My Blog Anniversary

In honor of my one year anniversary (this past Tuesday), I've perused all 270 posts to see what, if any, real value I've gleaned or shared in the past year and I'm pleased to say that it has not been an entire waste of time -- although it has been a PARTIAL waste of time. I've listed some of the more useful posts and conveniently NOT listed the most babbling, obtuse, and nonsensical ones.

By the way, if you need anniversary gift suggestions -- Final Draft, squirrel repellant, Tijuana Brass CD's and does anyone know if the 1968 Banana Splits program is available on DVD?

Four banana, three banana, two bananas, one
All bananas playing in the bright warm sun
Flipping like a pancake, popping like a cork,
Fleagle, Bingo, Drooper and Snork

So, I guess I'll keep this up another year -- or, until I run out of things to say.

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore
Why Characters Say No
How Many is Too Many?
Inconsistent Characters
Fish With Feet
Mysterious Characters
Fascinating Characters
Character Empathy
Character Over Gimmick

WRITING ROMANTIC COMEDY
My Rom Com Question
Rom Com-mon Denominator
Learning the Rom Com
Finding the Romance Part Two
Finding the Romance Part One

SUBTEXT
Disappearing Subtext
Deciphering Subtext

EXPOSITION
Properly Exposing
Exposition ABC's
Over Exposure

BATTLE SPEECHES
Purpose of Battle Speeches
More On Battle Speeches

SCREENWRITING & STORY CRAFTING
Thematic Reflexivity
Architects and Designers
How Many Pages Per Diem?
How Good is Good?
Sensible Stories
What Producers Look For
Repugnant Protagonists
Crushing the Villain
Seducing the Audience
Tactics for Making Passes
The Silent Treatment

Over Exposure

Of all the exposition no-no's, advice, and complaints I've come across this week, this one seems to be the most frequently addressed so I've decided that it merits its own post -- OVER EXPOSURE -- which (I can't help it) reminds me of Peter Venkman. Ghostbusters 2, for all its shortcomings, has some great lines.

Ray: Don't talk to me; talk to my attorney.
Louis Tully: And that's me! My guys are still under a judicial mistrangement order... that blue thing I got from her! They could be exposing themselves!
Peter Venkman: And you don't want us exposing ourselves!

That line could almost be the screenwriter's motto -- "you don't want us exposing ourselves!" Except -- it wouldn't be true. Exposition is a necessary evil. We want the viewer to see us exposing ourselves. We just don't want them to KNOW that's what we're doing.

It's kind of a reverse "Emperor's New Clothes" form of screenwriting. The emperor thought he was in magnificent robes so light and fine that they were invisible to anyone too stupid to appreciate them. If you don't see them, you're an idiot. If you do see them, you're normal. We want the same thing in reverse -- exposition so well weaved that it is invisible to anyone not purposely looking for it. If you don't see it, you're an average viewer. If you do see it, you're in film school.

But OVER exposure plays a major role in thousands of specs that implode on reader desks all over Hollywood. Most of the books, articles, & web logs that discuss exposition warn against giving the reader too much information. This seems to be the number one way for a screenplay to self destruct -- inundate your reader with busy exposition, flashbacks, and talking heads.

My top three list of the most annoying over exposure methods:

(1) YOU SEE, TIMMY - Not to be confused with "as you know, Bob"s, the "you see, Timmy" (as defined in the movie Speechless) is the lesson, theme, or moral of a story summed up the way Timmy's mother might close an episode of Lassie with something like, "You see, Timmy, birds have to be free. They don't want your affection. But Lassie always comes home because she'd die without your love."

Cue giant dog hug.

Yes, the lines are lame and cheesy (I made them deliberately lame and cheesy to illustrate a point), but they serve a purpose in summing up what Timmy learned and what the episode was trying to say. Used at the beginning of a story, it would give away the whole episode too early and rob the audience of experiencing the story from Timmy's perspective.

No fun for the viewer.

But surprising to me, half or more of the screenplays I've read by aspiring writers give all the details in the first act. Instead of dropping clues, they spoon feed the answers.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to tell me that if you show a little flesh, a man will hang around to see what else you've got. Show it all and there are no more secrets - no reason for him to stick around. We need readers to stick around.

(2) PRESS CONFERENCES - Oh, it pains my public relations soul to criticize the single most effective way for a government to confront a time sensitive, easily misconstrued, or volatile event. But I must. I once read a screenplay with an eighteen page press conference with one purpose - to detail how a man was logistically able to keep his sperm alive long enough to sell it on eBay. All the reader needs is a plausible explanation, not a detailed one. Press conferences are getting harder and harder to write because (1) they are BORING (2) they are PREDICTABLE and (3) they are BORING.

If you must, must, must write a press conference because it's a fundamental requirement of your story OR because it actually WILL move the story along, give your confrontation with reporters a twist, spin, or unexpected dialogue to lighten it up and separate it from every other press conference we've ever seen. Make it memorable.

In The Fugitive, when Lieutenant Gerard interrupts the sheriff in charge of the train wreck as he's showboating his investigation for the television cameras, we find out who Gerard is, the authority of the U.S. Marshals' Office, checkpoint locations, fugitive information, the search perimeter, and we get an unforgettable peek into the mind of Gerard as he announces that he wants a hard target search of every "gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, hen house, outhouse and dog house". Cameras still flashing.

(2) NEWS PROGRAMS - So yeah, a twelve car pile up, bomb threat, or freakish weather event is news, but a news broadcast as the primary means of exposition is painful and seriously, while some stations do frequent human interest stories, how many of them really care that a fireman rescued a cat out of a tree? Like the press conference, news programs should be used to move the story along, not just reveal exposition.

Two favorites come to mind:

Bruce Almighty is about a beat reporter who does human interest stories but wants a seat at the desk. Still, each on-camera news scene is not just original and amusing, but it tells us something about the characters in the scene. Bruce is jealous, Evan is insecure, etc.

In the 1989 Batman, news reporters are shown on aira succumbing to the poisonous effects of cosmetics and grooming products. Others are later seen with no makeup and suffering from baggy eyes, bad skin and graying lifeless hair

So there ya have it -- the three abuses of exposition that annoy me the most -- too much information too soon, press conferences and news programs. What are yours?

2006 Nicholl Finalists

“Abilene,” Michael Raymond, Auckland, New Zealand, and Seattle, Washington

“Armored,” James V. Simpson, New Westminster, British Columbia, Canada

“Beatrice Creek,” Eric J. Litra, Monroe, Michigan

“The Free Republic of Bobistan,” Arthur M. Jolly, Marina del Rey, California

“Mr. Burnout,” Eric T. Gravning, Santa Monica, California

“Palau Rain,” Stephanie Lord, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

“Peepers,” Clark E. Morrow, Olathe, Kansas

“10 Day Contract,” Josh D. Schorr, South Pasadena, California

“38 Mercury,” Alfred E. Carpenter, Alexandria, Virginia, and Mark A. Matusof, Woodbridge, Virginia

“Tides of Summer,” Scott K. Simonsen, Hermosa Beach, California

Academy Announces
Nicholl Screenwriting Fellowship
Finalists for 2006

Heartfelt congrats to each one! Deux, is that you?? And, FYI, from Greg Beal, the genres break down as follows:

ABILENE / drama
ARMORED / action thriller
BEATRICE CREEK drama (crime)
THE FREE REPUBLIC OF BOBISTAN / comedy
MR. BURNOUT / comedy
PALAU RAIN / drama adventure
PEEPERS / crime thriller
10 DAY CONTRACT / sports drama
38 MERCURY / science fiction fantasy
TIDES OF SUMMER / coming of age drama

Exposition ABC's

In case you're looking, there's not a lot on the internet about exposition as it applies to screenwriting.

"As You Know, Bob" is apparently an expression which means "exposition that sucks" but until Karl Iglesias used the phrase as the title for his Creative Screenwriting article, I had never heard it.

EXPOSITION DO'S

Karl has five tips for writing good (invisible) exposition:

1. Surround Exposition With Conflict - Create fights, arguments, complications and life-or-death situations.
2. Present Exposition When the Reader is Eager to Know it - Set up the desire to know it.
3. Make Exposition Active and Purposeful - Make a character need to say it because it contributes to the character's objective.
4. Twist a Character's Emotions to Get Exposition - Make the character need the information and have to fight to get it.
5. Add Dramatic Irony - Create tension by letting your character in on a secret.

John August also has five suggestions for writing better exposition:

1. Show the information, rather than having a character say it.
2. Try to follow a natural line of thought: A to B to C.
3. Simplify. The reader may not need to know everything.
4. Keep your hero active in learning the information, rather than passively listening.
5. Balance natural speech patterns with efficiency. People rarely say things as concisely as they could.

All noteworthy.

Okay, now here comes my arrogance. As much as I know I'm not qualified to dispute professionals, session four of the American Film Institute's "Basics of Screenwriting" uses the phrase "exposition" and "backstory" synonymously. Backstory is not always exposition and exposition is not always backstory. Somebody who knows more than me, please set me straight on this.

OVER EXPOSURE

Karl Iglesias quotes Humphrey Bogart as saying that if he ever had to spout exposition, there'd better be two camels humping in the background to distract the audience. But Dave Trottier warns us in "The Screenwriter's Bible" against making the exposition too exciting and uses the second Indiana Jones movie as an example. Funny -- I've seen the first and third Indy films more times than I can count, but with Temple of Doom, once was enough. Dave says that primary exposition is presented over a meal so revolting, that the attention of the audience is diverted from the dialogue. I wouldn't know. It diverted my attention from the entire remainder of the film -- I guess I'm just not entertained by humping camels.

Another crutch in introducing exposition is the flashback. Dave says that ninety-five percent of flashbacks in unsold scripts do not work for two reasons (1) it doesn't move the story forward and (2) we don't care about the characters or story BEFORE we get flung into the past.

Linda Seger's "Making a Good Script Great" says that expository speeches and flashbacks are most frequently to blame for the common mistake amateurs make in explaining motivation instead of showing it, which over-emphasizes backstory and the influences of other characters on the situation at hand. She says flashbacks don't work when (1) they are informational instead of dramatic, (2) they stop the action, and (3) the motivation is not here, now, or imminent.

PERFECT EXPOSURE

Bill Martell's "The Secrets of Action Screenwriting" sums up dialogue this way:

"Make sure every line of dialogue:

1. Exposes Character
2. Moves the Story Forward
3. Is Entertaining"

If every line of dialogue exposes character, then there's not much need to explain character motivation and the writer has more freedom to craft a story that doesn't need crutches.

One of my all time favorite lines comes from the John Lennon song, Beautiful Boy, used in Mr. Holland's Opus. "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Life is happening. You just don't see it. This somehow reminded me that good exposition is always happening. You just don't see it.

ADDENDUM: Make sure that when you skeedaddle, you follow up this post with one from Unknown Screenwriter who also has a list of five exposition rules. What is it with the fives?

1. Set limits on what your reader or audience needs to know.
2. Spoon feed the reader and the audience just enough exposition and backstory so that you leave them wanting even more.
3. Make the characters in your story want the information as bad as WE do.
4. Use exposition as a setup for future action.
5. Combine exposition and action.

Properly Exposing

In search of a page to post in response to the one page gauntlet, I skimmed some of my screenwriting efforts from the past year and -- well -- ouch. Those screenplays are collecting dust bunnies under the bed for a reason. More painful than recognizing the flawed writing is realizing that a year from now, I will likely have the same yuck-in-my-gut reaction to what I am working on today.

I don't know which parts read the worst, but I'm thinking it's a tie between my dead-on dialogue and poorly crafted exposition. Did I say it was poor? I meant tragic, calamitous, pitiable, and shockingly lamentable.

Okay, poor.

So, I'm on a quest for the keys to crafting a screenplay without insulting the intelligence of the reader by using exposition that couldn't be more offensively obvious if you pointed it out with flashing neon lights.

I have nothing against neon, mind you. It can be useful in pointing the way to ATM machines, pool halls, nail salons, tanning beds, tattoo parlors, slot machines, the exits of smoke filled aircraft, and -- beer. Oh, and anyone who has ever consumed two full bottles of Snapple green tea while driving four hours to Austin can ballyhoo the merits of neon signs over restroom doors in crowded convenience stores.

Neon has its place. Exposition, too, has its place. So why is it that some exposition works and some sounds like dialogue from a Dick and Jane early reader? Could it be that exposition often uses neon signs where better craftsmanship would require only a small blinking light? Or, do we sometimes use so many blinking lights that it spoils the view of everything else?

Karl Iglesias has an article about exposition in this month's Creative Screenwriting Magazine. My magazine arrives in the mailbox weeks after everyone gets theirs (and the mail lady wonders why I chase her down?), so I haven't gotten to read it yet but I'm thinking that on this quest to better write and better understand exposition, that article is the place to start.

One Page Challenge

Apparantly, Red Right Hand started this challenge and being too self absorbed of late to read my blog roll and somewhat preoccupied with job, kids, job, father's house, job, singing engagements, job, closet cleaning, job, and my new workout CD (latin dance, this is uber exhausting) I missed it. However, Unknown Screenwriter set me straight and here we are -- one page of an unfinished screenplay. Why unfinished? Uh, hello -- job, kids, job, father's house, job, singing engagements, job, closet cleaning, job, and my new workout CD.

This screenplay seems particularly appropriate at the moment. But, let me make this very clear. There was NO fly paper on my father's walls, no toilet in the yard and no fish in his bathtub.

The B Movie Life, Part 3

If you ever need to sneak off and call a psychologist friend for advice about your pecan phobic daughter, don’t do it in the driveway next to the patio where she’s laying tile. Window screens do not make particularly effective sound barriers.

Sheesh. As if it was my fault!

Halfway finished with the floor, I noticed an odd lump and realized that I had tiled over a remnant left from piecing around the door. I went off in search of a putty knife so I could pull the tile up and when I returned, my brother was trying to stomp it flat.

ME: That’s not going to work.
HIM: Dad said you need a break.
ME: It's probably a pecan.
HIM: Naw, you'd have noticed it.
ME: Not if it's a haunted pecan.
HIM: It didn't crack when I jumped on it.
ME: Because it's haunted.
HIM: Geez, you're whacked. Gimme that.

I handed him the putty knife and went to get my Diet Dr. Pepper from the table, but about the time I noticed it missing --

HIM: Found your pecan only it's a lizard!
ME: Not funny. Did you drink my Dr. Pepper?
HIM: He's road pizza.
ME: Knock it off.

But when I reached the patio my brother was studying the tile in one hand with a putty blade of lizard mush in the other. Then in his best Steve Irwin voice --

HIM: Crikey. His tail is still stuck.

Eww.

What Do You Want?

Very disappointed that Scott the Reader didn't make the Nicholl finals. But, having made the quarterfinals and semifinals, he is sure to get plenty of reads and, of course, he has bragging rights. So, congrats, Scott, on what you've accomplished. I don't know exactly what your goals are, but I'm sure this got you closer to achieving them.

This leads me to a basic question every writer ought to be able to answer --

What do you want?

I'm astonished at the number of people (in this world of ordering fast food and complex coffee combinations) who can't plainly and simply tell you what they want.

Is it inarticulateness or indecision?

Is the art of communication suffering under the ease of internet use as a substitute for human interaction? Or, are we simply afforded so many choices, opportunities, alternatives, and methods that we can't whittle them down enough to find our core desire?

Not all aspiring screenwriters want the same thing. Some want to be full time working screenwriters while periodic spec sales are fine for others. Some want to write features. Others want to write television movies or sitcoms. For some, it's a hobby and for others, a career path.

Do you know what you want?

Since writers' goals differ, the steps toward accomplishing those goals will also differ. But if a writer doesn't know what his goal is, how can he map out a strategy for achieving it? And, if he doesn't map out a strategy for achieving it, how will he measure his progress? And, if he doesn't measure his progress, how will he keep from getting discouraged?

I know exactly what I want. Nobody else has to know it or like it or even understand it. It's mine. I may choose to share it. I may not. The important thing is that I know what I'm after and I have a plan for getting it.

EXAMPLE: I'm a little weary of being told that I'm not a serious writer if I don't throw caution to the wind and move to Hollywood. How can anyone say that if they don't know what it is I really want and how I plan to get it? Moving to Hollywood is exactly what some writers need to do so they can network and get a job related to the film industry. But who says it's right for everyone? This is not a foot race where we all wind up at the same finish line.

There's a difference between giving screenwriting advice and giving career advice. If somebody says, "How do I break into Hollywood?", that is an opening to suggest moving there, getting a job as a PA, or becoming a reader. But if somebody asks "how do I make this a better screenplay?", don't tell them to move to Hollywood. That will NOT make it a better screenplay (unless the purpose is to attend film school).

Writers often try to do everything at once -- find an agent, make a sale, produce his own film, enter contests, network at festivals, find a job in L.A., etc. There are probably people who can actually do all those things at once and do them all well. But many of us need to concentrate all our efforts and energy on one or two things. Maybe one writer should be working to get an agent while another is ready to to try to produce his own film. Yet another writer may need to stay away from contests and pitch fests altogether and concentrate on improving his writing.

How do you know which one you should be doing? You have a goal and plan for achieving that goal that you can measure your progress against. Otherwise, your goal feels out of reach and your efforts may feel wasted or out of control. Worst of all, it may appear to others that you don't know what you really want. People don't put their time, trust or money into people or projects that appear to lack focus and direction.

EXAMPLE: Many writers ask somebody to read their screenplay under the guise of getting screenwriting advice when, in fact, they are hoping that reader will help them along in their career. (For the record, I want screenwriting advice, not career advice.) When the reader's notes come back and offer constructive suggestions, the writer feels let down and the reader feels unappreciated. Then they warn others not to work with that person who disappointed them.

So, if you graciously agree to take a look at somebody's screenplay, make sure you know what it is they want from you. Are they asking if you think they're good enough to make a living at screenwriting? Or, are they asking you to tell them how they can improve their screenplay? Are they hoping you'll pass the screenplay along to somebody you know who can get it made?

If they can't tell you, don't read it.

Conversely, before you ask somebody else to read your work, make sure you know exactly what it is you want from that reader and you are clear about it.

If you don't know, don't ask them to read it.

And, if you're writing away on screenplay after screenplay, entering contests willy nilly, sending out hundreds of query letters a month, annoying the heck out of every professional you meet, and stalking the men's room at screenwriting conferences, make sure that your efforts are part of a strategy to get whatever it is that you really want.

Of course, that means you must KNOW what it is that you really want.

The B Movie Life, Part 2

So the next part of my story starts back on the enclosed patio where I was on my knees, laying vinyl tiles on pee stained concrete. Yes, pee will STAIN concrete if you let hundreds of gallons roast on it for months. Even after bleaching and sanding, the color of the concrete will still be yellow. But, if you haven't read part one of this little adventure, you'd better go back and catch up or else you may not grasp the magnitude of peril involved in this whole pee situation.

Anyway, I measured to the center of the room, marked the floor with my t-square and was about to put the first tile down on this former cesspool when huh?

A pecan clacked across the concrete and rolled to a stop in front of me.

So what, you say? It's just a pecan? The wind blew it in?

You’d think so but the windows were all screened and the pecan tree does not grow near the open front door. It didn’t help that I already had the willies because my Dad and I had just been discussing the nearby train yard, the back gate someone opened while we were at Home Depot and the tools missing from my Dad's storage closet.

Now I don't really believe a transient would steal a skill saw because where is he going to plug it in? On an empty cattle car? But somebody stole that skill saw and that somebody could be hiding in the front yard throwing pecans at me.

I suppose I should have gone outside to check but what if it really was a transient skill saw thief trying to lure me off the patio so he could… what? Steal my linoleum? Kill me with a skill saw?

Why, oh why had I ever watched the Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

I nervously went back to work keeping a periodic eye on the door and also on a lizard that was hanging out on a nearby screen. He never moved while I was watching but I would look up and somehow he’d be six inches closer to me. I kept remembering a film about intelligent brain eating crabs and hoping all that meth the drug dealing former tenants cooked hadn’t affected the neighborhood lizards that same way.

Curse you, Robert Corman! Why will you not leave me in peace?

I worked for another twenty minutes and began to forget the phantom pecan until tile number eleven. Wouldn't ya know it? Another pecan rolled across the floor.

I looked at the open door. Nothing.

I looked at the lizard. Oh crap, he was GONE!

And somewhere from the bushes came -- I SWEAR – chipmunk-like laughter.

“Daddy! Help! Come quick! Now, Daddy! Now!”

He came running from the carport, waving a nail gun and looking like Carol Channing wrapped in a boa of orange extension cord. I don’t know what he thought he’d see when he got there but apparently, it was not his grown daughter cowering in front of a pecan.

Know what else?

He would NOT go into the bushes and look for brain eating geckos.

My Life as a B-Movie

Ever tried to defeat Godzilla by throwing tomatoes? That's what my past week has felt like. In reality, I was only sweeping, scrubbing, shampooing, sanitizing and setting in order my father's recently rented and utterly charming historic relic of a house.

Hard work but a nice respite from computer monitors.

It's a lovely little house. Well, it is now that I've vanquished the mutating bacteria and leviathon lizards.

The former tenants were animals - literally and figuratively. They were dobermans and drug dealers who left the house in such a state of disrepair that it sat empty for months. But my Dad, who is on a very limited income, was offered a meager rent in exchange for making the house liveable.

I said I'd help.

First, I had to get a tetanus shot.

As I was cleaning black muck beneath the drip pans on the stove and exhuming several perfectly preserved rodent skeletons, I wondered if there might still be DNA left in any of those tiny bones that, if left undisturbed, would have indirectly affected my Dad's food. Remember Roger Corman's Wasp Woman? Cosmetic queen turned wasp killer because she ingested too much of a mad doctor's wasp serum?

I'd just saved my father from sprouting claws and a long bald tail!

Whew.

But how had those rats died under there anyway? Why didn't they scurry away when the burners came on? Maybe they were too stoned from inhaling all that meth the former tenants went to jail for cooking up. Inhalants can do weird things to creatures, you know.

Most likely though, it was death by dog urine.

Seriously.

The dog urine saturated a carpet on the enclosed patio and the odor consumed the house like an omnipotent blob, wrapping its stink around everyone who entered. You may walk in that house clean but you walk out with a yellow tint on your flesh, wringing dog pee out of your shirt and knowing this must be what a fire hydrant feels like.

Oh, and here's an important safety tip. If you should ever find yourself in rubber gloves pulling up oily dog pee carpet to replace it with vinyl tile, be prepared to sand blast the yellow-orange stained concrete underneath (bleach alone is not enough) and don't forget your mask lest you inhale powdered dog urine and find yourself scratching, digging up trees, and gnawing your own tail. Spare me the crude jokes about licking yourself, gentlemen, because after five minutes in this house, you'd be better off drinking out of a stopped up toilet.

Oh look, mail lady.

More on the house later.

Oh, no! She's getting away!

Wait.

I'm not even expecting anything and yet I have this sudden urge to run her down --- and bite her on the ankle.

Still a Bridesmaid

So, okay, I don't even remember entering Screenwriting Expo 5 and I'm not at all disappointed that I dinked AGAIN in 2006 but I do think it noteworthy that I am still, as always, the best of the mediocre and building up quite a resume of percent signs. That should be the title of my next screenplay -- Best of the Mediocre. I'll work on it.

Idiotherapy

Last year, after dinking in both the Nicholl Fellowship and the Austin Film Festival, I found some small measure of solace in writing gibberish. Oh yeah. I wrote silly Jabberwocky-ish poems and short stories and even emails that smacked of a hallucinogenic nucleus.

Nonsense can be mildly therapeutic.

We writers are control freaks who type worlds into existence and ordain our characters to behave precisely as we choose. It's no wonder that we don't handle rejection well. Rejection doesn't fit into our grand scheme and it makes us feel out of sorts and out of control.

When an environment is disorderly, confused, or illogical, people often seek to take control in other ways. Bulimia and anorexia are fertilized by such a need to restore order. I have a different approach. When nothing is as it should be, I find that escalating the lunacy of the situation will often make the helter-skelter seem less helter-skelterish.

Not following me? Well, it's like an overweight girl who hangs out with even heavier girls so she doesn't feel so big. She escalates the situation in her environment as opposed to taking control by refusing to eat at all or by binging and barfing. All three are dysfunctional responses but all three give the illusion of a solved problem -- order -- and leave little room for a voice of reason to interfere.

So yes, I know that writing nonsense is not the solution to my problem. I need to buckle down, study harder, find the weaknesses in my screenwriting and take positive steps to improve my existing screenplays and write new ones that are sharper, stronger, and less resistible. I need to restore order the right way.

And, I will.

Eventually.

For now, rather than scrutinize my harsh reflection in the looking glass, I'll go the Lewis Carroll route and explore what's on the other side. Many wrtiers have found success on the other side so who knows? This time, I might just stay there.

But I doubt it.

Remember Sal? That little voice of reason that lurks in my head and calls me to task when I'm irrational? He's allergic to white rabbits.

Google Me This

I don't remember blogging about the Kumbia Kings but I must have if Google says so. One of my Site Meter hits today was from somebody's Google search for "Billy Mernit seven beats". Google it yourself. MY BLOG shows up before Billy Mernit's own blog. How fair is that? But I don't know how reliable Site Meter really is. Today's hit #77 says somebody got to my blog by Googling "hot babes". So I clicked on the site link which took me to the Google search that supposedly brought somebody to Fencing with the Fog -- twelve pages later, you still couldn't get here from there. Rats.

Previewing The Unit

Somehow, my two part post on battle speeches got me an invitation to preview The Unit, Season One on DVD which releases on Tuesday to coincide with the airing of the Season Two premier on CBS. This is the second time marketers have targeted my blog to promote television and I gotta tell ya that I don't think it's a terrible idea. But, naturally, I look at such things from the perspective of a writer.

The Unit is a television drama about an ultra secretive special forces contingency regularly deployed to parts unknown on missions that protect the safety and security of Americans. Created by Shawn Ryan and David Mamet, and based on the book "Inside the Delta Force" by Eric Haney, The Unit stars Dennis Haysbert, Scott Foley, and Robert Patrick who deliver strong performances.

The activities of the Unit, itself, are well written, compelling, and addictive without talking over the heads of us non-military viewers. Whether the writing lacks plausibility to viewers in our armed forces remains to be seen. I've turned my discs over to a guy who can help me out with that question. But from the perspective of a female with limited military knowledge, it's good stuff if you can overlook the women's stories.

The wives, played by Regina Taylor, Audrey Marie Anderson, and Abby Brammell -- well, ouch. But I'm not entirely sure what hurts. Is it their stories? Their perfomances? Or, is it that just about the time the men reel me into their adventure, I get yanked out to watch eye candy bicker, struggle through relationship issues or suffer an unjustice for the sake of the secrecy of their men.

If the writers and producers need hot babes for the male viewers, that's okay with me. But The Unit appears to be trying to portray strong women with iron backbones and real issues in order to attract an educated female demographic -- noble, but it misses the mark and often feels like an episode of Desperate Army Wives.

While the women's stories are saccharin, the men in the Unit have stories that are good drama even when they're uncomfortable. Not always politcally correct and often morally ambiguous, the men make decisions in situations I wouldn't want to confront. Could you temporarily change your sexual orientation and act on that to get home alive? Leave a child behind in a hostile land after promising to take him home? Turn on a brother in arms for the greater good or cheat on your wife because of a time honored tradition?

This program is neither M.A.S.H. nor Saving Private Ryan and military interest is not required to get caught up in The Unit and I can recommend that my fellow bloggers take a look at it.

However, with regard to backing off the women, I hope Season Two takes to heart something the wives, themselves, repeat over and over in these episodes about the potential for a distracted soldier to cause the demise of The Unit. That goes for distracted viewers, too.

The Movie in My Mind

We writers are a peculiar lot. I am no exception.

Know what I did while blocking out the light with a damp rag over my eyes? I listened to soundtracks. Nope. Not with a CD player. Migraines are not conducive to sound. Still, I heard my favorite soundtracks in my head as I crouched in a silent closet and hid from the light.

My favorite CD's are burned onto my brain like a cranio-jukebox or a CD player with an unlimited number of changers.

Which soundtracks? Well, I listened to quite a bit of Untouchables (Ennio Morricone), Gladiator (Hans Zimmer), and Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves (Michael Kamen). But the one that played in my head the most was Troy (James Horner). I'm a huge Horner fan and track eight of Troy brings me to tears.

While I also love musicals, the migraine pain was too intense to endure vocals -- even in my head.

See what I mean? Very peculiar.

I'd have loved to listen to Little Shop of Horrors, Damn Yankees or Miss Saigon but musicals were out of the question since, apparently, James Horner snuck some vocals into Troy and spent what little human voice tolerance I had.

My favorite of Claude-Michel Schönberg's and Alain Boublil's hauntingly emotional songs from the musical, Miss Saigon is "The Movie in My Mind" where Vietnamese prostitutes explain how they briefly escape their cruel lives and repugnant acts by retreating into their heads until it's over -- "A world that's far away, where life is not unkind, the movie in my mind".

That's pretty much what we screenwriters do (no, this is not a screenwriters as prostitutes analogy). Screenwriters suspend the reality we can see and touch to escape into one of our own creation, one where life is exactly as we design it and suits our purposes perfectly. We transpose the movie in our minds to words that become lines that become scenes that become the screenplay that becomes the movie that portrays a reality that suspends reality and affords viewers an avenue of escaping into the movies in their own minds.

Suspend reality to create a reality that suspends reality. It's like a deliberate cycle of schizophrenia. Or, maybe that's just my meds working OR A Beautiful Mind (Horner) is playing in my head.

While the migraine allowed me to hear music in my mind, I couldn't watch movies in my mind. Migraines produce these little strobe light thingies that look like dancing globs of Vasoline and are directly linked to the "tell your stomach to hurl your spleen across the bathroom floor" mechanism of the human brain.

I couldn't even watch a silent movie in my mind because who wants to pretend to watch a film through dancing globs of Vasoline?

But all is well. I'm dozing off to the heart strumming combination of trumpets and Spanish guitar in Mask of Zorro (James Horner). I tried to listen to it in the closet but the castanets were too painful. Tonight, my brain gets a rest. I'm using a CD player -- the kind with AA batteries.

For Only A Few Hours

Okay, first of all, it ain't that hot. Secondly, if I leave it up too long, it becomes vanity instead of anwering a dare. But since a couple of you are griping because you haven't heard it, here it is, in all my animated Milli Vanilli glory, but not for long. It's coming down before the weekend. No, I'm not embarrassed but this is a screenwiting blog! Well, most of the time.

Plunged Into Darkness

Friends, screenwriters, bloggers, lend me your eyes -- and tolerance for light and sound. It's happened again.

While doctors claim it's a recurring migraine or cluster headache, Sal, that voice of reason that lives inside my head, (not to be confused with Sol or Sal who now and then reply on this blog) says he knows for a fact that ferocious gremlins are setting off explosives inside my cranium and propelling rocket grenades against the backs of my eyes.

I'll be cowering in the darkness with a damp rag on my eyes until the cease fire.

But Mom, He DARED Me!

FINE! You dared me to put my foot where my mouth is so there ya go. You know who you are, both of you, and no this does NOT mean I'll jump off a cliff, moon passing cars, or burp out loud in church if you dare me to. I only make an ass of myself for patriotic, altruistic, and sympathetic reasons.

Yes, yes, I know I'd never make the first round on American Idol, don't rub it in and so what? I didn't audition, now did I? Besides, I sing at funerals and senior citizen centers and conferences and rodeos and baseball games and -- well, basically places where people aren't really listening.

Know what else? There are NO acoustics in my bedroom! No sound man! No monitors and no hot guy with a pony tail winking at me. Maybe I should have recorded this in the bathroom instead of sitting on my bed watching Emmitt Smith dance on television.

Too late.

And, yeah, I don't know why I can sing in front of a couple of thousand people but this cruddy little microphone with no windshield made me a nervous wreck but you can't throw tomatoes over the internet.

The point is, yeah, I really WILL sing "God Bless America" any time, any place, so THERE!

Play of the Day

This is a momentary departure from screenwriting but it is NOT a political commentary. It's a people commentary. So please do not email me or post remarks about the various failures and corruption of people, offices, organizations and branches of government that justify cynicism, bitterness or unforgiveness in this country.

I don't care. Seriously. I don't.

What I have to say is not about the neglect, incompetence, lack of preparation, selfishness or blind eyed ineptness of people who have been called to respond in crisis situations. What I have to say is about how the rest of us respond to crisis situations.

In a nutshell -- we are a far better people during horrific events than we are when the crisis has subsided. Sad and true. We are better human beings when things go wrong.

We are not defined by the bad things that happen around us but by how we respond. We were an amazing people, a great people, following September 11 and Katrina and Reta and that nightmare tsunami. I don't wish woe on my fellow man just so people will grow charitable and selfless, but I miss the people of crisis mode America. We were unselfish, patriotic and non-partisan and seemed to possess a clarity of thinking that arises out of a necessity to protect or defend something or somebody we love.

In 1976, Rick Monday was playing centerfield for the Chicago Cubs in Dodger Stadium when two protestors tried to set an American flag on fire in left center. And then, YOINK! Monday snatched the lighter fluid soaked flag from beneath the two protestors as they were lighting the matches. No hesitation.

Free speech, you say? They had a right to burn the flag? Rick Monday exercised his own free speech as he snatched it away with no thought of the burns he might suffer. With the flag in Monday's hands, ever so gradually, the stadium broke out into a chorus of "God Bless America".

That's how we act when confronted with crisis. After September 11th, we gave unselfishly and sacrifically and sang "God Bless America" when and where we wanted regardless of what burns we might suffer for doing it on the courthouse steps or at the public school flag pole.

After Katrina, we opened our homes, churches, and wallets to strangers even if it meant making a late house payment and even if it meant that we might actually get had by a scam artist. Better to be had than turn our backs on a person in need. No hesitation.

There are a lot of things wrong with America. We know this. Has America earned our loyalty and respect in recent years? Maybe. Maybe not. But whether she earned it or not, I'd take a bullet for my mother just because she IS my mother. No hesitation.

How will you spend the five year anniversary of a day that ushered in unspeakable horror? Will you think about everything we've done wrong, point fingers, lay blame, relive the pain and disbelief? Or, will you remember the flag erected on the rubble of the World Trade Center, the people who died for no other reason than that they lived under that flag, and the lion hearted spirit and fortitude of the people that flag represents?

As for me, I know a guy at Walmart who will let me have the intercom long enough to sing "God Bless America".

How will you play this day?

Making Passes Again -- Again

Proving that my brain is, indeed, made of Swiss cheese (or is it green cheese?), I accidentally deleted this post to whine about the outrageous oversight on the part of the Austin Film Festival (yeah, I'm sticking to that story - it was an oversight). I've tried to recreate this glowing referral, but only had pieces of it left on my hard drive.

So, here goes --

--Billy Mernit has a “Back to School” post that simultaneously praises and laments the excrutiatingly difficult work ushered in by the end of summer. How do you diss and and extol in pretty much the same breath? I dunno, but Billy does it expertly as he points us to a post at I Am Trying to Make You Laugh which is kind of a checklist for “making passes” once you think your script is finally done.

I’d like nothing more than to berate this dude for plagiarizing me, except for the annoying fact that he didn’t. His pass list is much more thorough than my post on making passes which required a followup post --
-- and that's all I've got because of, well, you know, this...or..was it this?

Burned, But Not Orange

As if getting a dink letter from the AFF yesterday wasn't enough, I got another letter from them today to let me know that not only did I not advance, but I am not being considered for the University of Texas' 2006 Burnt Orange Productions Award either.

You know, I was actually okay with this yesterday. After all, there were over 4000 entries in the AFF so it's not that odd that my Nicholl top 10%'r got no love in my own beloved state. (like how I keep throwing that 10% thing out there?) But the Burnt Orange? Only 900 entries! I can't advance with only 900 entries? What the???

So this letter basically says to me, "Hey, remember when we told you yesterday that we didn't like your screenplay? WE REALLY MEAN IT!"

Ouch -- deep in the heart of Texas.

Hey! Wait a corn-shuckin' minute! The Burnt Orange is sponsored by the University of Texas? And my protagonist went to Baylor?

That explains E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G!

What? Shut up! How else am I supposed to live with rejection in the homeland? How else am I supposed to sleep at night? It's college rivalry or a ten gallon hat of tequila and all I have to drink in the house right now is diet vanilla Pepsi and half a bottle of Dayquil.

I can tell ya right now, I am NOT drinking the Dayquil and you know why? It's burnt orange, that's why! Take THAT, AFF!

Then again, how hard can it be to edit the screenplay and swap Bears for Longhorns?

Okay, AFF, see ya next year.

(hiccup)

Best of the Mediocre

Another day, another dink.

I'm officially out of the running in the Austin Film Festival. Probably won't go to the AFF anyway due to job related chaos until November. Weird though. I really thought I'd be a second rounder this year. I didn't expect to win. But, I did think I would advance.

Stupid intuition. Wrong cookies.

This time last year, so great was my discouragement that I quit screenwriting for a month. I was defeated and convinced that I rated at the very bottom of the crap-o-meter. I probably won't sink that low this year because (1) I'm never at the very bottom of anything -- I'm always in the middle and (2) I've got a Greg Beal note that says I was in the Nicholl top ten percent so to my eyes, it reads, "you do NOT suck!"

Of course I don't suck. I never suck at anything. In everything I do, I'm always the very, very best of the mediocre.

That's right.

Cut a slice out of the middle and I'll be floating at the top. Cut a slice off the top and I'm clinging to the bottom. That's how it works with me and most of the time, I'm okay with it because being the best of the mediocre means a great many people think I'm an amazing singer, brilliant writer, creative graphic artist, excellent seamstress, superior administrator, cool mom or great housekeeper. A much smaller number of people think I'm not.

I'm never the star and never in the peanut gallery.

However, there's something to be said for stepping away from any task for awhile. It empties the cache in my brain, deletes temporary files and makes the brain run faster after I reboot. Maybe I could do a cerebral defrag, cranio upgrade or look into the latest encephalic memory stick for writers with Swiss cheese in their heads.

Then again, maybe I just need to keep writing and come up with a better screenplay. First, I want to pout a few days. Why? Because like everything else I do, I'm very good at it -- the very best of the mediocre. But, not the best. So, I'll be back at my keyboard shortly.

Another Thing I Hate About Me

My random memory is like Swiss cheese -- what I know is there forever but what I've forgotten is gone. I have a 23 year old sister who is somewhat mentally challenged and operates this same way only to a greater extreme. She can tell you where the Parthenon is and solve a long division problem, but can't remember where the bathroom is, how to dial 9-1-1, or who the president is.

It must run in the family.

I can recite for you all the books of the Old & New Testaments and the Girl Scout pledge, quote film dialogue, song lyrics, or Texas statutes, and tell you the name of my kindergarten teacher. But, I can't tell you who called me five minutes ago and whether or not I've paid my cable bill. Doctors scratch their heads at me because I have NO IDEA what I ate for breakfast, when I last went to the bathroom, or what years I had a hysterectomy, appendectomy, partial mastectomy, or gall bladder removed. Trivial stuff like that just falls through the holes in my Swiss cheese brain.

But, I can still recite for you a poem I memorized in the fifth grade. It had to be at LEAST 50 lines so I memorized this perfectly morbid & EXACTLY 50 line poem by Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) --

MATILDA told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away!

It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street--
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.

I couldn't remember yesterday if I had included this in my post. I had not. So, I posted it separately. Actually, I didn't do that either. I saved it as a draft. But, hey! I paid my cable bill! Or, was it my cell phone?

By the way, how exactly does one stretch one's eyes?

Things I Hate About Me

My brain has bouts of denial -- Once in awhile, something happens that is so surreal that it won't register for me, despite the evidence of truth. I was neither an admirer nor critic of Steve Irwin. He was a fascinating non-issue in whose direction I rarely glanced. More bizarre to me than Steve Irwin's manner of death is my own brain's refusal to accept it as fact. And, this feeling of loss and regret? Well, it's just weird. Very weird.

I have periodic intuitions -- Years ago, I called my brothers and sisters to my grandmother's bedside against the protests of my father and aunt who said I was over-reacting to a gut-feeling that she was about to die. She died the next day. Last week, I begged my son's friend to quit his job at Domino's because I was so convinced that somebody would rob the joint and shoot everyone that I offered to pay the boy until he found another job. Saturday, two employees were found dead at a Pizza Hut down the highway. Thank God I was off a few miles.

I'm a mailbox stalker -- Where did this come from? Was I one of the teenagers who sat around waiting for the phone to ring after I gave some guy my number? No. But Austin Film Festival notification letters go out via snail mail this week and what am I doing? Camping out at my mailbox in triple digit heat and heading off my mail lady.

ME: Hi! I made you cookies.
HER: Two bills, pizza coupons, and a chain letter but you don't get them for six more blocks.
ME: Nothing from the Austin Film Festival?
HER: How often are you gonna do this?
ME: Just twice a year,the Nicholl and the AFF.
HER: And those are when?
ME: Around the first of August and early September. Why?
HER: We're doing vacation calendars for next year.
ME: Wait! You forgot your cookies!
HER: I don't like oatmeal.

I guess my intuition doesn't extend to favorite cookies and placing in screenwriting competitions. Or, maybe it does and my brain is in denial.

Expose Yourself

Yeah, I know what you thought and I can't wait to count the google hits I get off that one. The Thinking Writer has an excellent post called "Hang Your Ass Out There". It's about having the intestinal fortitude to say something in your screenplay. I can't add anything productive to his post but it ought to be the first commandment in the screenwriting bible. Go read it.

You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore

Remember that thrill that fluttered up your chest when you made eye contact with your first love? Mine was a sports writer who sat two rows over in journalism class. He was an excellent golfer and reminded me of Bruce Jenner. This guy would occasionally hum "Rainy Days and Mondays" or "What the World Needs Now" and to this day, I think of him every time I hear the Carpenters or catch a whiff of rubber cement.

Hey, does anyone know if there is a connection between rubber cement and migraines?

Anyway, that amazing first love euphoria is the same for me in that moment, that very special film moment, when I get a glorious shot of cinematic adrenaline straight to the heart and realize that I care desperately about a character and what happens to him.

When I was a kid, mine was an easy heart to win. I was in love with Speed Racer. Shallow me. He drove a hot car. I also flirted with Batman's sidekick for awhile. Who didn't? But, hello! Robin didn't drive and let's face it, he wore pantyhose.

But the older I get, the more cautious I am with my cinematic affection. I'm a fan of very few. Yet, I can tell you the exact moment I fell in love with Indiana Jones. (now that I've had days to think about it with a damp rag over my eyes) It was in the first act. And, I know precisely when Egon Spengler won my heart. First act. Michael Dorsey? Sid, the Sloth? Captain Jack Sparrow? All in act one.

That's the way it's supposed to be, right? Don't writers craft characters to reel us into their stories just as soon as possible?

But something odd happened to me with Dead Man's Chest and please keep in mind that I love Dead Man's Chest. The first act came and went and there was no thrilling flutter. Jack Sparrow was hysterically funny to watch and of course, I still loved him in a "leftover from the last film" sort of way, but why didn't he thrill me anymore?

I've had waaaaaay too much time to think about this so feel free to stop reading right now, go get a beer, check the fridge, take a potty break, or just find another blog to read. Also, consider this your obligatory Dead Man's Chest spoiler alert.

Jack Sparrow, in the first Pirates of the Caribbean film, took smart action without thinking and had a cocky assurance of his own invincibility despite being a terrible escapist. Jack had a fearlessness about him that stemmed from believing that no matter what, things would ultimately go his way if he could just hang on long enough.

His believing it made us believe it, too.

The Jack Sparrow in Dead Man's Chest is a fraidy cat and never once says, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow" as if uttering his name carried the same weight as that of the king himself. But in this second film, everyone already knows Jack and there are no strangers for him to announce his fame to. Jack's quiet and sneaky self assurance is gone and so is our confidence that if we hook up with him, no matter how weird it gets, ultimately everything will be all right.

But the moment DID come when I fell utterly and totally in love with Captain Jack Sparrow all over again. It wasn't in the first act or even the second, but at the end of the film! What is up with that?

Elizabeth has been dragged across the deck by a giant tentacle, lost her firearm, and is desperately trying to retrieve it so she can shoot the barrels of gunpowder and rum that Will is about to release from a net.

Will dangling. Net breaking. Squid attacking. Elizabeth failing. And suddenly, he appears --

There he is, Captain Jack Sparrow, shining like Apollo with the sun on his shoulder as if the heavens themselves opened up and placed him on the deck.

Flutter.

There his is, taking the same smart, quick action that made me love him in the first film when he dove from the Interceptor to save Elizabeth from drowning.

Flutter. Flutter.

There he is, saying nothing but announcing by his very presence, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow" and assuring us that if we hook up with him (or cling to his leg as Elizabeth does) that no matter how weird it gets, ultimately everything will be all right.

Flutter. Flutter. Flutter.

But why didn't he flutter me in the first act? Or, did he?

Pirates of the Caribbean is a trilogy. The first act is Curse of the Black Pearl. The second act is Dead Man's Chest which sets up the impossible situation that Jack cannot be extricated from. At World's End will be the resolution.

Duh.

The more about screenwriting I learn and the more films I study (or evaluate in my imagination while heavily medicated), the more I know how very little I really understand about this craft.

Hey, did anyone else feel strangely empowered by the giant squid that looked like an enormous vagina with teeth?

Screenwriter Cynicism

I'm on day three of the migraine from hell. Can't look at a computer monitor or television screen for very long and every noise sends pulsing daggers through my temple so I basically have had plenty of time to sit in the dark with a damp rag over my eyes and THINK.

What about? Well, are elephants really the only mammal that can't jump? When I take a shot of tequi--, I'm mean an aspirin, how does it know where the pain is? Do women need bras in space? And, does there come a time in every screenwriter's life when they can longer watch a film without dissecting it like an eighth grade science experiment?

I know an engineer who drives down new streets while wondering about the subgrade of the road, an auto mechanic who can't ride in my truck without observing every ping or knock, and a chef who simply cannot go out to eat anymore -- everyone else's food sucks.

Yeah. We're doomed.

A lot of aspiring screenwriters sound just like that chef. Look at any wannabe screenwriting board and you rarely find anything positive. I wonder if, having never opted or sold or produced anything of their own, some of these writers aren't just a little bit full of themselves. On the other hand, I don't have to win a Heisman Trophy to tell you when a college football game sucks.

Films have faults and I hate spotting them. I really, really wanted Eddie Kim to get his butt kicked in Snakes on a Plane or, at the very least, lose his family jewels to a set of exotic fangs (get your mind out of the gutter - I mean a snake). But he didn't and even my son's girlfriend left asking why we didn't get to see the bad guy face justice.

Fortunately, the film's shortcomings didn't stop me from enjoying Snakes on a Plane but I can't say that about all films and I'm growing increasingly concerned that I may be in danger of becoming the kind of writer who nit picks her senses out of the thrill of the moment.

Do doctors ever miss how attractive some people are because they've examined so many bodies that when they pass a hottie they're thinking, "that gal's excessively large mammary glands could mean thyroid disease" or "that guy took one too many little blue pills"?

Okay, that's just silly. Doctors must still find people attractive so filmmakers can surely still enjoy a movie and a bag of popcorn.

There's hope. There's always hope.

But it does give me an idea for the worst sequel ever (like I said, I've had way to much time to think) -- that guy in Snakes on a Plane whose unzipped pants became a reptilian buffet -- what if he'd had one too many little blue pills and the snake that bit off his willy survived the fall from the plane and wound up in the sewers of Los Angeles? Since the snake is still in mating mode from the pheremone soaked leis and all dangling wiggly things look like kin folk to him...

Somebody get me Samuel L. Jackson's number so I can pitch Snakes on Viagra in a Toilet!

Or -- maybe I'll just sit here in the dark and think.

More on Battle Speeches

Still muddling through pre-battle speeches with a view toward figuring out their purposes. Surprising to me, pre-battle speeches can serve different purposes.

But, WHY is it surprising to me?

As Chris Soth mentioned on my previous battle speech post, I pretty much expect pre-battle speeches to be a reminder to the audience of what's at stake, why we're here, what we're about, what they're about, what we're fighting for and/or why it even matters. But that's not always the case and the surprising part is that very often, the speech is tied to theme or character.

In that same post, Red Right Hand drew our attention to the Henry V speech. Is the father of pre-battle pep speeches the quintessential standard that all pre-battle pep talks pay homage to whether it's intentional or not? Well, I put it to the test by looking at few more pre-battle speeches to see if they try to be or not to be like Henry V!

Here's the standard:

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Go ahead, read it again. No, it's not William Wallace's speech in Braveheart but could it get any closer?

LORD OF THE RINGS - RETURN OF THE KING
Aragorn's speech at the Black Gate:

Hold your ground! Hold your ground!
Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers,
I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me.
A day may come when the courage of men fails,
when we forsake our friends
and break all bonds of fellowship,
but it is not this day.
An hour of wolves and shattered shields,
when the age of men comes crashing down,
but it is not this day!
This day we fight!!
By all that you hold dear on this good Earth,
I bid you stand, Men of the West!

Motivational and suspciously, very Henry V-ish. Yeah, that one's a no brainer so let's go the comedy direction next.

MEATBALLS
Brett mentioned his favorite five pre-battle movie speeches ever and his number one, being my number one, has to be featured here as the all time greatest pre-battle speech ever:

And even if we win, if we win, HAH! Even if we play so far above our heads that our noses bleed for a week to ten days; even if God in Heaven above points his hand at our side of the field; even if every man woman and child joined hands together and prayed for us to win, it just wouldn't matter because all the really good looking girls would still go out with the guys from Mohawk because they've got all the money! It just doesn't matter if we win or if we lose. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! (Rest of group: IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!)

Just have fun, people, it's only a game... but still very Henry V-ish. "Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot" sounds a lot like "it just doesn't matter" to me. What about a deadlier game where it MUST matter?

GLADIATOR
Proximo's pre-game speech to the gladiators:

Some of you are thinking you won't fight; some, that you can't fight. They all say that until they're out there. Listen. [crowd - now chanting, now cheering]Thrust this [sword] into another man's flesh, and they will applaud and love you for that. You? You may begin to love them -- for that. Ultimately, we're all dead men. Sadly, we can not choose how. But, we can decide how we meet that end in order that we are remembered as men.

Did he just says "it just doesn't matter" because everyone dies so they should choose manner of death themselves lest they "hold their manhoods cheap"? Uh huh. I'm detecting a pattern here. But what if it's not a pre-battle speech, but a walk-away-from the battle speech? That kind of pep talk must be an antithesis to the Henry V speech.

SAVING PRIVATE RYAN
Captain John H. Miller explains why the mission matters.

Mike? What's the pool on me up to right now? What's it up to? What is it three hundred dollars -- is that it? Three hundred? I'm a school teacher. I teach English Composition in this little town called Addley, Pennsylvania. The last eleven years, I've been at Thomas Alva Edison High School. I was coach of the baseball team in the spring time. Back home when I tell people what I do for a living, they think, well, that, that figures. But over here its a big, a big mystery. So I guess I've changed some. Sometimes I wonder if I've changed so much my wife is even gonna to recognize me whenever it is I get back to her -- and how I'll ever be able to tell her about days like today.

Ryan -- I don't know anything about Ryan. I don't care. Man means nothin' to me. It's just a name. But if -- you know -- if going to Ramel and finding him so he can go home, if that earns me the right to get back to my wife -- well, then, then that's my mission. You wanna leave? You wanna go off and fight the war? Alright. Alright, I won't stop you. I'll even put in the paperwork. I just know that every man I kill the farther away from home I feel.

Sounds a lot like "He that outlives this day, and comes safe home", doesn't it?

Well done, Red Right Hand. But in defense of my original post which laments the wordy and poorly executed pre-battle speech in Alexander (that basically made me wish the soaring eagle would peck somebody's eye out to break the monotony), I cannot resist the urge to quote Henry V further -- "Men of few words are the best men."

Snake Day

I hate the movie theater. I mean I really, really, hate it. I'd rather have a root canal than endure the unsupervised kids, the cell phones and laser lights, the necking teens, the lack of ushers, the cramped chairs and the overpriced food. I see very few films in the theater. Most movies must wait to get the Batchellor seal of of approval or grunt of dismay until they hit Blockbuster or Netflix. Films are better when I watch them in my den with affordable popcorn and kids whose x-boxes and car keys can be confiscated if they spoil my show.

Last summer, I didn't see a single film in the theater. Not one. But this summer, I had three films that I really wanted to see on the giant screen -- Dead Man's Chest, Superman, and Snakes on a Plane. Even if my big screen television was large enough to do the films justice (which, of course, it's not), I couldn't wait for them to come out on DVD. I had to see them now!

While Superman was a super let down for many, I was not among them at my opening day 12:01 a.m. show of DC comic geeks who had waited years for another man of steel flick. Crowd mentality made up for film shortcomings. They cheered and applauded the film title. Yeah, the film title! And, when Superman did his signature "rip open shirt & reveal logo" move to John Williams' unforgettable theme, these nerds went insane, negating my annoyance with --

* the obese guy rolling onto my drink holder
* the kid kicking my chair
* the putrid smell from vomit or old cheese under my seat
* the urine bag hanging on the wheelchair in front of me
* the eight teens I brought with me
* the $94.50 I spent on tickets

Dead Man's Chest was an even grander adventure as fans arrived in their smashing pirate attire and sporting parrots, monkeys, cutlasses & flintlock pistols. Jack Sparrow (I suspect he was an imposter) got a rowdy standing ovation when he and his double D wench entered the movie theatre fashionably late, but just in time to be revered as if Johnny Depp, himself, had just declared, "why is the rum gone?". Early moments in the film were expectant and tense until Jack Sparrow made his bizarre appearance by shooting through a casket he had just used to escape a Turkish prison. The audience exploded. Elvis was in the building and from that moment on, the ride never lost momentum.

Will Snakes on a Plane live up to the internet hype? I don't see how it can but do I really care as long as it's a great ride? Because of Dead Man's Chest, Superman, and the surprisingly good Monster House, I've actually ENJOYED going to the theater this summer -- and that hasn't happened in a very long time. I don't care how good SOAP is or isn't. I already bought the t-shirt.

Jolly Good Theater

Ever so often, I have to take a side street and today it's because my beloved Texas Rangers are wearing on my last nerve. This little scene summoned a memory of Elizabeth Swann's lines from Dead Man's Chest during the three way sword fight on the beach of Isla Cruces:

"This is barbaric! This is no way for grown men to settle- Oh! Fine! Let's just pull out our swords and start banging away at each other!"

Okay, fellas, let's just clear the benches and start pounding away at each other. That will win you a division title. My compliments to Ian Kinsler, Michael Young and Freddy Guzman who took consecutive hits and walked to their base without even glancing at the mound. As for the rest of you --

"I've had it with wobbly-legged, rum-soaked pirates!"

-- or testosterone-soaked Rangers.

Uncredited Voices

I finally semi-understand why certain writers are uncredited in films thanks to the inside peek we wannabes get at Craig Mazin's & Ted Elliott's website, www.artfulwriter.com.

According to various pros, the crediting process is a complicated, sometimes unfair, attempt to weight the contributions of everyone who worked on a screenplay in order to decide whose name goes on the screen.

But how is that voices can go uncredited in animation? Why is Kathleen Turner not credited with the voice of the gravity defying & dangerously over endowed vixen in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Can anyone tell me that? Is it based on number of lines recorded that actually wound up in the film? I need some animation education.

Purpose of Battle Speeches

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good
She was very, very good
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

Remember that nursery rhyme? Well, let's change it up a bit.

There was a handsome guy
Who gave a battle cry
Anticipating warfare cruel and torrid
And when the speech was good
it did just what it should
But when it was bad, it was so pitiful I can't finish this poem.

I just watched Alexander. He gave the longest pre-battle pep talk that I've ever seen on film. Even the soldiers were stretching, yawing and checking their sundials. It was weird. It felt like twenty minutes of boring exposition.

So, this got me to wondering -- what is the purpose of the pre-battle speech in film? Does it have a purpose other than exposition or is it just a standard prerequisite of any war story?

BRAVEHEART - In Braveheart, William Wallace gives a pre-battle speech that became a defining moment in the film. What differs it from the same narcoleptic moments in Alexander? Wallace's speech tells us as much about his character as it does the justification for the battle. It gives us another piece of Wallace's motive for being there instead of serving solely as exposition.

"Yes. Fight and you may die. Run and you will live, at least awhile. And dying in your bed many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that, for one chance to come back here as young men, and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but the will never take our freedom?"

GLADIATOR - Maximus gives his troops a similar speech in Gladiator -- similar because it, too, is a look inside the motives of the leader. But because it tells us what the men believe about life and death, Maximus' speech also serves as exposition.

Three weeks from now, I will be harvesting my crops. Imagine where you will be and it will be so. Along the line, stay with me. If you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled for you are in Allysium and you are already dead. What we do in life echoes in eternity.

TROY - This film has two pre-battle speeches -- Achilles' speech to his Myrmidons and Hector's speech to battalions of Troy. Achilles' speech is about his character. He wants his name to live forever.

Myrmidons, my brothers of the sword. I'd rather fight alongside you than any army of thousands. Let no man forget how menacing we are. We are lions. You know what's there waiting beyond that beach? Immortality! Take it. It's yours!

Hector's speech is also about his character. Hector is a servant of Troy.

Trojans, all my life, I've lived by a code and that code is simple -- honor the gods, love your woman, and defend your country. Troy is mother to us all. Fight for her!

KINGDOM OF HEAVEN - This pre-battle speach is not a speech. As Balian prepares Jerusalem to defend itself, he gives no pep talk. But he believes that no man is a servant to another and makes each man a knight by administering the same oath to them that he took at his father's deathbed. This serves no expository purpose that I can see but solely demonstrates the character of the leader.

Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless. This is your oath (he slaps a young teen as his father slapped him) and that is so you remember it. Rise, a knight!

I think all of these examples work, but why do they work? The one thing I see in each one is that the battle speech, like other dialogue in the film, also serves to reveal character.

ALEXANDER - So why does the speech in Alexander not work for me? Aside from being entirely too long and boring, it has several long pauses of silence as we watch an eagle or inaudible shots while the opposing army looks at each other. Even if we wanted to care at the beginning of the speech, by the time it's over we're too exhausted to give a rip how the battle turns out.

You've all honored your country and your ancestors and now we come to this most distant place in Asia where across from us Darius has at last gathered an army-- (cut from speech to no audible dialogue and follow long descent of an eagle and then go back to Alexander mid sentence) -- but look again at this war and ask yourselves, who is this great king who pays assasins in gold coins to murder my father, our king in a most despicable and cowardly manner? Who is this great king Darius who enslaves his own men to fight? Who is this king but a king of air? These men do not fight for their homes. They fight because this king tells them they must. When they fight, they will melt away like the air. We are not here today as slaves. We are here as Macedonian free men! Some of you, perhaps myself, will not live to see the sun set over these mountains today but I say to you what every warrior has known since the beginning of time, conquer your fear and I promise you, you will conquer death! When they ask you where you fought so bravely, you will answer, I was here this day at Gaugamela for the freedom and glory of Greece! Zeus be with us!

Conclusion? Well, first of all, I think pre-battle speeches have to serve some purpose other than pure exposition but what I don't know is if it's critical that the speech also reveal character. And second, typing that last speech made me drowsy. I'm going to take a nap now.

Way Too Proud of Texas

So, okay I’m the “way too proud of Texas” gal. We have it all, you know – piney woods, prairies, mountains, coastlines, plains, hill country and Lubbock. Oh sure, a lot of us actually do wear ten gallon hats and ranch for a living or rodeo every weekend (FYI- do NOT wear sandals to a rodeo) and no, you don’t have to drive far to find a Mexican guy selling his wife’s homemade tamales from the back of their station wagon, but not everything Texan is stereotypical. Just today, I was driving through Smithville when a guy in a parachute landed on the side of the highway right beside my Chevy pickup truck. I was still marveling over this anomaly when I drove past a mobile home sales lot with a sign that said, “free beer with every new home purchase”. Yeah, I love Texas.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I am woman, hear me whimper -- at least until I buy a better microphone. While cartoon me (look to the right) may be temporary, I really wanted to give it a try. We'll just see how it goes. Meanwhile, no cracks about my accent. Like you didn't KNOW I was a Texan?

When a Hole is Not a Hole

Wandering around in blogville the other day, I ran across a post by an aspiring screenwriter discussing plot holes. Now, I can't say for 100% sure exactly what a plot hole is but I am pretty sure I know what it isn't. A plot hole ISN'T an unanswered question. That would make it a plot question instead of a hole, don'tcha think?

Wait. Side street. Here's something you don't read every day. "Three penguins were killed by oncoming traffic; one died in the crash when a truck spilled about two dozen penguins, tropical fish and an octopus onto an east Texas highway near Marshall."

Sometimes, I genuinely worry about these meds they give me for tooth aches.

Okay, where was I?

Oh yes, so, ever the screenwriting sleuth, I called my mother -- who told me that at four o'clock in the morning, she was only qualified to discuss sex, hot flashes, breast implants and lyposuction. Who else is a gal supposed to turn to with a complicated question? Couldn't find a Howie Schwabb hotline so I went to Wikepedia which says that:

"A plot hole is a gap in a storyline that goes against the flow of logic set-up by the plot or that undermines the basic premises of the story."

I know. I know. I need to see what my screenwriting books and screenwriting buddies say about it. But before I made it to the trunk of books in the garage, I began to wonder if the term "plot hole" was a derivitive of "wormhole" which, in science fiction, is used to bridge the gap between two areas of space or time.

Sounded plausible enough. But, who to ask?

I called my mother back. You know, I don't think she was thrilled to hear from me and she didn't believe me about the penguins either. However, she did give me some information about Schwarzschild wormholes, Einstein-Rosen bridges and some kind of wormhole metric theory that I couldn't quite follow because, come on, it was four o' clock in the morning!

Point. I always have one. It's occassionally vague and sometimes involves Smurfs and an ostrich named Curtis who sticks his head in my car window to change the radio station, but I do always have a point. The point here is that I need to delve deeper into this plot hole issue because it seems to me that the omission of back story or explanation isn't a plot hole unless it causes, you know, a hole! -- something illogical, irreconcilable or contradictory.

Couldn't a deliberately unanswered question sometimes be clever manipulation used to ignite the viewer's imagination instead of orchestrating it?

Hey. Good news. The octopus survived.

Crash of the Penguins - and you thought I was hallucinating.

Deciphering Subtext

Mystery Man on Film has been doing a series on subtext by using the contributions of readers and screenwriting friends. It's a good exercise in muddling through what subtext is and what it means. I have to disagree with some of the subtext examples given, but the blog makes for good reading. Since one of the contributions is from me, I thought I'd repost it on my own blog, but make sure you visit Mystery Man on Film to read the others.

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Aspiring screenwriters have widely differing ideas, opinions and misconceptions of what subtext actually is. Many believe it's a simple matter of reading between the lines while others believe that speaking metaphorically is also subtext. Neither is categorically true. There is nothing simple about writing subtext and metaphors aren't subtext unless the metaphor is being used for one example but also means something else. And, there's a difference between story subtext with double entendres and story subtext that has a single entendre but says what it means without saying it. What is a good definition for subtext? I don't know but if I had to make up one, I'd say it was "saying what you mean without really saying it."

EXAMPLES OF DOUBLE ENTENDRE SUBTEXT

--Casablanca--

RICK: I congratulate you.
VICTOR LAZLO: What for?
RICK: Your work.
VICTOR LAZLO: I try.
RICK: We all try. You succeed.

Rick means what he says, but he also means what he doesn't say. He's also talking about Victor's relationship with Else.

--Apollo 13--

JACK: Now the important thing when you're penetrating the lunar module... is your attitude and your relative speed.
He demonstrates with a beer bottle and a drinking glass.
JACK: Now let's say this is me here in the command module, and this is you.
TRACEY: All right. Uh-huh.
JACK: In the LEM. This thing sticks out here in front, that's called the probe.
He inserts the neck of bottle into the glass.
TRACEY: Is that true?
JACK: Absolutely. And, Tracey,I'll tell ya, when you feel that thing slide in, everything's clickin', it's like no other.

Yeah, he's demonstrating the probe all right.

EXAMPLE OF SINGLE ENTENDRE SUBTEXT

--Raiders of the Lost Ark--

INDY: I never meant to hurt you.
MARION: I was a child! I was in love.
INDY: You knew what you were doing.
MARION: It was wrong. You knew it.
INDY: Look, I did what I did. I don't expect you to be happy about it. But maybe we can do each other some good.
MARION: Why start now?
INDY: Shut up and listen for a second. I want that piece your father had. I've got money.
MARION: How much?

The word "sex" isn't used here. But that's obviously what we're talking about. She's saying he used her. He's saying she wanted it.

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Now, A word of caution to amateur screenwriters -- be careful what advice you take to heart from other amateurs. That includes me. Discussion is good. Discussion is healthy. But read what I have to say and draw your own conclusion. I am neither a professional screenwriter, nor script analyst.

And, while I strongly advise seeking out what the experts have to say about subtext, like this post from Ted Elliott on Subtext, I think it's also critical that every writer know his own story well enough to read any subjective comment by any expert OR amateur and be able to say, "yeah, that might work for me" or "pfft, doesn't apply in this case." But (there's always a but) don't get cocky and dismiss objective remarks. Some things are what they are and no amount of arguing will change it.

How do you learn the difference between subjective advice and objective comments? The same way you learned the difference between your grandfather's real stories about war and depression era living and the ones about miniature monkeys operating the red, yellow, and green lights inside traffic signals -- time, maturity, and hearing them over and over until you separated fact from fiction and opinion.

By the way, if you read that Ted-thread, be sure you also read his reply to a question about sub-subtext.

The Nicholl Numbers

4,899 entries
I am one of them.

245 quarterfinalists
I am not one of them.

244 more named Miss Congeniality (top 10%)
I am one of them.

Bummer -- with a little sugar on top.

Still No Nicholl Letter

This is the point where the woman in me wants to know why he hasn't called, if I'll ever see him again, and was he hitting on that blonde at the payphone or did he really go to the men's room?

Still no love from Greg Beal so I've been mapping locations of the writers I know of who've received dink letters, top ten percent letters and quarterfinal congrats. Know what I discovered? Squat.

No pattern that suggests the delay means I'm in.

You could just call me, Greg, and save me all this estrogen driven "will he or won't he" nonsense. Do you really want my overzealous singleminded Nicholl obsession to lead to an onion ring addiction and a Jenny Craig endorsement?

What's that? Well yeah, Greg, I know there were over 4800 entries, but don't you have free minutes after 7:00 p.m.? Got Skype? I have email and instant messenger...

I need closure!

Watched Mailboxes Never Deliver Nicholl Fellowship Letters

Or, is it a watched pot never boils?

Maybe standing guard over my mailbox dressed in Vera Wang, Ferragamos, and cascading hair extensions makes me look more like Norma Desmond than an anxious screenwriter waiting on her little white envelope with the gold Oscar on it. Maybe the champagne bottle resembles a billy club and is frightening off the mail carrier. Or, maybe I'm --- wait. I think a small aircraft just landed in my back yard.

Okay, never mind. The pilot said he thought he saw a distress signal from the air. Good to know if I'm ever stranded in my backyard, I can signal for help with rhinestones and cleavage.

Where was I?

Oh yes. Maybe I just jumped the gun a little since my regrettably letter last year arrived on July 29th (yeah, I remember the exact day) --

"Quarterfinalist letters are mailed by August 1 of each year; fellowship recipients are announced in late October. All entrants will receive notification of their status by mail sent no later than August 1" says the website page called Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting Basics.

Mailed no later than August 1st. Not received? Argh. Oh well, that gives me a potty break and time to look up past quarterfinalists and winners.

2005 Nicholl Fellowship Winners
“The Days Between,” Morgan Read-Davidson, Downey, California
“Fire in a Coal Mine,” Seth Resnik, West Hollywood, and Ron Moskovitz, Los Angeles
“No Country,” Michael D. Zungolo, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
“Pirates of Lesser Providence,” Colleen Cooper De Maio, Los Angeles
“Ring of Fire,” Gian Marco Masoni, Santa Monica, California

2004 Nicholl Fellowship Winners
"Fenian's Trace," Sean Mahoney, Nicasio, California
"The Gaza Golem," Daniel Lawrence, Los Angeles
"Letter Quest," Doug Davidson, Baldwin, New York
"The Secret Boy," Whit Rummel, Chapel Hill, North Carolina
"Split Infinity," John Sinclair and Nova Jacobs, Los Angeles

No, advancing in the Nicholl is not a crap-o-meter, but wouldn't it be cool to forever have your name on the website's Quarterfinalist Lists?

Yeah. So, this song goes out to Greg Beal and my letter carrier.

Mister Postman, look and see
If there's a letter in your bag for me
Why's it takin' such a long time
For me to hear from that boy of mine

So many days you passed me by
See the tears standin' in my eyes
You didn't stop to make me feel better
By leavin' me a card or a letter

Mister Postman, look and see
If there's a letter in your bag for me
Why's it takin' such a long time
Why don't you check it and see
One more time for me,
You gotta wait a minute
Wait a minute
Wait a minute
Wait a minute