I’m going to cover a few that I have seen, (or even experienced myself).

A Creative Career Is (Not) A Job

A creative career is like a job. You have got to go to work. You have to earn money. You will have to please the person who is willing to pay you that money.

A creative career is often also unlike any ‘normal’ job. In many cases you work from home. It seems you don’t have to go to work. This brings challenges to people who struggle with discipline and face procrastination at home.

Once you accept that this new creative career is in many ways very much like an ordinary job, it is time to understand exactly what type of business we are talking.

A Creative Career Is Not An NFP Business

Not everyone considers it normal that you get paid when you have fun doing what you do.

The reason? Before you choose to make your hobby your job, you have a not-for-profit relationship with it. You are absolutely fine with the fact that you don’t get paid. It may actually cost you money.

In order to be successful, this relationship must change, and this is easier said than done.

In fact, acquiring the right mindset may well be the hardest objective to achieve in your quest to establish a career that is both creatively and financially rewarding.

People who succeed, don’t see a problem in sending an invoice for their services. They also don’t see a problem with paying for services in the creative sector. Every successful writer I know, has at some stage paid for writing-related services. This can be writing classes, software packages, editing services etc.

You Have Been Misinformed

The stories you hear about the creative career you want, are filtered.

In the real world of ‘normal jobs’, you get accurate information. In our precious entertainment industry, you rarely do.

So many people aspire to become a pro screenwriter after hearing stories about 7-figure deals. What they don’t realise is that for each deal of this kind, there are a thousand that bring in peanuts – or that simply don’t happen at all.

When a screenwriter sells a script, you hear about it. When a pool company wins a new client, no-one cares (even though the pool money may be a lot more). This sort of misinformation leads to the expectation that you will start earning a lot more quickly than is realistic. This, in turn, will lead to frustration and the belief that you are failing.

You are not failing at all. You were just not realistic in your expectations.

You Focus Too Much On The Outcome

Many self-improvement programs teach you goal-setting. They encourage you to have clear goals with milestones. And work towards those, relentlessly. This is certainly a valid approach and many have made it work for themselves.

I have not.

In my own experience, this can cause more frustration than anything else.

Why?

Because in the context of our creative career, often we set the wrong goals. We aim to finish a script by Christmas. To win a contest and sell a script next year. We’ll be financially independent in two years’ time.

Out of those four goals, only one is realistic. Do you know which one?

It’s the one about finishing a script. Do you know why? Because the others are out of your hands.

No easier way to frustration than to set goals you need others to achieve them.

Instead, set your goal to write X number of pages per day. To email Y number of producers/agents every week. Now, you are accountable. And you can be proud to achieve those goals.

Once those achievable goals are set, do the work, and don’t fret about the results. In fact, I believe the more you focus on the outcome, the smaller the chance you will achieve it.

You need to focus on doing the work, on a daily basis. Continue with it.

End don’t beat yourself up over the lack of results.

They will come.

You Doubt Your Creative Talent

We are all born with a thousand times more creativity than we realise. Sadly, our modern upbringing efficiently erases this. We are told that we don’t need it. In our everyday life, all we need is a rational mind, right? (Wrong.)

As a result, most people simply forget about their immense power of creation and imagination.

So we need to reconnect with this. Without it, the only outcome can be derivative drab.

Get in touch with your creativity and imagination. Meanwhile, keep confident.

Above all: keep working.

(There are heaps of techniques to unlock your hidden creativity. I boost my energy, ideas and creativity by practising Vipassana Meditation.)

You’re In It Because You Love (Watching) Movies

We can all wax lyrical about our favourite movies, and how they inspired us to pursue a creative career.

Make no mistake; watching movies is not a job. Unless you want to be a movie critic. And they don’t get paid any longer, because just too many are willing to do this for free.

The more people aspire to a particular job, the harder it will get to make a living in it, and the lower the entry level payment. Just look at the exploitation of musicians these days.

In order to build a successful creative career, you need to shift your passion from the finished movies to the making of them.

Can you be just as passionate about writing, planning, producing, problem solving, people management, and all other aspects of a creative career in the movies?

You Don’t Get What The Job Is About

Writers rarely write what they want, once they get paid.

You are free to write and be creative on your own terms – as long as you’re doing it for free. The moment someone starts handing over money, you will write what THEY want, using the style THEY want to read.

This is the paradox of the Writer’s Dream: the moment you have achieved what you think you want, the dream is really over.

Not only will you have to write to a brief; you will also have to deliver to a deadline.

The stress you experienced while fretting over the state of your bank account, now suddenly doubles.

Perhaps there are other aspects of this creative career you’re chasing that you don’t know about.

You know what? It’s never too late to learn.

You Don’t Spend The Time To Learn

So many want to become directors, producers and screenwriters. But they don’t want to go through the long learning process it takes to achieve excellence. They find it tedious.

Or they tell themselves that it cannot be learned. “Either you have it, or you don’t”. Now there’s a really easy way to fail even before you have started.

Learning is critical, in whatever you do. Rest assured that while you’re reinventing the wheel, thousands are getting ahead of you by learning the essential skills.

Successful, happy writers find it exhilarating to explore how movies work, how stories are built.

If you don’t, perhaps this is not for you.

It’s never too late to quit.

Or …

You Quit Too Early

I once heard that it takes seven years to make any business profitable. You are a business, too.

When things are not as much fun as expected, people get out. The fighters sit it out.

A creative business is not necessarily more fun than any other, as you may find out…

If you are in it mainly for the results (a movie in the theaters, a house in the hills), it’s going to be a very long wait for your kinda fun.

So this is where we can tell apart the quitters and the fighters.

Read Seth Godin’s book ‘The Dip‘.

Ask yourself, are you a quitter … or a fighter?

-Karel Segers

P.S.: Failing is cool.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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Pain In The Arts

I am in a business group, who has a conference call every Thursday night. Out of the seven members, only 3 others showed up last week. And all three sounded mildly depressed, mostly because of lack of results.

I’m not that annoying superhuman who is never affected. There have been many weeks when the group had to pull me up, too.

But this time it was my turn to pump some positivity into the call. At the end, I think some of us felt a little better.

What did I say? I’ll tell you in a minute.

In business, you get off a little more easily. When you focus on processes, strategies and efficiency, things are not that personal after all.

In the creative arts, however – and in this context screenwriting is an art and not a business – everything is a lot more personal. Your stories are you. Your writing voice is yours. Praise feels great. Criticism cuts straight to your core.

This can be painful.

A continued lack of positive feedback may well lead to creative fatigue.

Creative Fatigue? Not About You.

I don’t think I need to give you the blurb on rejection. You’ve heard about it. You may have even experienced it. Repeatedly…

But how to deal with it?

I often show this TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert to students, at the beginning of my courses. It’s a super inspiring talk. Writers don’t always immediately realise how important it is what Gilbert imparts in her talk. They do when things get rough.

Basically, what she says is: “Don’t take your creations personally.”

Easier said than done.

Gilbert explains how in ancient times, creatives didn’t take credit for their work. That honour befell The Creator (or the Muse, or whatever you call that being with higher creative power than yourself). And guess what, artists didn’t suffer creative fatigue all that much.

What she also says – i.e. the less poetic part of the talk – is that you need to apply bum to seat.

Put in the darn hard work.

Bum To Seat

So here is a motto I’ve cited recently:

Don’t beat yourself up over the lack of results.
Instead, beat yourself up for not doing the work.

There it is.

Just keep doing whatever you need to do. Every day, every week, every year. Results will follow. Of course there are going to be days when the results are not obvious. After all, outsiders can see your progress so much more easily. Don’t despair: it is there.

And if it all gets a little too much? Take it easy. But keep moving, at your own, steady pace.

But if you are not supposed be focused on results, then why continue at all? Wasn’t all this ultimately about creating financial freedom, and having a lifestyle where you can write without worrying about money??

No, it wasn’t.

And if you thought it was, you may need a reality check. (Possibly also a return to your day job.)

If you cannot find joy in the simple act of writing, and if you need the financial freedom as a necessary by-product, you may be on the wrong track, my friend.

In fact, you are creating your own creative fatigue.

Fire And Forget

Okay let’s climb back up the sunnier side of the mountain.

Say, writing does give you plenty of joy.

But you’re not seeing the results to pay the bills.

Congratulations, you are still part of an elite minority who actually has a chance of achieving a happy life. Possibly even of breaking into the industry.

The trick is now to focus on the writing, and forget about the results. Do everyday what you can do – and need to – in order to finish those scripts (and, yes, pay the bills)

Just write.

While you are writing, don’t for a moment fret about the outcome.

Fire and forget.

I know, it sounds so easy, while you are there in your pit, battling creative fatigue.

Know your own priorities in life. If you truly want to realise your creative potential, you will have to make tremendous sacrifices. Our modern society is not particularly supportive of those who care about the matters of mind and soul. That’s just a fact, and it won’t change anytime soon.

You need to decide whether you are willing to pay this price.

Your sacrifices will be financial, and they will be social. If they become physical, make you sick, or keep giving you creative fatigue… Perhaps you need to reconsider.

From time to time, you may want to pause and evaluate whether you are still experiencing that joy in what you are doing.

You may want to reflect on what writing really is about for you.

What Writing Really Is About

Being a screenwriter is not about cashing in movie dollars. Not about a villa in the Hollywood hills. It is not even about getting to see your finished film on the big screen(*). None of that.

It is about the daily drudgery of getting words (not images) on your computer screen – and loving it. Irrespective of what will happen with the outcome.

Writing is about peeling the layers of obfuscation from the visible world. It is about discovering what goes on underneath the perceptible reality. It is about achieving a deep understanding of characters, actions and emotions. Then turn it all into visible images again.

This process feels so exhilarating, that creative fatigue is highly unlikely.

This understanding is a gift, far richer than any pay you will ever receive.

Ask yourself this question: “Does the mere act of writing give me joy?”

If it does not, get out.

If it does?

Give your art.

Write on!

-Karel Segers

(*Did you know that the majority of paid screenwriters write scripts that never get made? They sell, yes. But that’s it. So, your sole satisfaction better not be in seeing your movie title above the box office.)

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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While you’re stuck, it may be an idea to just do a few writing exercises. No pressure of having to come up with new material; this is not so much about story. It is all about honing your style skills. These writing exercises will help create the right habits for when the creative juices explode again.

Writing Exercise 1: Reverse Screenwriting

This is one of my absolute favourite writing exercises. It is extremely powerful in that it may help you find your ‘style voice’.

What is it?

In the normal world, scripts are written, then movies are made. For this exercise we reverse it. So you take an existing scene, then write the script for it.

When to do it?

It suits beginning writers but will also help those who have been writing for a while. If you need to improve your style or find your descriptive voice, this is for you.

How to do it?

Pick a scene from a script you own – and love. Initially, keep it short, a minute or two, three at the most. Play the movie scene on your computer screen, in loop. While it plays, write the script for it.

When you’re done, compare your version to the one in the script.

Do this exercise regularly, once or twice a week initially. Your description skills will skyrocket.

Writing Exercise 2: Dialogue Bug

This is one of the more involved writing exercises, depending on your approach. It is super useful to the beginning writer – and always a lot of fun.

What is it?

Write one or two minutes from a real-life dialogue in screenwriting format.

How to do it?

Record a conversation between two people who don’t know they are being recorded. Keep taping for at least 15 minutes.

Next, ask their permission to use the dialogue.

Then, transcribe the best two minutes from the conversation. Write minimal description, focusing on the dialogue.

If you can’t find a suitable situation to tape others, record yourself in conversation with someone else. Ideally, this would be a face-to-face chat, but if you have no alternative, tape a Skype call.

In the latter case, tape for as long as it takes you to forget about the recording. The material has to be 100% authentic, and therefore neither of you should realise they are being recorded. Oh, and don’t forget to ask permission from the other party.

When to do it?

This is one of the writing exercises I recommend to everyone early in their writing training. It is an excellent way of learning what real dialogue really looks like in a screenplay. It is also a fun exercise, and a real eye-opener to most.

Now don’t get me wrong. The objective is NOT for you to forever write dialogue the way people actually speak. It is more about discovering that magical quality of real dialogue. Once you get this, you can use the skill when you design your own characters and their language.

Writing Exercise 3: Complete Plagiarism

This is the mother of all writing exercises.

You will steal from the best. Not just borrow a line here and there. The whole bloody thing. All for the good cause.

I first learned about this exercise from my friend Arvid at the film school on the Swedish island of Gotland. One of the other visiting teachers had recommended it to the students. Coincidentally, the very next day I read that Steven Spielberg recommends this exercise to writers wanting to quickly learn the crux of the craft.

Are you ready? It is a big one!

What is it?

Download your favourite screenplay.

Copy it.

Word. For. Word.

You may do this in Celtx or Final Draft, but there is another way some people claim is even more effective.

Handwrite it. In a lined notebook.

Spend half an hour every day, and it may take you a month or more. But it will teach you a hell of a lot more than just reading the script.

When to do it?

This is definitely one of the writing exercises to do early in your screenwriting training. Or when you’re bored, or uninspired.

If slowly working through your absolute favourite screenplay won’t bring back your zest for writing… what will?

More Writing Exercises

Still not feeling the itch to continue on with your script (or novel)? Then check out these five writing exercises that are seriously left field. Or try any of these 25 writing prompts to get you unstuck.

If you’re struggling with a major case of writer’s block, you may want to re-read this article here on our own old Story Department.

And if you’re really badass, you combine Exercise #1 and #3.

Watch the movie. Write the script.

Enjoy!

-Karel Segers

(PS: If you like these tips, please repost on your own blog with a link to the original. Thanks!)

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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by The Single Screenwriter

But that little metal ball covered with three-inch razor-sharp spikes growing inside your intestines? That ball is telling you that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’re not supposed to do whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. Some vague memory of some rule written by some guru you read somewhere along your screenwriting journey is screaming that you’re nuts to try whatever it is you’re toying with.

Whatever it is, it’s WRONG.

So you do what every other nimrod hooked up to the net does when faced with uncertainty. You Google.

Bad move. Bad on an epic scale. Just like when Google convinced you that your vague aches and pains were actually a mutated cancerous flesh-eating sexually-transmitted bacteria that left you with only 72 hours to live, so too will Google mess with the direction your script wants to take.

Maybe what you’re toying with is a small thing like using WE SEE or CUT TO or (CON’T). Or perhaps it’s something like using cover art, or starting with a quote, or channeling Shane Black in your description. Can you kill the family dog on screen in a G-rated film? Can you have more than one inciting incident? Are FLASHBACKS a no-no? VOICE OVERS? SUPER-MEGA-EXTREME-SMASH-CUT-TO-CLOSE-UPS?

And just like you’ll get two million opinions claiming to answer what-the-hell that strange thing growing on your big toe is, you’ll also get two million friggin’ opinions on whatever the hell it is you’re considering doing with your script. You’ll lose days, weeks, maybe months combing through them looking for the definitive answer. Then you’ll go ahead and do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing anyway ’cause your gut says so. Or you won’t and you’ll always wonder if you could have pulled it off.

That ball is telling you that maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t.

Don’t give up on your idea, and don’t waste your time sorting through the Google pile-o-crap answers. ‘Cause when it comes to screenwriting, everyone has an opinion and all of them are wrong.

A simple thing like the use of WE SEE has robbed thousands of hours of precious writing time, both from the those beginners and pros weighing in on the issue, and from the poor schmucks reading endless pages of drivel looking for absolute be-all-and-end-all answers. This is time that will never be reclaimed. Time that should have been used for writing. It’s not worth it people!

Screw Internet predators. When your mom warned you about the dangers of the Internet, THIS is what she was talking about.

Your gut is telling you to try something outside of the basic screenwriting conventions comfort zone. YOUR GUT. Not the gut of some newbie quoting gurus, or the gut of some pro intent on shaping the writers of tomorrow with a sledge hammer for their own good, or even the gut of some sicko troll stalking screenwriting forums. Your gut (or your intuition, or instinct, or muse, or whatever you wanna call that hard-as-nails bitch who drives you crazy and is responsible for getting you into this business in the first place). It is telling you to go somewhere. Loud.

THIS is the reason you write. THIS is your raison d’être.

Why the hell would you give the opinion of some stranger on the Internet more weight than this?! (Trust me, if you do, your muse will never let you live it down and will chain you up and beat you senseless… and not in the fun way.)

But the gurus all say…! But the pros warn against…!

Sure! Listen to the gurus and pros you trust and have chosen wisely. They probably know what the hell they’re talking about (unless they’re preaching anonymously on public forums – Then you’re an idiot and most likely screwed.)

THIS is the reason you write.

But when it comes to your gut? Who cares what the gurus and pros all have to say. Your gut is telling you to go down a new path so you bloody well go. End of story. Your gut could very easily be wrong, and your experiment may end up being a colossal pile of stinky epic failure, but your gut is telling you to go there, so you gotta go. Maybe your gut just wants you to learn a crap-load of good stuff while going down the wrong rabbit hole, but you’ll still learn a crap-load of good stuff.

Much more than you would reading twenty-four pages of endless contradictory opinions on whatever it is you’re contemplating. So what if you’re not supposed to. So what if it’s impossible, or wrong, or will make you look like an idiot. Maybe you’re the one made to pull off the impossible, turn the rules on their head, and set the standards for the next wave of new writers.

Asking Google for permission to follow your screenwriting bliss is akin to taping a KICK ME ‘TIL I BLEED sign on your ass for the whole screenwriting community to see. You have a wild and crazy idea that flies in the face of everything you know and/or suspect to be screenwriting law? Do it!

Worst-case scenario, you gotta rewrite and rework whatever disaster you created. But best case — mind blowing awesomeness.

I could quote rules ’til your eyes bleed. And most of them would be solid and right for most scripts.

But the thing about screenwriting is, there really is only one rule.

DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO MAKE YOUR SCRIPT AWESOME.

-The Single Screenwriter

I am a phenomenal screenwriter and self-appointed guru on all things.

I am here to spread wisdom to anyone stupid enough to listen to me.

Photo Credit: Stock.xchng

by Jade Fisher

Set on an island off the coast of New England the story follows two ‘deeply troubled’ children who fall in love and decide to runaway together. It’s Anderson’s first period piece, set in the 1960s.

In small doses it features everyone you love doing everything you desire. Edward Norton smokes cigarettes. Frances McDormand yells at children through a bullhorn. Harvey Keiftel gets a piggyback. Bob Balaban speaks to camera. Bill Murray looks forlorn.

“Perfect”. I felt it too. What has Anderson done, or done differently?

Certainly in terms of story Moonrise Kingdom is not as ambitious as his other works, and I think perhaps this is where the answer lies.
I think that the Truth (with a capital T) that Anderson has been seeking creatively, and seemingly in such earnest, is most evident here due to an absence, not an addition.

The story is simple without being reductive. It has the effect of feeling distilled, as though only the essence made it through the process. The story is contained, the island setting is a finite structural and physical limitation – the tale must be resolved within the boundaries set up. These boundaries make the film consumable, even safe. But the fact that the story doesn’t require ‘unpacking’ is not a weakness. It shows the greatest strength in writing. (Second only to the good happy ending.)

Aside from simplicity of story, unity of form must be the co-contributing factor that arrives us at “perfect”. All filmic elements work in unison. Shot on 16mm, and highlighting that familiar Anderson colour palette, visually the piece has a warmth and a childlike quality. The almost geometric nature of the camera movements was a source of joy to me – I imagined the dolly on a rigid mathematical grid. Dolly shots and slow pans give the impression of moving through a dollhouse.

Every choice could be interpreted as representational of childhood. Simple. Wretched. Beautiful.

And hysterically funny.

I hope it plays that way in all theatres. An almost ‘one-two’ set up in the jokes. Visual and spoken alike, the kind of humour that I imagine hits harder upon each subsequent watch.

The writing is brave and anchored. It so obviously and honestly takes from life and memory that magical realism is given these sharp teeth.

There exists a certain chutzpah in the one liners, a notion that we are all confidants now, we don’t pull punches in this family. This bravery extends right to the end, and end which satisfies – which saves. Anderson and Coppola were brave enough to make ‘art house’ redemptive.

For a long time I thought of Anderson’s thematic concerns as insular, repeating themselves as one under psychoanalysis recycles the same topics until they are purged. I wanted to shake the man and say “forgive your Father!” or some such and give him a push. I desired a linear progression in his creative expression. The shape I see he is making now is closer to a concentric circle. Each pass coming closer to the centre. To me it appears as though the man started out towards a single goal, and took the same path every day until it lead him to it.

I read another review that described the film as ‘poetic’. I would agree with this only to a point. Verse forms have a shape and a rhythm, unique to their textuality. If anything I would want to say that perhaps previous Anderson films were ‘poetic’ – free like blank verse, unconcerned with structural balance, serving images and moments intuitively, concerned with one emotion or outcome at a time.

Moonrise Kingdom fulfils more than this. It achieves the hardest and most concentrated form of storytelling, where every element is perfectly balanced, and every moment is an inevitability. I would say Moonrise Kingdom is not ‘poetic’, but perfectly filmic.

Moonrise Kingdom is in limited release from August 30th

-Jade Fisher

I come to screenwriting from a poetry background with a BCA in Creative Writing. I’ve travelled, worked as a cinema projectionist, studied photography, massage therapy, anatomy and am finally learning (& making) my true love, film.

I’m currently interested in developing a linear narrative theory that combines the way story operates in heroic myth with the way it behaves in dreams — where plot structure exists without causal links.

by The Single Screenwriter
And snapping gets in the way of the writing, no matter what form the meltdown takes – deviant binges, forced stays in a luxury padded cell, swat team take-downs – so writers naturally seek out others to guide them through the madness and to give them solid advice.

But sometimes, good advice can do more damage than a mob of hormonal teens with no adult supervision and a supply of booze.  Always take advice with a grain of salt.  Hell, if the advice isn’t working for you, dump an entire shaker of salt on the sucker and watch it writhe like a slug.

Here are the four worst offenders disguised as well meaning advice:

Stupid Advice Number 1: Write what you know

STFU with that.  People as a general rule are boring as hell.  And that includes you.

I know a whole heck of a lot about bone china, but my goal is to connect with the audience, not bore them to death.

Sure, a china shop could be a good setting, and the knowledge could make for some quirky character bits, but please, unless you work for NASA, or have some awesome kick-ass job in the sex industry (which you don’t ’cause you’re a writer) please don’t write what you know.

People don’t go to movies to watch other boring lives. They want space aliens, or cool undiscovered viruses.  Not lawn mowers and laundry.

Sure, there was that one time back in school where you and your friends did that awesome thing that you bring up every time you get together and get drunk, but… It probably isn’t that awesome to everyone else in the room, even with a good deal of embellishment.  And besides, you’ve already used variations of it in three previous scripts.

If writers stuck to what they knew, no one would go to movies.  There would be no space cowboys, no secret agents, no world leaders, no sex goddesses with seven breasts.
(Yes, some of these do exist, but do you think sex goddesses and secret agents have any time to write scripts?!)

Write what you don’t know.  It’s much more interesting.  And guess what?  You already know everything you need to know about all the stuff you don’t know, but you just don’t know it yet.

Write what you don’t know.  It’s much more interesting.

Huh?

Listen, what makes a good movie isn’t specific expertise in stuff like nanotechnology or world politics. That’s just window dressing.  It’s called research.  Any monkey with Google can do it.

What makes a movie worth watching is the universality of the human condition.  And if you’re human, you’re qualified.  Find the human element of the story and you can do whatever you want with it.

You’re a single dad with a mundane job who hasn’t had a date in five years?  You, sir, are the guy to write that script about being trapped with a mutant kid on that distant alien outpost.

Spend your day in a cubicle wishing the girl three cubicles over and one down to the left knew you existed?  You know way more than enough to write that superhero with the power of invisibility flick.  Who gives a crap if you have no clue about the science that would go into designing an invisibility cloak.

You don’t need a degree in bio-nuclear mechanical electromagnetic particle physics to give yourself permission to write it.

And if you turn tricks to pay the rent?  Ummm, I won’t touch that one, but trust me, you’re more than qualified to write one hell of a kick-ass script or several.

The point is, don’t get hung up on what you don’t know.

You don’t need a degree in bio-nuclear
mechanical electromagnetic particle physics
to give yourself permission to write it

Go ahead. Write whatever the hell you wanna write about.  Just remember to channel good ole’ Joe Campbell and find the universal human element in whatever crazy twisted story you run with, then you’ll be onto something good.

Stupid Advice Number 2: You can fix it in the rewrite

STFU.  Yeah, of course you can fix it in the rewrite.  Rewrites are for fixing!

But if these words are going through your brain in the middle of a first draft, it’s usually a sign that something’s really not working and hasn’t been well thought out at all.  For real.  You can either figure out the big problem and fix it now – be it story, character, pacing, whatever – or take the easy way out and leave it ’til the rewrite to do the heavy lifting.

Do it now.  Trust me.

Yeah, first drafts are usually crap and the magic happens in the rewrite, but man, give yourself a leg up and start with a solid foundation.  You’ll save yourself days, weeks, sometimes months, and cut way down on the number of rewrites if you fix it now.  Otherwise, you’ll waste so much time wandering aimlessly around making more problems as you try to fix crap you have no idea why you wrote in the first place, rather than using the rewrite for its real purpose – elevating and clarifying an already solid story.

On a similar note:

Stupid Advice Number 3: Just get it down

Again, STFU (see above).

Yeah, sometimes this is good advice, but sometimes getting it down is exactly the wrong thing to do.  Some concepts need to percolate.  Build.  Become more than they are.  Sometimes you have to take the time to explore every avenue before just getting it down, because just getting it down solidifies a direction (not necessarily the best), and cuts off alternate pathways that could lead to brilliance.  Sometimes just getting it down is settling for okay instead of pushing for great.  Sometimes this advice is just plain wrong.

Okay, if you’ve been percolating for 5 and a half years, you’re not doing it right.  You may think your wonderful percolating brilliance will pop out of your writer womb fully formed and be able to walk on water, but really, you’re just using the percolation thing as an excuse to procrastinate.  And procrastination is just one of many forms of writer’s block.

The above is usually followed quickly by this gem of advice:

Stupid Advice Number 4: There’s no such thing as writer’s block

Well, technically, there’s not.  But that doesn’t stop millions of wanna-be writers from suffering from this phantom disease.  In fact, there’s a 50/50 chance that you found this post because you Googled looking for a cure.

But the thing about writer’s block is, it’s only a symptom of something else.

Fear.

Fear of success.  Fear of failure.  Fear of frog feet.  Whatever.  Something outside of your writing is scaring you, and messing with the pathway between your brain and the page.

And the thing about fear is, there’s only one way to get over it.  Face it.  And by face it I mean slay the living crap out of it ’til it’s nothing but a pile of blood and bones and intestines ‘n shit.  If you don’t, you won’t write.  Simple as that.

It goes back to write what you know.  (No, I’m not talking about that sweet collection of boogers you keep in a matchbox under your bed.  I’m talking about what you know about the universal human condition ‘n shit.)  You may know jack all about medicine, but give your medical thriller a lead character facing a similar fear to your own, and voila!  You’ll force yourself to face your fear AND tap into the universal human crap that sells movies.  Two birds.  One stone.

(You’re welcome.  Expect my very over-priced bill for this therapy session in the mail.)

My advice when it comes to all this stupid advice?   Simple.  Embrace the fact that we’re all totally messed up and human.  Write what you want, how you want.  Use the rewrites wisely to save yourself a page one rewrite or twelve. And forget about writer’s block.

Write what you want, how you want.

Or don’t.  Doesn’t matter to me.   Do what works for you.

-The Single Screenwriter

I am a phenomenal screenwriter and self-appointed guru on all things.

I am here to spread wisdom to anyone stupid enough to listen to me.

By Billy Mernit

“Should I try to write something personal, do you think, or should I go after a commercial, thing-that’s-gonna-sell kind of screenplay?”

It’s a question I often hear from pre-pros of all kinds, and my immediate response comes in the form of a counter-query: When someone reads the first page of a screenplay, what is the last thing this reader wants to see?

As a professional reader and a writer, nothing deadens my soul, puts my hope and imagination to sleep faster, than the sense that I’m being told One of Those Stories in the Same Old Way.  People think that studios are looking for “commercial” projects, i.e. stories deemed to be familiar, acessible, sellable.  But in truth, the studio ideal is a story that’s the same, only different.

As a professional reader and a writer, nothing puts my hope and imagination to sleep faster than the sense that I’m being told One of Those Stories in the Same Old Way

So what makes the difference?

Here’s the thing about a conventional script that’s meant to be commercial (i.e. a workman-like version of what’s already been done and what’s done all the time to fill programmer slots on a studio slate).  There are tons of established pros doing exactly that, and chances are, they’re already better at it than you are.

Sure, if you’re an aspiring screenwriter, you ought to know and understand how such standard genre fare is done.  But while writing a formulaic, by-the-books script might give you a grip on what works and what doesn’t, that one doesn’t have to be the spec script you go out with.  In fact, that’s not a script the industry needs.

What makes a script stand out from the crowd is the difference.

What makes the difference? You.

You and only you can write the story that only you know how to write, and this is where “personal” becomes key, in terms of creating a career.

What’s the difference between personal and who cares?  Personal doesn’t mean “autobiographical.” The nightmare version of “a personal project” is the script written by a struggling widget salesman from Akron that’s all about a struggling widget salesman from Akron and widgets, widgets, widgets.  It’s the equivalent of the guy with the shopping cart on Venice Boulevard getting messages from the Planet Zygon. I call these OPI specs: they come from someone’s Own Private Idaho.

Someone who understands screenwriting craft and how to keep an audience involved could make even a widget story interesting — the problem with OPI scripts is that their writers, who often aren’t really writers, aren’t really interested in creating a good movie.  They’ve just got a lot to get off their chest about widgets.

The problem with OPI scripts is that their writers, who often aren’t really writers, aren’t really interested in creating a good movie

You, on the other hand, want to tell a good story that people will respond to, and tell it well.  And how do you know that your deeply personal take on a story, told well, has a shot at getting a response from the industry?

Say you’re with some people at a restaurant.  Guy on your left wants to tell you a story about how he met his wife.  Woman on your right, when asked about her last relationship, blushes a bit and says there’s nothing to say.  When pressed, she says it’s a story, all right, but it’s not the kind of story she really can repeat.  Which story do you want to hear?

I want the unrepeatable.

What the audience wants is the secrets – the inside dope, the hidden scars, the don’t-know-whether-to-laugh-or-cry truths about what it feels like to be human.  We want to know the thing about you that’s as outrageous as the things we know about ourselves.

So instead of writing what you think is the thing that sells, try taking the risk of really owning what’s different – what’s unique – about your world and your world view.  Show us the difference.  Surprise us with your weirdness.

Personal means repeating what’s supposedly unrepeatable.  And of course the more you’re really yourself on the page when you write, the more honest you are about your point of view… the more universal your story gets.

Ultimately we’re all walking mysteries, and we’re eternally unable to be one another.  What a great movie does is give us the sensation of piercing that veil.  An unrepeatable story acknowledges how shockingly familiar our secrets and emotions are.  Your personal, passionate feelings and point of view, honestly expressed, are what’s most likely to say hello to the rest of us.

What the audience wants is the secrets – the inside dope, the hidden scars, the don’t-know-whether-to-laugh-or-cry truths about what it feels like to be human.

The mystery of what makes a person strive and thrive is one of the most primal fascinations in storytelling.  I’ll wager that the movies you love are the ones that remind you of both what you know, and reveal what you hadn’t yet comprehended, about being inside another person’s experience.

Seems to me those are the movies you’d want to write.  They’re surely the ones we really want to see.

-Billy Mernit

Billy Mernit, screenwriter, novelist, story analyst for Universal Pictures and private script consultant, is the author of Writing the Romantic Comedy and the novel Imagine Me and You.

A recipient of the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program’s Outstanding Instructor Award in Screenwriting, he teaches at schools and conferences at home in the US and abroad, and runs the popular screenwriting blog, Living the Romantic Comedy.

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Photo Credit: Chris Owens – Steven Depolo

“Is this worth it?”.

On the surface, the question means:

“Do you think this script will sell?”

It’s a simple question, which I can honestly answer in most cases. But I don’t, because what really matters is the question’s subtext, which goes something like this:

Is it worth spending another year of my spare time
on a screenplay that may never see the light of day?

Indeed, if the movie never gets made – the likelihood of which never seems to decrease as our industry gets older and more cynical – you may have spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars in consultants’ fees.  Is it really worth it?

My honest opinion?

Hell yes!

Irrespective of what happens in a year or two, three, you’ve already won.
A movie on the screen would be a bonus.

Let’s look at all the amazing stuff you’ve achieved and learned while toiling and tinkering on that screenplay.

1. You have been actually writing rather than dreaming of it.
2. You have given your spare time a higher purpose.
3. You have learned to organise your thoughts and think clearly.
4. You have learned to express your thoughts in writing.
5. You have learned how to express those thoughts concisely.
6. You have learned to see what really matters to you.
7. You have learned a hell of a lot about the world outside your head.
8. You have learned a hell of a lot about the world inside your head.
9. You have learned about the nature of the film industry.
10. You have learned what screenwriting really is about.

EACH of these points will give you further value, will teach you more about life and about yourself as you mature as a writer.

All of this wisdom you will keep, whether your work will lead to a movie or not.

What if all you want is to see your work on the big screen?

In that case, it’s even simpler. If you started writing less than five years ago, stop wondering and keep writing, simply because the more you write, the more you learn, the better you get.

Those who made it seem to agree:  Screenwriting success takes on average 5 years and/or 10 scripts. Shortcuts are not available.

Back to the opening question. Is it really worth it?

When writers ask me, I’m honoured and humbled because it shows that they trust me.

On the other hand I’m also annoyed and frustrated because I can never give the right answer.

It’s a question only you can answer.

And although deep inside, you may have doubts, every day writers keep being surprised about what the world has on offer.

So, what do you think – is it worth it?

UPDATE 2017: Check this follow-up article.

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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When writing a second-draft screenplay it‘s simultaneously terrifying and comforting to remember that there’s always a better idea. The things you came-up with in your first draft may make you want to piss yourself with pride, but in most cases better ideas lie in waiting – finding them is the hard part, and it’s what makes writing the second draft often feel like you’re stuck in a dark sauna thick with the steamy breath of a thousand doubters.

But don’t throw-in the soggy towel just yet. To help you move forward in your writing and avoid the temptation of dragging your first draft into your second, I’ve devised a contraption to alert you each time you drop into the second draft cruise.

You’ll need some electrical wire; two small alligator clips; a 12 volt battery; and access your computer keyboard. Actually, instead of me writing instructions, how about you just rig-up a system based on the image below.

You’re done? Cool. Now each time you touch the shortcut for “copy” or “paste” you’ll complete an electrical circuit that will cause extreme pain in your nipples.

This electrical agony is designed to gently remind you to not rest on your first draft ideas. Cutting and pasting great chunks of your first draft into a new document is NOT re-writing. It’s laziness.

Guillermo Arriaga, the innovative Mexican writer of such films as Amores Perros, 21 Grams and Babel starts each new draft with a blank screen, re-writing his story from scratch, deploying different language to refine his writing to its essence. Now that’s pretty extreme (I believe he uses a 240 volt anti-copy/paste system), but based on his whippet-lean scripts it’s an approach that seems to work.

Sure, Arriaga’s technique makes things difficult, but difficulty is to be embraced in the pursuit of better ideas. It’s our responsibility as writers to mercilessly seek the best ideas we can, regardless of how much it hurts in the brain-thing. In that pursuit we need to muster the courage to kill our babies, not copy and paste them into another family.

I suspect lots of the fear about killing ideas has to do with some stupid notion of creativity being finite. What crap. If you’ve had one good idea then you’ll have another. As long as you believe that then you’ll always feel safe in taking your new drafts in a direction that means you’ll have to jettison an idea or ten that you love. So relax into the fact that there’ll be other ideas, and they’ll be better.

Of course, this approach applies to just about any creative endeavour. A photographer friend once told me the secret to his outstanding documentary photos was simply taking a buttload of shots and then choosing the best. A copywriter friend said that what he likes about the advertising industry versus the film industry is that it’s infused with an attitude that there’s always a better idea, while his friends in the film industry tend to get so hung-up on their big idea that they can’t see past it.

Even tinned food companies do it. You know… it’s the fish that John West rejects that makes them the best. When re-drafting, it’s the ideas you reject that make you the best. But that’s not to say that your other ideas are guano. They’re vital, in fact, to your ability to see better ideas. You need to stand on their shoulders to get a good look at the geography of your story. So see your first draft as a foothold rather than something to shoehorn into a story that has evolved beyond it.

I say all this so aggressively because I’m currently deep into a second draft and so perhaps I’m writing this to myself. It’s winter and the electrical wires are cold on my goose-pimpled areolas. I’ve been electrocuted several times. But with the help of my motivational torture device, I’m confident that I’m well on the way to a superior draft.    

If you’re not the handy type or you can’t concentrate with clamps on your tits, then you can forget about the anti cut/paste device. But, as you wade through the miasma of your second draft and find yourself tempted to dump forty first-draft pages into your script so you can feel good about your second draft progress, I implore you to remember that “Ctrl+C/Ctrl+V” is called a “shortcut” for a reason.

– John Pace

John Pace is me. I’m a screenwriter. You can follow my blatant self-promotion and ill-conceived ramblings on screenwriting at: https://www.howlingpictures.com/blog/ 

Karel FG Segers

Karel Segers wrote his first produced screenplay at age 17. Today he is a story analyst with experience in acquisition, development and production. He has trained students worldwide, and worked with half a dozen Academy Award nominees. Karel speaks more European languages than he has fingers on his left hand, which he is still trying to find a use for in his hometown of Sydney, Australia. The languages, not the fingers.

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