by Cherie Lee

She was an ever present member of the extended family: reliably documenting every Christmas with her oversized camera, standing quietly in the corner of the room. She would ask you questions, mainly about study, because academia was her life. She was a professor of linguistics for decades at a Sydney university and wrote textbooks on the relationship between linguistics and literature.

If you didn’t have a lot to say about your studies, or were not studying at all, there was little to talk about. My family had a collection of glacé fruit collecting dust in our cupboard; her annual Christmas present to us all. Perhaps I was too young to understand her, but all I knew was that she was different from our beloved grandmother. Later in my life I would use the word eccentric to describe her.

I was recently given a collection of my Great Aunt’s journals after I zealously announced my determination to tell her story, or at least understand who she was, perhaps out of guilt for not feeling sad when she died. I received a box: journal piled upon journal, each with a year printed on the front, some as early as 1930.

My excitement knew no end.

I romanticised about poring over these journals late into the night, listening to this woman’s heartbeat, finally feeling connected with her after so many years of misunderstanding.

I picked up one and started reading: June 18th, 1988: ‘Woke up at 6am. Did my stretches. Called Marg. Looked like rain.’

My heart sank. There’s no passion, or emotion. It’s a checklist of her daily activities and a weather report. I read more and more. Banal entries about appointments, visits, trips to the shops. Page after page, every day of her life it seems.

However, as I keep reading, a greater feeling sets in: immortality. Her life is recorded on these pages. Whether interesting or not, these are chapters of a life which is now terminated. They are written evidence of her existence, accumulating dust in a box.

Here’s the thing about story: we’re all living one-whether grandiose or (more often than not) mediocre. Every story has a beginning, middle and end. We were born, that is our beginning, and we are somewhere in the middle hurtling towards our imminent death, the final curtain.

What happens in the middle is the story. The choices we make, the things we feel, the people we meet are part of our story which is a one-off event, never to occur again.

To me, story is not just something I’m living.

I scan the papers every weekend, watch movies, read books, talk to strangers, all in pursuit of someone else’s story that will inspire, instruct and illuminate. We’re all locked up in our subjective heads, seeing and experiencing our own story with our two eyes. Stories connect us; they’re smoke signals in a dark forest that say you’re not alone.

Every story has a universal theme; love, loss and everything in between. But even these themes are deeply personal experiences to each individual. That’s why we can watch love story after love story after love story, because even though the act of falling in love is the same, the nuances and details of each relationship are vastly different. This love story happened in India, this one was between two criminals and this one was about a couple married for 50 plus years in Midwest America.

Things happen in stories. Hugh McKay, author of the book ‘What Makes Us Tick’ writes about the need for something to happen. Humans are an odd species; we crave routine and familiarity, but equally crave spontaneity and excitement. When nothing happens in our lives, we become depressed. When there’s no structure or order to our lives, we feel out of control.

In a film, the ‘something happening’ is the inciting incident. We meet the protagonist and get sucked into their world. All is well, and then BAM, the inciting incident: a person or event changes everything and the protagonist must fight to return balance to their world. We all have inciting incidents in our lives to varying degrees, some more often than others. Sometimes, I feel the urge to create drama in my life if nothing is happening in order to get a new story happening or have something to write about.

I want my life to be a good story; something that’s worth telling my grandchildren about.

I went to China for 10 months to teach English just so I had some good stories. I sometimes wonder as the rest of my life plays out if anything that happens to me will be worth writing about. But I know it will because stories are ultimately about connection. I feel connected to my Great Aunt by reading her journals, even if they are only about the weather.

As I read her journals, my imagination fills in the blanks. I will write her story based on the limited information I have, taking full creative license. This is my job, to find meaning in this woman’s life. I have the power to give dignity to who she was.

To tell the story of one who was overlooked and misunderstood and send out smoke signals to others who may feel the same: you are not alone.

-Cherie Lee

Photo Credits: seeveeaar, steve_steady64, Steve-h and Ed Yourdon via Compfight

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

by Cherie Lee

But career and motherhood have completely different values: one is success, one is intrinsic value.

The world rewards success but not activities that give us intrinsic value, like raising a baby into a well-adjusted adult who can express themselves and reach their full potential in the world.

The world rewards success but not activities that give us intrinsic value.

Screenwriting is a profession that without a doubt, rewards success. The whole industry is designed around achievement: we see the winners on the big screen. The very act of writing is an anxiety-inducing undertaking itself let alone the added pressure of ‘making it’.

Expressing ideas and themes that make your internal world tick, putting them on paper and sending them out to be critiqued and torn apart is agonising. Your script gets made into a film, or it does not. There’s no plan B. If you’ve already experienced a taste of success, this process becomes even more heightened. The fear that your follow-up will never amount to your first work deepens.

I recently made a decision to follow a career completely unrelated to writing. I had always envisioned myself as a professional writer; one who works their own hours, self-disciplined, working from home. I tried this for one week. And failed.

I went crazy.

The fear that your follow-up will never amount to your first work deepens.

I’m not the kind of person who can go long without human interaction. I start admonishing walls. This was a huge disappointment because it’s what I had wanted for so long. But I had to reconcile my personality with my passion, and find a new construct to understand where writing fits into my life.

My current job is working with mentally disabled people, which I love because I’m physically and emotionally absorbed by other people’s needs throughout the day. I feel intrinsically happier at the end of the day because not only did I help make some person’s life better but my entire being was engaged; I was in the psychological act of ‘flow’.

‘Flow’ is the word coined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi to describe the feeling of when a person is fully immersed in an activity, whether it be gardening or reading or composing a symphony. You’re so involved with the activity that time falls away and you lose awareness of your surroundings and even your own physical presence.

You’re so involved with the activity that time falls away.

There are seven key characteristics that define ‘flow’. They are:

1. Complete focus
2. A sense of ecstasy
3. Great inner clarity
4. Knowing that the activity is doable
5. A sense of serenity
6. Timelessness
7. Intrinsic motivation

To me, the last point is the most important: what you’re doing becomes worth doing for its own sake. Just like raising a child is a valuable activity for the sake of doing it, rather than any material outcomes.

I realised that I have moments of ’flow’ in the act of writing, but not as often as my day job, because I’m too busy worrying about outcomes. When I’m at home all day with a blank piece of paper in front of me I feel frustrated and unhappy. In my other job, I feel a lightness that comes with doing something that your whole being is engaged in.

So I decided to take the pressure off myself to have a WRITING CAREER and get back to the roots of writing for the love of it: to have the same experience of writing as I do of my day job. The intrinsic joy that comes from the act of being creative is immeasurable to any success you may or may not have in your lifetime.

The intrinsic joy that comes from the act of being creative is immeasurable.

Let’s face it: you’re probably not going to be one of the 0.001% of writers who are immortalised in the annals of history.

Although it is good to be ambitious, I truly believe that maintaining your sanity is more important than anything. And in all honesty, success can interfere with that. Which is why many successful artists and writers of the 20th century lose the plot and drink themselves into premature termination.

Elizabeth Gilbert says that she had to ‘create a protective psychological construct’ to continue writing after the phenomenal success of her previous work, ‘Eat, Pray, Love’.

There was a huge amount of pressure for her to write something that would live up to the first book. So she decided to ‘recalibrate my whole relationship with this work’. She looked to history for guidance and found in Greek mythology the concept of divine spirits that come and visit creatives.

Rather than ‘being’ a genius, you simply ‘have’ a genius for a period of time. This removed the pressure and enabled her to write because it’s what she was put on the earth to do. She accepted that it was most likely that her best work was behind her but that was OK, she was still going to continue to show up and do her job; to write because it’s what she has to do.

So rather than become an alcoholic writer, riddled with insecurities and self-doubts about my work, which may or may not go anywhere anyway, I’m going to channel my energies into a job that gives me intrinsic joy and write with the same passion.

In the end, life is so short and I don’t want anything to interfere with my sanity. And perhaps with this approach, my best work is yet to come.

-Cherie Lee

Photo Credits: seeveeaar, steve_steady64, Steve-h and Ed Yourdon via Compfight

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

by Cherie Lee

“OK so Sarah has hooked up with Greg and Jake and Frank who’s hooked up with Jessie and Lisa and Tina who’s hooked up with Jake and John and Greg who’s hooked up with Lisa, Jessie and Jenny, who hasn’t hooked up with who? We’ve done a robbery episode, a tidal wave, an earthquake, a fire, a long lost daughter, a return- from-the-dead, we’re running out of ideas here guys.”

And then, the inevitable happens. They resort to the supernatural. “Watch out Summer Bay, there’s evil lurking in town…a witch is coming and she’s bringing a Satanic cult!”

This to me, has always signaled a lack of genuine creativity when it happens on (a number of) TV shows. Coming up with big bam plots is an easy ploy for the ADD riddled teenage market.

But sometimes you can sense the desperation for ideas, like a magician scrounging around for another rabbit. What combination of crazy hasn’t been attempted? Transsexual dinosaurs?

Coming up with big bam plots
is an easy ploy for the ADD riddled teenage market.

Even movies do this, we all know those mainstream big budget films that are the latest CG effects vehicles. Story and script gets pushed aside in favour of explosions and car races. There’s definitely a market for these kinds of films and they can be great escapism, but I’m more interested in the movies that do justice to the other 99.9% of our lives when we’re not chasing zombies in ships.

Day to day life is a to-do list of monotonous activities, when we’re not hating our job we’re getting petrol for our cars, standing in lines to buy groceries or cleaning the toilet. We get blinded by routine, which is why we resort to glittering vampires.

But I find the most captivating movies, the ones that linger in my consciousness long after the credits roll, are those that capture life in its glorious messy complexity and bring to life beauty in the everyday; stories about ordinary people told in extraordinary ways.

These kinds of stories take a special kind of talent, the ability to see past the mundane to the connectivity that ties all humans together.

I find the most captivating […]
those that capture life in
its glorious messy complexity.

Think of Lost in Translation, Sofia Coppola’s lush atmospheric film about two strangers wiling away their time in a Japanese hotel, finding redemption in each other’s company. On paper, the tagline sounds dull and uninspiring.

In Coppola’s hands the story is told through long beautiful shots of the city, exchanged glances and a minimal amount of words. The characters don’t monologue about their unhappy marriages, having explosive arguments with their spouses.

We see the ageing celebrity Bob Harris (Bill Murray) sitting in his hotel room, looking glum as his wife faxes through carpet samples for their house.

Or Mike Leigh’s award winning Happy-Go-Lucky about an insatiably optimistic primary school teacher who frustrates everyone around her with her happy-go-lucky attitude. The film is completely character-driven, the events that take place are few and unspectacular.

Poppy gets driving lessons, goes to a salsa class, has a student who’s bullying other children and visits her pregnant little sister.

The film’s climax centers around Poppy’s cynical driving instructor whose bitterness and negativity threatens to derail her positivity.

The brilliant driving lesson scenes boil with tension as Poppy desperately tries to maintain equilibrium. These scenes are rich in subtext and would be difficult to write, requiring talented actors to do justice to the subtleties.

But the product is brilliant, a reminder of what keeps us coming back to the cinema, moments of gold in which fiction is truer than reality. J.G Ballard says “Given that external reality is a fiction, the writer’s role is almost superfluous. He does not need to invent the fiction because it is already there.”

Given that external reality is a fiction, the writer’s role is almost superfluous. He does not need to invent the fiction because it is already there.”

There are the opposing motivations that all artists face; selling out for money or being true to your creativity. In a world driven by the Hollywood machine that ticks over producing meaningless comedies and adventures touting the latest celebrities and special effects, there’s no doubt that an overwhelming motivation for making films is money.

But money disappears as fast as these films will from people’s memories. The greater challenge is to create the kinds of stories that are deeply rooted in humanness and will hang around in the collective subconscious for a long time.

David Foster Wallace talks about embracing the realities of life in his commencement speech, given to Kenyon graduates. “It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell-type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars—compassion, love, the subsurface unity of all things”

Do justice to the ‘subsurface unity of all things’ and create extraordinary stories about seemingly ordinary things.

We’re all looking for meaning, the things that make living life worthwhile. Film is such a fantastic medium to communicate these values; the camera can zoom into every nook and cranny of human interaction.

Do justice to the ‘subsurface unity of all things’ and create extraordinary stories about seemingly ordinary things.

-Cherie Lee

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

By Cherie Lee

She went on to say that sketching is a skill of observation, not imagination. By the end of a still life class she’s physically exhausted from the amount of concentration it takes to really look at an object or person and copy the details onto the page. Rather than really looking at my friend, I was simply taking mental note of key features (long hair, small nose) and reconstructing my idea of long hair and small nose without referring back to her long hair and small nose.

Write from observation rather than memory

‘You might draw a bottle, everyone knows what a bottle looks like, you can draw one from memory. But what does this bottle look like? This bottle has these markings, is this brand, has those scuff marks. You really have to look and look and look.’

I took up sketching to improve my focus but it’s given me a great insight into writing. The goal in any writing form is always truth, even if you’re fabricating characters and stories. If there isn’t a ring of truth, the audience will disengage.

But how do you know what truth looks like unless you observe a wide range of humans in varying conditions and circumstances? We don’t remember great storylines in movies; we remember great characters that were engaged in those storylines.

We don’t remember great storylines in movies;
we remember great characters that were
engaged in those storylines.

You, writer, needs to get out!

I’ve always struggled with the paradox of my personality and my passion. I’m an extrovert, without a doubt, but I have to write. Which means sitting in a room. Alone. For long periods of time. Not exactly idyllic circumstances for one who thrives on human interaction. In fact, it can sometimes induce an unhealthy mental state (read: crazy). But perhaps this contradiction isn’t really a contradiction at all. One feeds the other.

I realised recently that my best writing occurs when I’m deeply engaged with the world around me, soaking up stimuli as much as possible so when I sit down to write, all the interactions inspired by people and events flow into my words. Rather than living day-to-day life inside my head thinking about what I want to write, my eyes and ears are open, present in every moment.

There has to be an element of engagement with the living world
or no one in the living world will relate to your work.

This is not to assume that it will work for everyone. Some of the greatest writers in history were socially awkward misfits, perhaps your personality thrives on being alone and your writing feeds your social interactions rather than visa versa. But there has to be an element of engagement with the living world or no one in the living world will relate to your work.

Reality: stranger than (your) fiction

When it comes to creating characters, my imagination has nothing on reality. I think of the Simpsons episode where Bart, banned from watching Itchy and Scratchy, claims that he doesn’t need them because his imagination is just as interesting. We see inside Bart’s head, the cartoon cat and mouse are sitting there, shrugging their shoulders, whistling awkwardly. I love this because as much as we would like to think our imagination is endless, it needs to be fed. Either by the world around us or other art forms; ideas from people’s imaginations.

As much as we would like to think our imagination is endless,
it needs to be fed.

So I changed the way I write. Rather than thinking ‘what kind of character do I want to create?’ I think about all the people I know or have recently met and write about the interesting aspects of their personalities to see if anything develops. This taps into deep motivations as well because I want to do justice to the people that inspire me (whether positively or negatively).

I want to faithfully copy down what I see and hear so that there’s a reality to my characters, even if they’re in imagined situations, to honour the unique emotional make-up of a living, breathing human being; the thing that distinguishes us from each other, the sense of being an individual.

Universality vs. uniqueness

Of course, it could be argued, there are universal emotions, experienced by all. This is why we flock to the cinema to watch stories of underlying passions and frustrations we all experience in varying degrees in a lifetime. But it’s the nuances of each of these and the unique way every person experiences them that I’m interested in. This is what enables the writer to create believable characters.

Take angry. You’re creating a character that’s angry. The word triggers certain images: red face, yelling, tense body, glaring, perhaps even lashing out. But that’s the angry you see in a Disney movie when the bad guy loses. What does angry really look like on different people who come with their own experiences, history, world-views, social backgrounds and values? What about a person who’s passive aggressive, with a long-term anger bubbling under the surface, how do you write that?

What does angry really look like?

Only by studying someone that fits the bill can you start to build a realistic pattern of speech, believable expressions and actions; an anger so specific to one person that they’re the only person in the world who could experience anger in this way. Or take grief: a distraught person weeping into the skies. Oh the injustice of it all! WHY!? Again, an idea of grief more at home in Disney or bad Hollywood films. But where can you actually view grief? Who do you know that’s grieving and how do they express it?

It’s only when you start to really look and look and look at the people around you that you can create believable characters and avoid stereotypes.

-Cherie Lee

 photo credits: joiseyshowaa , helgabj , VinothChandar , JelleS 

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

Rory’s Story Cubes

This addictive little app has kept me entertained all week. It’s a virtual version of the original product: nine six-sided dice, each with a different image on them.

Every time you shake, the dice fall into different combinations of pictures, guaranteed to get your imagination working and combat the dreaded writer’s block. There’s pictures of keys, planes, lightning, sheep, question marks, footsteps, clocks and speech bubbles to name a few.

Because of the symbolic nature of these pictures, there are millions of ways you can interpret them. You can use them at any stage of your writing project, whether you need a kick-start idea or you’re halfway through and feeling uninspired.

A depressed man finds a key to an abandoned house
that contains a mysterious book.

I challenged myself to come up with a logline based on one combination and came up with this: A depressed man finds a key to an abandoned house that contains a mysterious book.

You can take photos of your cube combinations for later reference too. Easy!

This one is definitely worth the $2.49 it costs.

Celtx

Finally! Celtx is available on iPhone!

This fantastic screenwriting program has everything you need for a beautifully polished, professional looking script. If you already use Celtx on your computer, it’s perfect for when you’re on the go and inspiration hits. You can sync it up to your computer so the script you’re working on updates.

Finally! Celtx is available on iPhone!

The only concern that one reviewer had with this app is that it doesn’t include index cards which are helpful in building the story as you go. This is true, however I think you could easily use a basic note-taking app for that (try Stick-it eNotes, a nifty little free app).

The app version of its free online counterpart is ironically $12.99 but I guess they have to make the moolah somehow, the cost is still nothing on Final Draft!

Methodology-Oblique Strategies

Another great writer’s block tool, this app uses the famous Oblique Strategies: a series of flashcards developed by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt.

Each flashcard has a cryptic phrase or word that will force you to think laterally. They’re especially helpful when looking at the overall creative process, when you’re thinking about your project as a whole. For example, ‘merge two different ideas’ can relate to an element of your script itself or the overall story.

Each flashcard has a cryptic phrase or word
that will force you to think laterally.

These kind of writer’s block tools I’ve found are much more helpful in sparking your imagination then other kinds that randomize storylines and limit your scope.

For over 100 new flash cards, this one is only $2.49.

Leonard Maltin Movie Guide

What screenwriter isn’t an avid lover of film? Leonard Maltin brings his extensive film knowledge and criticisms to the bite sized world of the iPhone apps.

This is a fantastic app that rivals IMDB with Leonard Maltin’s extensive movie knowledge. On the opening page, he gives a list of his own current picks, movies both old and new.

He may be the nerdiest looking guy on the Internet
but he knows his movies!

You can watch the preview for the film straight away and read Leonard Maltin’s review. There’s also a function that enables you to keep track of your favourite movies and list the movies you want to see, a handy tool when someone’s raving about the latest blockbuster!

He may be the nerdiest looking guy on the Internet  (his mug is the app picture) but he knows his movies!

If you’re a fan of the man, it’s worth the $2.49.

Contour

This is another app based on a full sized product of the same name. Contour is a program developed by Jeffrey Alan Schechter, an L.A. based screenwriter.

Its aim is to help you flesh out your story and characters using tried and true development methods.

For example, it will take you through four questions that are at the core of every good story: Who is the main character? What are they trying to accomplish? Who is trying to stop them? What happens if they fail? The app gives about seventeen screenplays put through this process.

I found this a valuable part of the app, especially as the movies are recent and well known (Slumdog Millionaire, Star Trek and Up to name a few). It also provides a structure for breaking the screenplay into three acts as well as a structure report and beat sheet.

Contour offers a similar service as the Save The Cat app reviewed last time on The Story Department but at a much more writer-friendly price.

Contour will set you back $5.99

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

Screenwriter Chris Weekes talks to Karel Segers about his work, inspiration and what makes an attention-grabbing screenplay.

They wouldn’t listen to him in Australia, so Chris Weekes moved to New York, where BITTER AND TWISTED, his debut as a writer/director had played to plaudits at the Tribeca Film Fest.

When he scored no less than two studio writing gigs, it was on to L.A.

TSD: What’s happening with The Muppet Man now?

CW: When I first finished The Muppet Man, back in 2008, my plan was to send it to Bernie Brillstein who had been Jim Henson’s manager for many, many years, just to see what he thought.  But in a strange twist of fate, Bernie actually died the day I finished writing it, so I was at a complete loss as to what to do.Then I remembered someone I had met from Circle of Confusion, Kelly McCormick, who used to be Frank Oz’s (Miss Piggy) assistant. So I gave it to Kelly and she really loved it and told me she was going to make it her mission to help me get it made. She was my first ally and friend in Hollywood.   It was only about a month later that I got a call saying that the Henson’s had read it and wanted to option it.

TSD: Once you started the process of The Muppet Man and marketing it to the U.S., were you ever tempted to go back to Bitter and Twisted and change it based on what you’ve learnt?

CW: There’s plenty I would change.  I don’t think that will ever change.  I was twenty when I wrote the draft we ended up filming and had to sit with those words for eight years as the film progressed from start to finish.  I’ve learnt a lot since then.

There was actually a company at the Tribeca (film festival) that had asked me to turn Bitter and Twisted into a TV series and so, out of curiosity I wrote the pilot one weekend.

It was a worthwhile experience because I was able to exorcise a lot of those demons I stirred inside of me when I first started the project all those years ago.   I took what worked in the film and what hadn’t and tried to distil those characters and ideas into the best they could be.   Pretty soon though, I realised I was ready to put this story to bed.

So that was the same time I started writing The Muppet Man.

Someone wrote (about The Muppet Man) that it was a ‘personal antidote’ to the heavy drama of Bitter and Twisted.  And they were probably right.  It’s about as far removed from Bitter and Twisted as you can get.

TSD: Being in L.A. now, do you feel you’re part of the ‘real’ club of filmmakers?

CW: I don’t know if there’s a club.  But I do know that if you want to write and make films in Hollywood, or anywhere for that matter, you need to be passionate about it because it’s not going to happen overnight.

You have to love the idea you’re working on, because you’ll be sitting with it for the next five years of your life.

If you’re passionate about what you’re doing and believe in it then someone’s going to be passionate about seeing you produce it.

You have to love the idea because you’ll be sitting with it for the next five years of your life.

TSD: What are your main influences?

CW: I think everyone is looking back as much as they’re looking forward.

I grew up a child of Spielberg. At the moment the two projects I’m working on are Amblin inspired, like those fun 80’s family films we all remember and love. That’s something I’ve always wanted to do.

TSD: You told me you read a lot of scripts. What are the best you’ve been reading?

CW: Up in the Air and Scott Pilgrim were great, as well as revisiting some old staple favourites: Back to the Future, Chinatown, Citizen Kane, The Godfather, The Goonies, The Truman Show, Titanic. Titanic was actually the first printed script I ever got my hands on.

TSD: What springs to mind of last year’s released films?

A movie that took me by complete surprise was Zombieland. I just didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. I had absolutely no idea where it was going, mostly because it was so unique and original.  It kept me right on the edge of my seat.

Actually, it amazed me when I read online that the movie was originally an hour longer and they culled it down to 78 minutes.  The history of its origin I thought was very clever too. I read somewhere that they’d been trying to pitch it for a while with no luck and eventually tried to jump in front of Quentin Tarantino at some premiere and hand him the script to read.  That’s how you show real passion for a story.  Throw it at Tarantino.

A real disappointment was The Invention of Lying. I had been looking forward to it for so long and I’m a massive fan of Ricky Gervais.

I just thought some of the social commentary came into the film a little too hard and took away from the comedy. It left me underwhelmed unfortunately.

TSD: Is it true that there aren’t many great scripts going around and that even mediocre scripts will get picked up?

CW: I think that’s maybe true.   When you read something, you can tell whether the screenwriter is writing it because they love this story or because they’re trying to make money; and that energy definitely seeps into the page.

If you’re bored writing something, you’re going to make your audience even more bored reading (and watching) it.

TSD: Anything you’ve learned that you’d like to pass on to aspiring writers?

CW: I don’t consider myself an authority on this, but I like to think that every 10 pages of your script should have one visceral, exciting sequence to wake the reader (and audience) up.   Something to break that heavy plotting now and then with a little “wish fulfillment”, something fun that people have never seen before. If you can sprinkle 12 of those in a otherwise mediocre 120- page script, you’re going to tip it into being a good script and a fast read.  And they’re the two most important things to aspire for with a screenplay.

Every 10 pages of your script should have one visceral, exciting sequence to wake the reader (and audience) up.

But the best advice I’ve ever heard and would want to pass on is just ‘don’t stop’. Get to the last page of your screenplay even if it’s turned into a 500-page opus.  Once you have something fully finished, then you can go back and refine.  You have a road map.

It’s more important to have pages you can work on than having something half-floating in your mind for 20 years.

TSD: Why do you think we tell stories?

CW: I write to make the world seem a little more colourful.

I think the best movies can transport you to places you could otherwise never go.

It’s a form of escapism when you boil it down.

I write to make the world seem a bit more colourful

Everyone’s looking for a reason to get up every day,  Stories help us to understand who we are, and more importantly, where we’ve come from.

Chris Weekes is a writer, director and actor whose 2008 film ‘Bitter and Twisted’ was nominated for two AFI awards.

He is based in LA, where he is finishing a rewrite of the film ‘Waterproof’.

His script ‘Muppet Man’ topped the illustrious Hollywood ‘Black List’ of unproduced scripts and has been optioned by The Jim Henson Company.

With thanks to Cherie Lee for the interview transcription.

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

by Jeffrey Hirschberg

Throughout my years of screenwriting I have read and analyzed thousands of scripts from writers of all levels, including screenplays from my students at Buffalo State College, Cornell University, Syracuse University’s Newhouse School, and R.I.T.’s School of Film and Animation.  Here is what I discovered during this time:

1. Assume everyone has A.D.D.

There has never been a greater truism in Hollywood. While I am guilty of playing dime store psychologist, one does not need a PhD in Clinical Psychology to conclude that audiences (that means us) tend to have short attention spans.

“Attentiveness (or lack thereof) of the audience is directly related to its ability to make a successful emotional connection.”

Now, we can argue there are certain external factors contributing to a population of diminishing attention spans (MTV, video games, text messaging, IM, and the Internet to name a few possible culprits), but it is safe to say that the attentiveness (or lack thereof) of the audience is directly related to its ability to make a successful emotional connection – and that connection must be made quickly, or you will lose your audience even more quickly.

Readers, like moviegoers, need to be entertained very quickly.

2. Spend most of your time on the first ten pages of your script

In Gladiator, we are immediately engaged as we are introduced to our hero – General Maximus – and the respect he commands from the Roman army. Add an action-packed, bloody opening battle to the mix, and we are sold.

In Pulp Fiction, the first ten pages of the script feature a restaurant robbery and the prophetic musings of two unforgettable hit men. The dialogue is fresh, imaginative, and unrelenting in its pace and originality. If you are a reader perusing the screenplay, you undoubtedly want to continue turning the page.

When you are finished with your script, give the first ten pages to a group of friends or family you trust. Then ask each of them one simple question: “Do you want to read more?” If the overwhelming response is in the affirmative, you are on the right road to writing a memorable screenplay.

3. Write roles to attract movie stars

Create a memorable hero or villain and chances are you just might attract a movie star to your script. Why? Because characters like the heroes and villains featured in my book are unique, intelligent, and intriguing people with magnetism to spare. Who wouldn’t want to play Hans Gruber, Norma Rae Webster, Hannibal Lecter, Ellen Ripley, or Gordon Gekko?

You may also want to watch films that feature Academy Award-winning roles.

Movie stars can buy anything from Porsches to Picassos; they have adoring fans throughout the world who will wait for hours to get a glimpse of them; and they are told by sycophantic agents, managers, attorneys, studio executives, PR professionals, writers, producers, and directors that they are nothing less than the great Da Vinci reincarnated.

“Who wouldn’t want to play Hans Gruber, Norma Rae Webster, Hannibal Lecter, Ellen Ripley, or Gordon Gekko?”

But, they cannot buy the respect an Academy Award affords them. So, if you can write a juicy role that will attract the attention of one or more movie stars, you just might find yourself in the midst of a studio bidding war.

4. Write economically

Throughout my years of writing and reading screenplays, one of the most common mistakes I have experienced is “overwriting.” This phenomenon often falls into two categories: 1) verbose stage direction; and

2) “on the nose” dialogue.

Verbose Stage Direction

Keep your stage direction short (I recommend trying to keep each paragraph to less than five lines) and to the point. Never forget you are writing a piece of entertainment, and stage direction should entertain as much as it informs us as to the comings and goings of your characters.

“On the Nose” Dialogue

“The point is to make the audience work a bit for the information – not too much.”

Several years ago, I sent a script to my manager and received notes including quite a few pieces of dialogue circled with the comment, “OTN.” I was perplexed and asked him to explain.

He said these were several instances where my dialogue was too “on the nose.” The point is to make the audience work a bit for the information – not too much (we don’t want to frustrate them) – but enough for them to feel emotionally involved in your story.

5. Make sure every character has a unique voice

Movies work most effectively when they are populated with characters that are unique from one another. So, you should try to –

Avoid stereotypes

One of the problems I see over and over again with new writers is the depiction of characters who feel familiar and stereotypical. The key is to go against stereotypes, thus providing your audience with the refreshing read they crave.

Surprise us with quirks and unusual traits

Every once in a while, I’ll be sitting in a movie theater and suddenly I’ll discover something fresh and unusual about one of the main characters. It is that feeling of surprise we all desire and unfortunately, those moments are few and far between.

Create someone an actor will love to play

One can only imagine Julie Roberts’ reaction when she read the script for Erin Brockovich. It is simply not the typical role afforded to actresses in Hollywood.

The hero of the film is a quintessentially strong character any actress would love to play. She is confident, bold, sympathetic, and has plenty of memorable monologues. It is a classic underdog story resulting in Roberts winning the Oscar in 2000.

“The hero of the film is a quintessentially strong character any actress would love to play.”

Transform him/her over your story

Rick Blaine in Casablanca is a great example of a hero transforming over the course of the story. At the beginning of the film he confidently states his mantra, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” But, at the end of the film, he does just that – sticking his neck out for the woman he loves.

Make everything about his/her journey difficult

We love watching our heroes struggle. What would Raiders of the Lost Ark be if Indiana Jones immediately stumbled upon the Ark of the Covenant and brought it back to America?

What if John McClane burst into the Nakatomi Christmas party and took out Hans Gruber and all of his henchmen in one momentous moment? And, what if Ellen Ripley easily discovered the Alien’s whereabouts as well as a surefire way to destroy the monster? Boring!

6. Understand your audience

When you are writing a screenplay, there are two audiences you should consider: 1) the readers, agents, managers, producers, and studio executives who will be reading your screenplay (aka, the buyers); and 2) the demographic you believe will be most interested in seeing your movie.

If your script is a comedy, it must be funny. If you are writing a horror script, it must be scary. Sounds like common sense? It isn’t. Talk to a professional reader and ask her how many comedy and horror scripts she has read of late that are actually funny and scary. “The comedy scripts are scary and the horror scripts are funny,” is the answer you just might receive.

Re: demographics: Hollywood studios like to categorize the world into four simple compartments, typically referred to as quadrants: 1) Male under 25; 2) Male over 25; 3) Female under 25; and 4) Female over 25.

If you ever wondered why every Pixar film seems to make a billion dollars in worldwide gross and ancillary revenues, it is because the company excels at making Four Quadrant movies – films that appeal equally to males and females under 25 and over 25.

7. Know your three-act structure

Like it or not, Hollywood has a language all its own. Here is what buyers expect from your script:

1. By page ten, they want to be introduced to your hero, what he wants (his goal), and the genre of the story you are telling.

2. By the end of Act One (page twenty-five or so), readers want to know exactly where this story is going, including the stakes (What happens if the hero does not achieve his goal?) and the villain (The person, place, or thing preventing the hero from achieving his goal).

3. By the midpoint (the middle of Act Two, page fifty-five or so), readers like to feel that the stakes for the hero have been raised in some fashion. Maybe a new character has been introduced. Maybe a new obstacle or villain has reared its head. Maybe the hero has experienced a distinct character transformation.

4. By the end of Act Two (page ninety or so), readers presume your hero will be in a heap of trouble. Up until now, the hero may have been steadily moving toward achieving his goal. But at the end of Act Two, things have changed. He has suddenly been put in a corner and the audience is asking itself, “How in the world is he going to get out of this one?”

5. In Act Three, readers want your hero to somehow devise a new plan and escape from the mess that has presented itself at the end of Act Two. This is the big finish.

8. Be aware of theme, and keep it consistent throughout the script

Theme is a tough nut to crack. When I ask my students the theme of Die Hard, they often restate the film’s core concept (or, in Hollywood terms, the “logline”), saying something like, “It’s about a cop thwarting a group of international terrorists while saving his wife and a bunch of innocent people.” While this is true, it doesn’t quite touch on theme.

I then dig deeper, suggesting Die Hard is really about a man trying to reconnect with his wife. True, this reconnection takes place amidst the backdrop of an action-packed heist, but at its core, this is a story about John McClane discovering the importance of family and the love and appreciation he has for his wife, Holly.

9. Watch and re-watch successful movies similar to your story

There is an old adage in Hollywood: They want the same, but different. Because the average studio picture costs over $100 million to produce and market, studios are in the risk aversion business every bit as much as they are in the movie business.

The impact on you is that these buyers of product tend to gravitate toward the familiar – stories they think will have the best chance at attracting a global audience.

10. Know what your hero wants (the goal), what happens if he doesn’t get what he wants (the stakes), and who/what is preventing him from getting what he wants (the villain)

Think about some films you haven’t loved. I bet one of the reasons there was no love connection was because they failed to answer the questions above.

In Toy Story 2, Buzz Lightyear is the primary hero whose goal is to lead a group of toys to save Woody from being sent to a museum in Japan. The primary villain of the story is Al (of “Al’s Toy Barn” fame) and the stakes are simple: If our hero and his team do not achieve their goal, they will never see Woody again.

Jaws is another movie that quickly answers our burning questions. By the end of Act One, we know Police Chief Martin Brody (with the support of Quint and Hooper) is our hero, his goal is to kill the shark, the villain is the shark itself, and the stakes are: If Brody does not achieve his goal, more residents of Amity will die.

11. Leave them wanting more

This Law seems to be as ancient as showbiz itself. Yet it is just as relevant today as it was at the turn of the twentieth century. The Law is really about crafting a memorable, climactic ending that will forever be satisfying to your audience. An outstanding ending can often save a mediocre film while a mediocre ending can often ruin an otherwise outstanding story.

So, does your climax:

1. Feel like a big, fulfilling finish?

2. Reveal a significant character trait of your hero or villain?

3. Resolve the central problem established in Act One?

4. Contain a satisfying surprise?

5. Appear five to twenty minutes or so before the end of the film?

If your story accomplishes all of the above, you are on your way to crafting a memorable tale that will live on in the memories of your audience. Happy writing!

The above article is an abbreviated excerpt from Jeffrey Hirschberg’s recently published book: “Reflections of the Shadow: Creating Memorable Heroes and Villains for Film and TV.”

Jeffrey Hirschberg is an Assistant Professor and Director of the Television and Film Arts Program at Buffalo State College. A member of the Writers Guild of America and judge for the WGA awards, Jeffrey has been a professional screenwriter for eighteen years and has written and/or created shows for Showtime Networks, Lifetime Television, and ABC. He has worked at NBC, Viacom, and Warner Bros.

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

Does the guy appearing only in the second scene of your script for half a page really need a two-page intro?

Christina Hamlett shows you how and why you should put your energies into the characters that count.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

While savvy screenwriters will be quick to point out that it’s detail-intensive and smacks more of a meandering novel than a tight and well focused script, there’s a bigger problem that may not be as obvious but is especially prevalent among novices:

Joseph is a one-scene, ambient character who has nothing to do with the plot.

In my work as a professional script coverage consultant, at least two thirds of the screenplays I review contain minor players to whom the authors have thoughtfully ascribed first and last names, physical characteristics, specific ages and ethnicities, poignant backgrounds, latent talents, and aspirations to be something other than the fictitious roles in which Fate has cast them for the purposes of the immediate story.

On the one hand, the writers don’t seem to realize that no one except the reader will ever be privy to Joseph’s heartache or, for that matter, wonder if he’ll ever get his act together, land himself a record contract, and jet on over to England to reconcile with his ex.

As far as the audience is concerned, he’s just HOMELESS MAN and one who, for the short duration of this scene, isn’t even awake.

On the other hand, perhaps such writers are only being sensitive to the egos of aspiring actors who make the rounds of studio auditions, earnestly clutching their 8×10 headshots and resumes and hoping for The Big Break.

Actors love this kind of logic. The rest of us, however, see it as unnecessary clutter. Here’s why.

JUMPSTARTING MOMENTUM

Imagine, for instance, you’re at a party and engaged in a conversation with someone you’ve wanted to get to know. Unfortunately, your host keeps dragging a succession of new guests over to your corner to make your acquaintance.

While decorum dictates you acknowledge their presence and engage in chit-chat, you know that the likelihood of ever seeing them again is pretty remote and, further, that they’ve taken valuable time away from the person whose company you’re trying to enjoy.

The more intrusions, the more often you find yourself saying, “Now where did we leave off?”

In real life, that can be irritating. In screenwriting, the inability to keep your reader focused can spell rejection instead of a sale.

In a screenplay, the rhythm you’re attempting to establish—along with the emotional investment you’re asking a reader to make—is disrupted whenever you devote more than two lines of introduction to a character who is simply there to take up space.

In order to justify their existence, each player in your script should perform a unique function or deliver a specific line that:

1. Advances the plot,
2. Thwarts the hero’s objectives,
3. Provides crucial background, and/or
4. Contributes to the mood of the scene.

If you’ve included characters who don’t fulfil one or more of these jobs, they’re probably not critical to the storyline and can be deleted.

Let’s make an analogy to studying for an exam: Would you force yourself to memorize an entire book when the only portion of it that you knew you were going to be tested on was Chapter 3?

The same principle applies to audiences: Don’t make them memorize anything more than is absolutely necessary to follow the plot.

SPECIFICS AD NAUSEUM

Could the HOMELESS MAN in the opening paragraph of this article have been played by a brown-eyed redhead in his early twenties? Could he have been Latino or African American?

And what if we made his bulbous nose an aquiline one and moved that mole from the left side of it over to the right?

Even if the hapless Joe were promoted to the protagonist of this script, too much specificity is off-putting rather than endearing to a prospective producer.

Helpful as most writers find it to envision actual personas in every single role they pen, it’s best to be wary of overdoing it in the following areas:

Age

Keep references to age as generic as possible. Labelling someone as a “19 year old coed” or “a 37 year old drunk” could preclude those actors and actresses who fall on either side of those numbers from being called to audition.

Use, instead, the terms “toddler,” “teen,” “young adult,” “middle aged,” etc. or refer to characters by the decade in which they would most likely fall for the sake of the plot; i.e., “twenties,” “forties,” “eighties,” etc.

Hair Colour/Style

Unless there’s a familial relationship, an identity/fashion statement being made, or a direct reference to what is atop someone’s head (i.e., “From the red of it, I’m betting you’re Irish”), hair colour and style are irrelevant to the role.

Whether a bank teller parts his hair on the left, the right, or is bald has no bearing on his ability to handle money in a two-line role.

Eye Colour

Why do we care if a bartender in the background or a girl on the bus has brown eyes or green? If no one’s going to comment on it, neither should the writer.

Clothing

Even for major characters, minimize the use of specifics (i.e., colours, patterns, textures) and name brands in outfitting them. I have actually read client scripts where everything was itemized right down to underwear.

Accents

I’m always amused by references to minor characters who are described as “fussy Brits, cool Germans, and flirtatious Frenchmen” and yet don’t say a peep for the entire scene.

If you’re not going to let them to open their mouths, assigning a dialect to them doesn’t make any sense.

BODY COUNT

Last but not least is the faux pas of identifying characters by gender or occupation (for example, CARHOP) and subsequently attaching actual names to them on the heels of brief dialogue with other players.

The result of this is a skewed cast count, especially if that character’s lines are initially attributed to CARHOP and then to MARGIE.

While there’s certainly nothing wrong with an occasional tag (“Hey, Pete!”), your script will be stronger if you resist the urge to give everyone in it an ID and 15 minutes of fame.

If a minor character needs more than that, take heart: he or she can always assume centre stage in your next script!

Former actress and director Christina Hamlett is an award winning author and professional script coverage consultant whose credits to date include 21 books, 118 plays and musicals, 4 optioned features. Her articles appear throughout the world and in trade magazines such as ‘Writers Digest’, ‘The Writer’, ‘Screentalk’ and ‘Writer’s Journal’. Her latest book is titled ‘Could It Be A Movie?’

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

Cherie Lee once again puts her social life in jeopardy to spend some time with her iPhone.

Let’s look over her shoulder at the newest and coolest apps for you, fresh from the App Store. (If you have experience with any, please leave your comments below)

Save The Cat

Based on the story structure made famous by his books, Snyder Enterprises continues the features found in the desktop version of the software and provides them in the compact format of the iPod/iPhone.

Starting a new screenplay in the app prompts the user for Title, Logline and Number of Pages. These are entered by yourself with no guidance along the way.

On the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet  screen, you fill in the classic Snyder 15 beats of your story. When entering each field of beats, you receive advice on what that particular entry will define in your story, thankfully providing examples as well.

The numbers in parentheses beside each beat indicate the approximate page number of your script.

Tapping the pin on the bottom left of the screen allows you to view the “The Board”, a snapshot view of the beats in your script and colour coded scene cards.

Tapping on any of your beats will give you a screen with notes you’ve written in the previous step, including the Beat name – Heading – Description – Emotional Change – Conflict – Notes. The right and left arrows at the bottom are a great navigation tool to send you to the next or previous Scene Cards (Beats).

One great feature that is becoming common place amongst these apps is being able to partner with a desktop version. The STC app will ask for your serial number to synchronise with your laptop or desktop, allowing you more control over changes on the run and at home when convenient.

Scratch pad is still there for those wanting to make notes as well.

Although the price is high compared to other apps, as a saving grace to newcomers, you are given a $20 discount off the desktop version.

See the iTunes store for more details.

Screenwriting apps aren’t necessarily easy to work with when you have to type like a pecking chicken. However, if you want to make quick notes or have time on your hands sitting on the train or waiting for your doctor in the clinic, then these types of apps will satisfy the urge to keep working on the next greatest script.

If making notes and gathering ideas is what you look to do and in sync with your laptop, this app is great.

Writer’s Block Assassin

This unique writer’s block application is tailored specifically for help in story advancement rather than just inspiration or idea generation, over 300 questions relating to character, plot development and setting.

Have you considered your character’s motivation? Understanding why your characters do what they do will help you to predict how they interact and how they adopt to events in the story’.

Not just limited to story, there are questions relating to journalism, blogging, literary techniques as well as a punctuation guide and writing definitions.

In terms of screenwriting, the character and plot development questions are definitely the most helpful. Other character questions relate to their beliefs, dilemmas, finances, health, family matters, career, secrets and addictions.

Plot development questions cover various  dramatic possibilities, including killing off a character, adding a new character, changing the setting, natural disasters, an unexpected pregnancy as well as general questions relating to theme, genre and general storyline. There’s room after each ‘question’ for you to answer it in relation to your own story.

As well as the questions, there is a section called ‘scenarios’ which, using your inputted characters/places/things randomly creates new scenarios. Or it can create the characters/places/things itself. For example,’Clarence Hodge divorces Gaven Aitkins’, ‘Gaven Aitkins discovered the car’, ‘Clarence Hodge travels to New York’.

At $4.99 it’s a little pricier than your average writer’s block application but because it’s more complex and can help you in specific areas of your story, it’s well worth it.

Movie Slate (Clapperboard and Shot Log)

When you want to make your script into a movie and feel like a serious director, this app is for you!

You enter the production details onto the clapperboard as well as roll/scene/take numbers. You can make voice/photo notes as you go and email the shot log history to your computer in HTML, CSV and tab delimited formats. You can also rate various shots as you go and order the history in terms of best shots.

For those who value aesthetics you can change the clapperboard colour, background and fonts as well as lock in either portrait or landscape mode.

At $12.99 it’s cheaper than an actual clapperboard but there is a cheaper version of this application by the same company called ‘ToySlate’.

ToySlate has all of the same features except for an integrated shot log history and note taking capacities.

I had fun with this one using the prerecorded phrases such as ‘Don’t look at the camera!’ and ‘Where’s my latte?’

‘ToySlate’ is definitely the better buy at $1.19.

Reel Director

Finally, a video editing app for all those with an iPhone 3GS! This application comes with all the basic features of any professional editing program: transitions, trimming and splitting clips, titles/credits, recording/mixing sound and previewing your film as you go.

The transitions are all very basic, cross disolves, fades, blurs and wipes but it will give you a good idea of what your film might look like. You can also edit your home movies on it, on the go.

This is fairly well-priced at only $5.99 although you need to get in quick because it’s only a holiday special and will go up to $9.99 soon!

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.

The screenwriter is the first step in the film making process and the editor, the last. How do you write a script that’ll produce an edit-ready film?

Editors are often called the last re-writers of the show. Another way to put this is that the editor is the architect of the show. Our blueprint is the script (or outline on a nonfiction show). Our building materials are the footage: long shots, wide shots, medium shots, close ups, over-the shoulders, inserts, raking shots, reverses, master shots, and two-shots. From these we design the show with sound, dialogue, music, and the placement and duration of the shots.

The editor is the architect of the show.

Just as a bridge transports travelers from bank to bank with good design and construction, so good editing conveys viewers from the beginning of the show to the end by giving them what they need to see, hear, and experience along the way to get there.

Truism: There’s the picture that’s written, the picture that’s shot and the picture that’s edited.

So why not write for editing?

How do I do this, you ask. Here are a few suggestions:

Write visually.

Editors write not in words but with images and sound. So mentally run your script in your head. This will also help sell your script and guide the director in shooting it.

Make sure your story is strong and clear.

I worked on an MOW where the lead editor and I took the project but found the story murky as written. The producer and well-known director loved the script and the story and were awed by all the research that the writer had done on the subject. During shooting, they realized the story wasn’t making sense or paying off. They called the writer, asking for some re-writes. The writer was affronted. The calls became increasingly unproductive and antagonistic. During post, the writer loved the show as shot and edited but it made no sense to anyone else. Some VO was added, there were extra screenings, and editing ran two weeks over but the movie was not saved. And the writer substituted a familiar nom de plume for their actual name in the credits.

Understand the rhythm of your story and your scenes.

“Editing is not so much a putting together as it is the discovery of a path“.
-Walter Murch, A.C.E., Academy Award for Picture and Sound Editing on The English Patient.

Just as you develop a rhythm in writing dialogue and other scenes, so does an editor develop a rhythm when cutting. Quentin Tarantino’s editor, Sally Menke said in the current issue of Editor’s Guild Magazine, “I do feel there’s an internal rhythm in every person that is reflected in her or his work.  Somehow a painting looks like its painter. There’s an innate response to footage that I feel is very much mine.”

Ask yourself:

•    What tempo would your scene have if put to music? Having a sense of this will help you understand the riffs, trills, arias and dissonances in your movie and its many scenes. And many of the scenes will be put to music during post production.

•    If they were an instrument or a piece of music, what would each main character be? Intuiting this will help you understand your characters’ internal rhythms better and how they flex – or don’t – when reacting to situations and other characters.

Make your transitions clear and fresh.

Every time your movie cuts from one scene to the next, imagine how this will look. Don’t leave it to the director or editor to figure out – direct everyone with your writing. You don’t have to figure out every transition, just major ones. Good examples: Julie & Julia did an interesting job with the transitions between the two women’s stories as did Cinema Paradiso as it moved back and forth from the main character as a boy and as a grown man.

Make your characters thoughts, dreams, and psyches accessible.

“Editing is the closest thing to thinking”. -VI Pudovkin

You are the original thinker of the show. Your thoughts and words are transformed into sounds and images. From these images and sounds and the editor creates a movie that puts the audience in your scenes and in your character’s heads. Make sure your thinking is rock-solid and will ring true to your audience. You want them to live in your characters’ heads and situations while they’re watching the movie just as the characters and situations lived inside you as you created it.

Exercises

To understand editing better, put on a DVD of a great, contemporary movie.

1)    TURN THE SOUND OFF and watch a few scenes – action, dialogue, and montage. You may want to watch the scenes several times.
•    Notice each time the picture cuts.
•    Notice the different rhythm of each scene.

2)    TURN THE PICTURE OFF and listen to the same scenes.
•    Hear the different types of sounds: dialogue, sound effects, Foley, music.
•    Notice the different rhythm of each scene.

Gael Chandler has edited dramas, documentaries and corporate videos, and received a Cable ACE nomination twice for editing a comedy series. She taught digital editing systems to professionals and editing theory and practice at LA area colleges. She has written feature scripts and two books, Cut by Cut: Editing your Film or Video and Film Editing: Great Cuts Every Filmmaker and Movie Lover Must Know. She also creates e-Learning materials and blogs on her website, www.joyoffilmediting.com.

Cherie Lee

I studied acting for three years and hold a graduate diploma in writing from Sydney’s UTS. My interest in film and writing was solidified through interning at The Story Department and gave me the opportunity to fine tune my skills. I’ve been involved with several film projects, the most recent of which was shortlisted for Tropfest.

With the knowledge gained from university and my experience at The Story Department, I’m now specialising in professional feedback on short films and documentaries.