Tuesday Talkback: Idea file and abandoned premises

Monday night I pitched three premises to my writing group. None of them were full treatments. One had a rough beat sheet, one was basically a premise and a skeletal outline of structure and one was an Act One outline with only a vague idea of where the story would go from there. I'd guess at best, one of them might get developed further based on the feedback tonight, and the rest will join about 20 of his brothers and sisters in the "Idea File," where my pitches, concepts, and outlines go to die.

Just so we're clear, I have eight completed spec scripts to my name (three of which are collaborations). Three - MAYBE four - of those are ones that I consider solid enough to show to people, with another one currently in active rewrites.

This means that I actually follow through on about a third of the premises I come up with. I look down the list of abandoned premises, and about a third of those seem like ones I might be able to wring a marketable script out of if I invest enough time and get blessed enough by the Muses. And about a third of the ideas out there range from embarrassing to utterly, utterly stupid.

My dumbest idea: a drama-indie that revolved around a three-way love triangle between a Priest, a Nun and an Altar Boy. I won't say more than that because there's always a chance I can salvage it, but it's also one I know I could never seriously pitch unless I was down to my last idea.

So tell me, what's your ratio of "ideas gotten" to "scripts developed?" And if you feel like sharing, what's your dumbest idea in the idea file?

Visual grammar

Benjamin sent me a few questions that I admit I've found vexing:

Are you a fan of visual grammar, found in Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, Slumdog Millionaire?

A bit confused, I wrote back asking him to clarify what he meant by "visual grammar," to which he provided a PDF that also led me to this article online: http://www.unique-screenwriting.com/screenwriting_visual_grammar.html

Just as a side note, I'm always wary of gurus who invent rather complicated and intellectual-sounding nomenclature for common screenwriting terms, just so they can claim they've invented a new "method." I'm not gonna name names, but there's at least one popular guru whose work I find to be complete hogwash and counterintuitive unless you are adopting his method without any prior knowledge of screenwriting. (Compare that to the methods of the late Blake Synder, whose 15-point checklist is a great way for newbies to learn structure, and for more experienced writers to refine it. Mr. Synder communicated his method in a way that didn't require those who have read other screenwriting books to unlearn what they already knew.)

By the way, I'm not saying that this particular site I referenced above is one of those gurus - just that at times, some of the verbiage did remind me of the overintellectualized claptrap I've seen on the sites of other gurus who charge out the wazoo for their classes.

Getting back to the site at hand, it defines "Visual grammer" in part as:

I would say that its overall function is to do with creating an absolutely compelling world for the characters to live in.

It’s about using visual imagery to bring the world of the story alive to the audience.How a writer does this involves finding ways to make that world a vivid, palpable presence.

It can be evoking something as huge as an epic landscape or as tiny as the colour of a character’s tie.

It may be choosing whether a scene occurs at night or in daytime, dusk or first light. Describing the outside of a character’s home, or the contents of a fridge, where one word on the page says almost everything we need to know about a character.

Think of Alan Ball’s American Beauty where Annette Bening’s character wears gardening gloves and clogs that match. And how Kevin Spacey’s Lester Burnham’s rebellion against her immaculate homemaking by messing up her expensive couch tells us so much about his transformation.

Character, Story, Emotional Plot – are all being served here by the superb screenwriting. Visual grammar can be positively loaded with meaningful eloquence.

Put in those terms, yes, I absolutely agree with what the writer is saying, and it is something that writers often neglect, particularly in the early drafts. I think calling it "visual grammar" when discussing a writing technique is needlessly confusing because it made me think of the purple prose that screenwriters use when trying to be overly descriptive. Stuff like:

The tide rhythmically laps against the sandy shore, in a metronome of nature's beauty. Water. Sand. In. Out. White foam bubbles to the surface like the carbonation in a soda as the waves themselves erase small etchings in the sand that took it's artists hours to create in painstaking detail. Nature is indifferent - and yet beautiful at the same time. We marvel at how the tides compelled by a lunar relationship borne hundreds of thousands of miles away could directly impact the actions of those without even being aware of it.

zzzzzzzz.... what? Oh, sorry... I know that's a terrible example, but I got bored myself while I was typing it. If you've read a lot of scripts, you probably have seen the examples of purple prose I'm talking about. Avoid that crap like the plague. To me, it always reads like those 1000-word writing assignments that were given in school, and led the students to try to fill up the page by overwriting ever little bit of description, to the point of using every synonym in the book.

However, I'm very much in favor or writers finding a way to tell their story through visuals and small details that don't arise out of dialogue. The American Beauty reference is a good example of this, in part because they're as much about action as the visuals that we see.

It's not about writing long description, and it's not about writing about everything seen in every scene in exhaustive detail. Worry less about writing full paragraph descriptions of how your character's hair is parted, or what sort of socks they're wearing (unless it's important to the plot.) Make sure there's a reason for every visual you're given and that you're not just trying too hard to micromanage everything.

In other words, it's showing, not telling... and I'm always in favor of that.

I don't call it "visual grammar." I call it "visual storytelling."

Reader questions: Day 3

Robert asks:

What's your take on having v.o. in the opening image? Understand it's not being used as blatant exposition but rather to give a bit of backstory and set the tone. It's also the only v.o. in the script. I ask because it really works in the context of the script but there seems to be a universal rule out there to not to have v.o. in the opening image of a spec script.

Well, you earn a few points for it being used to set the tone more than exposition, but then you lose some by saying it's the only voiceover in the script. Though it is a bit funny that you say it's not for blatant exposition, but rather to give backstory. Backstory and exposition are virtually synonymous.

My feeling on this is that it always seems strange to me when a movie opens with voiceover and then doesn't revisit it at all over the course of the story. I'd need to see it in context to really evaluate this, but my question to you would be: Would the script suffer for removing it? Is it essential, or is it an indulgence?

If I open a script and the first thing I see is voiceover, I'm going to expect that particular character to remain as the narrator and that narration to be used throughout the script. Now if it's an omniscient narrator, then my "exposition alert" really will go off. I'm sure that people will point out professional examples of this - "War of the Worlds" comes to mind - but be cautioned that it can read awkwardly.

Scott queries:

A big fan of your blog, and I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions if you do not mind.

1) The generally accepted wisdom has been that if you want to make it as a feature film writer, you need to live in LA. Is that still true?

To get established as a Hollywood writer, you pretty much have to live here. If you're going to try to get your script in front of agents you're seeking representation with, or producers you're hoping to sell to, you'll need to be able to meet them face-to-face. Email and phone meetings won't be enough. The few instances of people being able to sell their script and still live in Peoria are the exception. Plus, even after you sell your first spec, you'll want to stay out here in order to take meetings for rewriting your work and other work-for-hire projects.

2) If you live overseas like I do, would you recommend moving to LA to get started, or is the economy so bad that I should wait until it picks up before moving?

The economy is so terrible that I'd advise anyone with a semi-stable lifestyle to sit tight and wait for it to pick up. The job market in LA is in terrible shape, both in and out of the industry, so it can be hard to find ways to support yourself. Since you're coming from abroad with presumably few contacts, I'd say that would be doubly true in your case.

If you somehow are able to either arrange a job situation before you move across the pond, or if you have a very understanding friend in LA who either needs a roommate or is amiable to letting you crash on his couch, then it MIGHT be feasible to move here. Might.

And before you move, make sure you've got enough money saved to support yourself for at least six to eight months without a job.

Noreen wrote:

Things I read on your blog and others have led me to conclude that male and female readers like different things. Duh!

Example, I read female readers don't like graphic sex scenes and they think the writer is creepy, then I read a male reader say the sex scenes are not graphic enough for him and pls pile on the explicit details.

Should I pander to a male or female reader?

I'm in a bind here because I've never heard of a male reader saying that the sex scenes aren't graphic. I have seen plenty of examples of readers - male and female - rolling their eyes and flat out laughing at sex scenes overwritten to the point of reading like a bad romance novel. Those are the kinds of passages that often provoke a reader to stop what they're doing, walk across the office and show the scene to their friends, saying "You've got to read this."

I've covered my own feelings on these sorts of scenes twice before.

As far as choosing which gender to pander to, that never even enters my mind as a writer. I don't think it's as easy as saying "Male readers like this, but women like this." Write in the least skeevy, least awkward way.

That's it for the questions, folks. Don't be shy about sending in more.

Tuesday Talkback: "Based on a True Story"

I saw THE BLIND SIDE this weekend, a movie based on the true story of a homeless teenager who gets taken in by a wealthy southern family and eventually becomes and All-American football player and first round draft pick after developing both his athletic and academic ability. It was a decent film, and certainly worthy of all the good reviews it has been getting. However, I get the sense that it's one of those movies that in three years I'll have completely forgotten.

Anyway, during the film there were a few moments here and there where I would occasionally - and involuntarily - think "I bet that scene is either made up or at least an embellishment." In fact, after the movie, I briefly considered looking up more about the real story and seeing if any of my guesses were right. Then I asked myself, "Does it really matter? Shouldn't the only question be 'Was it an entertaining movie?'"

There are no Oscars given out for "Best Movie Based on a True Story" or "Best Movie Most Like the Actual Events" that inspired it. If the only objective is to produce a well-made movie that's an engaging piece of drama, why should it make any difference if the story is faithfully adapted or made up out of whole cloth?

I see a lot of scripts - some interesting, many boring - that put "Based on a True Story" on the cover page. While I can see the merit in it, there are times when the concept is so dull, or so overused, that it seems like the "true story" hook is meant as a preemptive defense against criticisms of derivative plots or weak drama. Suppose the script in question is yet another story about a teacher who inspires inner city students to find their inner Whitmans. Let's say it hits every expected beat - with the added bonus of only tepid conflict between the main characters.

But when one tries to give the writer notes that would make the script more interesting and dramatic, or suggests changes to make the lead character more flawed and compelling - the writer resists, saying "That's not what happened in real life!"

Should we care? Is there anything that says one can't just change the names to divorce the story from the real people and then rewrite the story with abandon? It is that important for a story to be "based on a true story?"

I've felt that if the only hook your story has is that it's "true," then you're in trouble. Real life is often boring. Would sticking "Based on a true story" on top of, say, BRIDE WARS automatically make it a better script? And at the same time, is the only appeal of PIRATE RADIO that it's "based on a real story?"

That's why the yearly scandals about how the "true life" Best Picture nominee takes liberties with real life are so ridiculous. By the same token, if you enjoy a particular reality show, do you watch because you find the drama compelling, or because the show is "real?" If the former, would it really matter if something like THE HILLS is staged and scripted more tightly than your average sitcom?

So let me ask you this - does it matter to you if a movie is "true?" Would that fact alone get you into the theatre? If not, at what point does that fact become a selling point? If you wouldn't see the movie when it's total fiction, why would claiming fidelity to actual events make the story any more compelling?

And if any of that makes a difference, why is it that audiences care about such details?

Reader questions: Day 2 - Percentage of good scripts

I've got two questions that are basically asking the same thing. First, Trevor asked:

With what percentage of scripts is the quality of formatting and screenwriting craft sufficient enough that you can just settle in and review the story on its own merits?

Hard to say in terms of percentage, but I'd say that maybe at least 75% of the scripts I read fall into this category. There are a lot with formatting errors, but usually by ten pages I've accepted the formatting flaws and managed to commit to reading the story without getting angered anew on each page.

Then Grant wrote:

Out of all the scripts you read, what percent are: Great? Good? Mediocre? Bad?Downright Awful?

As far as "Professional submissions" (i.e. from agents, managers, other industry pros) the numbers break down like this, more or less:

Great - less than 5%
Good - maybe 20%
Mediocre - 50%
Bad - 20%
Awful - 5%

If you add slush pile submissions to this, the bad/awful percentages increase at the expense of Good/Great.

Things That Can F Themselves asked:

what do you think of devoting energy to bypass the script reader entirely? is it worthwhile?

see, i don't trust script readers, b/c i was one. i worked alongside them discussing the mostly horrible scripts we were forced to read, and i just didn't trust the taste of these young kids doing the reading (FYI i am also a young buck). more than recognizing what was bad, they didn't know what was actually GOOD. this isn't to say that my material is awesome, b/c it isn't (one day!), but some of what these kids actually liked, i thought was utter crap. you would think i'd view having them read my mediocre script be a good thing, lower standards and all, but i don't see it that way.

i just don't think most readers are qualified to judge what is or isn't good.so, mr. script reader, i ask you this: how do i avoid you? (not YOU you. you're cool) how do i get someone who's opinion is 'valid,' for lack of a better word, to read my stuff? should i stalk producers/writers/directors' assistants? bribe them with offers of free lunch and sexual favors? should i bother trying to avoid you?

If you have a way to submit directly to someone higher up than the reader, it's always valuable. Now, don't forget that unless you have a VERY close connection with that person, odds are that they will toss the script down the ladder to the reader so that they'll know it's worth their time to read it.

So in that case, I'd say that your most solid bet for doing an end run against a guy like me is to get a very personal connection with someone in power - someone indebted to you enough to take the time to read your submission personally. Those favors are hard to come by - people in power have many demands on their time, and many people clamoring for their attention.

My only real success with this has been by taking advantage of work connections. I've gotten development VPs for whom I have read to take the time to read my stuff, and I've gotten story editors who I came up with to look at my stuff. Agents tend to kick that stuff back down the ladder.

So is it worth your time? Well, it's always worth pursuing new contacts and new relationships. But, if you're sitting on a strong spec and it looks like you might have to wait a year or more for a particular executive to trust you enough to give your script a look-see, you might decide that it's worth the risk to submit your script to that company after about three months and then roll the dice that the reader likes it.

(My experience suggests that unless you're specifically invited otherwise, you should probably wait 4-6 months into the relationship before even THINKING about passing your script to someone at a company you work for.)

But as I said, if you see a chance to sneak one past a guy like me - take it. I'm not sure there's a clear strategy for doing so beyond just reading your contacts and knowing their sense of protocol.

Anyone have any success stories of getting past readers?

Tips from Kevin Smith and Wil Wheaton

Next week I'll resume answering reader questions, but today I'll limit myself to pointing you towards other useful corners of the internet, starting with a really interesting Kevin Smith interview at Ain't It Cool News. Below I've reprinted a rather interesting excerpt that I'm sure will give you all plenty to chew over.

"Everyone thinks there’s a hard, fast rule on what it is, what film is. And, there’s not. It’s something to everybody. That’s why you’ll meet people who are, like, "My favorite movie is JUWANNA MANN," and you just wanna be, like, "What the fuck?" But, guess what, he’s right, or she’s right. It’s so subjective. It’s, like, everything that surrounded them…I mean, that’s the thing…The cineasts, the chilly, cold cineasts just want you to ‘judge the work,’ but, it’s, like, you can’t just judge the work. Nobody just judges the work, man, like, you know, you’re informed…The reason JUWANNA MANN is your favorite movie is not because it’s a great film, but it’s because the night you saw it, man, was when you found out, like, this girl that you really liked did like you back. Or, omigod, that was when we found out we were pregnant, when we saw JUWANNA MANN. Or, omigod, my dog died that day, and then I saw JUWANNA MANN. It took my mind off it. And, plus, it was funny, and the popcorn was so fuckin’ good that night. And, I’ve never had a better blend of soda. So many factors go into it, dude. It’s ridiculous for people to be, like, "I’m going to divorce myself from all of these outside other things, and I’m just going to concentrate on the art."

"It doesn’t work like that. Moviegoing has never been that. And, all the staid critics in the world can’t turn it into that. It’s everything. It’s that fuckin' piece of shit that cut you off on the way in to the fuckin’ movie theater. It’s the fact that you had to park in the back row, and it was fuckin’ drizzling, and so you get in there wet, and you’re fat and you’re sweaty, like I do when you walk, ’cause you sweat when you fuckin’ breathe. And then you sit down. The fuckin’ trailers, you couldn’t even hear ‘em, looked like it was projected through a glass of milk, and you had to get up and tell the motherfuckers, "Would you fuckin’ project it right…or, the sounds not up." And, you sit down and finally watch the movie. And then, it washes over you. But, all this other stuff informs it as well.

"And, that’s the way it should be. Just judging the film itself, it’s like, why bother? Film is communication. It’s me talking to you. It’s the filmmaker talking to the audience."

And since I'm sure many of you are headed for some long car trips this weekend, may I suggest some fun podcasts? One of my favorite bloggers and all-around awesome guys, Wil Wheaton, recently wrote a book called Memories of the Future. The book humorously reviews the first thirteen episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, on which Wheaton appeared as Wesley Crusher.

To promote the book, Wheaton has spent the last three months recording weekly podcasts in which he performs excerpts from each entry. There are moments in these that are laugh-out-loud funny, particularly if you've ever seen any of the... shall we say... uneven episodes that formed the first season of TNG.

In addition to some ribbing of the show, Wheaton manages to sneak in a few writing tips. In the podcast for Lonely Among Us, he rails against overly expositional dialogue, humorously remarking that at times, the show fell into a pattern of just having characters enter a scene with no motivation beyond saying something for the audience's benefit... or as he puts it:

"Uh, I've got some exposition to drop off here. Could you sign for it? Where should I put it?"

There's also a great moment in the podcast for The Battle where he finally understands why his character was so hated for so long by many Trek fans.

I haven't actually read Memories of the Future yet (hint, hint for those looking for a stocking stuffer for me this holiday season) but in addition to the podcasts I have read Wheaton's TV Squad posts that essentially formed the first drafts of these entries. It's clear that the book itself is even more densely packed with jokes, and I'm sure it's well worth the read.

Happy Turkey Day, y'all.

"Two schmucks short" - Writing is a business

Let's be honest, folks. It's Thanksgiving week in Hollywood and anyone who lives here knows what that means - no one's working. Judging from the fewer hits and comments yesterday, fewer of you are reading blogs this week too. That being the case, I don't want to waste a good Tuesday Talkback on a lame duck week. Still I feel obligated to offer some amusing content. Having just come from a particularly hilarious meeting of my writer's group, I think I'll offer these words of wisdom from some very funny guys in their late 20s.

On this particular day, our lone female member brought a pitch to the group, then almost immediately apologized for it. She started to say that she knew it was lame and goofy, but it was right up the alley of a particular contact she'd made and she knew this was the kind of material that buyer went for. She thought this was stupid - but I disagreed and offered the following pearl of wisdom:

"Don't write from the heart, write for the wallet."

I admit, it's a bit crass and cynical and I'm sure that several readers who fancy themselves serious artists are ready to fire off an angry comment disagreeing with me. The fact remains that screenplays are written to be sold. I've said this before and it's true. Yes, it's possible to write a wonderful, meaningful script and get it produced with the right buyer but never forget the key word in that equation: "Buyer."

No one writes screenplays just to write screenplays. People write screenplays to make movies. To turn that particular caterpillar into a butterfly, you need money. That money doesn't appear out of the ether - it comes from people who see it as an investment, hoping for a return.

In other words, making an artistic statement with a screenplay is most feasible if you can make a few bucks on it. As another member of my group put it, "It's not 'selling out,' it's 'buying in.'"

I also offered the following thesis to the group: "All you need to sell a script is one schmuck to represent you and another schmuck to buy it."

Our unofficial chairman then made this statement: "Hell! I'm two schmucks short!"

Aren't we all?