While enjoyable to write, my last few blogs have been somewhat broad and sweeping (in that they were concerned with more top-level ideas and less with the boots-on-the-ground issues surrounding the filmmaking process). As a result, I thought that this time it would be fun to turn my attention to a more personal and specific topic as it relates to my own experience – writing a script! (I am aware that the title of this article somewhat spoiled that surprise, but such is the act of writing an article on the internet.) In this post I hope to cover some general advice and musings on the act of writing for the screen, with much pulled directly from my own experience with Forbidden Dish. While I am far from an expert on the topic, and would never purport to have unlocked some hidden secrets previously unknown to writer-kind, I do think that (especially for those just starting out, or even interesting in attempting to write a script) I might have come across a few words of wisdom. That, or you can laugh heartily as I stumble my way through a pseudo-intellectual jumble of nonsense. Either way, you have something to gain by reading on! So let’s get started…
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Okay, so while it is completely cliché and oft repeated (ad nauseum in some corners of the internet), I will begin with perhaps the simplest and most important piece of advice that I can give:
Just start.
I can’t tell you how many wonderful ideas I’ve had that have done little more than just sit on a shelf in my mind (or a folder on my computer) because I haven’t taken the initiative to just begin fleshing them out. As amazing and perfect as your idea (or germ of an idea) may be, it will never be anything more than that until you attempt to make it manifest on the page. That could be anything from making a list of potential characters/scenes/story beats/lines of dialogue to just jumping feet first into the screenplay itself. [Note: While never having worked on a novel myself, I imagine that much of this advice would be at least partially applicable.] The very act of starting to write down your ideas begins to give them shape. It begins carving down the metaphorical block of marble into something with definition and substance. Some vague concept of a story is great, but it does very little to help communicate the wondrous possibilities it contains to the world (or even yourself). And let’s be very clear here – you can’t even begin to share a story with the world without first understanding it yourself. Writing, in whichever form you choose to express it, is how you begin to do just that.
The other thing about this process, and the one less likely to make it onto a motivational poster, is the fact that it is scary. And hard. And a lot of what you come up with sucks. But that’s OKAY. Hell, it’s good. Knowing what doesn’t work, no matter how much time you’ve put into thinking about it, is integral to figuring out what does. Not only that, but seeing your ideas in context of each other helps to crystalize which of them really stand out. I can think of a great many scenes that just started in my head as “Character 1 talks to Character B and this is the result” with no real idea of what exactly they were going to say – just some vague inflection of how they might interact. That said, when I put finger to key (or phone, or pen to paper) the words just began spilling out. Sure, they were over-long, rife with misspellings, and in many cases ultimately not (at least in their entirety) what wound up in the final draft – but they existed. They could be critiqued, re-read, pondered on, improved, and any number of things that just can’t be done with a vague idea of an interaction. Hell, sometimes in the heat of writing I would come up with words that felt plucked from the mouth and mind of the (unfinished) character themselves. Beginning to write is wonderful for just the same reason as Forest Gump’s famous box of chocolates – you never know what you are going to get. And you never will until you start.
The First Draft
Much like the above, there comes a point when you have to decide that you are ready to begin in earnest – by attempting to get down the complete story from beginning to end. Provided you did any prep work (and didn’t just jump in from the rip), many of the same doubts will raise their heads again – What if it sucks? What if it’s too long? What if I can’t find a way to naturally string it together? Like before, you have to remind yourself that until you actually have something down, it is impossible to improve it. Believe me, despite the array of flaws that will littler your first full draft (and there will be so, so many), the feeling of pride and accomplishment you will feel is incredible. Knowing what you managed to do – that you finished the whole story and it now exists in some tangible form– will put you on cloud nine. Revel in this feeling and step away for a few days. You’ve earned it. Also, you’re going to need the distance for what comes next.
The First Reading
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “First reading? I wrote it! I read it again and again each and every day for [insert long time here]!”
Yes. You wrote it. Reading it while writing it isn’t reading it – its writing it. There is a big difference.
The main purpose of stepping away for a few days is so that when you return to your beautiful, precious work of art you can attempt to view it as entertainment. Try and read it for the pure enjoyment factor – don’t take notes, don’t try and fix mistakes, just read it. I promise you, the warts and errors and flaws (and lions and tigers and bears, on my!) will not just be apparent, they will leap off of the page and beat you with a bat. They will make you think, “My god. I can’t let anyone see this. It must be burned – that’s it, burned. Burned to hide my inadequacy from the world lest they find out how awful I really am.”
But these thoughts will be contrasted by the things you love – the moments and characters and scenes and lines that just jump off the page. Those glimpses of that perfect idea in your head peeking out like the sun from behind the clouds of imperfection that result from giving it form. It is these things, as well as the continued vision in your head, that will renew in you a sense of hope. This story isn’t broken, or damaged beyond repair – it merely needs work. Luckily for you, you’re just the person to do that work.
The Second Draft
Much like a fireman on a battleship in the thick of war, the second draft is all about damage control – just keep this ship above water. Fix spelling mistakes, re-write only the worst dialogue, cut those things that seem repetitive or unnecessary, add those that are necessary but aren’t present – in short, take the basic skeleton of the first draft and patch the major leaks. Make it passable. You can begin making notes for the more major things you want to change, or story-structure issues you want to address, but just keep them to the side for now. Once you’re satisfied that another person could at least read it without the distraction of major technical or tonal mistakes, walk away again.
Give it some more time and then re-read it again. Since your eyes should no longer be distracted by the metaphorical water pouring in, you will begin to see issues with the construction of the hull (“Who the hell puts a door there?”). You will no doubt make more and more notes about issues small and large that you want to address – this scene needs to be moved (or removed, or restructured), this character can be deleted or combined with another, this decision makes no sense, there are plot holes that distract from the story, etc. Do this a few times.
Draft 3, Draft 3 v2, Draft 4, Draft 4 v2, Draft 4 v3, Draft 5….
As you can no doubt tell from the heading, this next section of the process requires a great deal of “rinse and repeat.” Writing is re-writing, as they say, and screenwriting is no exception. Make changes to the script, both large and small, before walking away and re-reading. Use that opportunity to make more notes, and then re-write again. And on, and on, and on.
If you’re like me (and most writers, really), you’ll likely keep a large collection of each and every draft. This is done to both assure you that, no matter how many changes you make, you can always go back to where you were (you usually won’t want to) and to allow you easily un-do bad changes with a simple copy-paste. As nice as it would be if each of these subsequent drafts followed a simple and straightforward naming path (Draft 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, etc.) they likely won’t – you’ll make small changes and call it an update of an existing draft, or find some other reason to fall into a messy and unconventional naming structure. This is normal and as long as you can keep you own system straight (folders are your friend), there is no harm in it.
As this process wears on you’ll be surprised just how many changes your script will go through – usually resulting in a shorter and shorter document. The more fat that is cut from the story the more the uncut fat sticks out. While I do not subscribe to the notion that there is a “perfect length” that screenplays need to try and hit, it is true that shorter is usually better. The old adage of “one page equals one minute of screen time” is scarily accurate. That’s why, when I start getting really happy with the script (re: nearing the end of my solo reading and re-writing process) I make it a point to do an “everything but the kitchen sink” cut. Re-read the script one more time, word processor of choice open, and cut everything that isn’t nailed down. You can always add it back if you find the story lacking, but see how bare you can make it while not altering the actual structure. It is surprising how much can go without losing anything. You also need to do this because, once you’re done, it’s time to really do something scary: let others read it.
Sharing is Caring
At this point you probably find yourself feeling pretty content with what you’ve done (and you should be!). That said, you are but one person and can only see things from your own point of view. That’s great because it helped you craft a story only you could tell, but it makes it hard to notice certain design flaws or missing elements. Much like the colors missing on a dog’s spectrum, there are just some things that can only be learned by seeing them from another pair of eyes (or hearing them from someone who has them).
As a result, you need to let some else (a few someones if possible) read what you’ve created. These can be other writers, but they don’t have to be. As long as they are versed (or informed of) certain screenwriting phrases or techniques (like what a “beat” is), anyone can offer new insight into what you’ve written. Perhaps it is a gap in logic that has eluded you, or a scene they really feel needs to be seen or expanded upon. Sometimes it is a little as them pointing out – “Hey. That line of dialogue seems off. What if they said this instead?” – that might lead to you finding a new angle on a beloved character. It can often be easy to ignore these suggestions (you know better, after all – you wrote it!), particularly if they mean a lot of work or re-writing –, but it is imperative that you don’t. It costs nothing but time to take their advice to heart and at least give it a try. I have been pleasantly surprised on multiple occasions that a suggestion I initially fought ended up adding so much to final product.
Of course, don’t take this to mean that all suggestions and criticisms are created equal. They aren’t. (If someone tells you, for instance, that your movie about a killer shark would be better if it had less shark and was set in Las Vegas, feel free to nod and ignore them.) This is the place where you will need to use you best judgment to determine if, and to what degree, some piece of advice or complaint might be useful. Consider the source and listen to the stated reasons for why they feel that way. You can attempt to explain your logic (if you feel their issues arises from a misunderstanding – an issue in itself) but don’t try and convince someone they don’t feel the way they do. Not only are they are entitled to their opinions, but you won’t be there to personally convince each and every audience member who feels the same. After all, if one person feels this way, it’s likely others will too. None of this makes them right but, at the very least, it is worth looking in to. Long story short: Pride doesn’t make stories better, only worse.
Writing isn’t always writing
“What are you smoking now?” I hear you say. Okay, okay, let me explain. When most people picture writing (or re-writing) they all conjure the same image: someone sitting at a desk or a table in front of a laptop/typewriter/pad of paper/etc. While this isn’t wrong, it’s not right either. At least not totally.
You see, while some really amazing things can happen when your fingers are hitting the keys, I’ve found that most of my best ideas (or solutions to problems, or quippy lines of dialogue, or cool scenes) come to me when I’m nowhere near my preferred method of creation. Maybe I’m driving, or taking a walk, or lying in bed, or showering, or on the toilet, or eating dinner, or any number of completely normal and non-“writing” activities. Scenes and characters run through my head, sometimes only in the background, and come bursting forth like water from behind a dam when I least expect them (I always make sure to whip out my phone and take as many notes as I need).
Other times I make a dedicated point of going to the park to get some exercise and just let my mind mull over a problem. I’ve been astounded by the sheer quantity of times this has led to not only solving a problem, but to me coming home and immediately typing out a nearly completed scene. I wasn’t “writing” with my hands, but inside my head. And really, no matter who you are or how you write, that is where you are really doing it. Typing or drawing out the words merely helps you to remember them – to stick them in place, entrenched in reality. In a very real sense, I would argue that most of writing – almost all – takes place when you are not “writing.” This is a very freeing concept to hold on to, as long as you always have a phone (or notepad or just a good memory) handy to take advantage.
Misc. Advice
This section is home to a few oddball pieces of advice that didn’t really fit neatly with, or find their way into, any of the other sections. Bullet point list here we come!
- “Kill your darlings” isn’t just a famous phrase, it’s true. While this doesn’t mean that if you like it, it should go, it does mean that you shouldn’t be unwilling to cut something that is ultimately unnecessary just because you like it. Despite what you heart might be telling you, it doesn’t make the story better to keep it and the audience will never know it wasn’t there. Plus, as before, you can always add it back in later if you really find you can’t live without it.
- Don’t share too early. While it might sometimes be tempting to let people see very early drafts (to go ahead and start getting feedback), you only get one chance to make a first impression – so make it a good one. If they find themselves stumbling through rookie mistakes and errors, not only will your readers not enjoy themselves, their advice will likely revolve around fixing things that you yourself would have caught if given a few more passes. Clean it up before giving it out to ensure you get advice that you couldn’t have come up with on your own.
- Write something you love. While it might seem obvious, you really need to love the story you are writing. The sheer amount of time and effort required to get it to the level you want it is such that, if you don’t love it, you’ll find yourself hating it. While this could be useful for weeding out bad ideas, don’t force yourself to continue to work on something just because you’ve already got so much time invested (i.e. the Sunk Cost Fallacy). If your passion is gone it will show in the work and if the idea is good enough it will come back around to you.
- Don’t be afraid to let the characters (and story) lead you. While having a plan and beat list is wonderful, don’t let it become a cage. Feel free to write scenes that you’re pretty sure won’t make the final cut. If you find yourself going off-course from your pre-destined ending (or maybe you don’t even have one yet), feel free to journey forth into the unknown. Maybe you’ll find something amazing! And if you don’t? Toss it and start again – there is no punishment for trying.
- Read other scripts. Knowing what others have done not only expands your own knowledge base, it lets you see what you like and what you don’t. Maybe it will help unlock a structural or technical issue you are wrestling with or maybe you’ll just have a good time. In either case, directly or not, it will inform your own writing. Reading is learning and costs nothing but your time.
Fade to Black
The three words every screenwriter wants to type. Doing so provides both a great deal of relief, but also the assurance that much work yet remains. Don’t be discouraged by this, but rather embrace it. Each step in this process moves you closer and closer to bringing something that never existed, and has no form, into reality. You are limited by no more than you imagination when it comes to bringing the worlds inside your head to life. A Finished Script is better than a Late Draft, a Late Draft is better than an Early Draft, an Early Draft is better than a First Draft, a First Draft is better than an Outline, and Outline is better than a few Notes, and a few Notes are better than an Idea.
I once read that, to an author, the idea of a story is just as real as the finished product. From experience, I can attest to the truth of this. I can often see the world and characters in my head just as clear as if they were standing in front of me. But I can also attest to the fact that, to everyone else, an idea doesn’t exist – but a finished product does. Stories exist to be shared. Write yours so that you can share it with the world.
Chris
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Epilogue
Because I feel it is extremely relevant to the topic at hand, and because it is one of the single best pieces of advice I have ever read regarding writing of any kind, I have to post below a printed excerpt from a talk given by Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park fame. If you remember nothing else from this article, take their words to heart. They could not be truer and too many writers (even successful ones) haven’t learned this simple lesson. They are the foundation on which every story should be built. Enjoy:
6 March 2014, NYU, New York, USA
Trey Parker: Our whole South Park writer’s room, one whole wall is one of these. [White board]
And we’ve got it split up into three acts
Matt Stone: We have different colored markers just like here too.
Trey Parker: Yep. And I walk around with the markers just like this…
Matt Stone: We should do a show about our writer’s room
Trey Parker: Each individual scene has to work as a funny sketch. You don’t want one scene that’s just like, what was the point of that scene?
We found out this really simple rule that maybe you guys have all heard before, but it took us a long time to learn it.
We can take these beats, which are basically the beats of your outline, and if the words ‘and then’ belong between those beats, you’re fucked. Basically. You’ve got something pretty boring.
What should happen between every beat that you’ve written down, is either the word ‘therefore’ or ‘but’. So what I’m saying is that you come up with an idea, and it’s like ‘so this happens’ right? And then this happens,’ no no no no, It should be ‘this happens, and therefore this happens. But this happens, therefore this happens.’
Literally we’ll sometimes write it out to make sure we’re doing it.
We’ll have our beats, and we’ll say, ‘okay this happens, but then this happens’ and that effects this and that does to that, and that’s why you get a show that feels like this to that and this to that but this, here’s the complication, to that.
And there’s so many scripts that we read from new writers and things that we see…
Matt Stone: Fuck that I see movies, fuck man, you see movies where you’re just watching, and it’s like this happens and then this happens, and this happens — that’s when you’re in a movie and you’re going what the fuck am I watching this movie for?. It’s just like this happened, and then this happened, and then this happens — that’s not a movie. That’s not a story. Like Trey says it’s those two, ‘but’ ‘because’, ‘therefore’ that gives you the causation between each beat, and that’s a story.