My Annual Bingo Rant

To me, "bingo" is the single most irritating cop-out piece of dialogue used in film. Ever. I gripe about "bingo" at least once a year and every year, hope springs eternal and I am confident that THIS is the year the whole filmmaking universe will come over to my side and "bingo" will sit quietly on a shelf somewhere (bound and gagged) waiting for a scene in a VFW with a herd of people stamping cards and eyeing the prize table of Slap Chops and Chia pets.

Doesn't happen.

Most recently, Avatar and Sherlock Holmes jerked me out of the film and slapped me around with "bingo". There I was, absorbed in the film when BAM! It's like somebody just kicked my chair or threw a crying baby in my lap.

I realize that actors frequently ad-lib, directors throw things in that writers didn't sanction, and that writers are often under the gun and scrambling with an edit so yeah, "bingo" will happen now and then. But fifteen or twenty times a year? I'm not talking Lifetime movies and re-runs of Reba either. These are big money new releases!

I find it amusing that I have some "favorite" writers whose films never seem to use the word "bingo". That tells me we have the power! We have the technology!

Maybe I'll spend the new year pleading for releases to compile a short film of nothing but clips of characters saying "bingo". I could even use voice alteration software to raise and lower the pitches so that the whole film is to the tune of "There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o. B.I.N.G.O....."

Yeah. That would get my point across.

Except, I don't think it would be a very short film.

With Apologies to The Bangles

(sing to tune of Walk Like an Egyptian)

All the old screenplays in my room,
They gather dust, reek of gloom and doom,
Each a rotting corpse (oh whey oh)
Write something new, leave those in their tomb.

Macchiato flows by the mile
The waitress stops, speaks but doesn't smile
Gathers up my trash (oh whey oh)
"You leaving soon? Hate your writing style."

Writer types overlook her gripes, say
"Go away-oh, my cafe'-oh
and I like to write fiction."

Clacking on my keys through the day
The waitress comes, says it's time to pay
Showed her my receipts (oh whey oh)
She said "too bad, please leave anyway."

Underneath the chair, dropped a note
Next thing I know, knife against my throat
Forgot to take her meds (oh whey oh)
She went to jail, I proofed what I wrote.

All the cops in the coffee shop say
"Take her away-oh, don't delay-oh,
She's got an affliction."

Quid Pro Quo Christmas

It's no secret in my circle of friends that I loathe the chaos of Christmas. It is such a selfish season of excess that I find it repugnant. Buy for me and I'll buy for you. Mail me a card and I'll mail you one. Ugh. It's quid pro quo at its worst.

I truly do believe Christmas is the time of giving. I just don't believe it's all about stuff!

Here's my challenge to you. Kick the quid pro quo habit. Don't just think about it. Do it.

Adopt a kid from an angel tree or take a few cases of veggies to the nearest food bank. Clean out your closet and call a charity truck or donate toys to the children's hospital. Buy a few new movies for the women's shelter or just write a check to a cause near and dear to your heart --or in the true spirit of kicking the quid pro quo Christmas habit, send a check to a cause you've never supported but know is worthy.

As for my family, we do several things but especially looking forward to Thanksgiving when we are decorating at a senior apartment complex and taking snacks to some dear little old folks who have nobody else with whom to spend the holidays.

So, you have your challenge.

With true love and brotherhood, each other now embrace.

Ready. Go!

A Few Words in Memorium

I lost a dear friend this month and can only just now bring myself to write about it. I've lost many friends and relatives to cancer. Each cancer story is different. Each cancer journey is one of courage and pain, suffering and relief, victory and defeat. But this one -- well, this friend was everything I hope one day to become .. minus the cancer, of course. I wouldn't wish that on anybody.

Well, almost nobody.

Okay, child molesters probably deserve cancer.

People who abuse the elderly.

Rapists.

Murderers.

People who kick dogs.

Wait.

No.

Nobody. Nobody deserves cancer.

Ouch. That's hard to say. But if I've learned nothing else from my friend, she taught me that I should show kindness and compassion and mercy to all people, not just the ones I like. Anyone can love a friend. But an enemy? That's much more difficult.

Even as she lay dying in her bed, my friend greeted visitors with broad smiles and kind words. I never heard her complain. Her organs were shutting down and she couldn't stand without fainting. Still she insisted on knowing what she could do for others.

She was a truly a -- you know what? A word hasn't been invented yet that describes what she was. Miracle maybe. She was love, mercy, forgiveness, gentility, grace, tireless servant to her fellow man, teacher, wife, and friend to all with the singing voice of an angel. Not an unkind or selfish bone in her body.

I know I'll never be like her.

I'd still give cancer to child molesters.

A Different Take on Battle Speeches

Sure do admire the respect for a battle speech! This kid's Dad is catching crap about his boy's viewing habits, though. Personally, I think if a kid doesn't climb trees or throw a ball, a heartstring never-say-die film is better than sitting in front of an X-Box all day. This kid may not quit a thing for the rest of his life. Or, he may turn into a tv watching couch potato. Who knows.

For me, this isn't one of the greater battle speeches. It's a little cliche. But the purity on that kid's face as he delivers the line "screw 'em!" has a shock value that Kurt Russell's speech doesn't.

In case you don't recognize it, this battle speech is from Miracle, underdog film about the U.S. hockey team in the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid.

A Tale of Two Heroes

While I frequently point out that I'm a fan few, I must confess to great admiration for Jamie Foxx. Although I loved him in Ray and could hardly take my eyes off of him in Dreamgirls, it was The Soloist that catapulted the star born Eric Marlon Bishop onto my win column and put him on my short list.

Still, the billboards, statue, motorcade and hoopla at Terrell's Tiger Stadium today, Jamie Foxx Day, leaves me a little cold. Texas Governor Rick Perry, Senator Bob Deuell, State Representative Betty Brown and the heads of both the Texas and Dallas film commissions are all there to mark the re-naming of Eric Marlon Bishop's hometown street as Jamie Foxx Way.

I like the Jamie Foxx way. I adore his devotion to the grandmother who raised him. I love his shameless acknowledgement of the role his home town played in his life and I'm oddly thankful for his credo, "My goals, my dreams, my values". It's proud but not prideful, secure but not self-important. It doesn't say "my way or the highway". It says "Don't let anyone or anything run your life. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't. Don't let anyone shame your dreams. And don't ever EVER think that you don't have value because of who you are or where you came from." That's what his credo says to me. Yes, I do like the Jame Foxx way.

But, he's one man and his story is still being written. Who knows what kind of man he'll be tomorrow. Will we point at him when he's 90 and say "he made us proud"? I hope so. But, time will tell.

Down the highway from all this Jamie Foxx fanaticism in Terrell, Texas, a precious child named Laurren Smith is grand marshall for a homecoming parade in Forney, Texas. She's scarcely able to sit up or even breath as tumors suffocate her windpipe and attack her heart. Two short years ago, she was an active cheerleader on the 4th-5th grade squad my sister coached. The shock to Laurren's friends and family was surreal when the truth about her leg pain was diagnosed. She didn't just land wrong in cheerleading practice. She had a very rare form of cancer.

Our small town has rallied around her and one news station has chronicled Laurren's brave battle, infectious joy of life, and fearless matter-of-fact attitude as she's gone to California and Mexico for new and experimental treatments. There have been welcome home parties, carnivals, and fund raisers and now, Forney, Texas, will hold Christmas in October because Laurren won't live past December.

But five thousand people didn't line the streets for Laurren and the governor didn't stop by for a photo op. Laurren hasn't gotten the national or even local attention of a Jamie Foxx hometown celebration because there are so many heartbreaking Laurren Smith stories out there all over the state, the country, and the world that it's inevitable for one little girl's story to fade into the fabric of human suffering.

Two parades today. Eight miles apart. Two very different stories. Two very different heroes. Jamie, if you or any of your peeps are reading this, maybe you could stop by and shake Laurren Smith's unshakably courageous hand.

Mercy Me "Pray for Laurren" promo.
KXAS article on Laurren.
KXAS video on Laurren

Changing Themes Mid-Stream

While I'm not sure where the "don't change horses mid-stream" thing actually comes from, I'm relatively sure its source is not screenwriting.

I contend that it's okay to change themes in the middle of the writing process but not during the story telling process. You start with a theme and figure out you want to go somewhere else. So, you go back to the beginning and rework the story. Your theme is there from the beginning of your story to the end. If you introduce a secondary theme mid-story, it too has been set up from the beginning. So it's not really a CHANGE.

Stories, as we all know, are transitionary during the writing process.. wait. If we all know it, why do I feel compelled to mention it? I dislike stating what goes without saying almost as much as I dislike the contradictory nature of phrase "it goes without saying" since that which goes without saying is usually pointed out the moment we decide that it does, indeed, NOT need to be said.

And why do we even say "it does, indeed"? Isn't that redundant? Because if it does, it is already a fact. Said fact's existence is established. Indeed.

Moving on.

Stories, regardless of how well thought out they are, morph and blossom and wither and regenerate somewhere between inception and outline, again between outline and first draft, and then back and forth and, quite possibly, all over the place through subsequent drafts. We start out with a purpose - here's what I want to say and how I want to say it - but somewhere in the writing process we decide to amend that purpose.

Now let me ask you this... Okay, wait. There I go again. Stating what goes without saying because if I ask a question, is there really any need to inform a reader that I'm about to ask a question when they'll figure it out as soon as the question is asked?

Where was I?

Right. Theme.

Okay, so suppose your theme starts out as a Bruce Banner and somewhere mid-story it becomes the Incredible Hulk. Anger triggers Banner's change. What triggered your theme change? Something in the story caused such an overwhelming conflict in the theme that it became something else. Maybe now, it's grander than you intended. Maybe it's more thoughtful and subtle. Either way, the theme is now a powerful force to be reckoned with.

Are you really going to try to force the Bruce Banner-ish theme, mild but oh so endearing, to take on the role of the Incredible Hulk? Banner isn't Hulk. Only Hulk is Hulk. So which is it? A Banner theme or a Hulk theme. Your theme must be dealt with either way.

Anyone following my tangled thought process at all? It really was a well thought-out argument about changing themes until I sat at the keyboard and discovered how many empty things in the English language we say like "it goes with out saying" and "let me ask you this" and "I couldn't care less". That one really bugs me.. "I couldn't care less" indicates that you don't care at all which, if true, would not merit the mention of that which you don't care about.

Okay, so Bruce Banner isn't Hulk. I had a Banner theme. Now, it's a Hulk theme. What to do. Do I let my theme evolve as the story does or do I let the story evolve around one theme or the other? Why can't Banner and Hulk co-exist as themes in my story? Maybe they can but not as a single theme. If my theme mutates mid-story, aren't I writing two stories? Should I just use whichever theme fits, right? Any ol' port in the storm?

Just as this post is a strobe-light of helter skelter flashes of lucidity and stupidity and you, the reader, have had to pause to understand anything it says, I am suggesting that if we don't know the theme to our own stories, we don't really know what it says. If we don't know what our own screenplay says, how can we say it?

I started out this post writing about changing themes but then I realized how much I really want to write about all the meaningless phrases we use in speech and on paper. I should probably just pick one point or the other and go back and edit this post so the reader can follow it. But then, neither point would be made.

You can't retro-fit a theme.

Oh yeah. Plenty of writers have told me you can just start writing a story and figure out the theme later as it reveals itself to you. But I contend that is not possible. Here's why. Only these things can happen with theme during the writing process.

1. You start out with a theme from the beginning and stick with it
2. You start out writing one theme but the story evolves so you change the theme and go back to #1
3. You start out with a theme and realize you need a secondary theme so you go back to #1 with both themes.
4. You start out with no theme and figure it out along the way and then go back to #1

So, as you can see, it all goes back to number one. So there is actually no need for me to write numbers 2, 3, and 4 because they don't really exist. And there is actually no need to ever write "is actually" because if something "is", it is real and already "actual".

You know why you can't change horses mid-stream? Because you gotta take the horse you're on back to the bank to get the horse you're changing to. You started over at the beginning of the stream with a new horse. You didn't really change horses mid-stream at all. Of course, you could take a second horse along with you and get off one horse mid-stream and then mount the other one. But again, you didn't CHANGE horses mid-stream. You had both horses all along.

It goes without saying.

I'm still a Nazi Parent

I posted this a few years ago and was promptly bombarded with a mixed bag of mail. Many readers said that I'm naive. One said that I'm manipulative and controlling and will rue the day my sons break free of their 1950's upbringing and rebel in ways that will shock me. One reader even called me a Nazi parent. And, many warned me of a "rude awakening". So, three and a half years later, lets revisit this.

My sons are now 25, 20, and 15. Never been in jail. No drugs. No alcohol abuse. No totalled cars. We eat lunch as a family on Sunday afternoons where I catch up on the latest work, bowling, or girlfriend adventures and hear about the newest album from the latest band whose name I'll never remember. They make sure I know when to be there when the youngest one runs, the middle one plays soccer, and the oldest one wrestles.

Sure, there is a great divide in approaches to parenthood and yes, there are and always will be disappointments, arguments, and challenges. But rude awakening? I'm not sleepwalking.

Screenplay, Thy Name is Satire

My son's English teacher is making the class take a literary terms exam over and over until everyone in the room passes it. My kid passed. No matter. He still has to take the test again.

Unfair, says he.

Learning process, says I.

Sucks, says he.

That's life, says I.

Going to play Wii, says he.

After you study, says I.

Only missed two questions, says he.

Which ones, says I.

Satire and exposition, says he.

Define satire, says I.

A ridiculous word on a stupid test that a monkey could pass, says he.

Well done, says I. Go play Wii.

Point? I should learn more about writing satire. I should read more satiric screenplays.

Title suggestions?

Laborious Basterds

While I did see most of Inglorious Basterds, I actually dozed off during one of the multiple gab marathons. It exhausted me.

The German dialogue with English subtitles didn't bother me, Brad Pitt had some amusing stuff going on (and I even found myself wanting to see more of him), and the action sequences were there. But it's a Tarantno film. I expect overkill, not so much droning.

It was weird. I don't know if I like the film or not. Gonna have to see it again, methinks.

The Jerry Springer Life

For the last two months, I have gotten little to no writing done. It's ridiculous. Inside my own house is peace, calm, normality. Normality? Is that a word? Anyway, around this sun of sanity orbits absurdity in my extended family. It's screwball nonsense at its purest minus the laughs.

It's not funny in real life.

Not at all.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

All right, yeah. A 65 year old woman in handcuffs is funny.

One of my favorite lines is from Sunset Boulevard where Joe Gillis says of Norma Desmond that you don't shout at a sleepwalker. That's what I've been doing by trying to force dysfunctional people see through a reality lens.

Can't be done.

I am not Jiminy Cricket.

Make me! Make me! Make me!

You can't make me. Ever say that as a kid? Well, I'm saying it as an adult. You can't make me. Or maybe you can. Can you?

This is one of the most difficult posts I've ever written. I'm typing on a computer the size of a mousepad and while the keyboard is about 90% the size of a regular keyboard, it gives the illusion that it's about 50%. Don't care. I want 100%.

Hence I'm already cranky as I begin my rant.

Maybe the most efficient way to illustrate my recent film pet peeves is to go to the mattresses where my oldest son engages in performance wrestling and regularly endures some of the worst story weaving imaginable. The offenses go like this:

• Too much too soon.
• Vague conflict.
• Same ol' thing again and again.
• Shouting instead of drama.
• One dimensional characters.

Obviously, through the course of a 15 minute match, we're not going to see three acts, character arcs, and plot resolution because these storylines drag on week after week. I get that and in some venues where my son wrestles, it actually works. But most places? Yikes.

The difference lies in the person who controls the storylines. Does that person consciously or instinctively understand how to make the audience take a ride?

Performance wrestling should be more like Tom and Jerry. These guys beat each other up every episode but each ride is unique. Characters are clearly defined and periodically arc. Then the Indian givers take back their arcs and it works. They make us love them.

Now. On to film.

My boys and I recently saw a much anticipated new release. My wrestler son is the quickest to point out bad exposition, cliche lines, and inconsistency. For this particular film, he simply barked in his soft voice that carries a big stick, "This sucks." Basically, the film did everything he was accustomed to enduring in poorly written matches.

• Too much too soon - The protagonist's pain is over-sold and his heroism is nothing to cheer about. Why? Because it's way too early for me to empathize. Don't rush me. Even a roller coaster gives you a few seconds to anticipate a fall. Make me realize I'm ON a roller coaster before throwing me off of it.
• Vague conflict - Don't assume the audience gets it. Don't. I may not have read the book or seen the headlines the story was ripped from or ever been to other installments of the same series. Whatever. Don't expect me to get it. Make me get it.
• Same thing - Picture the last time you saw a person running in the woods and she falls down. Big fake deal. Now the murderer is closer. Now she has a twisted ankle. Yeah. It's the same ol' thing. There was a time when it increased the tension. No more. Make me feel the tension. Scare me. Thrill me. Anger me. Whatever. But don't use the same ol' devices.
• Shouting is not drama - Making your character yell is not the same thing as giving him something to say. He can yell and say nothing. Or, he can yell and say something. Or, he can just say something without yelling. It's not the yelling. It's the line behind it. Make me hear the line behind it.
• One dimensional characters - Here's your hero. Now love him. Here's your villain. Now hate him. Really? Is that how it works? MAKE me.

So that's that. Make me. Make me love your character. Make me hate your villain. Make me understand the conflict. Make me feel the tension. Make me listen to the lines. Make me!

My original plan was to purposely fill this post with ridiculous typos and then explain my easy bake oven computer to illustrate that I needed to MAKE YOU understand what was going on - not just expect you to assume from the beginning that there was a logical reason for all the typos. Most readers would ditch this post, though, after the first paragraph and I had to make you read it.

My boys and I didn't ditch the movie. We stuck it out even after my son said "who wrote this crap, I want to punch him in the face," and I had to remind him that he wasn't inside the ropes. We stayed. But we didn't stay because the film made us want to stay. The ticket prices kept us from walking out, not the film.

The Mighty Pen

Ever get exhausted trying to be the good sister? good aunt? good daughter? Taking the high ground is painful not only on the calves but on the psyche. It's necessary and critical, however, for each of us to leave kindness, compassion and decency in the wakes of our lives. Right?

Case in point: It's not enough that my laptop crashed, my washing machine is dying a slow and painful death, my sewing machine bit the dust with 29 orders on the table, and I didn't get my screenplay done in time for the Nicholl. Oh, no. Open up any rag magazine or turn on Jerry Springer episode and somebody in my extended family is having similar issues for which they expect me to assist in finding a solution. And I try.

So a couple of weeks ago I learned that my nephew has gained enough credit recovery to graduate high school a year late. I immediately set about finding out what I needed to do to get him a tassel and a stole for his borrowed cap and gown. Emailed Jostens three times. They gave me the price, told me their hours and where to go. Got there. Line around the building. Came back next day. Line still around the building. Came back a third time. Stood in line 90 minutes in the sweltering heat only to finally arrive at the counter and be told I needed my nephew's student I.D. They refused to sell the stupid things to me as if I was a student from another school trying to crash somebody's graduation.

Where the heck has customer service gone? Seriously. Instead of saying "oh I'm so sorry nobody told you about the student I.D., let me see what I can do to help", the guy says "I'm been on my feet all day, too". Really? Did you just compare a customer unnecessarily suffering outside in the heat for 90 minutes due to your error to you doing your job in the air conditioning?

Here's the kicker. I get home and read my emails from Jostens and they're from the very same guy who absolved himself from all responsibility and told me to come back Saturday and stand in line again.

So, here I am exercising my right to free speech by saying this -- BUY YOUR SENIOR RINGS FROM WALMART!!

We Have Babies

Ugly little buggers. Both nests. Surprisingly, fewer eggs hatched in the eave of the house than on the ground.

More on Procrastination

This past week, I've been holed up at home with a tooth infection that made my face swell up like a soccer ball. It's not that I don't like birds -- I do -- but I sure hated having duck lips.

During one of my breaks from the screenplay that will never end, I was attacked by swallows. They were hanging around a hollow eave that we put a brick on ten years ago to keep birds from nesting in the roof. I could barely detect a thin layer of mud and some grass on the brick. Were they really building a nest five feet from my back door? Day after day I've watched the progress and I must say that I am impressed with the craftsmanship.

Not so impressed am I with the house of straw build by field larks in my flower bed. Any ol' cat, rat, or coyote could come grab those four eggs. Last year, a similar nest on the pea gravel of my playground started out with four eggs but only one egg was around long enough to hatch.

Okay, what does this have to do with the screenplay that will never end? Nothing. Well, probably nothing. If I weren't on pain meds I might come up with a screenwriting metaphor for the well constructed bird nest with the great location and the poorly constructed nest in a poor location. Actually, that metaphor writes itself. Can't take credit for it.

Guess I'll just enjoy watching the story unfold.

Procrastination

Somebody posted this on Facebook and in the true spirit of procrastination, I'm posting on my blog instead of getting my stuff done.

A Montage Menagerie

Found a post on a board where they point us to this breakdown from scripttoolbox.com of three different ways to write montages: (1) series of shots (2) list of scene headings and short descriptions (3) one scene heading and a list of descriptions. This script tip doesn't debate the merits of using montages or discuss how to effectively use them. It basically just gives three ways to write montages IF you choose to use them.

So, when do you choose to use them?

1. To elevate an emotion. Montages are often used to show the depth of love, loss, grief, joy, or confusion.
2. Recollection. Montages can be used to show a character's memory of events.
3. Speed up the story. Montages acknowledge a part of the story that merits mentioning -- but not the time it takes to show it in a full blown story.
4. To tie seemingly random events together.
5. To tell a mini-story.
6. To show background events.
7. When the director wants it. A lot of montages aren't even written. They're added by a director because that's what he wants.
8. The writer is taking an unnecessary shortcut to storytelling.

Ouch. Number eight is going to sting a few people. But I've seen it over and over. Writers get lazy and throw a montage in to avoid sorting out a messy area of the story. You can tell when a montage is an integral part of the story telling process and when it was used as a Band-aid for an open wound in the screenplay.

A montage CAN be used to do all those things on this list but it's not the ONLY way or necessary the BEST way. It's not a deus ex machina and it's not a convenient pair of scissors for a screenplay that's twenty pages too long.

I knew a girl in high school who wore an elastic belt with everything. She even wore one with her wrap around dresses and skirts. Why would you wear a belt with a wrap around? To look stylish? Those things tie! One Friday night while we were gathering on the sidelines, she grabbed her waist and said "oh my gosh, I forgot my belt". Um, yeah. I reminded her that our little blue skirts and vests didn't have belts. She told me that she always wore one under her uniform because it made her waist look skinnier. In her defence, the 80's were another era. Weight discrimination was rampant. At 118 pounds, I was terrified every week at weigh-in that I'd go over the 120 pound limit. But I was smart enough to know that a belt would ADD ounces on the scale, even if it made my waist appear thinner.

To some degree, a montage can tighten a story but there are times when using a montage is a lot like wearing an elastic belt with a wrap-around skirt. Maybe it looks stylish, but it's not necessary.

Neither should a montage be a collection of scenes that all say and do the same thing. If every scene demonstrates the same thing, why not use a single scene?

A montage should move. I like montages that have a beginning, middle and end. Scenes can progress or regress but the montage should be fluid. For example, a jilted lover could remember the beginning, middle and deterioration of a relationship. A mini-story montage should probably have three mini-acts. If the purpose of the montage is to elevate emotion, let's see a progression or regression of that emotion - good, better, best or bad, worse, worst.

Using montages is not just about knowing how to use them. It is first knowing why we use them. That's the difference between wearing a belt that holds your pants up or wearing one that is actually weighing you down.

A Time for Every Purpose

My older brother performed this past weekend as part of SXSW in Austin at Hickory Street Bar & Grill. By the time he sang Hey Jude (his only cover) in honor of his son, Jude, who was named for the Beatles song, the guy was exhausted and his voice was going. Nobody cared. The audience had already heard his brilliant set of self written songs and they loved him. Just a man and his guitar.

A year and a half earlier at the Austin Film Festival, thirty something of us screenwriters (who frequent Wordplay) sat on that same deck chewing over each other's screenwriting journeys more than we did our food. My table, my very chair, was right where my brother is standing. He, however, was in the hospital recovering from a puzzling brush with death. Was it pneumonia? Sars? Bird flu? The doctors only knew that it was serious and met me with grave and sympathetic faces as I darted in and out, trying to make as much of AFF as I could without being away from my brother too long.

As poignantly ironic as it was to see one brother using a voice almost silenced, so was being seated beside another brother whom I once thought was lost to me forever.

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven
A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together

Written into a Corner

Much to my chagrin, I doubt I'll be ready to submit anything to the Nicholl this year. (cue the waaaahmbulance) My online business (going well, by the way), family stuff (mother moved here from Michigan, needed help house hunting, needed me to put a wedding together for her), and misc bizarre things (father's house burning down, locating my long lost brother) seem to keep getting taking priority over the career I refuse to accept will never be.

Is my minimal writing time some form of kismet? Naw. Just poor time management and a laptop that's suffering a slow and painful death.

Writing today. By hand. Laptop taking a sick day and screenwriting software not on my desktop. Phone off. Not answering the door. Not running errands (hope the water bill is paid cuz my boys flush a LOT of toilets) and not braving the Walmart crowd to put food in the house (there's peanut butter, boys, you are NOT starving). I can't go to the store. CAN'T, I tell you. I'd run into a dozen people I know, it would take an hour and forty five minutes to buy bread and those Girl Scouts are stalking me with their doe eyes and overpriced cookies!

Not going.

You can't make me.

How do you spell "famelicose"? No, I didn't mean "fallaciloquence".

They are TOO real words! Look them up. I dare ya.

It Started With a Phone Call

"My friend, Hannah, says there's a fire by our house," my sister said about my father's house in Bastrop County. I've talked about my sister before. She's 26 in years but about half that mentally and half of even that emotionally. Shame on her friend for scaring her. It's just a brush fire. No biggie. Still, maybe I should call my brother and check. After all, my father and sister had only just driven up this morning. They couldn't very well turn around and go back to Smithville, now could they?

Then my brother called back. He had grabbed the dog and cat and was overcome with smoke before he could get anything else. He barely escaped before the flames charged the hilltop and consumed the house and his patrol car.

Just like that. My father's house is gone. 650 acres and counting.

Curious Case of Benjamin Gump

Let me be plain. Posting this video is not a criticism of Eric Roth on my part. It's a funny observation and it makes a point. Artists have signatures. Even writers.

When my son and I went to see Legend of Zorro, I knew Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman had the screenplay credit and Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio received story credit. Still, I was expecting to see T&T's fingerprints all over the film.

I didn't.

First act came and went. Hmm. Nothing struck me as T&T's work.

Second act. Odd. Nothing stood out there either.

Finally, toward the end of the film, there's a horse on a train. A horse on train! Now, THAT is something T&T would write!

As soon as I got home, I emailed Terry and told him the film just didn't feel like something he'd touched except for the horse on the train. Terry replied that he hadn't seen the film but had recently received his obligatory copy of the screenplay and flipped through it. He really didn't see anything of his own except -- you guessed it -- the horse on the train.

You see, once you get to know an artist's work, it's relatively simple to feel the familiarity. You'd be surprised how much Pirates of the Caribbean has in common with Mask of Zorro and Shrek and Road to El Dorado or how much National Treasure has in common with Aladdin. They all have the same writers' fingerprints.

James Horner, one of my all time favorite film score composers, almost always uses some kind of haunting oboe solo in his soundtracks. You wouldn't think Cocoon and An American Tale would be similar enough films to have common denominators in the soundtracks. They aren't. But, they do. Danny Elfman has a genius for weaving darkness with whimsy. That's his signature. Just listen to Nightmare Before Christmas, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Batman, and the theme from the Simpsons. The similarity is there even though the music is decidedly different.

Producers have signatures, too. Is there any mistaking Ridley Scott's herky jerky camera-on-a-tether ball scene transitions?

So yeah, filmmakers have signatures. Now watch this -- good stuff.

The Curious Case of Forrest Gump - watch more funny videos

To Clue or Not to Clue

A post on a forum not too long ago discussed how important it is to give the audience a hint ahead of time to show how it's possible for a protagonist to extricate himself from a crisis or dangerous situation. He/she/it (can't remember) suggested that it's critically important that, even if only for a second or two, the audience sees that there's a way out or at least the potential.

I think this was specifically aimed at action writing but I'm not sure. Doesn't matter. I wholeheartedly disagreed with this premise regardless of the genre and, after a month or so of watching action films and reading scripts to explore the idea, I still wholeheartedly disagree.

It's not that I oppose giving the audience a hint that Richard Kimball might escape through a storm drain or jump off of a damn or viaduct or whatever that was, I just don't think it's critical or required in every escape scenario.

In some cases, sure, give the audience a hint. IF IT WORKS. The word "escape" reminds me of a scene in Finding Nemo where Dory and Marlin are fleeing from a shark who fell off the "fish are friends" wagon. In that scene, we do get a clue, a hint, a jab in the rib right before they escape. Dory's inability to read the word "escape" was both a comic element and a message to the audience that there is a way out. That may be particularly important in this case considering the young age of much of the audience and the need to keep it scary but not too scary.

But in film, we like to surprise the audience and the audience likes to be surprised. If we aren't careful about things like this, we'll get the ol' "it was so predictable" slap. None of us likes to be told what we wrote was predictable. That's like saying we wrote something flat or prosaic. One or two scenes where we see "it" coming could spoil the whole film experience for the audience.

That's not saying that it WILL. I'm saying that it COULD. There are some crisis situations where if we DON'T give the audience a hint, it may not make sense to them later or it will feel like a contrived deus ex machina.

I'm taken back to what my grandmother said about showing only a little ankle to make the eye want more. She wasn't saying we should always show a little ankle or never show more than an ankle. She said that IF you're gonna flash skin, don't show too much. I'm not saying we should never give the audience a clue, just that it is not always necessary.

Of course my grandmother also said "never show your cellulite until you're wearing a wedding band". I don't know how to translate that into film...

Verbal Viagra

I have finally accepted that I am a member of that not-so-exclusive club of writers I loathe. You know who we are. Deluded that we're brilliant minds stifled by life and held back by a terminally ill industry, we tap out dreck on our computers and then raise our fists at the door nobody knocks on. We're peddling piss in a bottle and calling it penicillin.

Well, I've recently looked over all the piss I've written in the past five years and it's pretty clear to me now that while I have potential, I've never written a drop of penicillin.

What appears to have happened is that I spent so much time studying the craft that I didn't actually write anything worth producing.

I remember reading my first screenplay a year after I wrote it and shuddering in embarrassment. Well, I'm no longer embarrassed by that piece of garbage or anything else I've written over the past five years. They're exercises in screenwriting. One is a thesis on character development and dialogue while others focus on structure, foreshadowing, or conflict.

But, they're not screenplays. They're homework.

If I believed in resolutions, mine for 2009 would be to write nothing that isn't great. My own opinion, though, is that resolutions are frequently little more than admissions of failures and shortcomings disguised as noble goals in order to help us cope with our deficiencies. Well, no need. I readily admit that I am deficient. That's the first step in any recovery process:

Hi, my name is Mary Anita Batchellor and I am an impotent writer.

Step one. Done. On to step two.

Parallel Storylines

Give me titles! I'm looking for screenplays where the structure is of parallel or multiple storylines. Babel and Crash work but I'd like to read screenplays with fewer stories running consecutively. Holes has a present tense story and breaks away to a past tense story to enhance the present. Recently saw Sliding Doors which was fascinating because the two stories are truly parallel in that they are both in the present playing out alternate results from a chance opportunity by the protagonist. I'm not looking for flashbacks or Kate and Leopold type time travel. I'd like to see two or more separate stories that may or may not intersect at the end.

So, help me, writers. Whatdya got?

Turning Up The Heat

That blog title could refer to the stinkin' freezing temps that forced me to bring my son's equally stinkin' Corgi in the house overnight, but no. It means cranking up the pressure on our protagonists and making their conflicts, challenges, defeats, and victories more effective.

A friend of mine gave me permission to refer to his screenplay in vague terms for the purpose of this post. He liked my comments and said I should share my diagnosis with posterity. Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot but I'm no expert.

Here's the deal. He has a good story that would, if I were the protagonist, be full of adventure, angst, and nail biting scenarios. I'm a wimp. So, if I were living out the story, the drama and uncertainty would be intense and the viewer would be doubting that my chubby legs (I've been working to shrink them for over a year now) could actually sprint across that wobbly rope bridge, much less stay on a horse or leap from a moving train. The threat of my sudden demise would be real.

But I'm not in the story. His character is. And, that character is more than qualified to run across a wobbly bridge, stay on a horse, and leap from a train.

Instead of helping the story, the character's invincibility hurts it. There's no tension. No fear. No anxiety. We know from the beginning that this character is a conqueror and the sky is the limit.

No fun. He can't fail. We need the threat of failure.

What to do.

The way I see it, this writer has a few options and this works for all genres, not just action films. This writer must find a way to turn the heat up on his character. That means either finding his character's Achilles tendon and exploiting it, amping up the challenges to fit the character, or making the character more vulnerable and human so the challenges feel greater and the viewer can relate to them. Or, all of the above. We need to know the character can fail at something.

Find his weakness. Turn up the pressure. Make him human.

John McClane (Diehard) could swing from a skyscraper on a fire hose. He's invincible. How the heck do we turn up the heat on a guy like that? Find his weakness. It's his wife and kids. Put the pressure on him. He's already fighting international terrorists so make him do something more personal like save his wife and hundreds of people from an exploding building. Then make him human so the viewer can relate to him. Let him walk barefoot through broken glass. We can all squirm in our shoes watching his feet bleed.

Indiana Jones is one of the most vulnerable action heroes ever written. That's why we love him. We love that he's terrified of snakes - weakness. We love that he's an ordinary professor saving humanity from a cursed Ark - pressure. And, we love that he's intimidated by his father but fearless in the face of Nazis - human.

Find his weakness. Turn up the pressure. Make him human.

One. Two. Three. Simple to diagnose. Much harder to go back and rewrite. Good luck, writer friend. You'll get there.

Joy in the Journey

My latest outline is healthy and whole in my head but starving and co-dependent on paper. It's a mess. Nothing on paper plays out like it should. Weird. If sit in the dark and watch the movie in my mind, I can say without hesitation. "that's the best thing I've ever written" and it's absolutely true except for the part about it being written.

In all fairness, it's kind of tough to write when Bob Hope keeps singing "Buttons and Bows" in your head. Oh, he's not singing The Paleface version that Dinah Shore later turned into a chartbuster in 1947. No, sirree, Bob. He's singing the Sunset Boulevard version where Joe Gillis goes to a New Years shindig populated by "writers without a job, composers without a publisher, and actresses so young, they still believe the guys in casting offices". They're sharing a yuk around the piano and singing --

Hollywood, for us, ain't been so good,
Got no swimmin' pool, very few clothes,
All we earn are buttons and bows.

Man, I love that movie.

I know a lot of writers who think they'll be cashing $100,000 checks some day and, who knows, maybe they will. Plenty of writers do. But even so, John Logan posted something somewhere a few years back (wish I could find it) where he breaks down that $100,000 minus the necessaries and divided by the years it took to write the screenplay. Basically, he says the writer actually earns about as much as the guy who pulls the slushie machine at your local 7-Eleven.

We know the odds. They're more stacked than the bras my sister used to stuff with chicken cutlets. Still, we write. But here's my question. If you could see into the future and knew for certain that nothing you're writing will ever be produced, opted, sold or even seen by anyone who won't use it as shavings in a gerbil cage, would you still write it?

Such is the soul of the writer -- even one whose story is penned up in her head with Bob Hope. Sure, a pig on the plate is worth two in the pen but those two in the pen will wind up on a plate sooner or later. Mmmmmmm. Bacon.

Ollie, Ollie, Oxen Free!!

Or --- Alle, alle auch sind frei - the suspected source of the hide and seek safety phrase which was used in Nazi Germany as a monstrous way to lure Holocaust victims to their deaths. Crazy, isn't it, how horrific words and phrases can evolve into something harmless?

Example: the N-word. It still makes my flesh crawl when my son and his black friend call each other the N-word as a salutation or a jest. I forbid them to use the N-word in my house. They laugh at me. Apparently, it's okay if you've been best friends your whole life.

Words morph.

My grandmother often sang this from West Side Story:

I feel pretty
Oh so pretty
I feel pretty and witty and gay
And I pity
Any girl who isn't me today

...much to the snickers of my cousin, who was, in fact, GAY! Oh sure. She knew he and his long term roommate were intimate partners but "gay" meant giddy, not homosexual, and nobody could convince her otherwise. Plus, as she frequently jibed, if they were REALLY homosexual (not gay), they would enjoy her showtunes. My grandmother was a hoot.

Point. Point. Oh, yes. Me.

Ollie, Ollie, Oxen Free! I have resumed my life after a long and nasty case of --- get this --- MONO!!! Oh yeah. That myth that you can't get Mono after your twenties was started by those guys that found Big Foot.

The doctor said I should have made out with more boys when I was a teenager and gotten this over with early like the other 95% of the population. He's right, of course. While I was in bed with a swollen spleen and every bone in my body crushing from the inside out, my fourteen year old, who came down with Mono at the same time, was out playing laser tag.

Stupid spleen.

How did I get Mono, you may ask? My son's nineteen year old friend moved in with us while he's going to college. With him came his Mono and an inability to remember which bottle of water is his.

The first few days of Mono are kind fuzzy now. I remember pain and fever. I remember hearing the "I Dream of Jeanie" theme song and thinking my Chihuahua was the mail lady. I remember feeling the cauliflower growing in my throat and I remember my four boys hanging around my bed talking about me.

D: You have Mono? Serious?
W: Stephen, you douchebag!
M: I have it, too and I'm not that sick.
S: Yeah well you're a tool.

Ah. The evolution of language.

Get Well, Morgan Freeman!

I'm a self proclaimed "fan of few" but have loved Morgan Freeman since his early days on The Electric Company. The Easy Reader was airlifted to Regional Medical Center in Tennessee after his car rolled several times somewhere in a Tallahatchie County, Mississippi where he has a home.

He's in serious condition.

Around here, when friends are hurt or undergo surgery, we bring them food, sew a personalized blankie or pillowcase for their hospital room, sneak them some goodies and sit next to the bed and read, sing, or pray. But with strangers admired from afar? There's nothing to do but pray.

Suspension of Disbelief

One of the very few negative comments I've heard (and read) about The Dark Knight is that it stretched the suspension of disbelief just a little too far. This puzzles me. Batman is a comic book. That's what comic books do. Suspend disbelief.

So, I pose this question - how far is too far? Where is the line? Is the line Stretch Armstrong far for animated films and slashers but only to the edge of your elbow for every other genre?

Perhaps it's an occupational hazard that screenwriters must analyze everything we watch, but really, this comment about the suspension of disbelief has never made sense to me - ever - because it's one of those things that writers control by the reality they establish in the story. As a screenwriter, I decide what the reality of my story is. You don't get to choose reality. I do.

What I really think is that when people talk about stretching the suspension of disbelief too far, they're really saying one two things: either the reality of the story doesn't sustain certain story elements which means somebody didn't do their job well enough OR a circumstance in the story would never happen in real life which is just plain silly.

• The reality of the story doesn't support certain elements of the story. That doesn't mean the film suspended disbelief too far. It means the film didn't clearly establish its reality. It's still a development flaw but from the ground up. We wouldn't expect to see a duck lay golden eggs in a film like Liar Liar but we have no trouble believing that a little boy can make a birthday wish that supernaturally comes true. Why is that? Because the film firmly establishes the whimsical reality that the protagonist lives in.


• That would never happen in real life. Of course, it wouldn't. We go to films to escape real life. I've never seen a single person laugh hysterically in the cemetery after burying a daughter but that's my favorite scene in Steel Magnolias. I doubt many people could get away with stealing their dead father from a hospital but Little Miss Sunshine pulled it off.

There may be a third possibility here, too. Maybe a role was miscast. The actor or actress gave a performance that was too subtle, too over the top, or they just didn't get their character at all and that weakened the credibility of the suspect story element.

Asking an audience to suspend disbelief is kind of what we're all about, isn't it? You've heard what I have to say so now I ask you -- how far is too far?

Cruel, Cruel, Nature

Dramas and documentaries that depict crime scene investigations turn shock value into intrigue and intrigue into ratings. I've long been a follower of some of these programs, shows like City Confidential and Forensic Files, and wondered what it would be like to write for such shows. It creeps out a lot of people but there's a certain element of comfort for me in knowing that science can catch bad guys.

But, not all of them.

Yesterday, not fifty feet from my bedroom window, something (coyotes or pit bulls) tore my nine year old cat limb from limb while I slept. I heard nothing while they ripped Lucy's little body to shreds and painted my lawn with her blood. They played tug-o-war with her and dragged her twenty feet this way and fifteen feet that way, leaving pieces of her flesh and fur in the wake of what must have been unspeakable suffering. There are no words for how gruesome and sickening the morning scene was or for my own grief as I bagged my little kitty's very few remains and hosed down the blood that looked more like it came from a slaughtered cow than a house cat.

I've seen enough crime scene shows to piece the evidence together, though. My cat never left my yard. Never. She usually slept in the house at night but for some reason she was outside, probably chasing mice and trying to do the same thing to them that was done to her. Irony? Or, circle of life? Either way, the dagger I feel in my chest is the same.

Recently, I've noticed the bunnies missing from the field behind my house. I thought they had gone underground because of the heat but now I wonder if they didn't fall prey to coyotes. When the bunnies ran out, the coyotes probably began feeding on backyard pets.

Or, it was the neighbor's pit bulls. There's no animal control to speak of out here and these dogs tried to shake a puppy to death a couple of months ago. My next door neighbor rescued the puppy and earned stitches for her trouble. But dogs kill for sport. This killing was about food. Lucy was a meal - or so the horror of the crime scene suggests.

Terrifying is the midnight potty break my Chihuahua often takes. She didn't appreciate it last night when I stood over her with a flashlight while she was doing her business. But I couldn't chance the cat murderers coming back for Mexican food.

Yeah, I make light of it, but don't let me fool you. I'm devastated. I jumped at every noise last night and even got up to let the cat in. She wasn't there. When the train went by and the coyotes yipped, I fell to pieces.

Coyotes have become increasingly brazen about boundaries. They've been urbanized out of their homes and in dry seasons, they starve when rodents go underground. Coyotes jump fences, creep into garages and make a meal out of anything wild or domestic that's smaller or slower than they are. Years ago, a little girl across town was playing in the yard with her new puppy when a coyote jumped her fence and snatched the puppy right out of her hand without ever breaking its stride.

Whether it was coyotes or pit bulls that took my Lucy matters not.

I own a shotgun.

Pursuit of Dreams

That's my kid, a living lesson in pursuing dreams and not waiting on anyone else to do it for him. His dreams. Certainly not mine. The lesson? You pursue your dreams. I'll pursue mine. And, we'll avoid the fish -- you know, little fish/big pond metaphors and calling each other a fish out of water -- unless, of course, you're a fish who wants to be a bird. Even so, I've heard of flying fish.

Rose Colored Earlobes

How do you weed the practical and useful advise in story notes from the meaningless feather flapping of an egotistical reader? And, how do you know if your friends and family are blowing smoke when they praise your work?

Unk brought up a valid point on my last post when he discussed how writers must be their own story's expert, especially when it comes to talking to people in production who would pressure you to make changes that may or may not work. It's true. We must know our characters, stories, symbolism, foreshadowing, etc. so well that we don't even need to process the cause and ripple effect of any change. We'll just know. Right then. Right there. The moment the change is proposed.

But a post on Wordplay the other day brings up the opposite scenario. A writer repeatedly asks his friend for story notes but the revisions never address the flaws, issues, or questions that the reader identifies. Is that because the writer really is his own expert and knows the reader's comments aren't valid? Or, does this writer have rose colored earlobes, listening for validation instead of constructive remarks?

What I'm about to say will annoy a few writers but I believe this to be one of the greatest mistakes amateur screenwriters can make. Asking your great aunt Martha to read your script is fine, but her comments are probably useless. Non-filmmaking friends don't understand structure, rhythm, or dialogue as well as someone who has been a reader, screenwriter, director or producer for umpteen years. Aunt Martha may know her stuff, but that's the exception. More likely, she'll have a similar euphoric pride in your script that you had when you finished your very first screenplay and immediately assumed it was ready to send to every studio in the golden state.

I'm not being cynical here. I'm being pragmatic. There comes a point when a writer ought not need anyone else to tell him what's wrong with his script. That's not to say he doesn't need story notes - that's the way of the business - but he either knows exactly what is wrong or knows it works and any changes will be based on preference, budget, set pieces, location, improvisation, the director's niece wanting a role, whatever.

The trailer for the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie included a clip where the Will Turner character tells the ship's crew that he's not leaving the cannibal island without Jack Sparrow. Then Jack appears on the beach pursued by a hundred cannibals to which Will says "Never mind, let's go." Funny clip. But when I went to see the film, I sat there watching the events that led up that scene and realized that Will Turner would never say "never mind, let's go" because he'd gone to the island for one purpose - to get an item from Jack that would save the life of his true love. He wouldn't say "never mind, let's go" because that would be like saying "never mind, I'll just let my true love hang".

You know you genuinely love movies when you get a nervous twinge in your stomach waiting for a moment you're sure won't work. To my great relief, when the line arrived, it was different. I found out later that the line in the trailer was a result of a blown take. Orlando Bloom said "never mind, let's go" meaning "never mind, let's shoot this again" or "never mind, let's get on with it".

That was a teeny tiny change that may have looked inconsequential to many people but the writers would have known that the line would totally undermine the character's heroism and credibility to the viewer. Writers - people who own the stories - will catch these things, or at least they should.

So, again, how do you weed the practical and useful advise in story notes from the meaningless feather flapping of an egotistical reader? It's something inside the writer's heart, head, soul, or gut that either sounds an alarm that says "yeah, that would work better" or tells you the reader skimmed the story or just doesn't get it.

Knowing if somebody pegs a problem in your story is kind of like the way a mother knows if her own child is lying. It's your kid. You know. Sure, he can get one past you once in awhile, but you've taken care of him his entire life so when somebody tattles on him, you have a sense about whether or not the accusation could possibly be true. When somebody else's kid is lying, you might know. You might not.

Both situations depend on the circumstances but like writers, some parents are in denial. "No, Mr. Police Officer, my kid with the marijuana tattoo and bloodshot eyes who goes by the nickname 'Roach' has never smoked dope. He doesn't even eat meat because his body is a temple." Yeah, well, maybe it's just a tofu temple and you don't know him as well as you think.

You should know. It's your story.

Close, But No Cigar

Ever feel like a poser? Easy for an unproduced screenwriter. My grandmother used to say "fake it 'til you make it". Her theory was that if you pretend you know how to do something and you do it anyway long enough, you'll eventually learn how to do it. I often imagine her little voice in my head giving me advice. It's either her, my dear Abuelita, or Sal, my imaginary voice of doubt who disguises himself as a voice of reason. He's a liar. She's not. Sometimes the voice says "fake it 'til you make it". That would be my grandmother. Other times, it just says "you're a faker". That would be Sal.

And then there's this.

First, there was Steve Perry. Then Steve Augeri and next up was Jeff Scott Soto. Neither of the substitutes could fill Perry's vocal niche. But Journey's newest frontman is a 40-year-old Filipino singer named Arnel Pineda who was discovered on YouTube and is widely considered a dead ringer for Steve Perry's unique voice. Pause the James Horner music playing on the right column and then have a listen to this poser --



What do you think?

Perhaps it's hyper-emotional misplaced loyalty to Steve-o or maybe it's the experienced ear of music lover, I dunno, but I hear the difference. Of course, I also hear the neighbor's phone a half acre away and the bunnies rustling in the grass outside my window. Either way, it doesn't matter. Posing is working for this guy. He faked it 'til he made it. And, in his case, faking it IS making it.

Maybe that works in screenwriting, too. Terry Rossio said that when he was starting out, he noticed that anybody who did anything for ten years became an expert at it. I don't know about you, but that sounds a little like "fake it 'til you make it" to me.

Cigars All Around!

Execution of Bad Ideas

Ever see something so obviously wrong in a screenplay that you wonder why everyone else doesn't see it? This occurs with readers all the time, especially if the reader has spotted this same issue over and over. He may feel like it's too no-brainer to even write in his notes and yet he must. Some bad ideas are just that blatant.

I know someone who reads for screenwriting competitions including the Nicholl. She sees so many screenplays that when something goes wrong, it jumps out at her. For example, if a character changes mid-story, she'll go back and re-read where's she's been so far, just to make sure she didn't miss what led up to the change, his motive, some subtext somewhere, or something, ANYTHING, that would explain or validate such an abrupt change in character. She reads so many screenplays that now and then, she does miss something but usually, the writer is just executing a bad idea.

Lucy has an interesting post about conflicting story notes. One of her blog readers quotes polar opposite comments on the same script from the same company. Clearly, if one reader says your characters have solid direction and the other says the characters are all over the place with no direction, one of them is mistaken.

Maybe. Maybe not.

How can they possibly both be correct? My theory is that sometimes readers think the story has lost direction when it takes a short sidestreet. Maybe the sidestreet is for comic relief, character development or suspense, but whatever the reason, the reader got lost. Some readers will jump right back into the story and some will be left wandering around waiting for a conclusion to the sidestreet. Sorry. But that's not just about inexperienced readers. It's a writing issue, too.

Recently, while viewing my latest Netflix rental, I puzzled over a scene that left me cold. It was well acted, had great timing and was beautifully shot but something wasn't right. I just didn't know what. At the end of the film, I went back and watched that scene over several times. Still no idea what was wrong with it. So, I started the film over.

This time, I had the big picture and knew the theme and conclusion right out of the gate. When I arrived at the scene in question, it was an easy diagnosis. The scene didn't belong there. It didn't belong anywhere. It was a brilliantly executed but really bad idea.

I've seen this problem before in my own writing and in screenplays I'm asked to critique. When I mention that something doesn't work, the retort is usually about what an awesome scene it is or how well it's written or how funny it is. All of that may be true, but there's a bad idea in there. That doesn't mean the scene is bad or the writer is bad but this particular idea? No workie. And, no matter how genius the execution is, it's still a bad idea.

Anything that takes away from the story is a bad idea, even if it's well done. Among its many crimes against the screenplay, a bad idea may slow momentum, contradict character, weaken the story or simply confuse the reader or viewer to a point of no return.

If I tell a story about my lazy secretary who keeps dropping calls because she's too busy checking her MySpace, I don't need to throw in a bargain pair of shoes I found on my lunch break. It may be a fascinating sidestreet about the shoes, especially if Wanda Sikes got in a fight with Chuck Norris over the same pair or Brad Pitt was in the store trying on lingerie, but the shoes don't move my secretary story along. However, if the secretary found my receipt and then faked an injury to take the afternoon off to go shoe shopping herself, it might demonstrate what a good for nothing she is.

Taking sidestreets is not a bad idea in the writing process. It allows the creative mind to go out and play. It may help build the story in the writer's mind, help him get to know his characters better, or allow him to explore some story options. It may even make the writer realize he needs to go in a whole 'nother direction. But writing a scene doesn't mean it has a place in the story. Some sidestreets bring something fresh to the story. Others are a wrong turn and will make the story wander, stall, or die a slow and painful death. It's the writer's job to sort out which sidestreet is which.

Why can't we spot our own bad ideas? We can. But, sometimes, especially if the scene is well done, it becomes about ownership and identifying with what we've written. That's our DNA on the page. Maybe the trick here is that once an idea is out on the table, it needs to take on its own identity so any criticism or attack is on the idea, not the person who came up with it.

None of this means that readers don't make mistakes. Some storynotes are spot on. Others are out of line. Maybe the reader is learning, having a bad day or just found out his wife had an affair with the pool boy. Who knows? We should. Don't run off and make changes solely based on something a reader said. But, be open to the possibility that a reader may identify a well executed bad idea.

Though This Be Madness

The fowl drama playing out in my backyard is better than anything I've seen on Animal Planet. Who needs Meerkats when I have a field lark playing out a a great tragedy on my playground?

The first two acts were comic, tragic, and suspenseful. Mama Lark built her nest on the ground by the slide, a strategy both clever and risky as the pea gravel camouflages her but also makes her an easy target for home invasion.

When we first spotted her nest, she had three cozy little eggs and was awaiting the arrival of the fourth. Not accepting our glad tidings, she threatened us for prying and then engaged in a curious cat and mouse game of "oh my, I'm a helpless injured bird, come get me" to draw us away from her nest. Naturally, my grown sons got their jollies provoking her and watching her enlist the aid of what we think must be the Daddy Lark as they alternated playing hurt and charging us by mimicking that weird flapping dinosaur in Jurassic Park that spit Newman to death.

Yeah, a one pound bird can be downright terrifying.

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

Shortly after we discovered the nest, Mama Lark gave birth to her fourth egg. Again, she wasn't accepting visitors but that didn't stop every niece, nephew and Chihuahua from dropping by her house to offer congratulations . Rude little bird. She just screamed and tried to peck them to death. Still, it was touching to see her sitting faithfully on that nest day after day.

Then, it happened.

Some time during the night, Mrs. Lark's babies became easy prey for a cat, owl, raccoon, or rat. I don't know. Probably the same villain killing my tomato plants. Whatever it was, when we checked in on Mama Lark one morning, she was one egg short. A few days later, she was another egg short. Then a couple of nights ago, I heard a commotion. Mama Lark, Daddy Lark, and several other birds were making such a racket that I thought surely, something was killing poor Mama. I rushed to her rescue in the pitch dark, but apparently, it took me too long to cross the pea gravel in my bare feet.

Mama was down to just one egg and I was standing in the backyard in my bra and pajama bottoms waving a flashlight.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalions.

Now, we await the outcome of nature's little drama as we keep a wary eye out for a stealth serial killer and wonder what Act Three will bring while pondering that great Shakespearean question, "to be or not to be". Of course, if the egg does become a little hatchling, a whole new survival story begins.

We All Have Our Crack Pipes

After twenty solid minutes of playing outside, this obsessed little mutt promptly brought me his slobber soaked ball and demanded - yes, DEMANDED (watch the video) - that we continue our exercise in the hallway - half the hallway actually as it runs the entire length of the house and I was afraid he'd have a stroke. He CAN'T stop. Even if his tongue is hanging out and he's gasping for his last breath, he can't help himself. He can't stop. Oh, and no hesitating in between throws either or he gets very testy! He needs his fix!

Toby is an addict and that yellow tennis ball is his crack pipe. That ball stalks me. Wherever I go in my house, it suddenly appears. Look up and there's half an ear or nose waiting around the door for me to get the hint. I go to the bathroom and the ball appears. Look up. The ear is waiting around the door again. It's like a fetch horror movie.

And, today it dawned on me.

I, too, have a crack pipe. Even when I'm dog tired and collapsing in my bed, there are still stories swirling around in my head. I'll go to my laptop with an agonizing migraine (yeah, they're back - I dropped my meds) rather than let a story fade with time. Last night - er, this morning, I was writing notes at 4:00 a.m. because I had a brilliant - BRILLIANT - idea on the way to the bathroom.

I shudder to think what that idea reads like in the light of day, but that's not the point. The point is that we all have our crack pipes - metaphorically speaking. Writing is mine. And, possibly yours since you obviously read writer blogs...

Snorting Screenwriter Flames

Few blogs incite me, annoy me, or make me want to egg a guy's typewriter. After all, everyone is entitled to an opinion, even a shallow or ignorant one. This post, however, flaps a red cape and frustrates the flaming snot out of me as it squares off at Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio by suggesting that they had no business writing POTC2 and POTC3. Oh please. That's like saying Benjamin Franklin shouldn't have flown a kite.

Whether a critic, writer, or blogger likes a film or hates it, he ought to be able recognize the no-brainer contributions of these two writers to filmmaking and screenwriting, let alone the Pirates of the Caribbean phenomenon. There's a huge difference between an opinion -- "I didn't like the film" or "I had a hard time following that film" -- and the twaddletype passed off as an opinion -- "the narrative mess that was Dead Man’s Chest should have been enough for Bruckheimer to have these two walk the plank before At World’s End went before the lens". Oh, and Gore Verbinski "lacks vision". Yeah. On planet Moron. You want vision? Watch the Kraken in POTC2 or mailstrom in POTC3. You want films that dumb down for viewers? Go rent Baby Geniuses.

What Does Your Audience Want?

Do you know what your reader expects from you when he picks up your screenplay? Can you be unpredictable without being erratic? Can you be erratic without seeming accidental? Screenwriting lessons come from the most unlikely places. The latest? Don't laugh. Wrestling. Go right ahead and roll your eyes but there are real and effective object lessons in our everyday lives. All we have to do is watch audiences, not just in movie theatres, but wherever we go.

From east Texas to west, my camera and I follow my oldest boy every week as he pursues his dream to beat people up for a living. I marvel as men envy and women worship my baby dumpling. They reach out to touch him, scream in rapt pleasure when he brushes by, ask for his autograph, and beg him to pose for photos. All the while, I remember how fearless he was as a toddler only until there was a cricket in his shoe or a lizard in the bathtub. It's the same time-in-a-tornado mixture of pride and post adolescent nostalgia all parents endure as they realize their children no longer are.

This MAN's goal (yes, he is indeed a man and I choke as I say it) is to one day join the likes of Steve Austin, the Rock, and a bunch of other WWE'r's whose names I don't find interesting enough to bother recalling. I loathe wrestling. But, it's my son's dream, not mine, and he's doing an impressive job of chasing it down. No stage parent help. All I did was pay for his first gym membership eight years ago.

So what is this Odyssey of his teaching me about screenwriting?

Sure, the success of these wrestling extravaganzas which take place in only the finest warehouses, abandoned retail districts and ag barns across Texas are also dependent on clever marketing (bright colored poster board) but once the butts are in the seats and the cracks are sufficiently exposed, it's much like any other live entertainment. If the audience is bored, they don't come back.

In stage plays, the story and characters are the same performance after performance. No so in this combative form of entertainment. The dramatic storylines evolve week after week much like in a soap opera. The execution of that drama is in the form of drop kicks, body slams, and moves with all kinds of masculine catch phrases which, again, I don't bother to remember.

The circuits where the drama works well are the ones with clearly defined characters - good, bad, ambiguous - it doesn't matter as long as it's clear which ones are good, bad, and ambiguous. These people want you to paint it on their foreheads-- cheer for this guy, boo that one, and beware of Frank Poncherello. We don't know what's up with him. Having done that, it's easy to shock them later with a transformation or character flip.

The organizations that don't execute the drama very well are the ones that make audiences figure out things for themselves or they flip their characters from hero to heel and then hero again too fast and too soon. They can't decide on the dramatization or they perform inconsistent dramatizations. These shows are so unpredictable that shock value is diminished (non-existent) and audiences are forced to learn everything anew every single week. You can take Popeye's spinach away and cut Samson's hair but the audience won't give a rip unless they've come to appreciate the full import of spinach and hair.

What does your audience want?

The wrestling audience wants the adrenaline that comes from being surprised, enraged, enraptured, sympathetic, and horrified. They want to feel every human emotion you can possibly cram into one evening of leotards, speedos, and men dressed as Power Rangers. Any Sybil-like herky jerky characterizations leave audiences unsatisfied and their seats empty the next week.

Last night, my boy worked the opening of a new "arena". Aside from the giant dead fish on the gravel parking lot and the lady breast feeding on the front bleacher, it was an okay place. This audience had never seen any of the wrestlers before. Event runners did a brilliant job of guiding the audience and introducing the good, the bad, and the "oh my gosh, when did Ringo Starr start professional wrestling?". They didn't make the audience figure it out for themselves and they understood that dramatization and characterization are critical in this performance sport. Even if they didn't KNOW that's what they understood, that's what they understood.

Okay, so what have I learned about screenwriting and what do I hope to share with you from all this?

1. Know your audience. You probably don't write for a wrestling audience but your audience has specific needs. Those who know their audience are working it. Those who don't are sinking.



2. Clearly define your characters. If you don't, nobody will appreciate it when characters change.



3. Story elements must be well established before they change. Otherwise, who cares?



4. Dramatization must be consistent. Don't drop a storyline without resolving it first. The audience will hold it against you.



5. Chase your dream. People who think it's silly probably don't have a dream of their own. All progress is good. Kiss your mother. She's your biggest fan even when she's not.



6. If you need bizarre characters for your screenplay, attend a wrestling match and watch the audience. Bring tissue. There's probably no toilet paper or paper towels in the bathroom. Flick cayenne pepper at that brat who keeps kicking you and he'll spend the night rinsing his eyes out in the bathroom with no paper towels. Make sure you pee first.

The Deed is Done

My Nicholl is in the mail. If yours isn't, don't bother unless you live on the west coast and your mailman pulls a graveyard shift or your post office is open until midnight. Let's see, it's only 9:00 p.m. in Alaska...

Fourteen of my last one hundred visitors arrived here by Googling the Don and Gee Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting or something along those lines. Another fifteen or so searched information on battle speeches and a handful found my "That Would Never Happen" post by searching the death of an Austin schoolteacher in 1978. Good post. You ought to read it if I must (and I must) say so myself.

Who'd have thought those battle speech posts would get so much heat? They're ancient. And, I haven't even written much about the Nicholl this year. But, once on the web, always on the web.

If you Google "how to win a Nicholl fellowship", my blog pops up first as if I would have any idea how to win one more than any other screenwriter. Not stealing your thunder on purpose, Greg Beal, but I first noticed this weird phenom last year around this time. Back then, my blog came up sixth. So I blogged about it. Now my blog shows up ahead of even the Nicholl site. Yeah. That's how much I've bored everyone with my Nicholl obsession -- er, I mean posts.

In that last post, I said "by this time next year, maybe when people Google "How to Win a Nicholl Fellowship", they'll arrive here to find an article about how I actually won a Nicholl Fellowship."

Didn't happen. Maybe next year.

So, I'll repeat what I said last year. If you arrived here by Googling "how to win a Nicholl Fellowship", you should know two things:

1. I have not won a Nicholl Fellowship -- YET.
2. The way to win is to write a great screenplay.

Speaking of the Nicholl Fellowship

Haven't obsessed over the Nicholl this year because with the 6,000 or so entries that will probably get dumped in Greg Beal's mailbox, I've kind of adopted a Tripper Harrison (Meatballs) attitude toward the whole thing:

And even if we win, if we win, HAH! Even if we win! 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 comes down and points his hand at our side of the field; even if every man woman and child held 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 we lose. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!

That's how the Nicholl works. You can't control the variables -- what desk your work lands on, what kind of experience your readers have, what genres they like, or whether they GET IT. There's only so much the Nicholl can do to level the field. And, honestly, maybe your poop DOES stink despite loud protestations to the contrary.

Yeah. I'm going to enter and I still want to win a Nicholl. Why? I dunno. Why does anyone set any kind of goal at all and then go after it. Don't tell me it's not the only gate to Hollywood. I know that and I don't care. It's not just about access. It's a goal. It's MY goal.

I enter the Nicholl for the same reason that I drag my sleepy butt to the gym every morning and torture my aging body on cardio and weight training equipment although I know full well that these sufferings may burn a few calories but will never make me a size six again. Never. I can't control all the variables. But it's a goal and working toward a goal -- ANY GOAL -- is, at the very least, moving me forward, getting me somewhere today that I wasn't yesterday.

Oh, and for the record, cottage cheese is nasty.

Writing the Wrong Story

I'm always fascinated with American Idol contestants who defend their poor song choices by citing its message, sentimental value, or use of their song as a gift for a dear ol' family member. Idiots. You're a finalist in the mega-ball singing lotto and you choose a ditty Grandad played on the banjo beneath Granny's window instead of a song you genuinely kick butt singing? That's like giving Jerry Bruckheimer a cutsie homage to my kid instead of a script that will merit investing millions of dollars. I'm not giving an icon my most sentimental story to read. I'm giving him the best one.

I frequently talk to writers who admit to submitting: (1) tribute stories (2) partially fleshed out ideas (3) genres they're uncomfortable writing. All three are mistakes. They think it's an even trade off if the idea is commercial or high concept. I disagree. A poorly executed good idea is not better than a well executed mediocre one. Okay, yes, commercial and high concept ideas are more likely to be produced but poor writing will get tossed in the can. Oh, and here's a tip. Producers don't care who your story memorializes if it's not a good one.

This screenwriting thing we do is, sadly, not for everyone who attempts it but those of us who do take a stab at it need to execute well and come up with ideas people want to see onscreen. It's not enough to do one or the other. It's just not. "People" doesn't mean a thumbs up from your wife either. You gotta sell more tickets than one.

Often I'm told "well when you're a produced screenwriter, then I'll take your advice". Okay, that's cool with me. I'm not handing out advice anyway. I'm just making observations.