personally, I'm a fan of just opening with voice over. Accomplish all your backstory in a half page of intense regressive writing.

But the real solution is forward momentum dialogue and forward momentum characters.

This hearkens back to the old mantra, "Every character should enter every scene with a goal." They need to want something now. Not something from their childhood. Something now. They need to smack into their conflict now. They need to move forward, forward, forward. Pushing ahead so strong that they don't have any energy left to send behind them.

It's easier said than done, and it's not a real solution to the problem. If I think of the solution, I'll be sure to write it. Right now, I'm just concerned with scrapping my current draft and starting again.

Yay, Page 1!!

DO NOT VOTE FOR BERNARD PARKS!!

Do NOT elect Bernard Parks to Culver City Council!

If you live in Culver City and have a voice in this election, use it to stop Bernard Parks.

Why? Because for the past week, Mr. Parks has done NOTHING but badger me with recorded phone messages asking for my vote. I cannot condone or endorse such annoyances. This is like a mosquito that managed to buy both your f-ing cell phone and home line numbers. And won't stop calling!

One of his messages even warned me about the postage increase. Wow, thanks Mr. Parks! You're really looking out for me! Way to have my back.

I cannot allow this to continue. I want his campaign destroyed. I want his candidacy demolished. I want his defeat so resounding that he's exhausted all income and can never bother the world again.

I bet this is how the Emperor came to power in Star Wars. He called every f-ing person in the Galactic Republic 3 TIMES IN ONE DAY to ask for their vote with a recorded message.

Save the world! Save your phone bills! Save your sanity! Vote no for Bernard Parks! Voting no for him is the only way to keep me from being disillusioned in the system now.


And if there's a way to remove myself from whatever list he's using, will somebody please tell me? And this process had better be easy because every second I spend on this makes me hate Bernard Parks all the more.

That's right, Bernard Parks. I hate you.

The script rotates around its midpoint

I'm going to tack this onto the previous post about revealing secrets early.

This post is about an under-emphasized plot point in screenplays - the midpoint.

Every screenwriting book touches on this beat. It's when your romantic leads have sex. It's when your Hero becomes more entwined. It's where there's a seeming victory followed by a colossal defeat. It's where a set piece (Sally orgasms in the deli in front of Harry) that gives the script a bit more umph until the end.

Sure, it's all of these things, but what do these all really say? It's the moment when the story changes entirely.

The second half of a movie is a completely different plot than the first. It's as if a second catalyst has been plopped down at the 55 page mark. And that's the way to look at it. A catalyst. Something that immediately and irreversibly changes the complexion of the story.

Look at the classic film "Raiders of the Lost Ark." How tempting it must have been for Kasdan to put the discovery of the Ark in Act III. After all, Indy has been racing with the Nazis to find it this whole time. Wouldn't the Well of the Souls be a great location for the final showdown? Everything converges on the Ark for a climatic showdown.

But no. He didn't even put the discovery of the Ark at the Act II turning point. He put it at the midpoint! They find the Ark halfway through the movie! While the first half of the movie is about the race to find the Ark (of which Indy is always one step ahead), the second half is the race to steal the Ark (during which Indy is often one step behind). They are two different movies. If "The Adventures of Indiana Jones" was a TV series, this would be the season finale/season premiere split.

A major secret was revealed at the midpoint (thus hooking this onto my last post about revealing secrets early). All great scripts have a MAJOR reveal at the midpoint. A reveal or incident that's so massive that it would be tempting to make a climax out of it. But the challenge is to go even further for the climax. They may have found the Ark at the midpoint, but heads melt and explode at the climax.

But what about Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? You don't see the Grail until the last 15 minutes of the film. Well, as Indy says earlier, "I'm not here for the Cup of Christ. I'm here to find my father." And when do Sr. and Jr. finally converge? At the midpoint. And what else happens at the crucial juncture? "You should have listened to your father..." Oh my God! Elsie's a Nazi!

Yep, two main reveals were exposed at the midpoint. Sean Connery could have made his appearance at the end. Sucky. Elsie could have come out at the last minute and declared her allegiance to Hitler. Sucky. Instead, all the secrets were revealed halfway through the movie.

The reason why is pretty common sense. Movies are long. They need that extra engine to power them through until the end. They need an answer to the audience's "Why do I care?" question long before the climax. Also, people don't really care about the secret. What they really want to see is how the secret plays out. And for that, there needs to be run-off time.

So, once again, reveal your secrets early. Challenge yourself to make those secrets worthwhile by the climax.

Play your cards early

There's a tendency among writers to save up for the big "reveal." Whenever we write character driven screenplays, we always have a plan for that big moment in the end. That moment when all mysteries are revealed, all backstory is exposed, and all questions are answered. In fact, like good disciples of Chekhov, we sprinkle in the questions throughout the script. That way, the big reveal is even bigger! Often, this reveal moment is the one we've had in our mind since we first started growing the concept. It was that initial seed. "What if I wrote a script about... (insert random character backstory)... a person who found out as a child that his parents are brother and sister?" Ooooh... ahhh... moronic...

But to reveal that to the audience must be huge. It's what the entire script hinges on. Everything builds to that scene!

Why do we insist on doing it like this? I swear, this is a deformed, bastardized child of Syd Field's screenwriting books. After all, according to Mr. Field, all characters have that one moment in their past that has created who they are today. So, if you write this wittily and ironically deep character, it stands to reason that we're all reading this story to find out how he/she became who they are. Such methods formed the central structure of most of my earlier scripts.

It was during a college writing course, that I finally found out the error of my ways. I wrote a story of two guys sitting in a car talking to each other (wow, such an ingenious set-up. I hope it pays off!). As the tension builds between them, we eventually come to the moment we've all been waiting for... that image shaping event in their past!!! Bust out Jenna Jameson's face because this thing has climaxed!

My instructor wasn't so thrilled. Let there be no mistake, I hate that man. He's an ass. I hated his class. It has truly taken me years to admit I learned anything from him.

Instructor: "What's the point of reading all that if you don't know what's going on?"
Inside my head: "You ass. The point is that there are questions, and those questions make you wonder why these people are the way they are."
Instructor: "If you put these secrets out in front for all to see, it colors everything that happens afterwards. It makes things more lively."

Hmmm... the fool has a point.

In improv, the moment we walk onto an empty stage, we must establish CROW.

C - Characters. Who is everybody?
R - Relationships. Who likes who? Who has high status and who has low status? How long have they known each other?
O - Objective. What does each character want?
W - Where. Ummm... this one is obvious. Where is the scene taking place?

That's why improv scenes often begin with very on-the-nose dialog. "Pa! Mean Mr. Harkins says he's gonna take our farm if the corn doesn't grow!" "God will see us through, Billy. Don't you ever doubt it!"

And the scene is set up. We know everything we need to move forward.

Screenwriters need to get as much CROW out as early as possible. Hopefully through subtext, but a half page of voice over can be a lot more economical than five pages of subtext dancing. Get the info out there! Let the reader know! This crap where the good guy and the bad guy reveal that they're actually brothers on page 90? Put it in the god damn setup!!!

But what about surprises? Twists? Reversals? A script needs to be constantly changing and shocking the reader. If you reveal everything in Act I, what's left?

Ah-ha! That's the trick. That's what brings us back to my common mantra that "WRITING IS WORK." If you play your cards early, it forces you to invent newer, better, bigger cards later! Come up with better twists, reveals, surprises. And what will you get when you're done? A script that stands up as a whole instead of one that depends on the ending to bring order to the rest.

This all comes back to the "kill your babies" advice. When we begin writing, we often have babies that we feel would make for a great character reveal. And instead of pushing ourselves to come up with more clever insights into our characters and plots, we base the entire script around these little tidbits.

As an example, I once read a script that was clearly a knock-off of Indiana Jones. The writer had some device (some gem) that had all of these extraordinary powers. The problem was that he didn't even give us a taste of what those powers were. Good? Bad? Who knows! It was all saved up for the big reveal. Another reader hearkened back to Raiders of the Lost Ark. They could have left the powers of the Ark undefined. But instead, Kasdan has Indy explain it to the government guys. He pulls out a book that has a handy picture. "Is that lightning?" "Power of God." We know what this thing is capable of. Does the Ark work? Come on, everyone knows this thing will blast the shit out of someone by the end. But the way the script puts it all together and sets everything up for the final showdown is brilliant. They didn't need to save any cards because they had stuffed their pockets with the Ace of Spades! Multiple Aces of Spades.

So if you have that "big moment" when all truth in the universe is finally revealed, ask yourself if it wouldn't be more powerful to put that in the beginning and come up with something even more badass for the end.

Psychology of reading

Wow. Not only was the Daily Rant not funny or insightful, it wasn't even daily. That was a lame exercise that has died its rightful death.

So, I shall now turn my attention to something that has been churning in my mind for awhile. For those too lazy to read the title, it's "The Psychology of Reading."

Getting a screenplay bought or produced is like rolling a boulder up a mountain. The problem is that as the writer, we're stuck at the base of the mountain. We can only shove the boulder so far. At which point, we have to hope that other people take up the boulder and pass it up the mountain until it reaches the summit. If not, the boulder will either come crashing back down, crushing you in the process, or it will be caught on some unknown, unseen ledge on the mountain; out of your sight, out of your hands, but never out of your mind.

So how do we get other people to carry our boulder up the mountain? Step one is to exit Analogyland.

A screenplay that reaches the summit of Hollywood needs to pass through a labyrinth of readers. First, it'll go to the agent. Then the production company. Then to the talent. Then to the studio. Each step along the way, it gets passed from assistant to assistant, reader to reader. There are multiple desks it has to stop at before getting anywhere. Each one of these desks is designed to reject it. After all, you don't want to pass your boss a giant bolder only to have his boss decide it's not worth carrying. Time and energy has been wasted!

So, as a screenwriter, your work needs to stand out from the hundreds of screenplays that these people read every month.

As I said earlier, the idea is 95% of the process. A good idea makes the boulder significantly lighter, and therefore people are more willing to carry it.

But people may not discover how great that idea is unless they read through the entire script. And that's the challenge. These people have stacks of scripts to get through and write coverage on. They want to spend the least amount of time humanly possible on each one. If they can reject it quickly, they still have time to go out and get a drink Friday night. If they read every single word... ugh... what a life.

The faster a reader can get through a script, the more positive the experience was for them. Any script that feels like a marathon is already at a disadvantage.

Put yourself in that position. Think about what tendencies you have when you read a script. Try to engineer your script to meet those needs.

Here are some guidelines I came up with in no particular order:

1. Your script is not a shooting script, it's a reading script.

Shooting scripts are very bland. They convey only what the different departments need to know in order to perform their job. You need to make your script a fun read. Pack it with your voice. Be a little inventive in how you paint your scenes. You're telling a story, so make sure they enjoy it.

2. Keep your action paragraphs brief.

Rule of thumb is no longer than 4 lines. Try to keep them under 3 if possible. People who are speed-reading will glaze over the action. If a nugget of crucial info is buried within half a page of pointless description, they'll miss it. And then they'll be lost later.

Try to give a new paragraph to each individual action. Let's say you have a scene where Billy throws the ball, it breaks a window, then old Mrs. Hansen comes out to yell at him. That should be multiple paragraphs.

Readers will generally read the first bit of each paragraph so multiple short paragraphs will get more read than one long one. Don't put too many paragraphs in, though, because that will defeat the purpose and you'll still end up with a page of text.

3. Make your character voices distinct.

When reading through a conversation, readers will begin to ignore the character labels. They want to get into the flow of the conversation (which is what you want!). But it's easy to get lost on who's saying what. Keep your character voices distinct so that a conversation can be completely understood without looking at the names of whoever is speaking. This will make speed reading a breeze, and it's just good writing.

4. Make sure important tidbits are not missed.

If Jane walks into the room and sees a KNIFE on the table, and she'll later use that same knife to kill an intruder, make sure the reader sees that knife too. Capitalize it. Give it its own paragraph. Have her pause and look at it directly. Never make a reader say, "Wait, did I miss something?" They won't take the time to backtrack and find what they missed. If there's ANYTHING you plan to reincorporate into the script later, make sure the reader catches it the first time.

5. Have distinct character names and introductions.

"Teddy" and "Terry" should never have a conversation together. Why? Because it'll always be confusing who's saying what or who's doing what. It'll make the reader stumble at least once or twice during the script. "Wait, I thought Teddy was the one who found the money." Nope, 34 pages ago, that was Terry. And boy, did that add a new tint to those 34 pages.

In the same vein, character names should be very much a part of the character's identity. Don't just pluck random names from the air.

Don't give your characters names that all have the same feel. There are many common, all-american, same-syllable names. They become confusing. Sarah, Mary, and Susan all invoke a similar feel. It's hard to remember who is who. But if it's Sarah, Jacqueline, and Allie. Those names look, sound, and feel different.

The other half of this is about the introduction of characters. Space them out as much as possible. A big block of character introductions in the beginning is a major turn-off. Try to introduce a character, give them at least one line or "moment" and then introduce the next character. Give the reader that baseline to fall back on.

Daily Rants

I'm going to start a new exercise that will hopefully be more worthwhile than a complete waste of time. It seems that common, everyday annoyances happen, well... every day. I can't help but feel there might be some value in writing down my frequent rants. There might be a script someday that needs one of those "Ha! Everyone's been there!" moments, and now I will have jotted all of mine down for the entire world to see. Luckily, nobody reads this blog. I like that about this blog. It's a personal journal that I've set in the middle of the room and dared the world to read. Not that I've put anything personal in here. Yet...

Anyway, for my inaugural rant-

1. I just booked a flight and (thank you technological age), they sent me an email trip itinerary. And so I read it to verify I hadn't lapsed into retardedness and booked the wrong day. So, I read it. And read it... Ummm... where the F is my flight info?! How many warnings, notices, disclaimers, and special offers can they pack around my arrival times and flight numbers? Oh, about 20k worth! That would have practically bankrupted my old hotmail account. What the hell? Does anyone read the reams of fine print they send in those? Hell, give me the disclaimers when I book the ticket. When you send me my itinerary, just send the f-ing flight info! That's all I want! That's all I'm planning on printing out! Maybe send a phone number I can call if there's a colossal, rake to the balls, screw up. Why do I need to know that you have a special for vacation packages to Orlando that have to be booked this week? I'm not going to Orlando. I flying in the opposite direction in fact!

This whole mess is indicative of two parts of our culture.

1. The "Lundeguard" aspect. This "make your sale while you have their attention" gimmick is everywhere. I went to get a crown at the dentist. They automatically signed me up for the most expensive crown possible. "Aren't there other options?" I asked. Sure, there's the cheap stainless steel that will decay out your tooth in three years before spreading to your gums and turning your mouth into a moldy orange peel option. Or there's the super expensive, gold-porcelain kind. Isn't there anything in between? "Oh, you wouldn't want that." Hey, they got you in the seat. They've taken their barbaric "medieval dentistry" pick to your mouth. If they say there aren't other options, what the hell do you do? Hmmm... got a little off topic there.

2. In the time it took to write the first part, I completely forgot where this rant was going.

So, now that I've gone "finale of Greatest Show on Earth" on this post, I'm going to duck out.

Wit's end

Why haven't I written on this blog in 2 weeks? Because nothing has happened. I've put words on digital paper, but nothing stuck. When it doesn't stick, it really stinks. Or when it won't get stuck, it must suck. At least my rhyming hasn't followed my wit into the cold, dead grave.

Allow me to sum up two weeks of my life.

My manager was very excited with my last script. Thus prompting him to take an active interest in my next script - always a plus.

So I sent him my idea.

"Not commercial enough."

I retuned my idea.

"Not commercial enough. Try sending all your ideas and we'll see which ones we can work with."

So I did exactly that. I sent 4 ideas I had been kicking around. "Not commercial enough x4"

And now my mind is in timeout triangle.

I've just been introduced to the nasty reality of this business that I always knew existed, but told myself I would overcome. The industry is all about marketability. Don't be deceived. The idea counts for 90% of your worth. The writing ability counts for 10. It's like taking a hard math test that pours acid on your brain only to come to the end and see the teacher has included "Bonus Questions!" You know all those months of outlining, writing, and revising? All that hard work and late nights? Sweating over each individual line of dialogue? It's all extra credit. A bonus. If the script is well-written, you've gone above and beyond. But the actual test consists of coming up with a winning idea.

And that's what this industry truly is about. Bouncer after bouncer. Guard after guard. What do they do? Turn away the ideas that won't fly. Writing ability is incidental. Agents, readers, development execs, and producers aren't on the hunt for great scripts. They're on the hunt for great ideas.

Now, what's a "great" idea? One that is guaranteed to make money. One that has a ready market. One that we have seen countless times, but this time it has a new twist.

And every time I think I've stumbled upon that great idea, it's either been done, or someone doesn't get it's true greatness.

And this is the real karate-chop to the nuts of writing for Hollywood. With books, concept to writing ratio of importance is usually about 50-50. For short stories? 30-70. Screenplays. 90-10. Writing ain't enough. Execution ain't enough. If the idea doesn't reach out of the logline, unzip their fly, and start sucking their cock, you're dead in the water. The precious card-stock cover will never get a bend.

This realization has turned my brain to mush as I try to find new twists on old ideas.

I know that most freshman writers say, "I have so many great ideas, I just don't have time to write all of them." Ummm... most likely. all of those ideas are garbage. I used to have a list of a dozen scripts I needed to write. None of them have been done. They've all been vetoed before they began.

They say that screenwriters need to learn to "kill their babies" - meaning the parts of your script you like the most are probably the ones that fit the least. I'm going to go a step sooner in the development process and say, "Abort your ideas." Change your way of thinking.

For the first time, as success is in the vicinity, I'm becoming disillusioned in the industry.

It's amazing how much I hate writing, but here we go again...

I am actually in the prewriting phase of my latest romantic comedy. And I hate the process so much. It wears on your mind. It destroys your self-confidence. It takes away months, years of your life. Writing is brutal. Don't get me wrong, I love having completed a screenplay. I get a rush just from the dream that I might be able to make a meager living at this in the near future. But for the time being, it's an excruciating, painful process.

And that's where this blog will get interesting.

Now that I'm beginning a script, it's the perfect time to write down my thoughts and strategies for all of the web to see (and to date, I don't think anyone's actually looked). If nothing else, it will be helpful for me to read through these posts and reminisce (which, by the way, is a word that I have never spelled correctly without the aid of a spell-check). Every script so far has had a different strategy attached to it. A different pathway towards success.

I came up with the idea for this romcom while doing a rewrite for my family comedy script. The timing was perfect so that I had to take a week long vacation for a wedding right between the two. I came back (1.5 weeks ago), and got started. So far, not much progress.

I know when I'm on the wrong track, and I definitely was with this. When I don't like the direction of a script, I suddenly develop acute ADD (I think they now put an "H" in there somewhere, but then I would have no idea what it stands for). I would stare at the last scene outlined on the whiteboard for hours. I would go play solitaire or watch an episode of South Park. I would do anything except write. It means I know something's very wrong with the script.

In this case, I kept feeling something was missing. There wasn't a big story to tie everything together. Nothing was building to a grand finale. But I think I had a breakthrough yesterday while waiting for a Smog Check (rip-off!).

It goes back to the ancient question - What is your script about? And that was what was missing. I had scenes. I had characters. I had everything that is needed in a trailer. But I didn't know what it was about. And then it hit me. "Directionless college grads." That was it! Like all my friends (and myself) who walk up to the stage, receive their English Diploma, or Communication Diploma, or Psychology Diploma and then say, "Great. Now what?"

It hits thousands of 20-something men and women every year. The dread of finally entering the real world. School is a train that you're placed on at the age of 6. Suddenly, at 22, it reaches the depot. Some people take the time to do nothing (Hi, I'm TJ!). Some people feel such anxiety that they run out and find the first job that presents itself. Others try to live dreams. Some run back to college to hide for 4 more years.

And that's what this script was truly about! It's an approach to the "Now what?" question.

Suddenly, the gaps were filled. The characters were fleshed out. The setup became clear.

But what is this vague screenplay characteristic that I had just uncovered? It's not theme. My theme is about entitlement. It's not premise. My premise is "the antics of buddies as they go apartment hunting."

What the hell is this? This grand unifier that makes everything else make total sense?

I'd call it "Foundation." And every script needs a solid foundation. "World" might be another word for it.

Bad scripts tend to have an amorphous quality to them. All the little quirks the characters have seem like sprinkling salt on cold soup. The reader just doesn't feel that these characters and this story is existing somewhere. Have you ever seen an action movie only to realize, "I think I've seen this before." The action's great. The characters have funny quips. But the entire thing is just unmemorable.

It's because the foundation/world hasn't been laid out. And once you pour the foundation, anything you build will ultimately be much more stable. Your characters will be more real. Your plot will have more of a point. The purpose will be there behind people's actions.

I feel I made a breakthrough yesterday. For the first time, I was able to breeze through a beat-sheet, filling in every space.

My script takes place in the anxious world of recent college grads. And it all makes much more sense.

And now, I need to hit the whiteboard. Let's see if this works.

Unless you're David Berkowitz, listen to the voice inside your head

I've been trying to plot out my new romantic comedy for more than a week now. You know you're in bad shape when you can't even get to the midpoint. I took piano lessons for several years and I learned that sometimes, you really need to just go as fast as you can and power through a song. Amazingly, I was surprised with how many f-ing Bach Inventions I could make it through just by going fast. When I slowed down to think about it, my fingers would go all finale to Greatest Show on Earth. Derailed.

So why haven't I tried to power through my latest pain in the ass? Part of me says I can do it. I'm fairly happy with the first act I've plotted out. I've done it before. Just sit down and start writing.

But I can't. A little voice in my head is saying, "Dude, you don't have a story yet!" And that little voice is right. I don't have much of a plot. I don't have much conflict or antagonizing force. There's no finale. There's practically nothing!

Can I power my way through all that? Certainly. But I would still have nothing at the end of the day.

The point is that my story does not yet exist. And there's only one way around it - create it. And by "create" I mean the pain-staking labor of staring at a white board for hours if not days. I mean having it consume all my thoughts. I mean the agony of sitting around the apartment watching my life click away as no writing gets done.

Stories don't create themselves. They don't just happen. You can't power your way through a concept and into a story.

I feel this is one of the reasons that many terrible scripts circulate this town every year. People ignore that little voice in their head that says, "It's not ready." Instead, they think, "I'm a writer! I'll let my characters invent the story as they go." Or they think, "I'm a writer! I can't just be sitting here doing nothing. I need to be productive!"

The end result is that they bang out a concept without a story. Their rewrites are attempts to graft a story onto their bare-bones concept. Finally, they have a bad script and they don't know why.

Don't be a light-weight on the prewriting. Throw all of your ideas into it and see which ones stick. Be honest with yourself on what the problems with your script are.

And don't worry, the first draft will still suck. There will still be plenty of exploring, rewriting, and unmanageable storylines.

Moron Meter/ Retard Richter

Hey, how about that? A post that doesn't have "shit" in the title. Talk about pigeon-holing myself into the lowest form of colorful language. Am I really so bereft of witty vocabulary that I have to shove "shit" into as many posts as possible. Ooooh, look out! TJ is edgy! He'll swear on an internet journal that nobody reads! Take that "The Man!"

Anyway, why am I adding to my blog today? Because I can't bring myself to write anything that might actually further my career. Meaning, the two ideas I've been fertilizing in my noggin have yet to sprout roots. But it's only recently that I figured out why I'm so desperate for procrastination.

Both ideas are romantic comedies, and both rely on common romcom techniques. Boy lies to Girl to get what he wants (A-story). But then Boy falls in love with Girl (B-story). Unfortunately, his attempts to secure his initial goal (A-story) have him trapped in a lie which, once exposed, will decimate his chances for love (B-story).

So what's the problem? Sounds like a totally standard, humorous romp through an unrealistic courting initiation, right?

But both ideas are setting off my Moron Meter.

One thing I HATE and one thing I swore I'd never do myself, is write a script that's moron dependent. Meaning, the only way for the plot to move forward is for the characters to make the DUMBEST choices ever. And why do these characters need to be morons? Because if they had any milligram (like the reference to the metric system?) of intelligence, the story would be over about 10 pages after the Act I Turning Point.

It's like the old horror setup. If the group stays together, there's no way the lumbering killer toting an axe can kill them all. Stay together and they can either over-power the killer, or find their way back to town unscathed. What do they do? The writer invents some moronic reason for everyone to split up, allowing the killer to pick them off one at a time. Moron Meter.

Think of most action dramas. Oh, your child's been abducted and will be killed unless you plant a bomb under the desk of the congressman you work for. Gee, what will you do? You'd better listen. Don't even think about going to the police. Or the FBI. Or the Secret Service. Or warn the Congressman of the situation. Maybe the character even tries to call the police, but the department is actually run by the bad guys. Hmmm... I guess EVERY department and branch of law enforcement is run by them too. I call BS! The only way for that plot to move forward is for everyone to be utter morons. Moron Meter ticking.

And then there's romantic comedy, my current bug-a-boo. How many romcoms have sustained a premise that could have been resolved with a 5-minute conversation? If the male and female lead would just sit down and talk it out, they'd reach an understanding. Love would sprout, and the audience would walk home with a little extra time on their hands.

Instead, they put off the conversation for as long as possible. Actually, until it's too late. When the moment of truth finally happens, she's mad, but after a witty line that references something that happened earlier, she wraps her arms around him and they kiss. Come on! He's been lying to you for the past 90 minutes! You can't trust him! This is no way to build a relationship! It will fail!

And yet, the audience wipes tears from their eyes.

You'll notice that many of the enduring romcoms have two characters who are totally honest with each other (When Harry met Sally, Annie Hall, Sleepless in Seattle). There are no shenanigans, no ulterior motives, no Moron Meter. Others, like Tootsie, manage to get away with a movie (and romance) based on lies and deceit. And yet, in Tootsie (a great movie, by the way), the romance is lacking. The female love interest ("Julie") is really a place-holder. Not someone whom the audience really attaches to or likes, other than out of a feeling of obligation. Why? Because we don't like people like Julie. She's setting herself up to be a victim. This guy has lied to her for months; she has no idea who he is! And she turns around and forgives him? Weak.

Meanwhile, we love Sally. We love Annie. Those are real characters. They walk off the screen. They aren't morons. And we know they've earned whatever love they might end up with. The point is that in those two movies at least, the romantic leads know and understand their counterparts. They fully comprehend each other's weaknesses and inadequacies, but they accept those flaws (except in Annie Hall where they don't) because of love. It's not a gimmicky romance. It's an honest one.

And that's where I'm at with these scripts. I can't figure out how to make them work without injecting an unhealthy dose of moron into my characters. There's no other way to string these concepts along for 90 pages unless the characters consistently make the stupid choice. And if I follow through on that, I sacrifice the realism and likability of my leads.

Your shit has more stink than you think

There is a common self-confidence strategy - the faulty comparison. Have you ever sat down in a classroom of really smart people who seem to know infinitely more about the topic at hand than you? What do you do? Find that one person who's more lost, more tentative, more idiotic, and latch onto them. "At least I'm not the dumbest person in here." It makes you feel, if not good, at least competent. Same when it comes to attractiveness, "At least I'm not the ugliest person here." Yeah, the more we look down, the higher we feel up.

Well (as I exit Analogy Land), it's also a common and accessible confidence strategy employed by us screenwriters. Bad movies are made by the shit-load (literally). And we watch those bad movies. We latch onto them. We say, "At least my script is better than _______." Or, probably more common, "If that piece of shit can get made, so can mine."

And there's the faulty comparison.

The truth is, us struggling writers are not competing with completed movies. That would be too simple; a competition that has only a few hundred movies for us to compare to. No, instead we're competing with the tens of thousands of screenplays circulating this town on a given year. Many of those scripts will utilize the EXACT same premise as our masterpiece. And all are 100% dependent on the writer's ability; there hasn't been a director, actor, editor or set-decorator that screwed things up yet. It's our script vs tens of thousands of other scripts. All fighting for the same, small "in development" pie.

But don't all screenwriting books, instructors, and agents say that 99.5% of what's out there is total crap? How many times have we heard, "And to this day, I'm surprised with how many writers don't have a clue about screenplay format"? Surely, this narrows the field in our favor. I mean, you own Final Draft, so the format is correct, right? You spell-checked everything, right? You went to college and have a basic idea of how to string together words into a coherent sentence, right? That alone should put you in the top .5%, right?

Here's a sad truth - anyone can write a screenplay. It ain't that hard. And guess what, many of them can write it well. They can string scenes together and come up with witty dialogue. They know the proper format and spacing. They use Final Draft or some equivalent program. They've gone on script-o-rama and read all of their favorite movies. These masses know how to write a screenplay.

So, yeah, GI Joe says "Knowing is half the battle" but it takes more than half a battle to sell a script.

Remember this - Your knowledge of screenwriting is NOT enough to get you through that Hollywood door.

The rest of the writing world is not clicking at keys randomly from their harness-restrained seat on the short bus. They've bought the books, they own the software, they go to the classes.

This was a hard lesson for me to learn. I grew up in a mid-sized city far from LA. I went to college in a school bereft of a film program. When I told people I wanted to be a screenwriter, the dream itself was enough to garner me a sliver of celebrity status. "Don't forget us when you're famous, TJ!"

I rode my friend's enthusiasm for some time. The pats on the back were frequent. The intrigue constant. As the only person I knew who wanted to write screenplays, I got it into my head that I was the only person who could. Once I moved to LA, all of Hollywood would feel the same way my friends felt. Doors would open.

And then I arrived.

After a year of no contracts, no contacts, and no credentials, I swallowed my pride and took a screenwriting course. Amateur! Bush-league! Was I gonna have to explain "INT" and "EXT" to these kids, or worse, adults in mid-life crisis mode? And who was this professor who had obviously failed at his attempts to become a writer, and was therefore now a teacher, "Those who can't do, teach"? The class was on writing romantic comedies (my most marketable script having been a romcom, I thought I could "touch it up"). And it slapped me in the face.

The first day, we went around the table and read our loglines aloud. 20 different romcoms, all on the same f-ing thing! Whether it was the marching band geek and the all-star jock falling in love or the grocery clerk and the business woman falling in love, all romantic comedies are identical! None of them stood out. No query letter could dress up these ideas enough. And the same was true of mine. Nothing special.

But, I had written mine. These other guys were just in the pre-writing phases. Once I brought my pages in, eyebrows would raise. The world would open.

Nope. My pages were met with a massive "ho-hum." Other students had pages ready that day. We read them aloud and each was better than mine.

I had submitted this script! I had pawned it off on coworkers who might have a connection! I bragged about this script to anyone who would listen! And, what do you know, it was utter shit! I was not special. I thought it was brilliant, I thought I was ahead of the curve, but I was buried in that 99.5% pile of crap.

But I learned something in that class. I learned more than any of those other students who worked to twist their storylines together. I learned what it takes to, at least momentarily, stand out.

Writing is not enough. Perfecting is essential.

First, you need a concept. Everyone knows this, but few people understand it. In that romcom class, almost everyone thought they found the perfect concept. Something that had never been done before. But (in the romcom world), it must be more than "Quirky Person A meets oppositely quirky Person B in this unusual, yet familiar situation." It must be bigger. More engaging. Something that makes an exec say, "Wow, that's an idea."

And you can't come up with it by comparing it to movies that are out there. Or else you'll simply take "When Harry Met Sally" and set it in a law firm. Oh, and let's make Harry a dentist, and Sally a British woman with stereotypically bad teeth and a fear of drills!

The idea needs to be something that nobody has ever seen before. It needs to flip the film-making world on its head while still obeying all natural story-telling conventions. Don't think outside the box, don't think in the box. Instead, sit on the edge of the box and look around.

And then, execute, execute, execute. Go Anne Boleyn on that script's ass! Words on paper aren't enough. It has to be perfect. The story needs to flow like dominoes in a riverbed after the dam bursts. The characters need to walk off the page and tell the reader, "God, I bet you wish you knew me in real life." And don't think that nobody will notice the problems that are pecking at the back of your mind. They'll stand out. They'll scream for attention from readers.

The point is, don't be lazy. Don't compare yourself to every piece of shit that floats around this industry. Compare yourself to the gems. And then beat them. Strive for perfection, and if you fall short, you'll at least land at "pretty damn good."

A house divided against itself... is hard to visualize.

My previous post berated the idea that it's beneficial to silence your inner critic and allow yourself to write crap. I've seen too many people try this method only to come to the erroneous conclusion that they could ONLY write crap.

But what's the solution?

Let's step into "Analogy Land" for a moment. Think of writing a screenplay like building a house. Any house needs a proper foundation. From a sturdy cement bed, you can build any number of stable, sexy, fun houses. But, if you decide to build your house on a pile of shit, well... nothing else is going to hold up.

That's why Act I is so damn important. That's why you need to go to the brink of perfectionist insanity in order to assure that the first pages of your screenplay are terrific. It's your foundation. It sets the tone for everything that comes after. If your protagonist is an "arch typical, apathetic, avatar" in Act I, he/ she's not going to be Captain Amazing in Act II. If your antagonist is a cardboard cliche in Act I, they're not going to be Lex Luthor 10 pages later. If your clock's not ticking, if your motivations aren't present, if your plot's not established, if your voice isn't present... IF IT SUCKS IN ACT I, IT WILL SUCK IN ACT II (and III)!

Those first pages don't have to be perfect (hell, every line you write will be rewritten by the end), but they do need to be a good starting point. You need to lay down everything you need laid down. Rewrite that act over and over and over.

When you finish with it, read it over. Write down everything that doesn't seem to work in it. Then figure out ways to fix it. Experiment. Try new scenes and approaches. Try getting rid of that buddy character whose only purpose is for exposition. Try making the girl the main character instead of the boy. Try opening with a voice over. Try a flashback. Try cutting all that and just starting at the beginning of the story. Try every possible way to approach this story that you want to tell so badly. And then try some more.

It's important, it's crucial, it's (insert thesaurus entry of synonyms for word "essential") to start out right. Build a foundation that can support your story. But make it good. Make it strong.

And then... (drumroll)... Allow yourself to write crap! You sweat over 20-30 pages so much, take a break for the other 60-90. Let your mind wander. See where the story goes. Write as much crap as you like. If it doesn't work, back up and do it again. Unleash your imagination.

What you'll find is that even your crap smells sweeter now. Characters who utter moronic lines at least do it in character now. Contrived plot points at least contribute to an overall plot. It will all fit together, perhaps not well, but it will fit.

The rewrite will still be a bitch, but you have the frame of the script from which to work. And now you'll see forward progress. Each draft will bring you closer to the end. You'll definitely have to rewrite the opening eventually, but it will be in order to make it fit with a kick-ass ending, as opposed to starting from nothing.

Allowing yourself to write nothing but crap is a lazy form of writing. It doesn't challenge your mind to think of better solutions to problems, "Hey, I'll just skim over that problem and fix it in the rewrite." In fact, it doesn't challenge your mind to think at all. Too many talented writers have been tricked into thinking they had no ability because they followed that obnoxious advice.

Why write crap when you can write awesomeness?

Would crap by any other name not still be shit?

There's an old writing teacher's mantra that goes something like, "You need to turn off your inner critic and allow yourself to write garbage." Every screenwriting book and every screenwriting instructor says some variant of that.

The logic is sound. We writers tend to tighten up. Nobody's watching, yet the pressure is on. "God, this line needs to be wittier!" We watch a movie like Juno and think to ourselves, "Waaaah! I'll never be that glib!" We beat ourselves up because our plots are going nowhere, our characters are apathetic avatars, and our wonderful wit is not on display.

Then in comes Mr./Mrs. Writing Teacher with their wonderful advice, "It's okay to write crap. Just get it on the page." So, we sit down an spew out whatever inane, contrived, convoluted crap we can. Our fingers become jointed turds, clicking away crappy line after crappy line. But "It's okay! I'LL FIX IT IN THE REWRITE!"

And then...

We finish. We have our little celebration and tell our friends that we just finished the first draft on our screenplay. Just need to polish it up and send it out. Sadly, this is where writing dreams die.

The writer who wrote crap (by their own allowance) suddenly realizes, "This script is shit!" Well... duh! Of course it is! What else did you expect?

The writer is left with three options:

1. Give up. "Yeah, I tried to be a writer once. But then I realized I didn't have any talent. Hahaha." Ah, sweet self-deprecation. This is the fate of probably 90% of people who ever considered having writing ambitions.

2. Put a scarf on the crap, sprinkle some perfume on it, and hope nobody notices. This option means the writers doesn't give up on the script. They'll add some witty lines and maybe give their character some clever backstory. They'll polish and nudge pieces into place. But on the whole? The script is still crap. And everyone knows it. But the writer has now spent several months polishing a turd, so they send it out to agencies and competitions. When the universal "It's shit!" comments come back, the writer defaults back to Option 1.

3. Page 1 Rewrite. Ugh. Does anything sound like it sucks more than that? Start again?! From scratch? Conjuring up the motivation for this option is not easy, although it's the only option that allows for forward momentum. It's starting again. Most people decide that a Page 1 Rewrite isn't necessary. Instead, they opt for Option 2 - scarf and perfume. And what happens if you allow yourself to write crap for the rewrite? Ummm... well, shit.


It's a bleak way of looking at it, but screenwriting is a bleak career choice. It's like being that guy (I'm too lazy to wikipedia his name, do it yourself) who has to push the boulder up the mountain only to have it roll back down again. Silly, Greeks.

That's why I don't adhere to the "Allow yourself to write garbage" theory. When you allow yourself to write crap, you end up with crap! And only established writers can sell crap. You and me? We gotta aim higher.

So much higher that I'll dedicate an entirely different blog post to it.

Wigs on Mannequins

One Christmas, many years ago, my mom gave each of her three boys an interesting present. She had been busy downloading music from the internet (in the days when such use was rampant and unpunished), and she found the song "Chopsticks." The famous ditty that anyone could play with two fingers. But she didn't just find piano versions. She found full orchestra versions. She found jazz versions. Mamba versions. So many artists took this simple tune and turned it into fun, full fledged art. My mom downloaded those songs and burned them onto a CD for each of us.

On the cover of the CD, she wrote, "Chopsticks - sometimes all we lack is the will to see it differently."

God damn, she's deep! I will never tire of repeating that phrase out loud or in my mind. It's really one of those phrases to live life by. It's also one of those phrases to think about as you write screenplays.

And that brings me to the topic - Wigs on Mannequins.

Cliches, stock characters, cardboard characters... they all stem from the same thing - we lack the will to see it differently. But sometimes we see that a change needs to be made, but we don't know how to do it. Then we try some tried and true methods and, wouldn't you know it, we have another cliche, stock character, etc...

Let's take a common stereotype from film days of yore - The Damsel in Distress.

Pretty much some hot girl whose only defense mechanism is the ability to stand still and shrilly scream as danger approaches. Thus, she has alerted some manly man to come and rescue her.

Well, that doesn't fly these days.

So writers have changed it up. Now, instead of a screaming, defenseless woman, they have the tough "don't take no shit from nobody" woman. Ooooh, she's in your face. If she gets mugged, she'll challenge her assailant to a drinking and arm-wrestling contest.

And now a new problem has developed. She's totally cardboard. Yeah, she's tough, but there's no personality behind it. There's no character foundation on which to build that toughness.

But screenwriters have a solution to that too. It's called backstory. Hmmm... let's wait for the action to die down a bit, and then she'll tell her partner why she acts so tough. She was very meek in high school, but then one day her father was showing the signs of a heartattack (dead parents are always gold for character development). She rushed him to the hospital, but he was a tough guy and didn't feel it was a big deal. She goes to the duty nurse, but she was too meek to get them to give her father priority. As a result, they wait for hours. By the time they see him, his heart muscle is too weak and he dies soon thereafter. Our heroine vows to never be meek again.

Yeaaah. Time for a tissue and a stiff drink.

That sucks. That's no reason for her to be tough. But this crap is what screenwriting books tell writers to look for. "Find that moment that made your character who he/she is." "Give us a compelling backstory."

A cardboard character with a backstory is a mannequin wearing a wig. Neither is taking one step forward. You can't dress your weak characters up in fancy stories from their past to make them appealing. That doesn't explain who a person/character is.

An event does not create a person. A life creates a person. And, just as accurately, a person creates their life.

"Hannibal Rising" took the greatest villain of all time (Hannibal Lecter) and handed him a justification for being a cannibalistic serial killer - he ate his sister to keep from starving during WWII. Booooo!! Lecter was a perfect character before! He didn't need his actions explained. He was just Hannibal f-ing Lecter. An evil, yet masterfully intelligent, psychopath! By giving him this melodramatic, only-in-Hollywood backstory, they castrated a wonderful character.

People are who they are. The best characters are created when writers realize that basic truth. Sure, a character can change, but they must change in the confines of who they are.

Let me give another example. In Boy Scouts, there was an adult named Steve. He was a character in himself. A man who was obsessed with safety, never willing to let a risk be taken within his eye-sight or ear-shot. Once, a joke was played on him at random (he had the misfortune of grabbing the wrong plate of food). Under his mashed potatoes was hidden a chicken foot. Yeah, great prank, right? He squealed and jumped from his seat. He went outside, hopped in his car, and drove away for several hours. Were we baffled! He came back and explained that when he was young, his grandmother cut the head off a chicken before his eyes. The headless chicken then ran after him spouting blood from its neck. He's had a fear of chicken ever since.

Okaaaay.

The thing to remember is that the chicken didn't make Steve who he was. Lots of people have seen headless chickens at a young age. They don't turn into Steves. It was because of who Steve is that this event became a significant moment in his childhood. Steve created the moment, the moment didn't create Steve.

So, the take home lesson from this is simple. A cardboard character is one who has no life. A mannequin. Simply slapping some backstory onto him/her might look nice and all, but it doesn't solve the problem. A character needs to be built up from the foundation. They are who they are. And it takes several drafts to find who they are. Quick fixes are no fixes at all.

So please please please don't have the heart-to-heart of elaborate backstory in an attempt to give depth to a character.

Now that I've done nothing but bitch and moan for this whole post, maybe I'll post some of my theories on creating real characters. Maybe later.

-TJ

A mind is a terrible thing to waste (but server space isn't)

I'm realistic about my screenwriting career. There's a good chance that five years from now, I'll have sold a couple scripts, had nothing go into production, and am finding difficulty making ends meet. What to do, what to do? I know! I'll write a book about screenwriting!

Gee, nobody ever came up with that solution before.

But who the hell wants to sit down and write an f-ing book? Wouldn't that time be better spent churning out more screenplays? After all, a book is several hundred text-filled pages. A screenplay? 20,000 words, max!

The solution is simple. I will fill up a blog with my views on screenwriting and, when I get desperate, I will transfer it all to book form. In, out, 90 seconds door-to-door!

And here I am. Adding my mental spew to the vast world of bandwidth. I have created a page that I will not advertise and I seriously doubt anyone will ever read. But it is mine. A place to store ideas. A place to waste time when I should be working on a script.

Pithy, this shall not be.

-TJ