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.