Character Introductions and Voice

The very first time we see a character in your script is a fantastic opportunity for you to show us in descriptive words, WHO this character is. We need to know their age, yes, but we need to know something about the totality of this person. Now, in reality, people are layered and complex and one glance can't possibly telegraph everything about them, can it? And yet one can get a snapshot of a person based on their clothing and mannerisms.

Here's an amalgam of BAD character introductions that I have seen approximately 1.3 million times:

JOHN PATRICK is 43 years old and is wearing khaki pants with a blue shirt and a green tie. He is the president and CEO of a large industrial company and he is uptight and judgmental. His WIFE is 38 and has blonde, curly hair and green eyes. She is dressed in a sexy dress and she is bored with her life.

So - here we have a collection of descriptive words that don't add up to a feeling of who this couple is. They both just stand there like mannequins. We have a lot of information here - and information, by the way, that we cannot SEE (the president and CEO of a company) and dull details that do not paint a picture of the essence of these people. What does "bored with her life" look like? Why the specificity of khaki pants and a blue shirt? What does that convey, actually? That he's conservative? Maybe.

I once read a script years ago in which an African American couple debarks a plane on a tropical island. As they walk down the steps to the tarmac, the writer described their clothing: JOHN wears jeans with a white tee-shirt, tucked in and tan loafers. GINA wears a red floral dress with pink and purple flowers, white sandals and a floppy hat made of straw.

TERRIFIC. What. In the heck. Does this mean? Why do I care? How about they are wearing casual vacation clothes? I mean - what is the meaning here? That they look like they are on vacation? A laundry list of clothing or attributes is just that - a laundry list. It doesn't feel like anything. Don't ask me why that terrible description stuck with me. I have no explanation.

Remember that in screenwriting, your job is to describe people and things in such a way that the reader picks up what you are laying down about a character in the macro and in the micro. The details of their clothing generally doesn't matter - unless it MATTERS.

Here are five key character introductions from JUNO that just sing on the page because they tell a whole mini-story about each character in an engaging, clever and voice-filled way:

JUNO MACGUFF stands on a placid street in a nondescript subdivision, facing the curb. It's FALL. Juno is 16 years old, an artfully bedraggled burnout kid in a Catholic school uniform.

PAUL BLEEKER steps onto the front porch of his house for early morning track practice. Bleeker is a frail 16 year-old kid who looks 14. He wears a cross country uniform that reads "DANCING ELK CONDORS." He is eating some kind of microwaved snack gimmick.

We see BREN cutting up LIBERTY'S food diligently. She's wearing a football sweatshirt over a turtleneck, and sporting the classic Minnesota mom bouffant.

VANESSA opens the door. She's a pretty, meticulous woman in her early 30s. Very Banana Republic.

MARK LORING sits in the austere LIVING ROOM with a woman in a business suit. He is boyishly attractive and in his mid-30s. He rises immediately upon seeing Juno and Mac.

Do Wavers see how entertaining and yet information-specific these introductions are? Do Wavers see the specific word choices that Cody made in order to convey a feeling of each character? Their ages and what they are wearing is noted but equally as much the way they do things speaks VOLUMES.

Bren cuts up her younger daughter's food diligently. Not precisely. Not efficiently. Diligently. Writers are wordsmiths - which is why one of my biggest pet peeves is screenwriters who do not have a love of or facility with language. Diligent is different than precise. It's a subtle difference - well, not really - it's a shading. Diligence conveys duty while precision conveys efficiency. Diligence is a trait that connotes working hard and precision connotes control. Is Bren a controlling mother? Not in the least.

How much does: "...an artfully bedraggled burnout kid in a Catholic school uniform" convey about this main character? Not just bedraggled - artfully bedraggled. Not just artfully bedraggled but an artfully bedraggled burnout kid. Take away any one of these words and the picture shifts just slightly, doesn't it?

Or the detail that Bleeker "is eating some kind of microwaved snack gimmick." Not an apple. Not a muffin. A "microwaved snack gimmick." Which he is eating while standing on the porch.

Notice the fact that Mark Loring "rises immediately upon seeing Juno and Mac." He's polite. Or is he nervous?

I'm actually not the type who idolizes or mythologizes successful screenwriters, heaping them with super-human accolades - HOW did you THINK of that SCENE?? - but I know good writing when I see it. These character introductions of Cody's NAIL the characters; they are engaging and they smack of the tone and vibe of JUNO. I don't care who you are - Diablo Cody or Judy Henkstein from Nebraska - writing in an engaging, entertaining way is just good stuff and it's completely within your reach.

We talked yesterday about doing an action line pass on your script this week - seeking out and destroying various action line problems (too dense, too scattered, too detailed). How about this week at some point you go through your script, Wavers, and take a look at how you introduce your characters using the examples above as inspiration? If Cody can do it, you can do it. Lots of screenwriters can do it - it's not rocket science. It's having FUN when you introduce main characters. It's having FUN with the language you use. It's looking over your palette of word choices and choosing specific words to convey specific feelings. Which YOU and only YOU get to do. Because this is your story, Wavers. How do you want to tell it? How do you want me to feel when I read it?

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Focused Rewriting: Action Lines

You're doing it all the time. Rewriting your script. They say that writing IS rewriting and I think this is self-evident. This is why we must not judge ourselves so harshly. Your writing can always improve. In the early stages of writing your script, mostly you just want to get it down on paper. Just get those pages going.

Rewriting is a necessary, fun and challenging part of improving those pages.

But it's easy to go back over pages and tweak them to death with no actual goal in mind. You start off by thinking - I'll just make this better. In fact, going over previous pages from where you left off can sometimes be a time-wasting way to avoid not writing the new pages you need to write. I know when I sit down to write, even if I left off on page 42, I start back at page one and read/skim the previous pages and of course make a few changes here and there before returning to page 42 and making that turn into page 48. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. But imagine the efficiency of doing a focused rewrite pass.

How about this week Wavers collectively do an Action Line Rewrite Pass?

Start on page one and go through the script with a laser focus and look at every single action line paragraph:

Are your action lines written in the present continuous tense? Harold is walking, is sitting, is loading his gun - NO NO NO - rather, Harold walks, or he sits or he loads his gun. Action lines should be written in the present simple tense.

Are there ANY typos, misspells or homophones? (two, too, they're, their, your, you're)

Are there any DENSE blocks of action lines? Screw up your eyes and look at your pages. Any block-like patterns? Seek out and destroy them.

Are there scattered action lines that interrupt virtually every line of dialogue? Seek and destroy.

Are you action lines as pithy and efficient as possible? REALLY as efficient as possible?

Have you chosen evocative words that suit the mood, tone and genre of your script?

Are there widows (single words occupying one whole line)?

Are characters described briefly yet effectively?

Are there sounds in your script, which help make the read more cinematic?

Is there a minimum of "business" in your script?

Are there repeated words you've used? Is there too much alliteration?

Go ahead. Start on page one and ask yourself if your script has any of these problems within the action lines. And spend a day or two improving upon these issues. It's good for your script, it's great exercise for you as a writer and once you really, really GET how to write great action lines, you'll never have to worry about it again. But it takes practice and repetition. It really does.

You see, your script can and might have any number of problems ranging from global to specific - structure, theme, logic or character issues - but bad action lines really are the KISS OF DEATH. Because when your action lines suck, then it follows, in a reader's mind, that your whole script sucks. Because action lines are the plate upon which your whole script is served up. I read a script the other day with a GREAT core premise - really, really fascinating. But the action lines absolutely blew the concept out of the water because they were so bad. Don't let this happen to you. There's no excuse when you have resources all around you instructing you how to do it right.

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Writing is Rewriting

Forgive my absence today, Wavers. My writing partner and I are deep into a rewrite of a script set to go out to buyers after Sundance. We're having a lot of fun with it but it is time consuming.

The story of this psychological thriller is a long one. I came up with the idea probably five years ago, based on a newspaper article I read about a local man waiting for a heart donor. I was writing comedies at the time so I just wrote down one or two sentences about the idea and shelved it. I was just about to graduate from the two year program at The Writer's Boot Camp when one evening I mentioned the idea to some of my writer friends. They were completely excited about the idea. So I outlined it and then got in touch with the talented writer who is now my partner. He had written a number of psychological thriller novels and I knew he'd bring so much to the table. We wrote the script in just a few weeks and felt we had a strong draft. It didn't take us long to get a manager and we were off to the races. The script went out wide and we had a interest from some major players. One of which was a producer at Fox. We decided to work with that producer and we went into development, i.e., several weeks and months of rewrite after rewrite after rewrite. The script improved with every pass but over time, the producer got more interested in another, "hotter" script and we got bumped. So much for that. Months of our time. Down the drain. We were disappointed and yet we did have a better script for the experience. Except now the script had nowhere to go: too many eyes had already seen it. Into a drawer it went. For almost two years.

Until about a month ago when a friend of mine passed it to a producer known for hating every script he reads. Sort of a useless favor, I thought. Except - he liked it. And the rewrites were on - again. Tweak it this way - tweak it that way. No, no - too far. Bring it back. It's like trying to steer a ship into a dock. A very big, slow moving ship. Again, the script has benefitted but I kid you not, this is easily the 35th draft of the script since its inception almost five years ago.

It has been written and rewritten and rewritten again and reinvented and tweaked to make it scarier and more R-rated and less scary and more PG-13. But the bones of the story have always remained. It has been a lesson in taking notes and a lesson in executing those notes to the best of our understanding. There have been notes that we didn't agree with and that we stood our ground on. There have been notes that we hit ourselves on the head over because it hadn't occurred to us.

And now - we're back at it again. We did a draft about two weeks ago. Big changes. But not quite what the producer wanted. We made things too pointed in the first act. Then we did another draft, softening the first act and making the first act break BIGGER. We took our set pieces and added more "stuff." We tweaked the character arc of the protagonist. Which had a trickle down effect and forced changes in almost every scene of the script.

We've made changes with a chainsaw - losing entire scenes wholesale. We've made changes with a scalpel, tweaking single lines of dialogue toward a connotative meaning. We've used a sledgehammer on some of our set pieces - and a laser on others. Some drafts have clearly been better than others - other drafts have been six of one and a half dozen of another - it just depends on subjective tastes.

You can go crazy rewriting a script this many times. Seriously. It's tempting to get sloppy and lose sight of the fundamental DNA of the script that you originally envisioned. It has been an intense lesson in listening to, interpreting and enacting notes.

We've had to reconsider entire sequences and replace them with new material. We've had to repurpose sequences, moments and even single lines of dialogue. When you have this many drafts on file, you have almost a library of scenes and sequences to repurpose. The producer we're working with now has impeccable taste and I think (or hope) that the script is now in better shape than it ever has been to possibly - maybe - hopefully - get sold. The producer is a well respected heavy hitter and so it's going out to the big boys. We don't currently have rep but have already had a couple of offers. Know what? I don't feel like giving anyone a percentage of a sale, should we be so lucky. We've done all the heavy lifting and we have a good lawyer.

You know what has made this experience a good one for us and for those we have worked with? A willingness to bury our darlings, a sharp ear when interpreting notes and a resulting toolbox full of laser beams, chainsaws, sledgehammers and scalpels. But possibly most importantly, we have maintained a love of the fundamental story we wanted to tell. Even after all these drafts. We'll see what happens after Sundance. Maybe we'll finally make that homerun. Maybe not. But I'll tell you one thing - we're better writers for this experience. We've proven to be writers who are good to work with. We listen to notes carefully and we deliver drafts quickly. We're good in a room and we are totally focused on one thing and one thing only - writing a draft that is the best iteration of the story we wanted to tell.

Are you willing to take notes - over and over and over again on your script? To hack away scenes or sequences that you were really fond of? To totally reinvent, reimagine and repurpose them? To be totally flexible and yet totally focused on the essence of your story? And then to not even be sure that you'll ever earn a dime for any of it? It's a tall order.

Upon occasion I work with writers who are loathe to take notes, make changes or totally reimagine a scene, act or even a premise. To which I generally observe - silly preciousness will get you nowhere. Get limber, my friends. Get real limber. Do your writing yoga every day. Be willing to do anything to elevate your script to its highest creative potential.

You might as well. Writing IS rewriting.

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Directing the Eye of Your Reader

We all know that including directorial/camera instructions in your script is a big no-no. It's annoying, it's unprofessional, it's overstepping, it's pretentious and it's annoying. Yeah, I said annoying twice.* I'm talking about stuff like MOS (without sound), SMASH CUT, PAN TO, TRACKING SHOT, etc.

SMASH CUT TO:

*an anonymous Rouge Waver commenter once pointed out that I had used a word twice in a very ha-HA way. To which I responded, dude, I am a good writer. I never use a word twice unless I am being ironic or comedic. Every word I write is thought through. Because that's what writers do. Unless I'm too lazy, tired or hung-over to notice in which case, ha-HA away; nobody should drink 3 grape soda and vodka cocktails in a row and I know that now.

BACK TO SCENE:

Anywho, I get the impulse - we screenwriters see and hear the scenes we're writing. Aspiring screenwriters often do one of two things wrong: they either add camera directions as above, or they just - don't. They do something like:

WALT crosses to the sink and rinses his coffee cup. He notices the birds singing outside. Behind him, a drooling monster enters the kitchen and begins to pant hungrily. Walt turns and sees it.

Walt: Oh my god a drooling monster!!

B-O-R-I-N-G.

So the trick is, how do you guide the eye of the reader in your action lines without over or under serving the moment? How do you get that nice dun dun DUN moment in there?

Walt is the character whose point of view we are with, right? We are experiencing what he is experiencing. In the example above, the scene is written as if from a bird's eye view and it saps the scene of any tension. But try this:

WALT hums while he rinses his coffee cup in the sink. Outside, two robins chirp merrily at the bird feeder. Walt smiles when - another sound, one he doesn't recognize...it's not coming from outside. Slowly, Walt turns.

A DROOLING MONSTER is right behind him!

Walt rockets backwards onto his ass, spilling water all over himself.

Walt: My god! A drooling monster!

So we jump in later, we put Walt's attention on something else before he notices the monster, we create a nice dun dun DUN! moment when he sees the monster and we give him a sharp reaction to the sight of it.

Now that silly example might be really far from what you're writing but the concept applies to good scene work in any genre in any script.

Action lines are not just a droning narration, they are more akin to telling a story around a campfire. You know? Like in summer camp?

And THEN -

Everybody stares at you, the crackling of the fire the only sound as their respective marshmallows start to burn...

Behind her...

Your fellow campers can't stand it - what? What is behind her? I know you know what it is but TELL US!!

And it doesn't have to be scary, though I keep using those types of examples because I write psychological thrillers.

Let's crib that set piece from BRIDGET JONES I was talking about the other day. Without looking at the script, mind you, which was probably written differently than this but you'll still grok my point:

Darcy takes a swing at Cleaver. He goes down momentarily then rushes Darcy. The two struggle then tumble into -

A packed Greek restaurant!

Now, again, I actually don't know how that scene was written but you'll notice that the way I have done this here, the mere separation of the action lines gives the reader pause long enough to be pleasantly surprised. They don't see the Greek restaurant coming because you, simply using a line break, waited to show us that.

Another writer might have done this:

Darcy takes a swing at Cleaver. He goes down momentarily then rushes Darcy. The two struggle then tumble into a packed Greek restaurant.

You see how much more fun the first example is? But what I most commonly see from new screenwriters is this - the worst way to write this:

Darcy and Cleaver fight. Behind them, a Greek restaurant is open. They struggle their way into the restaurant.

I kid you not, I see that kind of writing all the time. Dull, dull, dull. You've told us everything from a bird's eye view and there's no fun to be had in the reading of that. YOU know there's a Greek restaurant and they're going to tumble into it but as the viewer (or reader) I only vaguely know there may be businesses on that street but I'm not really paying attention to what kind of businesses - I'm on the fight. That's the beat of the scene. The fight. But you, the writer, you're going to top the fight with the introduction of a new element - a packed restaurant.

Writing kinetic action lines is a variation of show don't tell but I prefer to think of it as an issue of pacing and where the eye is directed. What do you call attention to in order to then create some surprise on the page? A Greek restaurant! Wow! But if you tell me the restaurant is there in the first place, I already saw that moment coming and it sucks the fun out of getting there.

Using line breaks, hyphens, all-caps - these are all tiny little mechanical cheats to draw attention where you want it. In the Walt example, above, we put his attention (and yours) on the birds outside. That way the monster will be more surprising. In the Darcy/Cleaver scene, we want your attention on the fight itself. We save the Greek restaurant for the topper.

Now, before some smarty pants Rouge Waver sends me the BRIDGET scene and says SEE- Fielding did it thus and such way which was totally different from your example, let me say in advance, I don't care, I am making a very salient point here and I think we all get that. Or, I hope we do.*

SMASH CUT TO:

*Dear anonymous commenter, stuff it.

BACK TO SCENE:

Look at the rhythm and pacing of your action lines. Make sure you play out your scene in such a way that you are taking the reader by the nose and putting their attention where you want it so that I get maximum fun and entertainment out of not noticing the CREAM PIE about to be heaved into the character's face. Or the guy standing behind the door with an ax. Or the elevator door about to open on a crazy circus clown. Who has a cream pie.

Pacing and rhythm is fundamental to all entertaining writing - whether it's a blog post, short story, novel or script. I do it on the Rouge Wave all the time. Pretty much in every single post. Because otherwise this blog becomes information, information, information, information. And that is dull and you wouldn't come back for more, would you?

Now if you'll excuse me - DING! - huh, what's that? I pause in my blogging, I turn and -

A CRAZY CIRCUS CLOWN HEAVES A CREAM PIE IN MY FACE!

I wipe the cream from my eyes and it's then that I notice -

It's Anonymous Commenter!

Julie: Very funny, dude. Very funny.

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Diagnosing Your Script: The Charmin Effect

So I have read - oh gosh - a thousand scripts? Fifteen hundred? I have no idea anymore, I've stopped counting. These days I take it easy; I don't read all that much, maybe 3 to 4 scripts a week. And more than ever, I realize the value of having another pair of eyes on a script. What to me is obvious - a weak complication, two-dimensional character or front-loaded script - to you is a nagging mystery until I point it out. Because after spending so much time with one script, you can't see the forest for the trees. And I don't blame you.

The only thing I have that you don't have is perspective and a thousand scripts under my belt. I have not stared at your script day in and day out for six months. I have not lived with your characters. I am like a doctor. I sit your script down on the exam table and I look at what's there in the here and now. And it might hurt juuuust a little. Close your eyes if you don't like needles or a whack on the knee. But I always send my patients back home with a lollypop and a smile.

It takes a lot of courage to go to the doctor. We all want to get a clean bill of health. But people come to The Script Department because they have a weird itch, limp or rash and they don't know why. We all want to hear we're going to be fine and that there's nothing we have to change or worry about. We all want to hear that if we take the doctor's advice, we WILL win the marathon or gold medal. But the doctor can make no guarantees. Only diagnose and send you home with a prescription.

If I had to name the most common script problems I see, the problems I point out over and over and over each week, I would have to say The Charmin Effect.

DIAGNOSIS of the CHARMIN EFFECT
Soft character arcs, soft premise and soft structure.

What does "soft" mean, exactly? It means that there's too much subtlety in whichever element. As we are all aware, in real life, things are often complex and multi-layered and things almost never resolve neatly. Complications and reversals can land on us like a ton of bricks or they can accrete over time. In real life we muddle through our problems and we are quite good at not allowing anything to force us to change. Some of us literally never change.

In the movies, however, audiences crave resolution, for one thing, and they need to see things writ large. Now, of course there is a difference between character arc in a movie like THE SAVAGES and in a movie like THE MUMMY; you have to service your genre appropriately.

Soft premise, soft character and soft structure - these things are all related. It's all the same problem. Not going BIG enough. Put it another way: not enough going on in the premise to warrant a whole feature script, passive main character and complications and act breaks which don't move the story forward in a significant way. This all combines to create a boring script, or the BOSH script - bunch of stuff happens. Kiss of death, my friends. Flat line on the monitor.

CAUSE
A soft premise is the result of fear of conflict not really thinking the premise all the way through. Writers get stuck in their heads sometimes and tell a story which has mild emotional and usually autobiographical interest to them but not to anyone else. A woman inherits a house from her grandmother and learns that like her grandmother, she loves photography. Wha-? Movies are about conflict. Major conflict. Movies are uncomfortable and filled with tension. In real life most of us avoid conflict like the plague. But the movies are centered on it. Writing a script is a time to scrap being polite, proper or careful. Movies are conflict.

Newer writers are too easy on their characters because they model them too closely after themselves or people they know. But your character is not you or a friend - a character is a symbol that represents Jealousy, Power, Innocence, Betrayal, Justice or Heartbreak. Writers are often loathe to be too hard on their characters. They like them too much to give them a meaningful, active flaw. They start them out pretty nice and they wind up nicer. Characters must have an arc of change and they can't wind up changed if they started out pretty okay in the first place. Something has to be majorly amiss in your character on page one. Not a little amiss like they are shy and want a date. That's boring. We all want a date. Go. Bigger.

Soft structure is bound, hand and foot to soft premise and soft character arcs. You cannot separate these three elements. If you're too soft on your characters, the turning points and complications will be soft too. Your pages will just blur in to one another with nothing significant moving the story forward. And you wind up with a script with the consistency, color and flavor of oatmeal instead of a script with the consistency, color and flavor of paella.

THE CURE
Don't avoid conflict - seek it out. Take the gloves off. Don't be so polite and so careful. Writing is a down and dirty occupation and don't let anybody tell you any different.

Write down your premise line. Do you have an antagonist? A crux of CONFLICT, major turning points and a big sacrifice or choice the main character will have to make? Stare at your premise line. Is it going to get anyone outside your immediate family excited? Does it have a hook and a unique concept?

It takes courage to Go Big in your script. Writers are afraid to really think bigger and sometimes they are too lazy to do the work. That's right, I said it. Too lazy. Where is the backstory for your character? Where is the outline for your script? Where is the killer logline that you should have worked out before you started writing the script? Laziness, timidity and a loathing to really put your characters through the wringer is the reason that the word "soft" would apply to so many scripts.

I know most writers don't have the access to read a thousand scripts in order to gain the perspective that lends a person. But you have the Rouge Wave and a million other resources. Ask yourself if you're really writing about conflict, change and catharsis. Not kind of - but truly.

Watch movies that are in any way similar to your script idea. Push the pause button when you think you spot a major complication. Look at the timer on your dvd player - notice that it's right about 10, 25 and 50 minutes into the movie that these things happen? Gain some cajones, Wavers - are you writing about conflict or are you writing about CONFLICT? Are you being too easy on your main character? Is your premise SERIOUSLY worth several million dollars to make? Who would the audience be for this movie? You and your family? Or millions of people all around the world?

Writers who are unafraid to really go there - whether in the premise and in the execution or whether that means going to the doctor to find out how they did - are writers who have a million times more chance of actually having a writing career than a writer who is stuck in his or her head, too timid and too vacuum-sealed to get outside perspective and to push their characters harder and further than they thought possible - or nice - or convenient.

It's up to you whether you take the cure. We are not all getting in shape for a sprint here, that's the good news. This is a marathon. So you've made some mistakes. So what. It's never too late to get it together so you can really compete with the thousands of scripts that flood into Hollywood every single day.

Bigger, better, faster, more. It's the way of the movies.

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The Awful Truth

Do you ever do that thing - you're at a party or otherwise loud location and someone you don't really know very well is earnestly telling you something and you're listening - or really trying to, in order to be polite and possibly catch something interesting or useful in the conversation...but you can't quite hear the person and aren't quite following what they are saying? So you nod politely at what seem like appropriate moments and when the conversation is over, pray that you are never put on the spot about what that conversation was just about?

You know that feeling? And while you're listening to this person you are desperately looking for a way OUT of the conversation but also making bullet points in your head about what they are saying: soccer...fishing trip...daughter (oh damn, was that son?)...some law firm...some type of law...

We all do it. We learn to half-listen because we'd rather be somewhere else. And we learn to fake our way through those obligatory conversations in case there's a pop quiz.

But - does it ever happen to YOU? Are you ever the person earnestly speaking that someone else is trying to extricate themselves from? What a horrible thought!! No, that could never happen to me - I'm fascinating! This is something that happens to other saps! Even in the briefly described scenario above, you pictured yourself as the clever person trying to both synopsize and escape - NOT the poor slob going on and on about a soccer team fishing trip with her son. Right? Of course you did.

But what if that not only was you - what if that was your script. As you. But a script. A script with arms and legs and a funny hat.

I have read several projects this week that even alone, in my favorite cozy reading spot, got me very confused. Jimmy, Kenny, Debby, Suzy - huh? I have to flip back a few pages. Which one is Jimmy? OH RIGHT, the one who just got out of prison. And - why are we in this cafe in this scene? Flip back. Um....what's going on here? Flip back. Flip forward. I'm confused. The character's voices are blurring together and the action is not clear. What is happening here? Like the person at the party, I am leaning into it, trying to listen carefully - I'm not going to walk away, I HAVE to give this script my best. But I'm having a hard time following along.

Guys, if this is your script, you have a massive problem. Because an executive does not have to listen or follow along. They get to just chuck your script and move on. Think of me as your pre-executive vetting pal. Do NOT wear that dress, it makes you look fat. Stop going on and on about your kids. Look alive, make gestures, spice up this conversation a little bit. Because there's a lot of other people at this party and you're not holding my attention.

Hollywood is brutal. If you can't hold someone's attention almost immediately, they move on without apology. So how do you know if your script is a jumbled mess with confusing pages? What seems like pure genius to you might be a rambling mess to someone else.

Short of getting notes and feedback from someone like me, which is honestly your best option, here's a fun little exercise. We all try so hard not to be rude, right? Give your script to a friend (ideally one who has read at least one other script) and give them carte blanche to be rude. Not tear into you or the script - I don't mean that. I mean tell them, at exactly the point at which you got confused or bored - STOP right there and tell me so. Don't embellish, don't apologize, don't be nice, just tell me. On page 14, I lost the plot. That's the exact scene in which I gave up trying to understand.Reassure your friend, spouse, writing group - that you can handle this feedback. Don't you want total honesty? For real? Someone being nice to you won't in any way be an equivalent to how your script will be handled in Hollywood.

When I was coaching writers on their pitches at the Fade in Pitch Fest, I was politely rude. With a purpose. When a writer lost me, I stopped them right there and said you know what, I stopped listening to you about a minute ago. I started thinking about what I'm going to have for lunch. Let's rewind the tape and find that faulty spot in your pitch and see what we can do to amp it up.

Diagnose your script and problem solve. Are your characters not distinct enough to stand out as individuals? Do more character work. Are your scenes not moving the story forward and establishing stakes? Revisit your scene work and your character work. What is your character's overarching goal? What is at stake? Does this scene jump in late and get out early? Are your scene locations generic? Look at your action lines.

I know that more and more lately, whenever I allude to problematic scripts, the latest clients I have had who read the Rouge Wave say - omg! Were you talking about MY script? You were, weren't you! To which I say of course I was. And of course I was not. I always compress scripts into one example, hybrid script to discuss.

Because guess what - if you got notes back recently that said your structure isn't working or that there isn't any tension in your narrative, you are probably one of ten scripts this week that got that note. Because those problems are sadly not unique at all. So relax, take a deep breath and know that no specific script would ever, ever get discussed on the Rouge Wave. It's weird to think that although you thought your script and your premise was totally unique - it isn't. And the issues in your script are also not unique. So if I mention a coming-of-age script that I read this week - it could be one of three that either I or one of my readers read. Weird, huh? For everyone of you that is writing a coming-of-age script, there are umpteen others writing them as well. Not just read by my company, god knows, but being read all over town. And that's your competition - did someone else write a coming-of-age script set in a more interesting era? With a more unique main character? With a killer hook? Then, in this great Candy Land Game of Life - they will win.

Put your script into context. You are definitely not the only writer with a western, sci-fi, quarrantine-related love story. You just aren't. I know - I never would have believed it either until I started reading scripts day in and day out. On the one hand, personally, it puts me in the cat bird seat - I have seen it all. I have industry connections, I have tons of up-and-coming writer friends and a couple of established, very successful writer friends. I know what's out there. On the other hand, when it come to my own writing, it's a bit paralyzing.

That's the trick, isn't it? To stay motivated but also to have that reality check. Look at your logline and just know that there are ten other scripts being read right now, with a similar logline. Bank on it. So - how will your script be competitive?

Do a reality check on whether your script is really attention-grabbing. Ask a friend you trust to be absolutely honest with you about where it became a problem on your pages. It is far, far better to know the truth about your script now and to do the work necessary to bring it up to par, than it is to know that your script just got tossed in the circular file because of it. What may be fascinating, moving and entertaining to YOU may not have that effect on someone else. Check in with your script. And be ready to hear the truth. You'd rather hear the truth from me or from a friend than the thud of your script hitting the recycling bin, believe me. Because once it hits that bin, you just got ejected from the game.

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Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

....but it's not going to sell your script.

Last week, I read a really good script. It was so well executed. Compelling, masterful, entertaining. But completely unoriginal. Because it was a carbon copy of a movie which has already been made.

So this tells me the writer is a quick study, a fan of the genre, and a competent writer. But it also tells me this writer has not done his or her homework thoroughly enough when it comes to understanding the marketplace.

How do you know whether what you've written is truly original or whether it is a carbon copy of something else? Well - what movie would you compare your script to? Have you written DISTURBIA which bears a close resemblance to REAR WINDOW (Ah, a little too close, according to the news of the day.) and yet turned some key points inside out? Is this a riff on another movie or a rip off of another movie?

Now - each genre has expectations. Take a sub-genre that for some reason has shown up in several movies and scripts within my world lately - the crazy-person-stalker-movie. LAKEVIEW TERRACE is related to FATAL ATTRACTION which is related to SWIM FAN which is related to SINGLE WHITE FEMALE. All good movies - well, mea culpa, haven't seen LAKEVIEW quite yet but it's Sam Jackson so my hopes are high. But here we have the seemingly friendly person that you get mixed up with who turns out to be someone you cannot get rid of. It's a great sub-genre because it has an everyman-resonance. We can all relate to it, either because it's happened to us or because we fear that it could. We build our lives so carefully and hold so many things to be so dear and then someone can come along and destroy our lives from the inside out. That's a nightmare we can all relate to.

You'll notice that in each of the movies I mentioned above, the basic story type is the same while the specifics are different. Different enough to make each movie unique. And yet familiar enough to make each movie appealing to audiences.

In each genre there are conventions and expectations. Some of the expectations of psychological thriller are that the main character has made an error in judgment and now must pay for it. But it gets out of control and the antagonist is generally insane. There will be blood in a psychological thriller - meaning there is often an escalation of the conflict until the antagonist must die a spectacular, deserved death. The main character should go to the police but cannot because of that initial error in judgment - the battle must be fought alone. Another genre expectation of the antagonist in this sub-genre of crazy-person-stalker is that the antagonist inextricably insinuates him or herself into the intimate life of the main character by way of that initial judgment error. And they make this initial incursion by identifying the weakness of that main character. Which is a great jumping off point for identifying the flaw of your main character.

Each genre has expectations - a template, if you will. Would a truly great horror movie entertain you quite as much if there weren't at least ONE good pop-out moment? In THE ORPHANAGE, as one great example, there is certainly the good ol' pop-out moment but done with such originality and with a stamp of uniqueness on it, that it satisfies over and above the expectation. If you haven't seen THE ORPHANAGE, by the way, you should treat yourself. Here is the trailer.

So here's how you can check in with yourself to see if you've written an imitation of a movie you loved or whether you've taken it to a new level of uniqueness:

*Ask yourself: do you truly understand the conventions and expectations of the genre? I mean - do you TRULY understand them? Watch this genre over and over until you can identify the conventions. This is a great way to take a break while writing, if you feel stuck. Go to the video store and rent 2 or 3 movies that are in any way similar to your own. This is probably one of the healthiest, most productive ways you can procrastinate. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

*List the ways in which your script has met the conventions of the genre. Go ahead. List 'em. As one example: If you're writing a romcom have you got the "cute meet"? Have you got the "bellamy"?

*Now: having identified that you have indeed included the expected conventions and beats, ask yourself, yes, but how have I taken that convention and gone one step beyond it? Is it a run-of-the-mill horror pop-out moment or have I made this pop-out something that has not been done in this particular way before? This is where YOUR particular voice and point of view comes into play. There are cute meets and there are CUTE MEETS which we have not yet seen before. Hint: a cute meet in which the two romantic leads bump into each other and stoop to pick up their books? Not original.

Writing a script which is a carbon copy of a previously made movie save for the location and the names of the characters is a good exercise. I suppose. But it is also a waste of your time. But do not fear if this is what you have done. Go back and look at your script and look for those conventional moments - now think outside the box. How can you take this whole script a giant step beyond what has already been done?

You might ask how your script speaks to the zeitgeist two years from now. Ghosts have been and will always be good, scary stuff for viewers. Ghosts of little orphaned children? Good, stock stuff. But THE ORPHANAGE took that a step beyond and if you've seen it, you'll know that there is a particularly powerful call-back moment - a game that the children play - that is one of the several things that makes this movie stand out.

In fact, THE ORPHANAGE could be grouped together with THE OTHERS. This would be a good homework viewing double-feature, in fact, which would handily sum up my point here. They are the same - but quite different.

And that's what you want to shoot for - familiarity but uniqueness. A seemingly difficult combination. The best piece of advice I can give Rouge Wavers who are aspiring writers is:
Know your genre inside out. Then do it differently. The same. But different.

Remember - when your audience member goes out to the movies, they like to have some idea of what they're getting. They paid the sitter, parked the car, went out to dinner and are now shelling out upwards of $12 to see your movie. And they happened to have felt like seeing a romantic comedy this Friday evening. So you damn well better give them a romantic comedy. But not one they've seen before.

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Screenwriting Gurus

Apply that term to me or anybody else and I get really uncomfortable. One definition of guru is "a person who is regarded as having great knowledge, wisdom and authority in a certain area, and uses it to guide others." but I can't help but associate the word with its other definition: "a teacher or guide in the religious sense." I always picture a prophet of some kind, with supplicants gathered round, listening to every word as if it were inspired by god. The shoe! The gourd! As if screenwriting "gurus" are in some way magical or holy. Gimme a break.

Interestingly, whenever I see screenwriting gurus referred to, it's usually in the negative, as if they themselves have chosen that label and see themselves as above the screenwriters they serve.

Serve is the operative word for me, personally. I have something I'm good at and I serve others by bringing those insights to bear when it is asked of me.

Like my script consultant peers, I’m a professional – meaning I analyze stories for a living. Just like a mom who is professional and an expert at making four lunches, waking everybody up and getting them to school on time is really good at that because she does it every freaking day. You want some advice from her? She’ll tell you how she does it. If that works for you too, terrific. If not, ask another mom or figure it out your own way. Either way, the kids have to get to school on time, dressed and prepared for the day.

Some people are fans of McKee, Blake Snyder or Christopher Vogler. Whatever speaks to YOU. At the end of the day, let’s be honest, nobody really has anything particularly new to add to the topic of how to write a great script. It’s just HOW it’s taught. Some writers really like to go in for a very academic approach. Others like Blake’s lighter, more playful tone.

Personally, I like to keep it real and simple. And Wavers know that I strongly feel that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. You have to be able to laugh and not take this so deadly seriously. It’s not rocket science – but it is an art, this screenwriting thing.

I don't think script consultant "gurus" should be put on a pedestal but rather, like any professional - a good mechanic, a doctor, a web designer - be respected for their knowledge and put to work by you only if it's a good fit for you. In fact, I vote that we dispense with that stupid "guru" term altogether and replace it with Friendly Script Helper Person. I'm all for it.

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The First Ten Pages

They say that just as the sun sets over the ocean, a brilliant but brief green flash appears.

They say that a person will tell you everything you ever need to know about them in the first five minutes you meet them.

They say that readers can tell, within the first ten pages of your script, whether the script is working.

They say that if your first ten pages don't rock, an executive will simply toss the script on the PASS heap.

I don't know about the green flash, never having seen it, but I do know that all the major signifiers of your skillset as a writer are contained within the first ten pages of your script.

This Saturday, I will be leading a class at the Great American Pitch Fest punchily titled: Ten Things Readers HATE. The class is going to be a hoot and one thing I will be doing is passing out samples of good, bad and ugly first ten pages (yes, they will be anonymous samples and yes, I have permission from the good-natured writers to use pages from their very early scripts).

My aim is for the members of the class to see, first hand, what works and what doesn't work.

But let's get down to brass tacks: what are the signifiers of your skillset as a writer that are so evident in those first pages? Well - what should be happening in the first ten pages in general, Wavers?

The main character(s) are introduced and described
The world is established (relative to the genre and tone)
The main idea of the story is established
The genre and tone are established

So what are the skillsets we are then looking for? What turns us on and what turns us OFF?

Action lines:
Are they dense and talky? Do they tell and not show? Are they descriptive yet brief? Are they wordy with typos? Are they lifeless? Or are they like chiffon - colorful and textured but very light. Are they clunky or are they cinematic and evocative? Does the writer have not only a grasp of language but a way with it?

Bad example:
She stares at him. He leaves. It starts raining outside.

Good example:
Her look withers him and he skulks out of the room. A clap of thunder and the bruised sky lets loose with a deluge.

Character descriptions:
Did the writer describe your characters in a blow-by-blow, wordy and yet ultimately empty way, noting everything from their shoes to their hair color? Or did the writer take it a up a notch and manage to capture the character's essence in a clever shorthand?

Bad example:
SHIRLEY (in her mid thirties), in a denim skirt and with bleach blonde hair is a waitress. She has an English accent and she hates her job.

Good example:
SHIRLEY (30s) is a life-long waitress and it shows. She shifts the gum to the other side of her mouth. Shirley: Take your order, innit?

It is in your action lines and dialogue that you will paint a picture of the world you are establishing. Within the first ten pages, I want you to paint a vivid picture of what it looks and feels like where the story is set. Is it bleak? Is it rich and colorful? So often writers just leave that part out. It's set in some generic city. Sometimes the city isn't even named. Wavers - think about it, if you're writing a thriller are you maximizing the space around the characters to add an air of creepiness? If it's a romcom are you using the world it's set in to create a sense of loneliness or romance or whatever you're going for? Are you GOING for anything in your setting and location? You should be and never moreso that in those first ten pages.

All the signposts should be in place to indicate the genre. If it's a romcom or comedy of any kind- the first ten pages should have...wait for it....funny dialogue and moments. If it's a horror...give me the creeps right away. Drama...show me where the conflict is going to come from. Sci-fi/apocalyptic, period piece - set up your genre with the signposts of that genre.

In the first ten pages, the reader should have major hints about where the story is going.

Readers are weird; we've read so many hundreds if not thousands of scripts that our minds are geared toward seeing patterns. Probably better than anybody, readers are great at grasping what lies ahead in your script. If we can't get a sense, by page ten, of the main idea or, annoyingly, "Big Idea" of your script - something is not working.

To refresh Wavers, the main idea or concept of your script is that short sentence I might reiterate to an exec: It's about a guy who robs a bank but the bank manager is his long lost brother. So that's the main concept of your script. So in the first ten pages, you need to establish so much: the characters, the place, the tone and the genre - and that the main character is desperate enough to rob a bank. Notice I am not saying that if the main concept, that a guy is going to rob a bank needs to be spelled out - but it needs to be heading in that direction by page ten, yes. In tone and otherwise. So what does that mean? That in the first ten pages, I am seeing desperation, bleakness, maybe loneliness, anger...Unless it's a bank heist comedy in which case - well, you get it already.

Set up your story efficiently and do it quick.

To head off the inevitable question: Yes, sometimes I read scripts in which the first ten pages didn't completely tell me where the script was going but the writing is so good, the voice is there, the writer's grasp of the pages is so strong that I am so on board with it - it's a delight to find out where it's going.

But for newer writers, that grasp of language, that confidence that voice is often not there. So even if some pretty cool stuff happens in your story later - it's like going on a bad date. Once you've gotten spinach in your teeth over salad - I'm not feeling it anymore. Even if dessert is great.

The first ten pages - of any genre - is like a seduction. Foreplay. A strip tease, if you will. You want the reader to sit up and take notice. And by page 108, you want the reader to stuff a hundred dollar bill marked CONSIDER right in your glittery g-string.

So come on, Wavers - it's all in the hip action. And a boom chicka boom chicka boom boom boom. Shake your booty in the first ten pages and you just got yourself a reader interested in the next 98.

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Pull Pages and Mixed Metaphor Special

Pull pages. Probably not a term most Wavers commonly use. Unless you are a reader.

The other day I settled down comfortably on my couch with a script, a fishbowl, a letter opener, a highlighter and pen. Those the tools of my trade. I use the letter opener to pry the stubborn brads out, toss them into the fishbowl where they make a comic display, set the title page aside for summary notes, uncap my highlighter and begin to read and pull pages.

What do I highlight? Names. Dates. Significant relationships. And beats. And as I highlight - I pull pages, in order. I separate some of the cattle from the herd.

I use the highlighter for other reasons too - I use it to mark parts of the script that were problematic (typos, language usage, errors, poor logic or otherwise bad writing). Pull pages become an evidence room.

Pulled, marked up pages are my Rosetta Stone for the notes. And yes, Rouge Wavers, the Wave-inatrix just used three unrelated metaphors in the space of one printed inch. But that's what makes me special. Ahem. Shall we continue? You in the back ready to pipe down?

Right you are. It struck the Wave-inatrix like so: what if you, Rouge Wavers, were to print out your script, settle down comfortably with a highlighter and read each page the way a reader does - quickly - and as you go, highlight points on your page where significant characters are introduced and where turning point action or dialogue takes place? For advanced Rouge Wavers, you can also highlight moments, dialogue (whatever form it takes) in which your theme (the DNA) of your script is present.

Now at the end of the exercise, flip through your script again and pay special attention to the pages which contain highlights - those are the pages a reader would pull, synopsize or otherwise dwell on in assessing the script. Note the page numbers of the pulled pages. How'd you do? Can you cobble together the premise of the script by glancing at the highlighted passages?

Int. Grocery Store - pg 4
Mary Anne THROWS the soup mix - pg 5
BILL LUTZ, tall, handsome - pg 5
"I do" - pg 25
"What's this prescription?!" - pg 50
Int. Divorce Attorney - pg 60
Int. Bar - pg 75

Okay if this is the case, as above, Wavers, we have a problem. Sure, these pulled, highlighted passages tell a story but geez, look at those page numbers! What in the heck can possibly be entertaining between pages 25 and 50?

If you try this exercise, Rouge Wavers, you will find yourself on an archeological dig. There is evidence in every layer of a script - good and bad. Go ahead, give it a try. Just sit, read, highlight and pull turning point pages. Then go through the pile of those pages and have a look at the evidence. How'd you do?

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Viggo Cut to the Chase - Can You?

Cut to the chase. You’ve heard that phrase before, it’s definitely a movie-term but now it’s used colloquially to mean, in general – GET TO THE POINT ALREADY.

At the Creative Screenwriting Expo last November, I took a break and walked the exhibition hall with my friend and mentor, Lee Zahavi at Script Shark. As we marveled at all the gee-gaws available for writers, Lee looked at me and laughed - just write a good script, right?

With the strike going on, conjecture is going crazy - what will the market be like after the strike? What is like during the strike? Will the climate be harder or easier for writers looking to break in? The answer is simple. Just write a good script. And a huge determining factor of a good script is how fast you cut to the chase.

Sometimes I find myself reading a script with that growing feeling – what already?? What is this script about? Just the other day I read a script about a mother/daughter relationship and I was on page fifteen thinking, okay, enough set up already! Where is this story going? Now – if I were an executive in charge of reading or tossing that script, I would have tossed it for sure.

I have been watching a lot of movies lately - I mean A LOT - and I've noticed that in general, regardless of whether or not I liked the movie as a whole (okay, full disclaimer, I hated THE BUCKET LIST), the story does giddy-up within the first ten minutes or so.

Why, just this evening, I watched EASTERN PROMISES - oh Viggo - and sure enough the movie starts off with a murder and switches straight to a pregnant teen dying in childbirth. Boom. Giddyup. And so the story begins. In 3:10 to YUMA, Christian Bale's problems are apparent and writ large almost immediately.

Maybe we all have ADD these days - certainly our lives are busier and contain more stimulation than they used to, I think that's a given. And so current movies reflect that. Screenwriters have less time for set up - audiences like you to cut to the chase.

Make sure that the Big Idea of your script is introduced as quickly as possible. Remember, set up and backstory can happen simultaneously with moving the story forward. Prelude and backstory do not interesting script pages make. Scripts are terrific reading if you have ADD – but if your script can’t deliver on that and be more or less instantly compelling – you’re in trouble.

How do you know if you’re got too much prelude? Pull the first six (full) scenes from your opening pages and answer these questions:

Does this scene movie the story forward in a distinct way, i.e., does it have a BEAT?

Can this scene be combined with another scene?

Does this scene contain the DNA of the premise?

Another thing you might do is give your script the page ten test. Read over the first ten pages and then ask yourself:

Where is this story going?
What is the Big Idea of this story?
Have I met the main character yet?
Could I articulate what the main conflict is probably going to be?

Readers who read several scripts a week can answer those questions easily when a script is really working. Yeah sure, some genres and some scripts might need another few pages to really rev up…but it’s better to err on the side of revving up pretty quickly and elaborating and filling in along the way than to have too much prelude.

Not only audiences, but Hollywood has a serious case of ADD – reading, execs, agents – everybody. So take off your tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and set down that pipe. This is not a novel. This is blueprint for a movie. And this is an industry that can be quite brutally competitive. So – cut to the chase – why am I reading your script?

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Who's the Star?

“First she steals my publicity. Then she steals my lawyer, my trial date. And now she steals my damn garter.”

By Margaux Froley Outhred

You know you have a problem when Laurie Metcalf steals your show. I caught a few minutes of BIG BANG THEORY tonight, and while I admit to having what could be a premature assumption, in those few short minutes, Laurie Metcalf, who is not a regular cast member, stole the show from the two geeky male leads. (And, btw, I have nothing against Laurie Metcalf and think she’s quite talented, but she is not supposed to run away with this sitcom.)

Although this might be a random occurrence, it’s a persistent issue with new writers in both TV and film. As a general rule, the star of your movie or TV show is just that, your star. Being a writer who is theoretically writing pieces that stars want to act in, your job is to make your work castable. So what does that mean when your supporting, or guest starring characters steal the show? It probably means you left your main characters hanging.

In other words, if the studio paid Julia Roberts for a lead role, she better have lead role material in front of her. Ever since PULP FICTION, and the Tarantino-esque art of characters taking up screen time talking about nothing, the scripted world has been inundated with quirky side characters that steal the show from the more serious plot-carrying leads. For the Academy Awards, in the Supporting Actor or Actress category, I always ask myself, was the movie boring without that supporting character on screen? In most cases, yes…that supporting role stole the show. Jennifer Hudson certainly stole the limelight from Beyonce. Was that Beyonce being a poor actress, or really smart marketing on the studio’s part? Jennifer Hudson’s role carried the only story in DREAMGIRLS, so maybe technically she might have been the lead in the story. In CHICAGO, Catherine Zeta Jones stole the show, and Oscar, from Renee Zellweger, not because the story favored her more than Renee, she had the juicer role in the movie.

My theory is that in award-winning Supporting Actor or Actress circumstances, you won’t see a Best Actor or Actress win for the same project. Generally, if you give your supporting cast all the good bits, what have you left for your leads? It’s a slippery trap to fall into, but one worth trying to avoid. The only exception to this rule I could find was for MYSTIC RIVER when Tim Robbins won for Supporting Actor, and Sean Penn also won his Lead Actor Oscar.

For young writers, the tendency is to use your supporting characters for comic relief, or have them carry a quirky B-story. Fair enough, just make sure to balance that out so your leads aren’t always the straight men to their co-stars. In television specs, one of the biggest mistakes writers make is inventing a guest star that leaves your main characters in the dust. Writing in a character’s crazy Aunt Bea or long lost, quirky sister, will count against a writer trying to break in because it does not prove that a writer can utilize existing lead characters.

Don’t forget, while entertaining characters should always be the goal, your supporting characters should do just that, support your lead actors.

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Subjectivity

Let’s say you’ve executed your script perfectly – you have an original premise, your scenes are tight, characters are three-dimensional and organic, dialogue rocks and structure is perfect. But a reader picks up your script for a read and still doesn’t like it. Why? Because they just don’t like bears. Because they hate sports. Because they hate princess stories or science fiction or because they were mugged in Tijuana once.

Can that happen? Well – yes. Readers are paid to be professional and as professionals, we are making objective judgments about your script. Is the premise fresh? Is the writing good? Is the execution top notch? Was the set up compelling? Did the ending satisfy? But after we make those objective decisions, we have to make some subjective ones. Is this the kind of project the production company is looking for? Is the subject matter in keeping with the mandates of the company? Will this subject matter light up the particular executive I’m reading for? And then, try as readers might, after all the other considerations are made, a more personal kind of subjectivity does enter into the decision, usually subconsciously.

And Rouge Wavers – we just can’t control that subjectivity. While the thriller my writing partner and I wrote was making the rounds, we had some initial passes that went something like: love the writing, good story – but it involves bad things happening to children and I just had a baby, so – no. We had that reaction and variations on it from a few execs. Like the script but the subject matter creeped me out. What do you do with that? You just move on.

I read a script just yesterday that was not perfect but it had potential and I liked it. The writers have no idea how lucky they got. It was set in Memphis – I love Memphis! It was set in the 1950s and involved Elvis and Sun Studios – I love Elvis and Sun Studios, I’ve been to Graceland! In fact, I love the South and I love Tennessee and I love bluegrass and Mississippi Delta Blues and I love bbq and – these writers had no idea that their script happened to go to the perfect reader for them. No idea. But the opposite could have just as easily been true. And yes, it would have affected the read. That’s the ugly, little hidden truth about getting your script read.

For most writers starting out, the most important thing is to come up with a fresh premise and execute it well. And that is huge and can take years to nail. Even if you’re more experienced and execution is not a challenge for you – finding a really fresh premise with a great hook is never easy.

The more experienced you get as a writer, the more you understand that Subjectivity is out there and there’s just no avoiding it. Your work will not be for everybody. Because they just had a baby. Because they got a parking ticket in Memphis and then burnt their tongue on bbq. Because they failed history in college. Who the heck knows? As the writer all you can do is your best and if you’ve done that much, subjectivity or not – your script will eventually find its way into the hands of someone who happens to love that particular subject, setting or character type.

The only defense writers have against subjectivity is to know it’s out there and get okay with it and to compartmentalize a little bit; just keep writing more material and don’t get too caught up in who is reading your script and what they think. Good scripts will out and there are legendary stories of scripts that got turned down over and over again only to become great movies.

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The First Five Pages

The first few pages of your script are crucial. Because it is somewhere on these pages that your reader will decide that they are liking what they are reading – or not. If you don’t grab your reader in the first few pages, their interest wanes and opinions begin to form. This writer can’t really write. This script will not be good. I’m hungry. I have two other scripts to read today. Let’s just get this over with.

Can you imagine if that is the attitude with which your script is read??? It happens every day, guys.

In the first five pages of a script, I want to have at least one good laugh, one really scary, surprising or unexpected moment. I want to say WHOA – and put an exclamation mark by something that happened that is delightful, intriguing or totally compelling.

Readers want your script to be an interesting read – oh how they crave it in fact. An entertaining script makes us love our jobs. We want you to make our day; we love the thrill of discovering a great story. We love saying to our friends or partners – you wouldn’t believe the script I read today. We remember your scripts when they are good. We remember good lines and good characters.

So come out of that gate running hard, Wavers. Make sure the first few pages are packed with voice, style and originality. Make sure that you make the reader curious and want to know more. If you start off with a scene of your character’s ordinary life, you better punctuate that with something pretty cool --and fast. Sometimes writers feel like they need to write a few scenes before the story really gets going. Wrong and wronger. You have approximately three minutes to make a reader think wow, this is going to be kind of fun!

Because readers read scripts all day every day we are pretty smart. We don’t really need to see three pages of the neighborhood and its denizens saying good morning. Commit this to memory, Wavers: readers have read every script in the world twelve times. WE GET IT. I can’t tell you how often I write “I get it already” on the margins of scripts. We get it, the girl is cute, we get it the guys at the bar are drunk, we get it this is a nice person preparing for their day, we get it this family loves/hates each other. Don’t beat it to death. Make your point and move on.

Embed action within your set up. Sure, you need to establish the world, whether that be an office or the neighborhood or the Command Center of the space patrol – but make sure that within that set up, we are being introduced to the characters and ultimately, to the DNA of the story we are about to see.

The opening sequence of THE TRUMAN SHOW is a great example of an opening that piques our interest intensely so – the world is recognizable and yet so uber-normal that we know something is wrong here – what is it? Think about the opening sequence of JAWS – wow, that made us sit up, didn’t it?

The more experienced the writer, the more they know that those opening pages are like the Kentucky Derby – a pistol shot, those gates swing open and they’re OFF! If your story plods out onto the field and blinks in the light – well, that just ain’t promising.

Don’t be left in the dust, Rouge Wavers. In the first five pages, set the scene, introduce your main character, show off your voice and style, establish the world and make sure it’s all as high octane as is appropriate for the tone of your story.

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The Representation Myth

The most ardent wish of new writers is to get a manager or agent. This, they believe, will open all doors. And it does. Kind of. Wavers, I know from experience how much representation feels like a brass ring and how deeply we pine for it. I know it so well that a few years ago I actually accepted representation from a manager who, while she did live in LA, usually had a barking Chihuahua in the background and who, as it turned out, never got my work to anyone that she mentioned she would. I never met her in person, though I offered to fly down at meet her several times (I lived in San Francisco at the time) and was naïve enough to be surprised when, a few months later, a loud whump on the front doorstep heralded the return of all my work and a note which read: Wave-inatrix, I am done representing you. Had I done something wrong? Was it something I said? Was it that my work sucked? Wavers, I had done something wrong all right. I had chosen a bad manager indiscriminately because I was desperate to have one at all. If this manager were still working, I’d mention her name so you could avoid her but it doesn’t matter, really. Bad managers are bad managers. And they prey on writers desperate to be repped. They might charge fees for representing you. You know, to cover the copying and postal fees incurred. They talk a very big talk but aren’t actually known or respected in the industry. But you have no way of knowing that. Because all unrepped writers see is a blurry, moving target somewhere in the middle distance. And beyond it – Valhalla.

Today I am indeed lucky enough to have a respected and connected manager who has been running a marathon with a script written by myself and my partner. He believes in the script like nobody else does, through thick or thin and he never gives up. But it took me a long time to find such an amazing professional.

Rouge Wavers – two things: 1) Be selective about who reps you even if the search is long and arduous. A bad rep is worse than no rep at all. Remember, your rep serves YOU not the other way around. For some reason that is lost in the mists, this concept has been turned on its head in the perception of many. It is not thus. You should not beg to be repped. Your rep should be thrilled to have you. 2) Know this. Being repped will not necessarily change your life.

The difficult thing about this business, dear readers, is that it is a highly dichotomous one. Hope and fear. Success and failure. Possibility and things gone wrong. Creativity and cold hard business. I would be lying to you if I said that getting a rep isn’t a huge step and that it could change your life. But I would by lying by omission if I didn’t point out that it might also get you and your material absolutely nowhere. It happens.

Oh – what a depressing post, Wave-inatrix! Geez! Ah but Rouge Wavers, here’s the thing: your career is in your hands. Nobody else’s. Take charge, be the master of your own domain – I mean, destiny. Say you’ve gotten a reputable manager or agent. Fantastic. Reason to celebrate. Go out to dinner. You’ve earned this. I am in no way diminishing the level of the joy you should feel.

What I am saying is that the same powerful belief in yourself, your writing, your goals and your purpose that infused you when you wrote that great script should continue to infuse your every business decision and action going forward. Question your manager, give him or her feedback and suggestions. Continue to be vigilant about the market, suggest particular actors or producers. Be a partner in the process. Because at the end of the day – it is your material, your career and your life. A manager or agent is, at the end of the day, a broker. A friendly one, maybe even a snarky, Ari Gold one, but a broker, nothing more or less. You are the creator of the item being brokered. Don’t give up that power, stay in the know and do not rest on your laurels.

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Budget, Rating and Box Office OH MY

These are the three dark riders that lurk menacingly on the edges of the dreams of writers. Should we let box office potential dictate our imaginings? Or the rating our story might get? Or the cost?

If you were to write a script based on recent trade news and box office, you’d write a movie about old guys on motorcycles that talk, being chased by naked CGI Spartans who are ultimately foiled by Eddie Murphy in a fat suit.

Rouge Wavers, this is no way to write. At the same time, it is true that writers should be aware of the realities (and vagaries) of the business. To trot out that old, tired trope: they don’t call it show friends. Movies are commerce.

The Wave-inatrix feels that the act of creation and the impulse to write is almost a sacred thing. If the spirit moves you to write a sci-fi/fantasy mega-budget epic then you should write it. But be aware that the fact that you are an unproven writer trying to sell a huge budget script will most likely rule out a deal. Never say never – the annals are full of stories of movies that shouldn’t have been made and yet they were. But as a new writer trying to break in, there are a few things you should be aware of.

Production companies, unfortunately, play it safe. They are, for the most part, looking for straight-up-the-middle PG-13, medium budget crowd-pleasers. Art-house, independent, riskier material has a different market and that is a subject for another day. I am speaking to the mainstream market that most writers aim for. Writers who would like to see their work at the local Cineplex.

How in the heck do you know what kind of budget your script would call for? Well, think about this:

Locations: Are they exotic? Are there several locations? This costs a great deal of money for production companies.
FX: Does your script contain a lot of special effects? Are there expensive car chases, explosions or dangerous stunts and sequences?
Cast: Is the main character going to sink or swim based on whether the role is given to Russell Crowe? Stars drive up the costs of movies considerably.

What is the box office (or commercial) potential of your material? Should you care? Well, yes you should. Again – it’s called show business. You are asking a production company to spend potentially millions of dollars to make your movie. And what do they want in exchange? A return on the investment - box office dollars. But how do you predict whether your movie-to-be will draw crowds?

When readers are asked that selfsame question from a production company after we have reviewed a script, we ponder the blank space entitled “Commercial Potential” and we think to ourselves…

Is this a high concept script? A highly entertaining central conceit that is so simple, so beautiful and so fun that it’s a slam dunk.
Is this a tentpole? A star vehicle, big adventure with the whiff of franchise?
Is this a Sunday afternoon genre? Drama, romance, period?
Is this material HOT? Very zeitgeisty or provocative?

Rouge Wavers, examine your material with total honesty. Who is your intended audience? The Wave-inatrix actually feels strongly that you should ask this question of your material while you are developing the idea – not after having written the script. Often, I read scripts and I wonder, in total disbelief, who did the writer think was going to see this? This is material that is “soft”, dull, self-referential, weepy, navel-gazy or otherwise adolescent and it is plain that the writer didn’t get out of his or her own head and remember that audiences are wide and varied and that you have to write something universally resonant. This is a Wave-inatrix pet peeve – I call it the Self-Absorbed, Myopic Writer Syndrome and it makes the Wave-inatrix really really frustrated because movies are for AUDIENCES full of STRANGERS not YOU, your FRIENDS and your MOM. Hold on, I must wash down another sedative with my coffee.

All right, sorry. I’m back. Think calm thoughts. Blue, blue waves. Fluffy clouds. Serene fish. Swimming. Serenely.

At the end of the day, Rouge Wavers, if you feel absolutely driven and convinced to complete your NC-17, black and white, self-biopic about your struggle with sex, therapy and tapioca, the Wave-inatrix says – follow that crazy muse of yours and go for it. With the awareness that the road to develop and finance your material may be a long and lonely one. Don’t expect to be taking any meetings on the Sony lot.

Writers in the throes of trying to make it over the wall of the Citadel must rely on many sources of self-soothing to maintain the stamina required. The short list might include drinking, smoking and neurotic ranting. But writers, we need something else – the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Pluck that apple and take a big, juicy bite!

Follow the trades; watch the deals going down. Develop and awareness of trends at the box office. And then, Rouge Wavers, use that copy of Variety to line the bird cage, make another cup of coffee and write your beautiful/crazy heart out.

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Killing Your Darlings

What exactly does that mean? Oh, come on Rouge Wavers, you know. In your heart-of-hearts you know. It’s that character in the crowd scene, plot twist or bit of GREAT dialogue you just can’t let go of. It’s that scene that is just so freaking brilliant that you roll it up and sleep with it under your pillow every night. It’s that opening sequence that ROCKS and that you wrote while on vacation in Tijuana and that would RUIN your script if it got cut!

Try sitting across the desk from an executive who smilingly tells you to kill one of your darlings. It sucks, no two ways about it. But, Rouge Wavers, the experience is freeing. Because it’s usually one of these darlings that is actually gumming up the works and disallowing you from moving on and writing the scene or opening or ending that the story needs.

The story is master and the writer is the servant. Everything is always in service to the story. As in other areas of life, your resistance to killing a darling – the sheer, vein-popping, hackles raised response at the mere suggestion of it – is usually completely relative to the need for it to happen. Quid pro quo. It’s the cycle of life, dear readers.

Darlings are usually scenes or bits that you love but that nobody else gets. They have emotional importance to you – because YOUR dog from growing up used to do that exact trick, or the house in the opening sequence looks just like your grandparents house or the music you’ve written into the closing sequence is the same one that you danced to at homecoming in 1978!

Listen to your outrage and defensiveness when someone is brave (or stupid) enough to question your darling. What is that telling you? Something I do is to save two versions of my script. The one that I am currently working on I set aside, and then I go ahead and make the stupid change that some know-it-all-who-is-dead-wrong suggested. Just to see how the script responds to the change. I have been writing scripts for almost ten years and have not yet seen an instance where killing my darling did not improve the script.

How do you tell if the item in question is a darling versus a legitimate creative choice? Same way you tell if you’re on the way to becoming a professional writer versus an ego-invested hobbyist; a professional writer will listen calmly to the advice, check it out, try the page with or without the item in question, and make a measured yet flexible decision about the integrity of the moment. A hobbyist will FREAK THE HELL OUT. They become like those parents who scream spittle, red-faced at their 6 year-old’s soccer match. When you feel the blood pressure and resistance going up…stop right there and take a step back. You're probably having a darling-moment and it brings up a lot of insecure ego and fear issues. Certain Rouge Wavers are thinking oh there she goes again with that California b.s. - "issues". Rouge Wavers, I work with writers every day, all day, approximately six days a week. Believe me, we have issues. But. I digress.

As my good friend Gabriel says: When I am afraid of something – I go straight toward it.

Remember, as intimate as your script is to you, it’s not your baby once you set it out into the big bad world. A script has to stand alone independent of you and your peccadilloes; it’s very personal and yet not personal at all.

Get out your shovel and try killing a darling today. Your script will thank you and you’ve taken a crucial step toward becoming a professional writer.

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Just Effing Entertain Me

One of the most memorable moments of the screenwriting program I graduated from a few years back was when the ah – temperamental - founder of the program was pacing behind the classroom, chin in hand, listening to a student’s convoluted, complicated premise line. Suddenly, he slapped his hand on the student’s desk, and shouted JUST #%$# ENTERTAIN ME!

Setting aside the poor, boring student’s near heart-attack, Rouge Wavers, the lesson learned by all of us that day was huge. That's why it stands out above all other lectures and exercises I have ever participated in. So put down your Syd Field, your McKee and your Vogler for a minute and consider that you have one job to do when writing a script: just make it effing entertaining. That's all. Simple, right?

What does "entertaining" in this context mean? It means that regardless of genre, the reader (and ultimately exec) is turning the pages with a slight smile; they are lost in concentration, their eyes move quickly over the lines, they do not hear the phone ring, they do not care about anything else. Everything from the action lines to every word the characters say is entertaining. The premise is entertaining. It is engaging, in other words. The pages of your script are lively, quick, original, remarkable and delightful.

I’ve said it before, let me say it again – this is bread and circus, Rouge Wavers. Earn your bread. Dance for the reader. Dance as if your life depended on it. Dance so that the reader will not want to put your script down even for one minute.

I read a script so dull the other day that it took me three days to finish reading it. Because I couldn’t read it for more than 20 minutes at a time before my attention wandered so badly that I had to read other scripts in-between. When I read a script that entertains me, I read it in maybe an hour flat. Time stops, I care about nothing else, I am completely engrossed in the material.

Discussions about the art and craft of screenwriting can become very academic. While I honor, respect and through experience have absorbed a great deal about all that bookish stuff, I also know that the entertainment business is paperclips and glue; it is cue the moon and lower the skyline just so. It is art, it is commerce, it is Just Effing Entertain Me. If there is one fundamental principle that guides the business of making movies it is: keep asses in seats. If your script, no matter how properly executed, is dull, it bears no promise of that.

You want to earn a lot of money and see your movie grace the silver screen? You want meetings and an article about you in Variety? You want a WGA membership and to quit your day job? Then keep up your end of the bargain: write colorful, original, entertaining stories. And when you finish one and it wasn't good enough to get you over the Citadel wall - do it again. Dance, Rouge Wavers, Dance. I do it - we all do it. Keep your understanding of the business simple: it's right in the name - The Entertainment Industry - ShowBiz - Hollywood.

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Give Yourself Permission

As a script consultant and coach, I find that I play many roles. Story analyst, editor, d-girl and therapist. And what I find, consistently, is that writers are awful hard on themselves.

Good writers write bad stuff. It happens. In fact, it happens a lot - and Rouge Wavers, today the topic is giving yourself permission to write badly. Sometimes the spirit moves you and sometimes it just doesn’t. The important thing is to keep writing until you can coax the muse back.

Writers who don’t believe that they can and do write badly set themselves up for a lifetime of bitterness when they are only sporadically rewarded for their brilliant writing. They are full of a terrible combination of hubris and self-delusion. Then there are writers who are deep into the self-loathing thing and believe that everything they write is crap; it’s just that some crap is slightly less crappy. Whine, whine, whine.

Yes, the more time you spend writing – as in years – the more your writing improves. Your writing muscles become lithe and firm. But particularly when it comes to a screenplay, not every idea, character or scene you write will be golden – quite the contrary. You want to have a safety in place so that you are evaluating your work each day so that you don’t wind up with an entire script which is an embarrassment. But these are your pages and you are entitled to write ridiculous dialogue or scenes. Give yourself permission to toy with a really bad idea until it becomes apparent that it was a really bad idea. You need that process.

Something I learned a few years ago to cushion the moments when I just didn’t know what I was writing was using “placeholders” which is to say that when you arrive at a given scene in the new script you are writing and you just don’t know exactly what will happen in that scene, just slug the scene and write something like: “They argue here.” And move on to the next scene. Placehold it. You can come back to it later. You can placehold scenes, you can placehold dialogue in a scene, you can placehold just about anything. You’ll come back to it. Writing a script is like the birth of an island far out at sea. It emerges little by little, with more and more showing. Layers of lava create more substance. It takes a long time, dear writers, before that island (go with me) is the verdant, tropical paradise you had imagined. Yes? We know this.

So during the process, allow yourself to not know all the answers, and allow yourself to write some bad pages. In fact, it could be the entire script is a bad idea. It’s okay. All artists are entitled – if not expected – to sometimes create a heap of dung. Recognizing that it happens is not a problem for most writers; obsessing on it is. Let it go. Use placeholders. Know that your writing will improve with time. Yes, writers do need to check in with the reality of the market, public opinion, etc., this is not a carte blanche, damn-the-standards endorsement.

Recognizing that the material is not so good is the key to growth as you move forward; the inability to recognize it is death. So get notes from friends, get a professional opinion and/or give yourself the distance to view your work with a more critical eye.

Some say that writing is rewriting. So what does that make the writing part? Groundwork. Take the beach first. Your lumpy, rocky, little Dr. Seuss island, steaming with lava and smoke may just yet become a lush tropical paradise. Where others see terrible mistakes and a really dumb idea – you will see creative opportunities and new vistas. Or maybe you’ll see something that needs to sink back beneath the waves without further ado. Don’t judge yourself so harshly. Bad writing happens to all writers. The important thing it so honor the impulse to write - without judging the work ahead of time and the trick is to acknowledge that the material isn't so hot and to simply move on, without self-condemnation.

So make another cup of hot coffee and damn the torpedoes – the very act of creating something out of nothing is heroic and beautiful.

For more inspiring words treat yourself to zefrank at www.zefrank/theshow and search for Bittersweet - it's tops!

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