In very good company! David Diamond’s new book. Pam Douglas. Christine Vachon!!
In very good company! David Diamond’s new book. Pam Douglas. Christine Vachon!!
My son’s a writer. Go figure.
He’s made a living as a writer since he graduated from college. He’s a game designer, had five or six plays produced in New York and now, he’s got a novel coming out. The folks at Save The Cat! asked him to write a guest column.
Interestingly, he and I reached the same storytelling conclusion, separately. Know what your Antagonist wants. And, importantly, why does she want it? It’s the whole ball game. Everything good and useful flows from those two decisions.
I’ll let him tell you about it.
Please pass this post around to your writer buddies and your reader buddies. Repurposing his existing material means I just had my morning handed back to me and I’d like to help the guy sell a few books!
Pointed out to me by my student Haley Crutcher. I’m not a fan of confusing names. Here from master writer Paddy Chayefsky, are some beauts. Thank you, Haley!
Harry & Howard & Hackett & Haywood & Herron
Howard Beale & unimportant Howard K. Smith. Harry Hunter & unimportant Harry Reasoner. BTW, these are all four in same paragraph description on p.1.
Willie Stein and Milton Steinman
Louise & Laureen & Lennie
Robert then Bob McDonough
Bob & Bill & Barbara
Max & Milton & Michael
Jack & Joe & George & John
Lou & Lew… Are they the same person?! I still don’t know.
Roughly 30 first and last names/descriptions to remember. Repetitive caps (although sometimes useful, mostly confusing). Who the capital H is important to remember?! Pay attention.
Women’s descriptions either best ass, chunky, handsome (Laureen), or didn’t get names (secretaries/housekeeper)
Some last names used and some first names. Harry Hunter is Harry to everyone else, but his dialogue is under Hunter, even though at first his dialogue is under Harry Hunter.
Because emotion’s why everybody comes to the table, you better deliver one whale of a satisfying meal.
At every step along the way, whether it’s with your idea, beat sheet, outline, first pass, first draft, and every subsequent draft until you actually hand it to actors to memorize their lines, constantly ask, “Am I delivering as much emotion in this scene, in this sequence, in this story, as I possibly, possibly can?”
“We are in the emotion picture business.”
Ken Kwapis, director of SHE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU, THE OFFICE, BERNIE MAC, A WALK IN THE WOODS… etc., etc.
Don’t you ever forget it.
If you’re writing a nine-part self-published fiction series, a TV pilot for Amazon, or five page script to shoot in your backyard with friends, start by asking…
1.) What emotion do you want the audience to feel at the end of the story?
2.) What emotion you want the main character to feel at the beginning?
3.) What emotion do you want the main character to feel at the end?
You go write those questions down. I’ll wait.
The answers, which will likely morph through the story’s development, will be your mantra until you finally finish. Emotion is not only everything, it is the only thing.
When looking at a whole story or scene or part of a scene, whether it is in an outline or a nearly finished piece of work, ask yourself, “Are there moments in here where I can add even a tiny bit more emotion? Or much more?! What can I do to the character to make the character feel more strongly? What can I do in the scene to make the reader (audience!) feel more strongly? Is there something from the heroine’s past I can adjust to make us feel a stronger emotion here?”
You’re smart. You can think of more questions than those.
You can almost always push emotion up a notch. Think about the worst thing that could possibly happen to them and see if it’s in your script. If it’s not, make it happen!
“Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.”
Make your character suffer so your reader can suffer. They pay the money to feel something. So give it to ’em, but only as much as is believable.
My wonderfully wonderful children’s novel https://www.amazon.com/Mrs-Ravenbachs-Way-Amazing-Escapades/dp/1941393586 is about a little boy brutalized by the meanest fourth-grade teacher in the history of teaching. Because the wrenching emotion was too much for her to handle, my gritty New York publicist had to stop reading the book halfway through. She put it away for two days and then started again, calmed down enough to be able to finish. One of my former college students called me, also halfway through Mrs. Ravenbach’s Way, and said, “Please tell me that things get better for this kid…” They had a strong emotional reaction because I put that trap door in there for them to fall through.
Amp up the emotion in your work, every chance you can. Even it’s to give your heroine a splinter in her finger.
When she feels, so do we.
Supposedly you have gotten into this writing dodge because you’re a storyteller. You have something gnawing inside you, burning, chewing at your guts that you can’t wait to get out into the world. To share with others. To make people feel, strongly. Something! Anything! What story do you cease to exist if you don’t tell? Why?!
Writing teachers will say, “Figure out your theme, tape it above your computer and write about that.” As if it were anywhere near that easy!
I think the opposite is true, especially if you’re telling a tale that is “about” something. Something, hopefully, that has profound meaning for you and thereby, everyone. If you do a piece of writing the correct way, it will be to some degree a journey of exploration and discovery, perhaps self-discovery. That journey must be free form, fluid, and wide open to change.
In seeming contradiction to that, I also advocate use of an outline. In Your Screenplay Sucks!, I talked about how important it is to delay writing pages until you have pounded your outline to death.
The earlier it is in your writing career, the tighter the outline should be before you write actual screenplay pages. If your outline is on the money, your overall writing time will be shorter. If you really think about what you’re doing before you write FADE IN:, you’ll waste less time in revision mode.
Even then, you still can’t know what it is you’re really writing about until you have a draft.
Deeper into your writing career, I advocate for a more free-form version of the outline, precisely what Robert Olen Butler tells you to do in his magnificent book From Where You Dream.
Presumably, as you’re working on your script, your characters are alive and malleable. You may think of something halfway through the script that never occurred to you when you started. That’s fine! Change and improvement are wonderful. Foolish changes, sad to say, will send you off in the wrong direction. But, as this is a process, you can always figure out a way to get back on the path.
As you write pages with action description and dialogue and character and all that stuff, the journey your hero is on as well as the journey you are on will begin to deviate from whatever you thought that journey was going to be when you set out to write the outline, followed by pages. Things happen. Better ideas! Something changes on page 5 that will affect page 50. This stuff is normal. Do not reject change in favor of your “carved in stone” outline.
As you churn forward, writing, do not change the pages behind you (rule of thumb, nothing is law except, “Don’t be boring.”) but drop your “changes” ideas in a file and when you’re done with the first pass, go back and perform surgery on your patient.
Only as you move toward the end of the draft can you look back and see from whence you came and truly begin to understand what your story is about. Begin to understand why you are telling this story. Begin to understand what your character’s real problem is. Begin to understand what your problem is.
“I have a problem. I make a movie about it. It’s not a problem anymore.”
supposedly Andy Warhol
At the beginning of the journey, you can certainly think you know what the hero’s problem is, but you may be wrong about even something as fundamental as that. You certainly may not know what the solution to the problem is. Not at the beginning. You find this along the way. Hey, the writing teachers are right when they say it’s a journey! Your first pass is not your tenth draft! Embrace that you will fail for a while and don’t sweat it. Press on and feel good about it.
You may decide at the beginning that your movie is about a man in a divorce. You may change your mind partway through when you discover the main character is really his wife. The reason you’re telling the story can shift and that moment, that epiphany about why you’re really here, is fun! When you gasp and yell, “So that’s why I’m writing this!”, that’s a mind-blowingly wonderful feeling.
I don’t think you can get that feeling unless you stay open to change through the writing process. At last, perhaps suddenly, the truth will be revealed to you and you go back into the story and fix all the things you need to repair that will lead to the point you now know you’re trying to make.
The point you can only understand how to make after you’ve done a LOT of writing.
Once you figure out what your story is about, it may only be a matter of going back to the beginning to do some gentle spadework to alter this or that or these five scenes to help point the reader in the direction the story needs to go. Or, maybe it takes dynamite and a crane, a ton of heavy lifting, to blow it up and start all over again. Once you know what you really, really are there for, rewriting becomes much easier. And on target.
Scenes that don’t fit the new “theme” shout, “Hey, dummy! I don’t belong here! Get rid of me!” They can’t do that at the beginning of the writing process because they are locked into whatever your original thoughts were. Once all the players (your story and your characters and you) know why you’re really at the party, then you can roll up your sleeves and get some really good work done.
So, don’t sweat it if, up front, you don’t have a clue why the heck you’re sitting there writing.
If you have any examples of this, please send them to me and I will post them. Have you figured out much later in the game than you had first anticipated what your story was about?
Low budget does not have to mean bad. Just in the way that high budget does not necessarily mean good.
Everything is based on an idea, an emotion, and finally, a superb screenplay. If you don’t have a killer script, you have nothing. Beginning filmmakers get a draft done and think they are finished. Or ten drafts. You are never finished until you reach the day when you have to give the script to the actors to memorize. That’s when you’re done.
When you’re working on a low budget script, you have all the time in the world and your time is free. You can use that time to improve the script. Once you give the script to someone and it gets covered, especially in Hollywood, you can’t change it and you can’t improve it and you can’t fix its reputation.
To specifically answer your question, yes you can make money with a low budget movie but you have to have a good script and then you have to be careful with everything. You also have to have a sales plan built in from the get-go. A lot of beginning filmmakers finish their movie, have a DVD, and then say, “Gosharootie, how do I sell this thing?” If you don’t think about it long, long, long before the end of the production process, you are lost.
The more you learn about the market. The more you learn about finance. The more you will understand about how to get a movie made.
If you don’t make money, you don’t stay in business.
Even with no money, if you’re fun and professional, you can get a good crew. You can get a good script. It does not take an enormous amount of money to rent gear. Someone may own the gear. You can pare down expenses to basically these two: sound and food. On a low budget movie, you still have to pay the location sound recordist and the caterer. The caterer is for your crew to be happy. The sound is so you won’t have crappy sound and have to spend a fortune in post fixing the mess you made. I tell this to students and they don’t listen.
Sound is the most difficult aspect of the low-budget film. Perhaps because it is invisible. I don’t know.
As Kelley Baker says, you need three things to make a good low-budget film. Good script. Good sound. Good actors. If you don’t have all three of those, there is no point in proceeding with the production.
If you do, you have a shot at making money.
I recently paid one of the few IBM trained typewriter repair people in my lovely hometown $125 to bring my slightly gummy Correcting Selectric II (the Mt. Olympus of typing devices) back into smooth running order. It was worth it.
For one thing, writing thank you notes is a pleasure because I can bang them out on the noisy typewriter and it makes me feel like I’m doing something. I can’t know how it feels to receive such a thank you, but perhaps a bit different from an email that took all of 11 seconds to write and send. Plus, I have fancypants engraved stationery I love using.
Though I have no problem with writer’s block, a lot of people do. It can be crippling. It can wreck your life.
If you read Your Screenplay Sucks!, and you should have… at least three times… you will be familiar with my IBM Correcting Selectric II. The typewriter gets a mention because of the importance of spell check. As I grew up writing on that typewriter, I got really good at proofreading because, once you pulled the paper out of the typewriter, there was no way to correct the mistake and you had to go back and retype the whole damn page.
I can imagine droves of Millennials reading that sentence and committing suicide.
Such is one benefit of a typewriter.
Another benefit a typewriter taught me, which is also wired into my DNA, is that you can’t go back. March forward or die. The typewriter sits there waiting patiently, motor humming like a throaty purring cat… There’s nothing for you to do but ponder the page and think about what you’re going to do next. Because of my typewriter’s inability to go backwards, to allow me to fix anything at the top of the page or the page before or 20 pages before, the typewriter taught me to keep writing.
This simple idea is lost on people who began their writing efforts with the computer. The wonderfulness of a computer makes it possible for you to go back and rewrite something… as soon as you write it! This is hooded Death staring you down, eyes burning red, whispering for you to fail.
If you don’t have Samson’s iron will, going back is a death sentence to your ability to write.
Stopping kills the mindset needed to get into a character or a creative space that allows you to tell a story, relentlessly living in that creative “zone.” If anything dislodges you from the zone, you are lost. At least temporarily. Some people: permanently. “Dislodge” is perhaps the wrong word. That suggests that a granite foundation exists to creative work and you are simply knocked off it.
The word “dislodge” should be replaced with “brushed” or “flicked.” The slightest distraction can flick you out the headspace, that precious zone you endeavor to stay in so you can write. Once you are out of it, it can be extraordinarily difficult to get back in.
When you write on a computer and misspell a word, a wiggly red line appears under it. POW! Out of the creative headspace. Now you correct that word. Then, all of a sudden, you look at the top of the page and see something else that isn’t exactly perfect. So you correct it in an endeavor to make it perfect. But it’s not perfect. So now you’re depressed because you can’t achieve perfection and you try to correct it again. Then you think of something two pages back that might need a little more thought. Due to the nature of the computer, you slide up a page or two and start to work on that piece of junk you wrote. Forget whatever the hell it was you were trying to write when you misspelled the original word. Now, instead of swimming forward in your wonderful writing zone, you are thrashing in an acid filled morass of depressing quicksand that will peel off your skin and leave you reduced to a sobbing carcass.
Very hard to get writing done when you are a sobbing carcass.
The main cause of writer’s block is fear. Generally, this fear is “fear it won’t be perfect.”
No worries as long as you don’t try to make it perfect in the first draft. If you know you’re going to fix it later, it’s all right if it’s not perfect now. Sometime in the future you can make it as close to perfect as possible. Not now. Not while you’re staring at that word with the red line under it telling you you’re stupid and talentless. And maybe ugly.
Enter the old fashioned typewriter.
If you write on a typewriter, you can’t go back and fix what you wrote. You have to keep moving forward and the pages will pile up and the first draft will be all right, but not perfect, but who cares? It will exist. You will get work done. Keep moving. Fix it later.
If you find yourself always going back and rewriting while you are in the process of doing your first draft, seriously consider a typewriter. It may help a lot.
My suggestion: an IBM correcting Selectric II, for around $300. Or the IBM Wheelwriter. They still make ribbons for them. Buy from a typewriter repair person or a store. Take out the correcting tape and you can’t fix anything!
Or, visit swintec.com. They still make new ones!
If you want a manual typewriter, get one. Tom Hanks likes ’em. They are more expensive cause they’re cooler. And, wonderfully, since they don’t have any correcting feature at all, with a manual, there’s no way to go back. None.
With a typewriter, you can only go forward. For someone with a crippling need to perfect their first draft, a typewriter seems a Godsend. For one thing, it’s faster than writing with pen and paper. The idea that, for someone with horrible writer’s block, being unable to go backwards seems an exhilarating and liberating experience.
Because few people writing today have written on a typewriter, the idea of constant forward motion and staying in the writing zone has been lost. I hope not forever.