Screenplay hard drive clutter

Last week I talked about the document I keep of cut passages from each of my screenplays and the nega-writing process. While I'm on the topic of peripheral files for a screenplay, I may as well touch on the other things that I accumulate during the writing of a first draft.

I keep a folder on my desktop that share their names with different writing projects I'm working on. In each of these folders I collect various pieces of media that are either inspired parts of the screenplay, are referenced by the characters, or are in some other way related. My current alpha project (a thriller that the fellow Leaguers are all familiar with) is no different, and its folder contains the following:

1) Locale photographs. Several are taken by myself, of locations I have in mind to use as reference when describing a character's surroundings. (For example, several scenes take place in a diner that I've modeled after one I used to eat at often in Ohio.)

2) Miscellaneous images. I have various jpegs that I stumbled over during the formative early months of my screenplay's life; a poster that hangs on a character's bedroom wall, and photos of strangers found on the internet who resemble the appearance I visualize for certain characters in my head. (Is that creepy? Maybe.)

3) MP3 files. Two songs are referenced in the screenplay, and there were a couple songs that helped me get into the right frame of mind for certain scenes. I keep these nearby in case I ever need to fall back into that mood.

Part of me is tempted to include this folder on the CD along with the PDF file when I hand the draft to a friend to get their take on it, but I'm afraid that offering that type of guidance would distract them from giving me an unbiased reading and an unhindered feedback session.

The Writing Week Part 21

It's a hard thing to break out of a slump, and if you've read in between the lines of my past few posts, you'll know that's what I've been in recently. Onyx offered encouraging words, reminding me that I had written a lot in a very short amount of time, which is true. But the pace I was writing at is the one that I like to maintain, and I've just not been doing it lately.

However, I think that's attributable, primarily, not so much to a "burn-out" but to the fact that I'm in re-write mode (another "experiment" of sorts for me, because I hate re-writes). I said it before that in the next year, I want to polish drafts of 4 scripts I've been working on. Especially for me, that's no small feat, since I have a really difficult time with re-writes. I just never quite seem to know how to go about doing them - where to being, what to cut, when to begin a fresh draft, or how to distance myself enough from the original material. I read through my post-Apocalyptic spec again, and though I'm more ready to cut and change things now than I was before, I still really like it and am lukewarm about doing too much to it.

I don't know why the re-write process is such a deterrent to me. Perhaps it's that I relish new material so much more. Or maybe it's impatience on my part. Who knows, maybe it's ego. There are so many mediocre movies in the cinemas these days, I often feel that my first, rough drafts are just as good as half of what people pay $12.50 to go see on a Friday night. (That's a bit of an ego-trip, I know. But I'm sure that many of you out there can relate. It can be frustrating at times to think how much money gets poured into movies that, if the scripts were ever good, lost all of their substance in production.)

All that aside, I knwo that until people are spending their Fridays watching the movies I've written (and hopefully not wishing they'd decided to stay in and get take-out instead), I just have to keep working.

Screenwriting on the Web II

Danny Stack, a brother screenwriter/blogger in the UK, was recently ask to share what revelations he's had since starting his writing career.

He goes on to list these revelations, which are all very worthwhile reading for anyone early in their screenwriting career. A few examples:

- It doesn’t get easier. It gets more difficult. You always have to raise your game, dig deeper, work harder.
- The system doesn’t care about writers. It’s a bit like Mother Nature: it has the capacity to be beautiful and nurturing, and we couldn’t exist without it, but it will also cut you down without any reasoning or judgement.
- You have the capability of writing just as much shite as the stuff you mock on TV or at the cinema every day. It will help if you recognise this, otherwise you’re in trouble.

The rest of his wise words can be read here. This post also outlines how Danny began his career, and is very encouraging to all of us who are trying to follow a similar career path.

(Another recent post that ALL beginning writers should check out: Danny's description of the 'Three P's' that all writers should live by.)

Danny's blog, Scriptwriting in the UK, [http://dannystack.blogspot.com/] updates very often with boatloads of great advice, and really deserves to be on any aspiring writer's RSS reader.

It's Cold Outside Eden

Growing up, movies weren't a major influence in my life. As a kid I mainly read mythologies, then middle school it became Japanese manga, by high school it was poetry and contemporary Chinese literature (and, who am I kidding, Asian pulp fiction). Up until then, movie watching was serious entertainment. No matter it was in the theatre or at home, movies are watched in complete silence, no lights. Absolute trust is given to the film. The fact that heroes can jump off trains or be dragged behind a car unscathed was never questioned. If a character declares love or hate toward another character, that must absolutely be what he/she feels. When the music turns soft, I automatically feel sorry for the characters. My sister cried at the end of Con Air.

When I attended the dramatic writing program in college, most of my new friends were horrified that I've never seen...well, apparently, anything. I was immediately dragged into dorm rooms to appreciate all the cinema I've missed out. One of such event that stuck with me was the viewing of Wizard of Oz. As the movie started and Dorothy ran down the black and white screen with her dog, I heard my host, MWS, say behind me, "Run bitch run."

We had to pause the movie. It was a sacrilegious and utterly wonderful moment. Not too long after, MWS became my roommate for three years.

During that time, I did some major cram work on movie watching, and I think I spoke through most of them. I remember trying to guess who and in what order will the characters die in Alien and Seven Samurai. Discussing with my sister detailed historical accuracy in (several) Elizabeth films, down to "no, she was under a tree reading a book when she heard that news". Being taught what would actually happen in action movies by a nursing friend.

Some of my favorite memories of MWS was when we pointed out each physically impossible moves, or the inaccuracy in how to escape immanent death while the movie was still running. I distinctly remember the triumphant feeling when I guessed the twist in Old Boy (and doubt my sanity). And then, there are times when I remember how it felt not being able to guess or criticize. The ability to suspend disbelief without a conscious effort. Back when there was no little voice saying "ah, here's the exposition, here's the twist, here's the mid-point..." Those times when while a movie played, I wasn’t able to make any judgment, because I knew without a doubt that when the lights turned off, I will be too swept off my feet to talk.

Cigarettes: Cancer Sticks or Instant Cool

At this year’s Tisch graduation writer/director Amy Heckerling (Clueless, Fast Times at Ridgemont High) was invited to say a few words to the class of 2008. She cautioned the next generation of struggling screenwriters about smoking and the portrayal of smoking in their films, among other things. I didn’t attend the graduation, but from what I hear she touched on how quick many of us writers are to put a cigarette in a character’s mouth because it gives them something to do or it just provides instant cool. The tobacco execs aren’t complaining, and upon thinking back to some of my writing they’d probably give me a big pat on the back. The kind of pat fitting of a large, well fed Carolinian.

I recently finished the first draft of my action/horror western. I’ve got one character who might as well be the Marlboro Cowboy, except cooler and deadlier. After thinking about what Ms. Heckerling was saying I wanted to see if I could trim down on the smoking. I mean, we’re intelligent writers. We can make our characters do other things right? But after reading over the script I didn’t touch a single cigarette/cigar. For draft two I might have him aggressively smother a cigar under his boot, but that’s as far as I go for now. I don’t smoke, nobody in my family smokes, and I hate being around cigarettes, but I can’t seem to cut those pesky cancer sticks.

Let’s face it, cigarettes are kind of cool up until the lung cancer part. Google Clint Eastwood and you don’t have to look past the first page for the rogue gunman image with the poncho and the small cigar that lives in the corner of his mouth. Let’s go for a different kind of cool (googling as I write) and check out Humphrey Bogart. Man, he sure looks cool. And what do you know, he’s smoking in the first three pictures. Let’s try Frank Sinatra. Ha! Sure enough, ol’ blue eyes is lighting up. So it’s settled, the tobacco companies own cool, and probably google.

Back to our characters and smoking. Sometimes you can’t avoid it. Sometimes you have a character that just smokes. I don’t feel so bad because my script is set in the wild west, and as the film industry has shown me, everyone smoked in the wild west. Actual writing aside, what can we as writers do to provide new cool habits? I always thought the guy twirling the pen in Top Gun was pretty cool. Was that Slider or Hollywood? Anyway, any of you guys ever struggled with this sort of thing?

The Writing Week part 20

Not much progress to speak of this week.

I guess you could say I’ve been in a bit of a rut. A funk. A dry spell? Anyway you put it, it’s been a few weeks now, and I haven’t even re-read all of my post-Apocalyptic spec, which is the next thing that I’m going to pounce on again. Despite the lack of reading/writing recently, I have been doing a lot of thinking. Like Zombie mentioned in a post he made a little while ago, I feel like I’ve done nothing, but then I reassess the situation, and know that’s not entirely true.

For one, I can feel myself growing more and more distanced from the first draft of the post-Apocalyptic script. This is a very good thing. I don’t know the exact time frame, but if I don’t have at least three months in between finishing a draft and re-working it, the changes are few and far between. I can sense a slowly heating desire to scrap entire scenes and make drastic rewrites, a fire of productivity growing slowly within me, more than a spark, but far from an inferno yet.

Also, I’ve been playing with a character in my head. This is some of the most extensive character development I’ve done. Not to say that I know everything about him—quite the opposite actually. He’s in some womb between my ears, slowly but surely evolving, growing arms and feet, fingers and toenails. He’s got a name and a few mannerisms, but not much more yet. It’s a slow process, but one I’m enjoying a lot, since I often find my thoughts turning to him, encouraging him to grow and, hopefully soon, step out into the world.

Joining the dark side

Around two years ago, I interned at a small but fairly well-known (and well-funded) production company. My main duty was script coverage. I passed very little scripts along, but the ones I liked I pushed and followed along and asked every once in a while to see if my bosses would do anything with them. I was always happy when I get a “we’ll consider him for our new TV show team” or “his current projects don’t fit what we want to do, but we’re keeping him on the list of writer-for-hires”. Not much meat on the bone, but it’s a bone.

One of the scripts that stuck with me was a dark comedy about anorexic girls. The script was littered with logic potholes, and the transitions were as rough as a washboard (when there was any attempt of transition). Despite all that, I still recommended it. The idea was marketable but not generic. The pitch was catchy. It was entertaining but “about an issue”. When I left the company, that script was green lighted. I don’t think they took my in caps note about needing rewrite.

Right now, I’m employed at a foreign, independent and/or documentary film distribution company. Our acquisition one-man department is gone for two weeks, so I’m covering his work. Among the films I’ve screened, the one by far the best was a documentary about solar car making. Yep, you heard me. Grad students making a solar car. I thought I would change to the next film after it has its fifteen-minutes-chance. I became really sympathetic and involved with the team in 10 minutes, and watched to the bitter end. I was personally saddened when they didn’t win the race, and called my sister to tell her. Am I going to suggest the film to our VP or President, even just the regular acquisition guy? I have no clue. Solar car making. I can’t figure out a way to pitch it without it sounding incredibly boring and geeky, and worst of all, market-less.

Perhaps all I need is a little more faith that its goodness would shine through to our president like it did to me. But all I feel are doubts, and a little, calm voice saying “even if we take it on, it’ll just be a dust-gatherer on the shelf”. Am I one of the soulless system bitch that beats down actual good artists and promote lesser works for the sake of money? Or am I just realistic?

Funny to feel like one of those people who are keeping me and my peers from having a chance.