500 Word Essay Contest

I got my start writing first person essays for local rags in the Bay Area. For you die hard screenwriters under the age of 30, a rag is a printed daily or weekly publication of negligible importance. But that's where you had to start back in the day. Before there were blogs and everybody was a writer in the time it takes to click "publish". Back then you had to work your way up from local to regional to national publications. Now you can go international in seconds. But - and there's a big but - nobody reads you or comes back for more if you can't write compellingly and entertainingly. So it's still a test of your writing mettle; bad bloggers don't have many visitors and die on the vine. It doesn't matter how great your blog design is, how flashy your graphics are - if ya cain't write, ya cain't write.

From time to time I ask Wavers to write haikus and short scenes. You know you love it, Wavers, you love writing exercises that test and stretch your writing skills. Now I'm going to challenge anyone who'd like to participate, to write a 500 word short essay about overcoming a difficult time in your life. 500 words. That's short. That's almost a flash-essay. But when you write for an editor, you have requirements and that's my requirement. A good essay must have a beginning, a middle, an end - a narrative arc and a point. It needs to wind up provocatively, pointedly or evocatively. It needs to, as we say, "land". Go out on a high note. Make 'em laugh. Make 'em cry. Make them see your point, in your voice.

The Wave-inatrix will be the sole judge and decider of the best 500 word essay and the prize shall be in the general area of a $25 gift certificate or equivalent free screenwriting book, etc. Not much. But it's something.

500 words. Overcoming a difficulty. Make it funny, make it sad, make it great. You have until Monday at 5pm pacific time to SUBMIT.

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You Know How I Know You're a Writer?

Last evening, the Wave-inatrix sat by a crackling chiminea (translation for non-Angelenos: cheap little pot belly outdoor fireplace thing) with my dear friend Margaux, sipped white wine and discussed the events of late that have made life challenging. Then our conversation, as it is wont to do, segued into writing. We talked about the television arm of things (Margaux's specialty) and the feature arm of things. We discussed that Margaux, as part of the Warner Brother's Television Fellowship, heard Aaron Sorkin speak the other day. We discussed which television shows are not great to spec right now. And after awhile, a silence returned to the patio because the shadow of recent events hangs over everything. The sound of crickets became apparent. No, really, we have a lot of crickets in the Fairfax area and on a warm evening, they join the chorus of urban life outside my window.

Back to the crackling chiminea on the patio. Breaking the silence, in a tiny voice, I said to Margaux - this might be weird and wrong but - and I shared with her an idea for a thriller that popped into my mind during and related to the trials and travails of late. Margaux loved the idea. We tested it for originality, we played with the antagonist. We beat out the story up to the midpoint and decided a killer midpoint must be brainstormed. Margaux, so very often the Wave-inatrix's go-to person for idea testing, is excited about this idea. And Wavers, it might be weird and it might be just ever so slightly wrong, but that's how you know you're a writer - even in the throes of things, your writer's mind is looking at it all from a slight, narrative distance. You might be too upset to write in the moment, but your writer's brain never rests. And that, dear Wavers, is my salvation right now. I'm already beginning an outline.

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Cool New Stuff

Estamos sí abiertos para el negocio. That means, yes, we are open for business at the Script Department. A Rouge Waver sweetly asked if it was okay to send a script and the answer is of course. Neither rain, nor sleet, nor broken brads, sinus headaches or family issues ever slow down the flow of services at the Script Department. But thank you for asking.

If the Wave-inatrix is excited about one thing, it is that the Script Departmentis announcing several pretty amazing things in the next week or so - we're launching a new website, we've added the services of Christopher Keane and PJ McIlvane, we have two managers who will be reading "consider" scripts at the Script Department and we have added a new, free table read service for writers either living in the Los Angeles area, or willing to come here for their read. This will all be announced more formally soon and I think Wavers will be blown away by the design and functionality of our new website, thanks to our incredible Aussie web designer and bon vivant, Michael Finley, who, incidentally, is the only one who can give the Wave-inatrix a hard time in that Aussie way of his, and get away with it. Just remember, Michael, the dingo definitely got the baby.

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The Evolution of a Writer

by PJ McIlvaine

I’m often asked about when I first knew that I wanted to become a writer. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, it’s like asking me when I first realized that my eyes were brown. Like most kids, I aspired to be different things: a nurse, a doctor, President of the United States. Deep down, though, I always knew that I was writer. Maybe other people didn’t see me as such, but I did.

I remember vividly the day I came home from grade school and learned from my tearful grandmother that JFK had been shot. I quickly banged out a newsletter informing my hungry readership (brother, grandparents and mother), of the shocking event. I felt awful, but strangely good, at the same time.

Later on, I graduated to short stories and novels. One short story of mine was eventually buried, thanks to my sixth grade teacher Mr. Bryant, in the cornerstone/time capsule of the district’s brand new elementary school. For the ceremony, I wore a cute lace mini dress and high heels, which I practiced walking in for weeks before the big dedication ceremony.
All that came crashing down on me when in seventh grade, I asked my English teacher to be my sponsor in a young author’s contest. He flat out refused and not very nicely, either. His reason? He refused to believe that I had written the story all by lonesome myself.
I was devastated. I didn’t write for several years afterwards.

Eventually I began writing again. Stories, essays, song lyrics, letters to the Editor. Mind you, this was before PC’s were, you know, PC. I went to college, became a columnist and staff writer for the college rag. I flirted, albeit briefly, with the idea of becoming lawyers after my grandparents were ripped off by a landlord. I even transferred to a college in New Hampshire that had a sterling criminal justice program.

I lasted one year. I couldn’t ignore the siren call of writing any longer. I sold a personal essay to the New York Times. I think I was paid the princely sum of fifty bucks. It could have been fifty cents. I was a bonafide, paid, published author!

I’ve been writing ever since. I’ve written through illness. Through pregnancies, labor, good jobs, bad jobs, funerals, kids screaming around me, kids throwing up on me, driving, baking, holidays.

Writing, at least my kind of writing, isn’t something I put in my lingerie drawer and take out on Saturday night. It’s ongoing. Evolving. Sometimes, (okay, a lot), I question my choices. If I had known in my twenties what I know now, would I have done things differently? Hell yes. I would have gone to California. I would have gotten a job in the entertainment industry and hopefully worked my up to Oscar. In an alternate universe, I could have been Diablo Cody. Or Susannah Grant. Or Tony Gilroy. All right, maybe not Tony Gilroy, at least not without a sex change.
However, if I had done that, I might not have had the life I had. Met the people I did. Loved the people I did. Did the things I did. Had my kids. I might have had somebody else’s kids. Maybe I wouldn’t have had kids at all. What kind of a writer would have that made me?

So now when somebody asks me when did I first realize that I wanted to be a writer…I say, very casually, oh, like yesterday. It saves me a lot of trouble and unnecessary operations.

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Don't Write Upset

Hello dear Wavers - I miss you. I miss writing the Rouge Wave every day even though there are days when it is a royal pain in the arse or I'm very busy. But I have learned something the past few days. I can't write when I'm seriously upset. I can't think straight, I lose my appetite, I am out of it when I walk down the street.

Being worried, upset, frightened or in grief seems to settle into my brain and short circuit the creative side. Maybe what is happening right now will later become fodder for a really beautiful script or story. In fact, I'm pretty certain of that. But not right now. Right now I can't think about anything other than what I am dealing with.

So I guess I wanted to ask Wavers - can you write when you're upset or distracted by major issues, losses or conflicts in your life? Does it take awhile to process and want to write or does being upset actually fuel you? Do you write long letters to yourself, or do you journal? Me, I have to just let it pass. Even if it seems like an eternity, like all writers I know that there's another chapter ahead, a new scene, a new beat - and I know I can get there.

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A Labor of Love

by Andrew Zinnes

To clean my keyboard or not clean my keyboard - that
is the question. On the one hand, my keys have this
grayish, brown-ish crust around them which I am not to
sure how it got there. I generally wash my hands
farily frequently and typically I am not prone to
digging holes in my back yard. Well there was that one
incident with a bag of money and a body...but that was
years ago! Perhaps there are the remains of all my bad
ideas - now slowly taking over my computer like a
virus. Maybe I need to disinfect them before they
pollute the potential gems living in silicon land. Not
to mention the reason for the constant cold I have had
this year.

But then again, maybe much like a baseball player who
never changes his hat during a season, I will screw up
my screenwriting mojo if I get out the Windex (or
whatever product won't kill my Mac). Perhaps the dirt
is a reminder of the hard work I've done. Perhaps it's
the literally blood, sweat and tears of trying to be
creative.

What to do? What to do? I leave it up to you to
decide...I want at least 20 of you out there to vote.
Clean the keyboard or let it ride. Consider this
practice for November.

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Guest Blog: Why I Skipped the Oscars

by Pete Considine

After weeks of worry and anticipation, last night was the night. The red carpet unfurled just as it always has and that little golden gigolo named Oscar went home with a handful of lucky nominees. However, unlike all the other good Rouge Wavers, I was not glued to my television set last night. Rather, like the rest of the movie industry that wasn't at the awards, I was at a meeting in a church basement, sipping coffee and listening to all kinds of hard luck tales of life on the bottle. Because let me tell you, folks – if there's one thing that can drive me to drink like no other, it's the Oscars.

I know the "official" position is to be happy for the winners and to try to learn something from their path to success, but sometimes that's just more goodwill than I can muster. Call me a Neanderthal if you must, but let's be honest – I'm not the only one who's had at least a fleeting thought of "Why them and not me?" I mean, we're just as talented, aren't we? Our ideas are just as good, aren't they? This has been a tough year on the ego for writers especially, what with the fantastic success of first-timer Diablo Cody. Not only was her first script actually produced, it turned into a box office smash AND it got her a freaking Oscar nomination! Sure, our more evolved selves can acknowledge that she might indeed have some talent with words and that there's nothing wrong with getting lucky now and then. But our other selves – the ones we hide from polite company, the ones that harbor our secret sour grapes – still think that we'd respect her more if she wasn't always described as "stripper-turned-scribe" in the press.

First, let me say this: envy is completely natural. Watching the Oscars, all we see are people who have everything we want: a produced screenplay, WGA membership, the adoration of millions, a fancy outfit, fame, wealth, the opportunity to pal around with the A List – they're living the Dream. But we can't dwell in envy, so as a friend says, we acknowledge and move on. The question remains: Why them and not us?

Well, like everything else in life, it's a mix of that which we can control and that which we can't. Check your writer's To Do list and see how many of the things you can control you're actively working on:

• Have you plundered your concepts to find the one that screams "YOU MUST MAKE ME!" and discarded all the rest?

• Have you completed at least one script from such a concept? Has it been written, rewritten and polished till it gleams like a diamond on Ms. Cody's million-dollar shoes?

• Are you risking rejection and putting your work out there? Are you entering contests? Are you sending brilliant query letters to well-researched production companies? Are you at least getting qualified feedback on your work?

• Are you giving thought to being the kind of person people want to be in business with? By that, I mean are you open to input, whether you agree with it or not? Are you a person of your word, delivering what you promise when you promise it?

• Have you looked deep within yourself and found that you have the right personality for the movie or television business? Are you sure that you can do all the things that will be asked of you as a professional screenwriter and do them with a smile?

All these things are completely within your control and any one of them can keep you from getting your shot at the Dream. But what about the infinite number of things we can't control?

For those things, we acknowledge and move on.

And drink heavily.

Pete Considine is a writer and photographer living in Hartford, Connecticut. Currently on hiatus from screenwriting, he's an occasional contributor to the Rouge Wave whose photos have been frequently selected for Pic of the Day. He can be reached at pete.considine@gmail.com.

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Fairy Tale Generator

So hello, happy Saturday, Wavers. I found something on Stumble Uponthis morning and thought it quite peculiar and entertaining. So check out this online Proppian Fairy Tale Generator. And if you're like me, you'll probably want to know what in the heck Proppian means. Consider your curiosity satisfied.

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The Business of Writing

By Margaux Froley Outhred

Yes, the Oscars are right around the corner, but the real looming thing I can’t get away from is my taxes.

This is the first year I am filing as “married”, and with that comes a strange re-thinking of my own status according to the IRS, the City of Los Angeles, and society at large. This week I have to figure out to file my Business Tax renewal. No, I don’t secretly run a candy factory in my kitchen or take-care of five toddlers in my living room, finally the City of LA caught up with all my years of using my writing as a business expense. It’s a strange predicament because, for all intents and purposes, I don’t get paid a whole lot as a writer. I make my real (read: W-2) living doing my day job, and do small writing gigs (read: 1099) to pad my meager wages, while writing as much as possible in my free time to prepare for my million dollar writing career. One day that writing will pay off, right? But, for now, all those years of claiming a piece of my rent in my cramped apartments as business expenses, my over-priced faxes sent from the nearest Kinko’s, my small ink cartridges for my rinky printer, are catching up with me. Los Angeles actually wants me to declare myself as a real business!

The first year I did my taxes myself, I went with “Bob”, the trusted industry assistant tax man who would set up shop in a nearby Kinko’s conference room, spend about 15 minutes with me, and somehow got me a substantial sum in return. Part of the magic about “Bob” would be that he tallied things like my Internet costs, movie tickets, magazine purchases, a percentage of my rent and utilities, and told me that they counted as part of my “business”. So, the vague business of Margaux Froley was built on Bob’s sage wisdom. Nevermind that multiple friends ended up getting audited from their tax years with Bob, I was busy building my “business”. And now, years later, somehow my dining room table, Arclight Cinemas membership, and sneaking to friend’s offices to use their fax machines are part of something I have to declare. Shit.

I don’t have a pile of representatives, residuals, or contracts that make up the business a real, well-paid, writer must deal with. And this isn’t one of those “Secret”-type of things where I need to embrace my career path and boldly declare, Yes, I am a writer! But, maybe the universe, as does the City of LA, deserve to know that this writing kick isn’t going away and I do spend the majority of my time and excess income supporting this meager business. I’ll have to report to the City exactly how much I make in my business, to which I expect the City to laugh in my face and move on to the next 1099-ing creative type. But, in the meantime, gathering receipts, estimating what percentage of my apartment I fill up with my writing, I’m learning how much my writing really is a business. Without my knowing it, this business, this dream, has become wrapped around everything I do.

When I write, even when I’m pacing the house, washing dishes while mulling over a character’s word choices, I try to stay in the creative zone. The zone where character’s talk to me, where new ideas spring into action, and when I’m lucky, where my fingers fly around the keyboard. When I’m in the zone, I don’t pick up my phone, turn on the TV, or check email; the creative zone is too precious to mess with. And my small business, it seems, follows that same logic. My writing, this business, is a huge part of my life, and no matter how much income I have to declare, it’s a business worth protecting. So, City of LA, I’ll register my business for 2008, face your judgment of how worth it I am to you, and happily go back to writing at my dining room table office, which makes up 20% of my apartment, I’m guesstimating.

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Guest Blog: PJ McIlvane

While Julie, our esteemed Rouge Waver founder and mentor, takes time off (hopefully not too much time, we need those writing exercises to sharpen our creativity), she asked me if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to post some of my musings, rants, ravings and otherwise general babbling nonsense on this great, frustrating, wonderful thing we call screenwriting and other related matters. After a half second ( I had to give it some thought), I nonchalantly answered, sure, no problem.

I think---I hope---that I know a thing or two about screenwriting. Which is to say, in the grand scheme of things, probably not that much at all? I’m still learning, still poking my way around.

So here goes. I’ve read dozens of scripts. No, make that hundreds. And each script was different. Yes, those scripts shared common denominators in that they all looked like scripts down to the two brads and the impeccable formatting and the card stock cover. I’m talking about the faux script, which resembles a screenplay in any other respect except where it really matters.

In the story, or, more precisely, in the voice. I freely admit that this is a topic dear to my heart. Julie and I have briefly discussed this, and I have no doubt that we will again. I blame IBM for this revolting development. Well, not really, but since the advent of the personal computer (and the widespread proliferation of screenwriting software), anyone with access to a keyboard can write a screenplay.

Sometimes this is a very good thing. Sometimes…not so good.

Look, we’ve all heard this old saw (or the Law of Probabilities, to put a scientific point on it) that eventually, if you put enough monkeys in front of enough typewriters and let them have at it, one day they will write Shakespeare. Or War in Peace. Or Stephen King. Take your pick.

Typing can be taught. Talent and voice cannot. We can become better writers, better articulators as it were, than when we started out, but I cling to the notion that if you don’t possess that inner spark, that nagging and infuriating creative muse whispering in your ear night and day, day and night, hounding you like a rabid dog, making you forsake family and friends to confront the devil on the blank page---you may be a transcriptionist, you could be a mimic, but truly, deep down, you’re not a writer.

My brother, God rest his soul, looked like Eric Clapton. And he played the guitar like Eric Clapton. His long hair hanging, the groupies swooning around him, my brother had the look of a rock star. He certainly had the excesses down pat. The one thing my brother lacked was talent. He could mimic Clapton’s guitar solo down to the last riff, but he had no natural talent of his own. This is not to say that my brother couldn’t have been the next great rock legend---other rock legends have become legends on a whole lot less---and he might have, through discipline and hard work, become a better guitar player. But original like Jimi Hendrix? No.

It’s what makes Eric Clapton who he is. And John Lennon, Janis Joplin and Pavarotti. And Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, Paul Newman, Humphrey Bogart, Daniel Day-Lewis, Billy Wilder, Tony Gilroy, Ron Bass, Akiva Goldsman, Diablo Cody…the list goes on.

We worry about the unnecessary things. Like how many brads to use. What about beats? Parathenticals? More’s and continued’s? How do I write a logline or a query letter? You might as well ask me how to get George Lucas to read your script. Heck, I’m still trying to get him to read my script.

Or should I say, my voice. Because that’s what it’s all about. What makes you unique, what makes you stand out from that pack of hungry wolves (i.e. writers), behind you at the gate, breathing down your neck.

I don’t want to write like anyone else. And you shouldn’t either. A producer or director can always get someone else. You don’t want them to get someone else. You want them to demand you.

Your voice. Your vision. Your sound.

There are many violin players. But there is only one Natalie MacMaster. That, boys and girls, is a devil worth fighting. Ask Stephen King.

PJ McIlvaine (aka Patricia McIlvaine in another galaxy) is the writer of the highly entertaining, critically acclaimed, Emmy nominated Showtime original movie MY HORRIBLE YEAR with Eric Stoltz, Mimi Rogers and Karen Allen, which many say (okay, PJ says) was the precursor of Kim Possible, Zoey 101, Miley Cyrus, High School Musical and Zombies in Toyland. PJ also has an indie holiday film THE TOWN THAT BANNED CHRISTMAS with Matt McCoy, Hunter Gomez, Jane Sibbett and Carol Alt currently awaiting distribution, hopefully for 2008. Her notes, wisdom, experience and humor are available through The Script Department.

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Rouge Wave Pinch Hitter

Hello Wavers. My good friend Bob Schultz of The Great American Pitch Fest is filling in for the Wave-inatrix today so we can keep good content on the Rouge Wave while I recover from and deal with my family emergency. God bless his cotton socks. So, here's Bob -


(WARNING: The following contains possible spoilers for “There Will Be Blood.” If you haven’t seen it yet, what are you waiting for? Go! Now! We’ll wait.)

It’s my choice for the best film of 2007, but Paul Thomas Anderson’s “There Will Be Blood” has only made around $31 million at the box office, far from a blockbuster. Yet somehow, the dialogue from Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) to poor, devastated Eli (Paul Dano) at the end of the movie has launched itself into the zeitgeist. T-shirts, websites, articles, and blogs have all been created to pay tribute to this line:

DANIEL PLAINVIEW
I drink your milkshake.

On the page, it doesn’t look like much. Taken on its own, who among us would rank it on the same level as “Live long and prosper,” or “Here’s looking at you, Kid,” or “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night?” Who among us at The Script Department would have given note on this script, seen this line, and written, “Amazing. This is going to blow up all over the place!”?

And yet it has.

On Super Tuesday, political supporters of all stripes were electrified, advocating for their candidates, getting out the word, pounding the pavement to get out the vote. As clichéd as it sounds, this was America at its best. Millions of people, proud believers of what they could accomplish, focusing on potentially the most important and historic time of their lives.

As the results started to roll in, with Senator Barack Obama winning and winning and winning again, an electric charge crackled through the hotel bar where I was watching results come in. The crowd kept getting louder and louder, more excited to hear about the latest upset victory. Then, from a horseshoe booth at the back of the room, lubricated by several beers, a man’s baritone boomed out:

“I drink your delegates, Hillary!” After a long sluuurping noise, he belted out, “I drink them up!”

The whole room – old, young, Republican, Democrat, you name it – burst out laughing, despite the fair (but not amazing) box office numbers.

Had I written that script, that moment would have been the zenith in my career. Regardless of box office success, overhearing my own dialogue quoted by a stranger would be the ultimate measuring stick of my success: My words affected people to such a degree that they spread into parts of the culture unrelated to my movie. In essence, like Plainview’s straw, Paul Thomas Anderson’s words reached all the way across the room and took over. DRAINAGE!

How about you? Would you be satisfied with modest success from the perspective of audience size, if it meant a place in the national lexicon? Would you be willing to trade the dream of box office treasure for a place in etymological history?

Bob Schultz is a screenwriter, and Executive Director of The Great American Pitchfest. Click hereto learn more about the Pitchfest or email Bob.

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Writing Quotes

Well my dear Wavers, the Wave-inatrix has had a grave family emergency and won't be able to post regularly for another few days. Prayers and good thoughts are very much appreciated. A lot of them. So for today, I found some quotes about writing that I really like:


It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.
-Robert Benchley

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.
-Ray Bradbury

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.
-Henry David Thoreau:

Writing is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to those who have none.
-Jules Renard

Never trust the teller; trust the tale
-D.H. Lawrence

Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say 'infinitely' when you mean 'very'; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite.
-C.S. Lewis

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Do You Need Ideas?

Here on the Rouge Wave, we do lots of things. We talk about why we write. And we get into lots of peripheral discussions and friendly disagreements. And we talk about how we write and we have helpful examples and some basic rules of execution. And sometimes the Wave-inatrix posts items of interest, things which can become the what we write.

So for today's Ripped From the Headlines, the Wave-inatrix tickles your imaginations with these alarming and/or interesting tidbits:

New interfaces for games use brain waves. All right. Is it just me or is this really freaking alarming?? Also - do we not think that the worry that eating cloned beef is bad for you, will in about twenty five years seem as ludicrous as believing the earth was flat? No, this isn't just me being funny, these two items ARE related - they ARE! Should the fact that some games are being developed which could use your brain waves scare us or is that ignorance? Is it fine? Is it innocuous? Is it the hook for your great new thriller script about a brain wave controlling, game playing dystopian future?

World's largest particle accelerator seeks to find "the god particle", or Higgs boson particle. Okay, I have it on good authority, people, that this accelerator could find the god particle or it could also tear open the space/time continuum and suck all of humanity into a giant black hole!! Good authority meaning I saw What the Bleep and have a loose understanding of super string theory and quantum physics and WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE in the time it takes those particles to zip around their 17-mile circuit! Or is this the topic of your next sci-fi thriller?

Third item of interest: why have about five people, independently mentioned Many Lives, Many Mastersto me? Could it be that reincarnation is coming back? Bada bump bump. Tish.
Yep, race to your local library, people, check out Audrey Rose and The Reincarnation of Peter Proud (which, according to Studio System, is in development with Scott Rudin at Paramount with David Fincher set to direct). Could reincarnation be the Next New Thing?

With these thought-provokers, the Wave-inatrix leaves you to enjoy this lovely President's Day, a day so meaningful and full of tradition for all of us. A day when we gather round and...notice the mail didn't come and get cranky. The Wave-inatrix is actually playing hooky and going to my favorite place in the world - Joshua Tree - to spend the day hiking in the desert. And while I'm doing so, I'm going to wonder if those Swiss engineers running that giant particle accelerator plan to like send a courtesy email to the world before they flip the switch so we can all have that last Creamsicle or Pinks hot dog before we disappear in a cosmic ink blot.

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It's That Time of Year. Are You Ready?

Yep, it's that time of year, Rouge Wavers - what in other places they call spring, here in Hollywood, we call Competition Season, complete with cherry blossoms, pollen, paper cuts and brads. And here, for your edification and inspiration, are a few deadlines for some of the top competitions coming your way:

The Blue Cat Screenwriting CompetitionDeadline: March 3rd.

The Austin Film Festival Screenwriting CompetitionDeadline: Early May 15th, Regular June 1

The Disney Fellowship Deadline: May 1 to June 23rd

Nicholl FellowshipDeadline: May 1st

If Rouge Wavers have any other competition they feel has some great prizes or opportunities, please send them my way. And The Script Department would like to offer Rouge Wavers a 10% discount on any service for a script you are aiming to enter in one of these competitions. We are also available to help, through the Writing Buddy program, write your logline and help fill out your application form.

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A True Story In One Sentence

Good weekend, Wavers - I know you're always up for a good writing challenge - we had describing your life in six words the other day, to which we had some quite entertaining responses. Of course, we had Wenonah plucked from relative obscurity and launched into the short film stratosphere by our short scene competition - and now, with absolutely no results guaranteed, I'm asking Wavers to write One Sentence- there's the link for your inspiration - one sentence that is a true story from your life. Submit on the linked site if you like, but if you would be so kind, share here as well:

I'll go first: I met him online and sixteen years of marriage unraveled like so much string.

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Why We Write

In my last post, about writing about the truth of things, the Wave-inatrix stated a belief that I hold - that we writers are wired a bit differently than other people. Our good friend Jake Hollywood had this to say:

****
Actually, I disagree with that statement. We don't feel these truths more deeply than other people. The difference between us and "other people" isn't that we feel more deeply. It's our willingness to rise above our pain, anguish, outrage, or happiness and tell these truths to others. We write because we can and do, not because others can't or won't. That's the only difference between "us" and "them." Not anything else.

****

Rouge Wavers know I love a good rejoinder. That's what makes a horse race. And surely, the question of whether writers are different is a provocative one. I base my feeling that writers are wired differently on a few things. Anecdotally, on the fact that I work with hundreds of writers and I see commonalities. And, as a former homeschooling parent and a person who has always been held in thrall by how the brain works, I have read and studied books like Emotional Intelligence, Blink, and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. And yes, yes, guilty as charged, I am a What the Bleep fan. I am fascinated by the workings of the brain and the way we create and interact with reality.

And I think it's been fairly well established that we don't all process things in the same way. Writers don't process things the same way musicians do. Or brick layers. Or presidents. We process sight, sound and emotion into memory, feeling, experience and truth - using nothing but words. No, I do not believe that writers are like other people. Let's face it - we're weird.

But another question arises - why do we write? Jake said something about a willingness. Is it that? Or is it vanity? Compulsion? Self-soothing and coping? Or is it academic and altruistic? A morbid fight against our own mortality? God knows it's all of those reasons and more, being that we humans are frightfully complex. But let me ask a really provocative question, and one that I seemed to be intimating in my last post - is it a responsibility? Maybe. Maybe not. But surely your writing won't pass the test of time if it isn't done with heart and with an effort to speak the truth.

So the Wave-inatrix wants to know - why do you write?

Postscript: Regarding the Bucket List post - to everyone who commented and who emailed me privately, I can't express how gratified and honored I am that my words meant something to you.

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The Bucket List & The Writer's Oath

So yesterday we talked about the primacy of love and how the best part is the anticipation - the yearning for it and how that needs to be built in to your script on every page so that we just - can't - hardly - wait to see the couple you know, be a couple. And stuff. Library scene in ATONEMENT. Oh my goodness, pass me some ice.

Today the Wave-inatrix thought we'd take a 180 - or is it? - and talk about death and dying. By rights, all Rouge Wavers should, in solidarity with all which is intelligent, clever and authentic, go throw a nice, ironic as hell bucket of paint on any billboard you see for the lamentably god-awful BUCKET LIST. A terribly trite, completely cliched, skin-deep look at what you'd do if you knew you were dying - and you were super rich!

Recently, I spent some time with a good friend whom I hadn't seen in awhile. I knew she had cancer, but I hadn't heard the update. You see what's coming. We're driving down Fairfax when she says, rather off-handedly, it's in my bones. Stage four. A silence engulfed the car - as if all possibility for conversation had been sucked out the window. I gripped the steering wheel and was suddenly keenly aware of the traffic, the pedestrians, anything but what was being said. She went on talking about her teenaged daughters, and how they're dealing with it, etc. And all the while, I struggled with the elephant in the putative room - how long? Finally, after five minutes, aka an eternity of wrestling with what's polite in this situation, what is caring versus what is prying, what is needed here...I asked. The doctors said two to three years - two years ago. Silence.

What struck me later - no, really, even in the moment, is how terribly difficult death is to talk about when you're really, truly lookin' right at it. It's not an abstract, it's not a bucket list, it's the friend sitting next to you, who looks tired and who's voice is a bit dry these days.

Now, there's absolutely no need for me to enumerate why and how THE BUCKET LIST was a symbolic bucket of chum filled with easy observations, simple conclusions and sitting on top of a pyramid in Egypt - no, that would be easy pickins. Like taking candy from that freaked out baby in POTEMPKIN.

But folks, if you're watching a movie about death - if you don't feel the wind sucked out of your chest while you're watching - if you don't feel the absolute emptiness and difficulty of facing it - then you're watching crap.

Now the question becomes, as writers, how do we talk about death in a meaningful, moving, very real way - if we haven't really been around it? Or maybe we have. But it's a landscape, that closely examined - we pull away from. Sure, death can be funny, we can always laugh at death as a coping mechanism - DEATH BECOMES HER, WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S, etc. ad fun-um.

But if you're writing a movie about death, in all seriousness, this is the time, above all, when the writer's oath must be absolutely hewn to: Above all, endeavor to write of truth. One of my favorite novellas about death - well, my absolute favorite novella about death, actually, is The Death of Ivan Illych by Leo Tolstoy.

And, just off the top of my not-enough-coffee head, here are a few movies that either were centered around the topic or which had scenes dealing with it that were very memorable to me:

ORDINARY PEOPLE
TERMS OF ENDEARMENT
THE HOURS
LOVE STORY
BEFORE NIGHT FALLS
THE DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY
FINDING NEVERLAND

The list could be much longer but again with the need for more coffee. See, the Wave-inatrix has to get up pretty early in the morning to greet the day for Rouge Wavers before moving on to the brass tacks of the day. Wavers probably have a mighty list of other movies dealing with death in ways great and small that were truthful and memorable. Feel free to list in comments.

Back to the car. With my friend. She's looking at the window, as we drive past The Silent Movie Theater and the flea market, scenes of LA life drifting by the window. I've lost a lot of friends, you know? She looked at me. It's not like in the movies, where everybody gathers around you. People are afraid to talk to me. I turned down the radio and took a deep breath. So - are you scared? And volumes of feelings came out of my friend, so relieved that somebody - anybody was willing to pry a little, to dig a little deeper, and find out more about how it feels to know you're going to die before your kids graduate from high school.

And it was a terribly difficult conversation to be a part of. And yet beautiful as well. Because she spoke of the truth of things. Of how it really, honest-to-god feels to know the clock is ticking such that last Christmas probably was the last one you'll ever see. Our conversation was sad, funny, touching and real. And when we parted ways, she held me and wept. And I went home and felt heavy as Davy Jones at the bottom of the sea. But I knew I had just experienced something really real that day. I had experienced something of the truth.

And that is why being a writer is so very hard on us, guys, because we feel these truths more deeply than other people. I truly believe that we are wired differently. But with that wiring, with that depth of feeling and observation combined with a deftness with words comes a responsibility - above all, endeavor to write of truth.

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Valentine's Day Short Scene UPDATE

Well, Wavers - our day has come. Check this out - today I received an email from a short film maker who reads the Rouge Wave and wants to be put into contact with LUVCELL writer Wenonah Wilms so he can review more of her work for a potential short film. How cool is that?

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Love Stinks. Doesn't It?

Romance paperback novels are the highest selling genre in the publishing world, hands down. Now, some of you Rouge Wavers may be fans of romance novels, so I’m going to check my snobbery and keep moving. Others may scoff at such trifle. Whatever. My point is that everybody loves a good love story – whether you’ll admit it or not.

Look, everybody knows that having babies is grueling, worrisome, expensive and generally a bad idea for your health – but we keep doing it, don’t we? And we keep falling in love or wishing we were. It’s built in. That’s why writers of romantic dramas or romantic comedies are smart. It’s a genre that simply will never, ever go away.

The important thing to remember about your narrative when writing romance – even if it’s the secondary narrative – is that the fuel which keeps romance burning is yearning. In THE PAINTED VEIL, we watch, we wait, we pine for the moment when Edward Norton will finally forgive Naomi Watts and just make sweet love to her already! Even in silly, funny JUNO, we wonder – will Juno get together with Paulie Bleeker? Does she love him? And in the end, as she...

***
SPOILER
***

...lies next to him, we know they’re 16 and it can’t last – but it is satisfying in a deeply primal way that there’s love in the room.

It’s like a song, you know? We have lyrics, melody, the bridge, the build up, the repeat, THE CHORUS – and man, when we get there, it’s just so beautiful. Humans are built to expect completion. We wait for the other shoe to drop. That’s why horror movies get us so damn wound up – she’s creeping, she’s creeping, she’s creeping – what is going to happen? Something has to! Pay off has to happen! That’s why some of us, myself included, felt a bit ripped off by the ending of NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN. I need closure, folks. I just do.

The fundamental formula of a good romance is that this couple really should be together – but they can’t. Circumstances, class, fate – something always stands in the way. And the question is – can this couple become a couple anyway? Even for a moment? The search for love, companionship and sex is hard-wired into each and every one of us and it drives us to procreate, to cheat, to murder, to travel great distances in our socks – anything for love.

So for you Rouge Wavers in the midst of writing a romantic script, whether that is central or just a subplot, don’t forget the magic ingredient – yearning. Play your reader and ultimately your audience like a violin. You know they want it.

Now go be nice to somebody today. Make St. Valentine proud.

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And the Award Goes To...

...Wenonah Wilms! For her short scene entitled LUVCELL. Wow, what a horse race that was, Wavers! That's the way it should be . All entries were fantastic, in my opinion, and I want to thank absolutely everybody who entered the competition and everyone for voting and just - oh, I'm getting farklempt - YOU LIKE ME YOU REALLY ME - I mean, you like Wenonah!

Ms. Wilms will be in receipt of a $25 gift certificate to 1-800-Flowers as well as a $25 gift certificate to the AMC Theaters. Congratulations, Wen - and thank you, everyone. And to all a good night.

Oh - and for your reading enjoyment, once more, here is LUVCELL:
(Wavers who would like to comment on why they chose this short scene as their favorite are most welcomed).

LUVCELL

EXT. STREETS OF LA - DAY

A man, HARLAN (30’s) stands on a busy street corner holding a
red cell phone in the air. He’s overdressed for the California weather but since he’s
being paid to wear the gigantic stuffed heart and red tights,
he suffers silently.

Across his chest, sash-like is a phone number 1-800-LUV-CELL

HARLAN
Today only, call your loved one
free of charge!

Nobody around to pay attention to him. His delivery lacks
verve, his heart’s not really into it.

HARLAN
Valentines Day special, free within
the continental --

MAN’S VOICE (O.C.)
Harlan?

Harlan turns around quickly, the styrofoam arrow that
protrudes from his costume narrowly misses JEFF, who stands
behind Harlan with a shit-eating grin.

JEFF
Whoa, take it easy there, Cupid.

Jeff gives Harlan the head to toe, the smile only grows.

HARLAN
Jeff? Long time no see, what brings
you down from the hills?

JEFF
I was actually driving through, had
to stop.

Jeff nods to an idling sports car, complete with blond
airhead in the passenger seat attending to her makeup.

HARLAN
Of course you did.

JEFF
Hey, shouldn’t you be on a picket
line somewhere, you know with the
other writers?

Harlan stares at him, there’s no love.

JEFF
There’s a strike, right? A writer’s
strike ... or did you finally give
up that crap? I always said that
was the stupidest --

HARLAN
Yeah, Jeff, I gotta get back to
work ... unless you’d care to call
someone. It’s free. You could call
your mom or maybe your friend over
there.

Harlan nods toward the blonde. Jeff turn to look at her, she
waves, he waves back.

JEFF
Don’t waste your minutes, buddy. I
don’t even know her name. Anyways,
good seeing you, man --

Jeff laughs and pats Harlan on the back, a bit too hard, the
phone flies out of his hand and cracks on the sidewalk. They
both stare at it for a long moment.

JEFF
I should go, lady needs some bonbons.

When Harlan looks up, Jeff is already in his car. Harlan
struggles to pick up the broken phone, he falls over and like
Humpty Dumpty, can get back up.

Harlan rolls over onto his back, a broken lonely heart on a
busy sidewalk.

HARLAN
I should write something.

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Steam Punk

As a huge fan of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy, the Wave-inatrix was quite partial to THE GOLDEN COMPASS. And to the art direction of the movie. When I read the books I did not as much envision the steampunkatmosphere, but the movie brought that to the fore beautifully. Who can forget the zeppelin that Lyra and Mrs. Coulter (Kidman) took to the North?

It got me to thinking about steampunk - a look, feel, style and narrative choice that has always enthralled me, from Jules Verne to Mark Twain to Terry Gilliam. I even bothered to do a little research. Steampunk is a sort of "retrofuturism" - the way the future was imagined a hundred years ago, when steam power was the main source of power and cogs, wheels, watches and springs were the primary mechanisms in a world that was rapidly industrializing. A sort of grimy, Victorian, soot-covered but very mechanical futuristic look, the influence of steampunk can be seen in movies like BRAZIL and BLADE RUNNER. As with any sub-subculture, steampunk has afficionados, addicts and anime. And so naturally, the Wave-inatrix wondered - are there any steampunk fans who read the Rouge Wave?

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Watching Over the Voting

Yeah. I'm here. Watching those votes roll in. I want to keep the focus on this competition so that we can really give these writers their due. To pass the time, I have a challenge - something I heard on NPR: describe your life in six words. I'll go first:

My Life in Six Words by Julie Gray

girl wonder insatiable pretender wrote bloomed

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Valentine's Day Short Scene FINALISTS

All righty, Rouge Wavers. Here we go. The Wave-inatrix received ever so many submissions and some were just so good that I couldn't resist - we have four finalists here, instead of the usual three. We're going to keep the voting period shorter than usual - the winner will be announced end of day Wednesday so they can use their 1-800-Flowers gift certificate to send some posies to the one they love on V-Day.

Remember the criteria, please: how cleverly did the writers incorporate the key words (verve, writers strike, 1-800), do the scenes have a beginning, middle and end? Is there tension in the narrative? How is the dialogue? Do the characters seem organic, i.e., believable, with back stories and flaws, wants and needs?

Vote away, on the sidebar to your right.


WHY WRITERS SHOULDN'T STRIKE

OVER BLACK:

The opening violin riff of "Bitter Sweet Symphony" by The
Verve plays, perhaps on a jukebox inside a dive bar...

EXT. 500 CLUB - NIGHT

VANESSA (20's), a hippy lawyer gal still in her day job
uniform, stands under a blinking neon martini sign.
A stoned BOUNCER studies her license. He laughs.

BOUNCER
Heh. You were born on Valentine's Day.

She grabs her license from him and opens the door.

VANESSA
A lot of good it's done me...

INT. 500 CLUB - NIGHT
Vanessa scans the dank, red-lit space. A guy sitting in
a booth waves at her with a bouquet of red roses.
She walks towards him, squeezing past aging HIPSTERS
dressed in threadbare T-shirts, hoodies and skinny jeans.
She sits down next to RYAN (30's). He has spiky hair and
wears a pressed collared shirt and geek glasses.

Ryan tries to kiss Vanessa on the lips, but makes do with
a cheek. He hands her a glass of red wine and holds up
his half-consumed bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

RYAN
To us.

CLINK! They toast and drink. But she's suspicious.

VANESSA
Since when is it us? You moved to LA.

RYAN
Can't do much damage down there right
now, the writer's strike and all...

He hands her the bouquet. She takes it, but a thorn
pricks her finger. She dabs at the blood with a napkin.

RYAN
What do you want for your birthday?

He fingers her soft, shiny hair. She tenses up.

VANESSA
I don't know. How about a bouquet of
sincerity? Or maybe a box of honesty?

RYAN
Oh, come on. Do you want that stuff? Or
an engagement ring? It's time, baby --

VANESSA
I'm not falling for this story again --

LATER
Vanessa and Ryan kiss, heatedly. Ryan's iPhone RINGS.
He takes the call. Vanessa motions towards the bathroom.

MINUTES LATER
Vanessa comes out of the bathroom, smiling. She stops.
The booth is empty and Ryan is nowhere to be seen.

A BARTENDER approaches her, a pained expression on his
face. He holds the bouquet of red roses.

VANESSA
He left.

BARTENDER
He had to go to LA, said something about
getting a call -- the strike being over,
his series being picked up -- and your
phone going straight to voice mail.

VANESSA
I turned it off, to be with him.

BARTENDER
Is there another number where he can
reach you tonight?

VANESSA
(recovers, smiles)
Yes! Yes there is.

He hands her a pen and a slip of paper. She scribbles,
then folds the paper and hands it to him.

She walks away, leaving behind the roses. The bartender
unfolds the paper and looks down.

It reads: 1-800-EAT-SHIT!

He smiles, Yeah! And walks towards the phone...

***

THE PITS

EXT. LA BREA TAR PITS - DAY

The sky is blue, the bright green grass blows back and forth
gently in the breeze and a plastic, permanently trapped
elephant family floats around in its pool of tar behind a
fence built for tourists to gaze upon the bubbly black goo.

On the hill near the pit, one JACK BILLINGS, 24, hunches
over his bottle of vodka. Jack is dashing and rugged with a
chiseled jaw and perfect eyebrows. Except not right now.
Right now he's weeping and disheveled.

JACK
Heeeeeeeey guys!

He waves at a group of teenager who giggle and point.

A woman, VERONICA LAWSON, 29 and wearing a business suit,
runs up and grabs Jack by the arm.

VERONICA
Jack. Jack, come with me. You need
to get home.

JACK
Heeeeeeeeey Ronnie!

He grabs her, but refuses to budge as she tugs unsuccessfully
at his arm.

JACK
She's gone, Ronnie! She left! Left!
Took her stuff and left! On
Valentine's Day! Do you know what I
had to do to get reservations at 33
on Valentine's Day?

VERONICA
You had to make a call?

JACK
I had to make a call!

A few tourists point and take pictures. Jack takes another
swig from his bottle.

JACK
She said I'm a jerk, Ronnnie! A
jerk! Me! I'm not a jerk! Am I a
jerk?

VERONICA
Well, I don't think you're dealing
well with the Oscar nomination.

Jack curls up into a ball, still gripping Veronica's arm.
She tries not to fall.

VERONICA
I mean no, of course you're not a
jerk. You're full or verve and energy
and you make people smile. And you're
very pretty.

He looks up at her, his face scrunched up and teary. A small
crowd has gathered. Flashbulbs shoot off left and right.
Veronica looks around nervously at them.

JACK
Then why did she leave me?

VERONICA
I don't know, honey. She's a bitch.

JACK
She's not a bitch!

VERONICA
Okay then. Maybe she is just taking
some time. Jack we need to get you
home before the Paparazzi writers-

JACK
Strike? They're like a cobra. Pssst!
Pssst!

He makes a motion with his hand of a snake attack aimed at
his head.

JACK
Tell them to call 1-800-who-gives-ashit.

VERONICA
I give a shit. And you will too
when this shows up in the tabloids
tomorrow. Come on, honey let me get
you home. Please?

She tries to pull him up again. This time he stumbles to
his feet, a death grip on her arm and still holding his vodka
bottle.

JACK
Want to go to dinner at 33 tonight?

VERONICA
Ask me again when you're sober.

They walk out of the park, Jack leaning on Veronica's
shoulder, ignoring the murmurs and flash bulbs that continue
behind them.

***

LUVCELL

EXT. STREETS OF LA - DAY

A man, HARLAN (30’s) stands on a busy street corner holding a
red cell phone in the air. He’s overdressed for the California weather but since he’s
being paid to wear the gigantic stuffed heart and red tights,
he suffers silently.

Across his chest, sash-like is a phone number 1-800-LUV-CELL

HARLAN
Today only, call your loved one
free of charge!

Nobody around to pay attention to him. His delivery lacks
verve, his heart’s not really into it.

HARLAN
Valentines Day special, free within
the continental --

MAN’S VOICE (O.C.)
Harlan?

Harlan turns around quickly, the styrofoam arrow that
protrudes from his costume narrowly misses JEFF, who stands
behind Harlan with a shit-eating grin.

JEFF
Whoa, take it easy there, Cupid.

Jeff gives Harlan the head to toe, the smile only grows.

HARLAN
Jeff? Long time no see, what brings
you down from the hills?

JEFF
I was actually driving through, had
to stop.

Jeff nods to an idling sports car, complete with blond
airhead in the passenger seat attending to her makeup.

HARLAN
Of course you did.

JEFF
Hey, shouldn’t you be on a picket
line somewhere, you know with the
other writers?

Harlan stares at him, there’s no love.

JEFF
There’s a strike, right? A writer’s
strike ... or did you finally give
up that crap? I always said that
was the stupidest --

HARLAN
Yeah, Jeff, I gotta get back to
work ... unless you’d care to call
someone. It’s free. You could call
your mom or maybe your friend over
there.

Harlan nods toward the blonde. Jeff turn to look at her, she
waves, he waves back.

JEFF
Don’t waste your minutes, buddy. I
don’t even know her name. Anyways,
good seeing you, man --

Jeff laughs and pats Harlan on the back, a bit too hard, the
phone flies out of his hand and cracks on the sidewalk. They
both stare at it for a long moment.

JEFF
I should go, lady needs some bonbons.

When Harlan looks up, Jeff is already in his car. Harlan
struggles to pick up the broken phone, he falls over and like
Humpty Dumpty, can get back up.

Harlan rolls over onto his back, a broken lonely heart on a
busy sidewalk.

HARLAN
I should write something.

***

ALTERNATOR

INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

JOE, beer belly held in by a stained red golf shirt, lounges
in a recliner watching a bowling match on T.V.

ANNOUNCER
(from T.V.)
Mark Writer’s strike in the third
frame really put this match out of
reach.

MARY, way out of Joe’s league, storms in the room.

MARY
I can’t believe you didn’t get it
fixed.

She jerks the phone out of its base.

JOE
Didn’t have time. Took me five
hours to get those damn flowers.

Mary grimaces at the grotesque vase of daisies and
sunflowers that sits on the table.

MARY
You know most ladies get Roses on
valentines!

JOE
Your right, most ladies do get
roses.

She glares at him.

MARY
What was the phone number for the
shop again?

JOE
It’s one of those One Eight hundred
numbers. I believe it was..

Mary dials as Joe tells her the number.

JOE
.. One, Eight, Zero, Zero, M-O-ES-
R-O-D.

Mary waits as the phone rings. A sultry voice answers.

SULTRY VOICE(O.S.)
You have reached Moe’s long hot
rod. How may I service you today?

Mary’s eyes widen. She slams the phone down.

MARY
You jerk.

Joe laughs.

MARY
What’s the real number?

JOE
Don’t know. You’ll have to look it
up.

She drags the phone book out from underneath a half eaten
box of chocolates. Looks through it. Redials.

MARY
(into phone)
Yeah.. Yeah.. When I turn the key
it just kinda makes a VerveVerve
sound. Yeah... A VerveVerveVerve.
Huh, okay... thanks.

She hangs up and sighs.

MARY
He says it probably needs a new
alternator.

JOE
How much that gonna cost?

MARY
Bout three hundred.

JOE
Damn, cars are just like women.

MARY
What’s that supposed to mean?

JOE
Need hundred’s of dollars and hours
of manual labor just to get a ride.

She huffs, then storms out of the room.

JOE
Happy valentines day.

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Interview: Chris Soth

At the Creative Screenwriting Expo last fall, The Wave-inatrix got to know Chris Soth, featured speaker, bon vivant and by all accounts, a brilliant fellow. He's agreed to a short interview for the Rouge Wave:

Rouge Wave: What exactly is this “million dollar screenplay” you talk about?

Chris Soth:

Ooh, Julie, why you gotta do me like that? Now I am all confused. Do you mean my website: MillionDollarScreenwriting.com? Or the screenplay I wrote for which some think the site is named? Or the BRILLIANT, LIFE-CHANGING course I offer through the book and DVD and the occasional live seminar (and now -- TELESEMINARS!!!) via that same http://www.milliondollarscreenwriting.com, the unsurpassed quality of which, along with its value is the REAL reason I call it MILLIONDOLLARSCREENWRITING.COM. That's MillionDollarScreenwriting in case you missed it.

Rouge Wave: Hold on, let me write that down, I didn't quite catch that...

Chris Soth:

(Sigh)

Rouge Wave: That is no way to get a cupcake, mister.

Chris Soth:

Moving on. If you're asking about the screenplay, this was a little something I called FIRESTORM, big old action-adventure movie in a forest fire, which I wrote as my thesis in the Graduate Screenwriting Program at The University of Southern California, which sold for $750,000 (I also got an "A"). ThreeQuarterMillionDollarScreenwriting.com was taken, so I rounded up, and have been teaching the USC techniques -- which I call "The Mini-Movie Method" -- that helped me write Firestorm ever since. Firestorm was later made into a movie imaginatively titled "Firestorm" and enjoyed a brief theatrical release and was on TV again the other day. No, you haven't seen it -- you are thinking of FireSTARTER, starring Drew Barrymore and based on a novel by Stephen King. No worries, everyone makes that mistake.

Rouge Wave: Guilty as charged. So if you're not Stephen King, you are....?

Chris Soth (rhymes with "both", No worries, everyone makes that mistake). WGA member since 1995, twice produced screenwriter, owner and proprietor of MillionDollarScreenwriting.com and the REVOLUTIONARY new website and service HollywoodByPhone.com -- helping aspiring screenwriters network with managers, Lit Agents, filmmakers, executives and producers, LIVE via conference call. There's nothing like it!

Rouge Wave: What is a mini-movie and what is so revolutionary about it?

Chris Soth:

A "Mini-Movie" is a segment of a film story that's 10-15 minutes long, based on the amount of film held on a reel. It's just WAY easier to divvy up your story into "reels" and never be more than 15 pages away from a major landmark event to guide you on your way. If it's good to have an Act One plot point and an Act Two plot point, isn't it, by simple math, FOUR TIMES as good to have eight such landmarks on your path from FADE IN to FADE OUT? Act Two is where screenplays go to DIE. 60 pages with no guidance? What if it weren't any harder to write any section of Act Two than it had been to write the segment before? It doesn't have to be!

Rouge Wave: Could you, uh, put that in another way?

Chris Soth:

(Sigh) Each reel is its own discreet chunk of the story, like the chapter in a novel. Like a little movie all its own.

Rouge Wave: Why is Julie Gray your favorite redhead and is it true you’ve actually gotten a cupcake?

Chris Soth:

Julie Gray has slipped down my list of favorite redheads, just behind Conan O'Brien, Bozo The Clown and yes, Judas Iscariot, due to promised but undelivered cupcakes. Countless times they were promised, WITH SPRINKLES, and yet, here I stand, cupcakeless. A man without a pastry. When does the lying stop, Julie Gray? If that IS your real name???!!!

Rouge Wave: Mmmaybe. Do you have any classes coming up?

Chris Soth:

Change the subject, why don't you? I'm flying to Chicago to teach a live seminar over President's Day Weekend, 2/16 and 17 -- email me for more information if you're nearby. I'm also deeply involved in a recently launched mentoring program and will be offering the Mini-Movie Method by teleseminar this coming June -- live on the phone and web, you can take from home anywhere in the world!

CHRIS SOTH is the founder of MillionDollarScreenwriting.com, screenwriter of FIRESTORM and the upcoming OUTRAGE. He is the author of the ebook "Million-Dollar Screenwriting: The Mini-Movie Method", available for download on his website. Chris is also the host of the interview conference call series HollywoodByPhone.com, providing access for screenwriters to Hollywood Managers, Lit Agents and more live via phone -- recorded on MP3 -- and all transcribed for your reading pleasure. He is also the producer and star of "SOLD! HOW I SET UP THREE PITCHES IN HOLLYWOOD." The Writer's Store Best-Selling DVD.

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Strike is Over

This just in from United Hollywood - an excerpted letter from Patrick Verrone of the WGAw:

Dear Fellow Members,

I am are pleased to inform you that this morning the WGA Negotiating Committee unanimously and unconditionally recommended the terms of the proposed 2008 MBA to the WGAW Board and WGAE Council. The Board and Council then voted unanimously to recommend the contract, and to submit it to the joint membership of WGAW and WGAE for ratification. The ratification vote will take place over the next few weeks by mail ballot and at a special membership meeting. You will receive ballot materials and a notice of informational meetings during the next week.

There is, however, another issue to address: whether to lift the restraining order, and end the strike, during the ratification process. We are asking the members to decide this issue. A vote will take place on Tuesday, February 12, 2008.

A yes vote means you are voting to end the strike immediately; a no vote means you are voting to continue the strike during the ratification process.

It has come to my attention that during the last few days, the link to the Writing Buddy Program has been out of order. The problem has been corrected so any Wavers interested in the WB program, just click on the link in the sidebar and you will be gratified within a few scant hours. The program has thus far been a huge success; several Rouge Wavers have voluntarily had their behinds kindly reminded of deadlines and had to supply proof of their work. We have had nothing but gratitude and accolades. So give it a shot if you're in need of some sweet, cupcake-y pressure to write.

In tomorrow's Rouge Wave: an interview with Chris Soth

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Valentine's Day Short Scene Competition

Short scene competition submissions are due Monday, February 11th, so click here to participate. The entries so far have been purty good so think big, Wavers!

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Four-Act Structure: The Ascendance

Ah - my own little Valentine...

Belzecue said...

Julie, I could kiss you on your cupcakes for giving four-act structure a shout-out. You've visited my site so you know what a four-act nutcase I am, and how keen I am to eighty-six the three-act model.

You know, Belz, I agree that the 3-act model is outdated and outmoded. In addition, I had a conversation with a manager a few months ago who quite candidly told me that he likes to see the first major plot point by page 20. Page 20?? So where did the first act go? It led to an interesting discussion of the relatively indisputable fact that our viewing habits have changed. Audiences want more giddy-up and go in their movies. Heck, you're asking them to spend two hours watching your movie - they can go watch something for 5 minutes on You Tube and be perfectly happy. Well, come on, it's not the same, that's quite an exaggeration. But there's a point in there somewhere.

Oh yes, - the point - the 3-act structure is outdated, I agree. I haven't used it for years. It straps you in to a slower set-up, an interminable second act and too many pages overall. The 4-act structure, in my experience, parses the material down just a bit and does away with the age-old struggle to FILL the middle of the movie with something interesting. Course, that points to a different problem altogether, and one that is pretty common in new writers - they're all idea (setup) and cool ending (third act) but don't have a story with legs strong or interesting enough to actually spend any time in-between.

In my mind, the 4-act structure is not complicated; in fact it's less complicated as long as you keep that midpoint smack dab in the middle, as a pivotal moment in your narrative, the good ol' point of no return as I think Vogler/Campbell calls it. Or is that the cave? God, that book messed with my mind for years. Stupid chalice. And with that shout out to lovely Belzecue and the 4-act structure, I leave you Wavers to enjoy your weekend mightily. I know I will.

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Review: Structure, Stakes & Conflict

A feature script is written in three acts and usually has about 100 pages. The three act structure of a script also includes certain points in the script when the story has some major complications or reversals for the main character. Very often, newbie scripts are linear in nature. That is to say that things happen and then more things happen and then we reach the end. There’s no tension – there’s nothing we wonder and worry about. Movies have to have something hanging in the balance – something wonderful that might not happen if the hero doesn’t get there on time OR something awful that might happen if the hero doesn’t get there on time.

Many writers (including myself) use the 4 act structure which goes something approximating this:

Act One pages 1 thru 25
Act Two pages 25 thu 50
Act Three pages 50 through 75
Act Four pages 75 through 100

One of the most fundamental tenets of drama is: stasis – change – stasis. That is to say that you establish the world of your script and then you throw something at that situation which rocks the boat. For example, here’s Jim Carrey and his lovely wife and he’s going to work but – why are people acting funny? Was that a camera following me? And we have THE TRUMAN SHOW. Another example: Here’s Roy Scheider and his lovely wife and kids and they move into this lovely seaside resort and A GIANT SHARK EATS SOMEONE. Now, in the case of JAWS when the “inciting incident” (that which rocks the boat) happens is artfully done first thing in the movie. Except that nobody saw it happen but you, the audience member. So a wonderful kind of tension is set in motion. Because we know that shark is out there but other people don’t. They still keep swimming. We’re biting our nails.

So the fundamental nature of a script is that we have conflict. How will your characters overcome a challenge? What is the “ticking clock” or time limit on overcoming that challenge? What will happen if they don’t succeed? These things are called stakes, obstacles and conflict and these are the things that create a narrative of escalating tension.

Stakes is what hangs in the balance if our hero doesn’t succeed. It’s established at the beginning of the movie and with each obstacle, the stakes become harder and harder to save. Conflict is what drives your story forward like an engine.

Now, in a three- act script, there are certain accepted points in the script when conflict rises and there are twists in the story. Those points are page 10, page 30, page 60 and page 90. Or, as you may have read, page 10 (the inciting incident) page 30 (the first plot point which leads us into the second act) page 60 (the midpoint; the middle of the second act) and page 90 (the second plot point before the big climax in the third act). See the slightly different page number indications above, in the 4-act structure.

Without conflict and without a ticking clock of some kind, your script will be totally dull. Movies are about conflict. Even if that conflict is funny. Things go wrong.

Imagine this: a friend says to you – you’ll never guess what happened today! I was headed to the grocery store and the traffic was really bad! O-kay. But try it a different way: I was headed to my wedding and the traffic was really bad! Now we are left with a pressing question: did you make it on time? Now we are interested in the outcome because something was at stake and it wasn’t the price of cantaloupe.

Stakes in your screenplay are about exciting outcomes. An outcome is not exciting unless either something bad might happen if it doesn’t work out or something really great will NOT happen. If there’s nothing at stake then we have an ordinary day in real life. Gee, hope I make it to the gym before they close. Yawn.

Real life is often quite pedestrian. But movies are about conflict. Without conflict, your script will be labeled “soft”, stamped with a PASS and tossed into the recycling bin. Verily, Rouge Wavers would be surprised how often newer writers just don’t have enough in the way of stakes in their scripts. Memorize this: movies are about conflict. Something always has to be at stake. What if the little animals in OVER THE HEDGE can’t get back to safety? Will Woody be reunited with the little boy who loves him in TOY STORY? Stakes are – tell me what happened? Did he make it? Did she find out? Did they catch the train on time?? They are why we sit in our seats until the credits roll. They are what happens in the end.

Stakes are the engine that drives your story forward toward its inevitable end. Stakes, conflicts and obstacles are always relative to the premise of your story and to your main character. The stakes, conflicts and obstacles present in PIRATES III are excitingly appropriate for that particular premise. The stakes and conflicts in FREAKY FRIDAY are relative to that premise. And BRIGADOON. And DISTURBIA.

In SOPHIE’S CHOICE, Sophie must choose between one of her two babies in a Nazi concentration camp. Stakes don’t get bigger than that. But stakes can be funny too: what is at stake for Derek Zoolander in ZOOLANDER? Only his life’s work, his identity and his ego. That’s pretty huge for Derek.

Stakes can be the end of the world, telling the person you love that you love them, saving a life, stopping a killer, restoring an important relationship, saving the nation from nuclear war. The size and scope, the bigness of the stakes in your story should be a relative match for the premise and your main character. It would be ludicrous if the stakes in DISTURBIA, for example, were the end of the world – that’s totally outside of the premise. And remember, if you execute your pages beautifully, that an old woman’s garden will wilt and die can be a huge set of stakes – for that character. Think about the genre. Are you writing an action picture? Okay the garden really isn’t going to work. But it worked beautifully (if campily) in SILENT RUNNING.

Do some homework; watch some of your favorite movies. Press the pause button in the early part of the movie and ask yourself what seems to be at stake for the main character. Is it clear to you what the main character’s goal is? Now watch for a while longer and pause again – what is the character’s flaw? What conflicts is the character facing? What will happen if he or she doesn’t reach their goal through whatever narrative is in motion?

Remember the fundamental tenet of drama: stasis – change – stasis. Movies ARE conflict. Nobody will pay nine dollars and sit still for two hours to watch a story in which nothing significant is at stake. Check your premise; it is right there, before you start writing pages, that you need to make sure you have stakes that will drive your story. How funny it was that time you and your buddies went to Vegas doesn’t sound that interesting. Unless you went there to kill yourself. Unless you went there to count cards. Unless you went there to steal a billion dollars from the casino vault. Those are stakes.

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Neologism-apalooza!

Who's there for you when you're at work and you're bored, Wavers? That's right, the Wave-inatrix is. So here's your lovin' spoonful of Mildly Interesting for this afternoon:


The Washington Post has just published the winning submissions to its
yearly neologism contest, in which readers are asked to supply
alternate meanings for common words.

The winners are:

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.

3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.

6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you
absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.

7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are
run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism (n.),(back by popular demand): The belief that, when you
die, your soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish
men.

17. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've
accidentally walked through a spider web.

The Washington Post's Style Invitational also asked readers to take any word
from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter,
and? supply a new definition.

Here are this year's winners:

1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright
ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortu n ately, shows little sign of
breaking down in the near future.

2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of
getting laid.

3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject
financially impotent for an indefinite period.

4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person
who doesn't get it.

6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.

8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

9. Karmageddon (n): its like, when everybody is sending off all these really
bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious
bummer.

10 Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming
only things that are good for you.

11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.

12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when
they come at you rapidly.

13. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your
bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

16. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the
fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:

17. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

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