Reading Is Sexy

I was very proud to be a returning judge for this year’s Slamdance Screenplay Competition, one of several prestigious competitions I judge for. If you don’t know, Slamdance was set up in response to what filmmakers saw as the over-commercialization and inaccessibility of Sundance. The festival itself happens concurrently with Sundance in Park City and has a more edgy, scrappy, fun vibe. However, their screenplay competition happens in the summer.

This year out of 3,600 submissions, I read over 300 scripts in competition. I’m very proud to say that of the thirty-two scripts that ten of us judges took into final deliberations, eight were scripts I had personally advanced and championed. Of those, one became the overall winner, two more won their categories, and three others placed in their categories’ top three. I am pretty proud of that track record.

Early on, one of my mentors told me “Read all the scripts you can. They’re a great education.” Ugh, I thought, the last thing I want to do is spend my time reading other idiots’ work when I could be working on my own stuff. So I didn’t. For a long time. But that mentor was right. I started reading. In all my consulting and judging, I’ve read around 500 scripts this year alone. Who knows how many more in the last ten years.

In all that reading, patterns emerged and my own style greatly shifted. This has made me a better writer. This year I have two different pilots making the rounds at MIPCOM and gaining attention from producers and outlets I never dreamed of working with.

This also has also made me a better reader. When you read a lot, you see the same mistakes over and over, you learn what frustrates you on the page, you see what a lean, muscular script really looks like, you develop a facility for spotting the truly unique, and you learn how the masters who break our hearts or make us cheer make it happen on the page. I can get to the heart of what working, what’s not working, and what could be working better in your script. I can communicate why and how to you in digestible language and help you with the roadmap for your next draft. All because I’ve finally read a lot.

Like my mentor, one of my most common recommendations for clients now is “read as many original scripts as you can get your hands on. Not shooting scripts as these will fill you with bad habits such as ‘we see’ and camera or edit directions like ‘the camera pans over’ or ‘cut to’. Many original scripts for your favorite shows and movies are easily findable online.” I stand by this recommendation: Read all you can. You never know just how it will benefit you and your writing but benefit you it will.

Want to enter next year’s Slamdance competition? Submissions start in February. Maybe have me give you feedback first so you submit the best version of your script that you can.

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Common Script Mistakes: The Lucky 13

I recently guest lectured a class for Slamdance and Roadmap Writers on pitch polishing. We talked about common format mistakes I see as a contest reader, and looked at how story structure and character motivations feed into a log line and therefore a pitch.

One student asked if poorly formatted slug lines would keep her script from advancing in a contest. I said, “As judges, I think we’re all looking for a good story most of all. But poor formatting can be a tie-breaker. For every script I choose to advance, I have to believe it could win the whole contest. I have to be willing to stand up and defend it to my fellow judges. If the only format issue is that the slugs are off here and there, I can do that. If there are a lot of format errors, I’m not going to stand up for you. I’m more likely to give that writer notes and hope they submit a cleaned-up script next time around.” So while a wonky slug* won’t kill your script in contests, a wonky slug on top of misused parentheticals, wrong use of VO vs. OS or OC, mis-formatted intercuts or montages will. All those add up to a writer who hasn’t bothered to learn the language of screenwriting.

“Why does this matter?” you may ask. “I’m a bad-ass who doesn’t play by the rules and I have a killer story so none of that should count.” Well, me too and bully for you. Screenwriting is a very particular writing discipline with very particular rules we all must follow. The script functions as a blueprint for building a movie and it must be executed in the language that all the builders recognize. Good luck getting your killer story read by a busy executive who doesn’t have time to figure out that when you write, “INT. JOE – LATER,” you don’t actually mean we should set up a camera inside Joe (ouch!) but that we’re with him in the scene that is actually in a bar.

So here are my top thirteen most common script mistakes I see with regard to format.

  1. (Did you guess?) The Slug Line!

The slug line exists to tell us where and when a scene takes place. That’s it. The rules specifically are that it should contain: a) INT. or EXT., b) a location (not an event like JAY’S PARTY but where you want a camera crew to set up), and then c) DAY or NIGHT. Such as:

INT. A SEEDY BAR – NIGHT

Anything more specific like “The Next Day” or “Early Morning” can be in the action/description lines. We can tell if a scene is continuous from how one scene follows onto the next. So that doesn’t need to be in the slug line either. For example, if you show a bank being robbed and two robbers running for the door and the next scene is those robbers running down the bank steps, I can connect the dots. That’s obviously a continuous sequence so please don’t put CONTINUOUS in your slug line. When the script is shuffled into scheduling software, there won’t be any reference to what happens in the scene, so if all I can see is CONTINUOUS I have no idea when to schedule that scene. Keep the time designation to DAY or NIGHT. Also, if I’ve been interrupted while reading and come back to your script later, I’ll see ‘continuous’ and have to flip back several scenes to remember when that is. Annoying.

You don’t need a new slug line if you’re in that bar with Joe and we’re looking at several different points of action. For that you can give us a:

WITH JOE

and then his riveting actions. When the story shifts to what’s going on elsewhere in the bar, you can say so with a:

WITH MARY

or perhaps:

BY THE DARTBOARD

and then give us the actions over there. This also hold true for when you are in the same location but time has passed. You don’t need a whole new slug, just a:

LATER

and then the rest of the scene. This is also great for expediting scenes where you need us to know a lot of things have happened, such as a contract negotiation. We don’t need to see the whole negotiation as part of the plot, just the beginning and the outcome.

  1. Character Introductions

I’ve seen it all, from characters being introduced in a parenthetical, to never being introduced at all and just suddenly existing in the scene. Then there’s the “Woman’s Voice” who three pages later we find out is Angie. Your viewers can be surprised by that, but please just tell your readers it’s Angie from the get go. Additionally, in a script breakdown, Woman’s Voice and Angie will look like two different characters your casting director needs to find. What fun will ensue when you have to fire an actor you didn’t need hired in the first place!

When you first introduce a character, give us their name in all caps, even if they are minor. Then for more important characters give us their age or a range in parenthesis and a phrase of description. You get one chance to give us a taste of what makes this character tick. Use it! This is Hollywood, so go ahead and assume your actors will be beautiful. Why waste time with “TERRY (30s) attractive” when you can give me something like “TERRY (30s), every bar fight is a chance to work out his daddy issues?” That gives me such a fuller picture of who Terry is and what drives him as I read the script. I’m confident he’ll be easy on the eyes.

And those minor characters. How about making them visual and memorable? Instead of Kid #1 and Kid #2, how about Snotty Kid or Clumsy Kid or Shy Kid or Boisterous Kid? You’re a writer! Use your words! Tell me something more about this character that may be just background for the protagonist but has a world of his own. Besides, an actor would much rather play Star Trek Geek Kid than Kid #3.

  1. Cut To:

There is a deceptive guide on the internet that fosters many a bad habit in a screenwriter: the shooting script. As you do your research reading scripts in your genre (as you should), you are likely to find more shooting scripts available and Google-able than you are to find original scripts. This is an issue because we, my friends, are writing original scripts. Anything like CUT TO, CLOSE ON, DISSOLVE TO, FOLLOW, and PAN are camera or edit directions. These belong in shooting scripts. A director reading an original script will often consider such things too much direction from the page. After all, she’s the person shaping your creation. It’s up to her to put a dissolve or a pan or—more power to her—a crazy follow shot.

Besides, by virtue of the fact that there is a new slug line, we know there is a cut. And because we are crafty, we can imply things like CLOSE ON by how we choose to showcase a shot in our action lines. Something like:

Kelly’s hand stabs at the buttons on the remote.

That shot will clearly be a close up on her hand but I’ve avoided writing it in a way that steps on the director’s toes. Instead, I’ve sidled up to the director and given her a firm nudge and then she can say “a close up on Kelly’s hand would be great here, what a fab idea,” and I’ll say “Yes, I know, because as a writer, I am the wind beneath your wings.”

While I’m at it: Another edit decision to leave out of your script is where and when the title sequence goes. You do not need to point this out. It will be designed later.

  1. We See

Along those same lines of shooting script versus original script is the supremely irritating “we see” device. Nearly every contest judge I know has a special place of pet-peeve in their hearts for “we see.” I recommend you avoid this at all costs. We are not a “we.” Saying so tends to remind us that we are reading a story we are outside of rather than simply saying what we do see and taking us into the story that way. Think of the wasted line space!
“A camel trudges along a sand dune” is so much more visual and concise than “We see a camel trudging along a sand dune.”

  1. We’re gonna need a… Montage!

Montages or series of shots can be great ways to show time passing or things progressing in your story. One mistake I most often see with these is this: “A montage shows Heather and Dean walking on the beach and getting to know each other.” And that’s it. You are writing a blueprint for building a visual story, so give us those visuals. If you want a montage, it’s up to you to define exactly what you want the camera crew to capture for that. So:

MONTAGE — HEATHER AND DEAN FALL IN LOVE
— Heather and Dean stroll on the beach
— Dean hands Heather a pretty shell
— They build a sandcastle together
— Heather splashes Dean as they let a wave catch their toes
–a giant asteroid kills them both

What are the visuals that you feel will tell us that story? Don’t make me or your camera crew guess.

  1. VO OS OC

I see a lot of confusion on this one. Let me clear it up: VO means Voice Over, as in narration. You know, what you hire Morgan Freeman to do. You’re probably not going to have much VO in the average script, as it’s really hard to do well. (Voiceover is often a crutch rather than a necessary story telling tool.)

More likely, you’re going to use OC: Off Camera or OS: Off Screen for speakers we hear but don’t see. You’ll use these if we only see one side of a phone call but hear both sides, or if we hear someone in another room, etc. OC has roots in TV scripts while OS is more from film but they’ve become used interchangeably for the most part.

  1. INTERCUT WITH

If you’re doing a phone scene and you do want us to see both sides, you’re going to use an intercut. To do this right, give us the first person’s slug line, establish them in the action lines and maybe give us their first line of dialog on the call. Then you’ll do an:

INTERCUT WITH:

Then give us the second person’s slug line, a quick phrase of establishing visuals, and their dialog. This allows the editor to make those choices about when to be on which speaker for the greatest emotional impact in the scene and you don’t have to waste tons of lines going back and forth each time. Everybody wins! You can intercut simultaneous actions the same way. Easy peasy.

EXT. VILLAGE STREET – DAY

Jane stomps along, dials a number, yells into the phone:

JANE

What were you thinking?

INTERCUT WITH

INT. KYLE’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – DAY

Kyle sinks into the couch, phone to his ear.

KYLE

I didn’t think you’d notice. It’s only a car.

JANE

I reported it stolen. I hope you go to jail.

We now see and hear both sides of that scene and the editor can choose what works best.

  1. Weird title pages or no title pages

This is a simple way to make your script look more professional: have a clean, simple title page. It should be center-justified and contain the script’s title, by, and your name. You can get away with a “Based on a true story” if that’s the case but not much else. If you like, you can add left-justified at the bottom of the page your contact info, your copyright, or your WGA registration. But those aren’t required.

What’s definitely not required are: visuals, log lines, descriptive paragraphs of why I’ll love this script. I should get all that from reading the script. All that stuff is great for a pitch package your script or pitch can be part of but it should not be on your title page.

Do include a title page, though. It always seems a bit weird when I see a script with no title page and instead the title and writer’s name above the FADE IN on page 1.Or worse: at the top of every page. A title page is like a Maître ‘D in a jacket. I’ll still trust him to seat me if he’s not wearing one, but he just seems so much more professional if he is. (Note: I cannot remember the last time I ate somewhere that had a Maître ‘D.)

  1. Caps

All caps are for character introductions and occasionally a key prop or key sound you need us to remember. They are not for emphasis like Joe RUNS along the BIG WALL. Or KATHY sits and KATHY stands and then KATHY runs away. We only need her name in all caps the first time we meet her. All caps are definitely not because  you got really excited AND THEN THE HELICOPTER EXPLODES ALL OVER THE PLACE WITH LOTS OF FLAMES!!!!! While we’re at it, cut it out with the exclamation points too. If I’m not excited by what I’m reading, throwing a bunch of bangs on the end of a sentence like a tween thrilled to see ZAYNE!!!!!! won’t change that.

  1. Specific Songs

Sorry, my fellow world-building control freaks, this is not a choice we get to make. Song syncs can cost from $5-$10,000 for an average song and closer to $50,000 for something super-famous like a Prince or Beatles song. Tying your budget to songs is a quick way to blow it. But because seasoned writers know this is a no-no, they don’t do it so when you do it just makes you look like a newbie. Definitely don’t waste page space writing out lyrics unless you are actually writing a musical.

A good fix is to put something like “An 80’s booty shaker like Prince’s 1999 thumps through the party.” That gives us the idea and trust me, if she can, your music supervisor will get 1999. If it’s out of your budget range, she’ll get some awesome band you may never have heard of but that will serve the emotion of the scene perfectly.

  1. Scene numbers or Scene notes

I see a lot of scripts with things left in them that are meant to be for your working reference only. Scene numbers are one of those things. Those are a tool for you. Those aren’t for me to see how many scenes you have. When you save your version of your script for contest entry, etc. make sure to turn off scene numbers. Again, they only make you look like a newbie.

Along the same lines, I’ll see phrases (or god help me, paragraphs) of actions that read like script notes to the writer, rather than fleshed out scenes. They might look like “Ash and Matt sit and have a great chat about where they should have dinner and they work out their differences.” OK, where’s that scene? Either write out the actions and dialog showing me that event or cut the action lines saying that, because it just makes it look like you and meant to come back to it later but instead forgot to write a scene. What happens exactly? What are the actors saying? What is the director shooting? You’re the writer – don’t ask someone else to write your scene.

  1. Mores and Cont’d

Look, I know this is a feature in some software programs for a reason but as a reader it’s super annoying. I recommend eliminating “Mores and Continueds.” In Final Draft it’s a simple setting you can turn off. We know from context that a scene or line continues. These extra designations clutter up your page and take away valuable line space. In this visual blue print that is the script, brevity is king. Or, as Shakespeare once said, brevity…is wit.**

  1. Typos

For the love of god, proofread your script. Or get a friend to do it for you. Or just freaking Autocorrect. In today’s advanced typing technology age there is literally no reason why there should be a single typo in your script. Wrong word choice I can understand; a ‘board’ instead of a ‘bored’ is going to slip by your spell-check, but it should not slip by your eyes because you a writer who knows how to use words.

Executives and their readers are notoriously finicky and will look for any reason to put a script down. Typos can be enough. Poor formatting will do the trick regardless of how amazing your story may be. Don’t give them a reason like that to stop reading.

Worse than that, such mistakes look like you didn’t care enough to get them right and if you didn’t care enough to spend your time learning your craft to the best of your ability, why should I spend my time reading your work? You’re a writer and typos make you look like you can’t write.

Taken by themselves, these things can either seem nit-picky or dogmatic but taken as a whole, they show your professionalism alongside your writing skill. When you get to Shane Black or Charlie Kaufman levels, sure, break the rules all you want. But until then, hone your skills in speaking the same visual blueprint language all the craftspeople in Hollywood speak.

Now get back to that script and fix all this stuff so I can enjoy your story without distraction and advance your script! You wrote it because you felt it was worth it. I just want to be on the same page.

* The Wonky Slugs are my new String Cheese Incident cover band.

**Yes, I know that’s actually a Simpson’s quote purposely bastardizing the Bard. I was just testing you.

 

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Common Script Mistakes: Parentheticals–Let’s Kill the Wrylies

As a contest judge and script coach, I see all kinds of poor formatting, strange style choices, and grammar errors galore. If I can help you to avoid some of these surprisingly common pitfalls, my judging job will be easier, your script will be better, and it might just move your career forward.

Almost every script I read is overwritten. Writers get caught up in creating a story moment in every detail and start directing from the page. Nothing marks you as an inexperienced writer faster. Overwritten scripts can feel akin to being told how to breathe or walk:
“Jerry puts one foot forward, and then the other. Now be brings the first foot forward again.”

Give your readers some credit for being able to figure out how things work. We’re humans here too.

It’s natural to want to direct from the page. You may actually be a director. At the very least you are creating a world, the people in that world, and the story within which they exist. You’re naturally going to have some control issues here. The beauty (and challenge) of screenwriting is that it’s a collaborative art. Leaving room for a director and actor to bring their interpretations to characters, emotions, and beats is where we get real alchemy on screen.

Parentheticals–Let’s Kill the Wrylies

One of the most common ways writers overwrite and direct from the page is via that enigmatic and oft-misunderstood element, the parenthetical. Nicknamed the Wryly, it seems innocuous enough. Yet its misuse can make your script look clunky and confusing at best, amateurish and not-worth-the-time to read at worst.

A parenthetical is an instruction or description in parentheses that shows up after a character element (someone’s name) and, rarely, mid-dialog. The point of a parenthetical is to clarify the tone or target of the subsequent dialog if it’s not already clear from the context of the scene. That’s it!

Target

One good use of a parenthetical is when the target of a line isn’t clear. For example, if Kara has been speaking with Joe but now she throws an aside to Cindy, I may want to add one like so:

KARA
(to Cindy)
Thanks, I already ate.

However, I definitely don’t need to do this if it’s clear to whom she’s speaking as it would be with:

KARA
Cindy, I already ate.

or if, just before Kara’s line, Cindy had walked in and asked if Kara was hungry.  Obviously, Kara’s line is therefore directed at Cindy and you don’t need the parenthetical. Since scripts with a shorter page count automatically warm the heart of the judge faced with a stack of pages, you want to do everything you can to streamline yours as much as possible. Besides, a tight script is a hallmark of a strong writer who’d rather spend time and page space crafting great characters, scenes, and arcs. But sure, consider my feelings too.

Tone

This one’s trickier. You can also use a parenthetical if the tone isn’t clear from the context. For example, if everything in this scene up to now has been funny or angry or sad but suddenly Kara is turning sarcastic, it may help to throw in a:

KARA
(sarcastic)
Thanks, I already ate.

But if it’s been established that Kara is a sarcastic character, that’s going to already be clear from context and it’s likely an actor will chose to deliver that line in a sarcastic tone. This means you don’t have to over-direct from the page and tell them how to say it. Many writers don’t see that they’ve made the context clear and a parenthetical is therefore redundant and a waste of their line space.

Many writers don’t understand the need to leave room for the actor to bring their emotional work to the story. Do you think Meryl Streep needs to be told to say a line (yelling) or (with real emotion)? Of course not. In fact she may surprise you with a whisper that turns out to be far more moving than the shout you had imagined. As a writer, get used to giving up some of that control. The key to the parenthetical use to clarify tone is: we get much more than you think we get. If the scene seems at all clear without adding that parenthetical, leave it out!

No Nos

So this brings us to all the things you do not need to use a parenthetical for:

  • Telling an actor how to move his body.

Something like:

JOE
(grabbing the blanket off the chair as he goes to the door)
I said no.

belongs in an action line because it’s an action, make sense? Something like:

JOE
(tents his fingers in thought)
I said no.

is too much directing from the page again. If this is a scene about Joe being deep in thought, let the actors determine how to move their bodies to convey that. Those are the choices they get to make.

  • Telling an actor to use an accent repeatedly.

JOE
(with a Russian accent)
I said no.

REINA
But you have a coat.

JOE
(with a Russian accent)
I want blanket anyway.

Rather than waste many lines telling us this repeatedly, just give a bracket or note at the top of the scene saying [*Note: Joe speaks throughout with a Russian accent.] Then the actor can take that on board and make it happen for you.

  • Telling us why an actor says a line.

MARLA
(to be funny)
Doc, it hurts when I do this.

Lordy, if the comedy isn’t clear from your scene, there are bigger problems.

  • Adverbs.

JOE
(wryly)
I said no.

Just no. Apparently, since the dawn of screenwriting we’ve all been obsessed with wry characters hence the Wryly nickname for parentheticals. But again, this is over-directing from the page. Many actors I know will go through a script and cross out all the Wrylies from the get-go so they can bring their own emotional work to the lines. You’ve already lost that control, writer, so just let it go! Besides, the best scripts are built with muscular, visual nouns and verbs since adverbs and adjectives tend to be more about telling rather than showing. This is a visual medium. Show me through your scene work that the dancer inspires the audience rather than telling me she’s inspiring. This is true with parentheticals too.

Resist the urge to put an adverb in that parenthetical at all costs, especially ‘wryly’. UNLESS the context isn’t clear from the scene. And even then, ask yourself: can you trust an actor or a director to understand what you’re going for and pull that out in the performance? If the answer is even slightly, possibly, maybe yes, leave off the parenthetical. I promise you directors, actors and script judges everywhere will silently, wryly, thank you for it.

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Stuck in your script? Have a breakdown – Tips from a script coach

We’ve all been there. You start off with an idea that you know has legs. There are captivating characters, fun twists, and maybe an original set piece (no one has driven a Lamborghini onto a helicopter yet!) or deep emotional moment or two. But something’s not working. You’ve hit a wall. Maybe you’ve even gotten notes from trusted readers and either you disagree with them or you can’t figure out how to integrate them successfully. Those idea legs have gotten shaky and tired. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that script has to sit out the next round of contests.

Last week, I worked with a client on a TV pilot she’s creating. It’s a procedural with a fun twist. The problem was the procedure itself was too flat and too easy. As viewers, we’ve become really sophisticated in solving TV crime and woe to the writer who doesn’t stay a step or two ahead of our inner Sherlock.

For a start, I asked, have you seen Elementary? She hadn’t so she watched a few episodes. Do a breakdown, I suggested. She’d gotten the basic idea, she said. No, I countered. Watching films and TV that really work on a script level is fun and enjoyable, sure. But solid entertainment is also a free education just sitting there at our fingertips. We can take advantage of that education with a more active watching approach; a story breakdown. That will take a long time, she sighed. Yes, yes it will. But creating an amazing script takes time. Why not invest a little in your ongoing education?

I’m not suggesting you write a synopsis for each scene: Joan walks into the kitchen and discovers Sherlock dumping honey down the drain. Then they visit the crime scene. I’m suggesting you reverse engineer the script as though you were writing the outline. So an entry for an individual scene might look like:

B story. Joan wants to get to the sink but she can’t because Sherlock is dumping honey down the drain. She confronts him on food waste and Sherlock reveals he’s fallen out with his father who won’t be visiting again. They get a call from Det. Bell with new case info and leave.

This was a scene about their personal relationships, thus it’s part of a B or C story, not the A story which in a procedural is always the crime. The writer’s goal in the scene was for Sherlock to communicate to Joan that he’d fallen out with his father. The honey was something they had for his father’s tea. Thus Sherlock’s action in dumping the honey made that internal goal external and active—it made it visual. Imagine how boring that scene would be if Joan simply walked in, said “why are you sad?” and Sherlock flatly stated “my dad and I fought” and Joan said “Oh. Hey, Bell has a new clue.” It transmits the same basic information – hits the points on the synopsis version – but we’re not interested.

The scene started with the character goals in opposition – something that’s key to a scene with energy and engagement. That Joan’s goal was blocked pushed her to take different action which naturally led her to confront Sherlock – a character-motivated action – you want those! The way the scene was executed shows the petulance of Sherlock’s character, and also reveals the subtext that he does care about his dad and he’s too proud to admit he’s hurting over their falling out. (Writing spec dialog for a character like Sherlock is a great writing exercise because he never talks about anything he truly feels, it’s all subtext.)

Finally in the overall structure, the scene launches us into the next scene on the A story line: a new clue in the investigation.

This breakdown training was enormously helpful to my client. Seeing when Elementary plots  reveal new clues, and how those clues and complications change the trajectory of the characters, helped her restructure her own work. It helped her see how much more substance and how many more turns her pilot’s investigation may need. It also gave her some great examples of subtle character development.

Breaking down a show or film can help reveal the overall shape of the story and it throws the execution choices the writer made into high relief so that we can learn and improve our own writing. We can see character goals and outcomes, A versus B versus C storylines, story structure and plot twists.

You can probably guess I recommend doing your own script outline this way too. For each scene I answer: what story line does the scene serve? What are the character(s) goals and how are they in opposition? What’s the obstacle to the protagonist’s goal? What’s the complication or reveal? What’s the outcome? Or more simply put, for each scene I write out:  “Character 1 (protagonist driving your action) wants X (goal) but Y (complication or obstacle), so…(outcome)”

Answering these questions about someone else’s script in a breakdown can help you gain facility in answering them for your own script. Being able to clearly articulate character goals, obstacles, and outcomes will strengthen your story structure and lead to more promising scripts. It’s the best way to ferret out those scenes that aren’t doing enough to move your story forward.

For a while, doing breakdowns may make your favorite viewing less fun but I promise such suffering for your art is worth it. It will gain you the ability to craft stronger structures and scenes. And get those story legs back up and running. It will also help you articulate why such a little scene is about so much more than just dumping honey down the drain.

To get your script ready for contests, let PageCraft help!

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Quality Problems

Like most people who self-select as Angelinos, I moved here to make movies. I went to film school, I wrote a lot, produced a feature that didn’t get far, I made a lot of connections. And then I did other stuff. I worked for a studio. I ran a non-profit. I did everything but make movies.

A few years ago I was tangled in a job that was sucking the life from me and I still wasn’t doing what I came here to do. Petrified but desperate, I took a leap of faith and jumped into one no-budget music video with no other job safety net.

A scant two years later, my production partner Erik and I have built Supposable Productions with all the creations you see on the other tabs here. The fact that within two weeks of making that leap we already had five paying projects lined up told me we were on the right path. The fact that in the time since then we’ve been working so consistently that we haven’t had time to create our own company website or business cards tells me we are on that path going full throttle. I love it.

When I first left LA after undergrad, my move was largely driven by a fear of “what if I try my hardest but ten years later have nothing to show for it?”  I couldn’t bear the thought of failing at my dream so I set it aside. Instead I worked dumb, “practical” jobs for ten years and ended up with nothing to show for it. So I finally did it; I leapt without looking and here we are. I love what I get to do every day. I love the creative artists I get to work with. I love seeing where each project takes us with new techniques, artistic challenges, and talented new team members.

I can say I wish I’d learned all this sooner and gotten the nerve to trust in my dream. But then I may not have appreciated all the detours and wrong turns it took to get here. Here’s hoping we get some time to build our business website in 2016. But if we don’t, it’s a quality problem I don’t mind having.

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Get It In Writing

We’ve all heard this and it’s a smart business practice we all know. But do we live by it? In the sometimes casual world of creativity it can be hard to see that line between friends playing in the creative sandbox together and a professional situation creating for pay. Working with friends could be the best or worst thing you ever do.

One of the biggest recent lessons for me (that I should have already known) is to get everything in writing. Having a clear set of expectations on both sides is key to getting good work done and preserving friendships.

We recently worked with a client and friend who had wonderfully grandiose ideas about a huge project with many different elements and aspects. This artist is ridiculously talented and endlessly creative. The project would stretch my partner and I creatively and that was exciting. It would be an epic undertaking and we were thrilled to be involved.

The first phase was an off-the-cuff “let’s see what we get” situation. Because we’re good at what we do, we got great footage, stunning visuals and some really special moments. Great, right? Well, yes. But now the client assumed that no prep was ever needed. Story boards and location scouting were superfluous expenses and we were being silly by adding them to our budgets.

Still, as this talented artist painted the picture of the larger project, we were infected by their enthusiasm and couldn’t wait to be involved. So we did all that prep off the books because we knew it was key to a great and client-pleasing outcome.

I also started researching agreements. This was beyond anything we’d done. With the help of a lawyer, I came up with a deal memo that clearly defined our scope of work, credits and pay schedule. The client just sort of never had time to look at it.

And that’s where my mistake was. We worked with them anyway. With no signed contract we had no safety net. When I casually mentioned how much I was enjoying directing the project, the client shut me down: “No, I’m the director, it was my idea.” I was actually dumbstruck but managed to stop myself from saying “that’s not how that works.” I finally did point out “we’re the ones who came up with the story from your idea, decided what visuals would best convey it, told the cameras what to capture and when to roll, told the actors what to do… that’s directing.” That didn’t matter.

As creative industries people hungry for opportunities, we want to say yes to any chance to do something interesting that will gain us credibility and credits. You have to hand it to our kind’s inherent willingness to jump in. But that can sometimes get us in trouble. In this case, some of our best work ended up un-credited and attributed to others. A painful lesson not only in getting it in writing, but also in standing your ground when you don’t.

So lesson learned. There will be clearly understood deal memos, agreed upon budgets, and signed contracts before any work in our future. Jumping in and sharing your creative spark is a good thing. So is protecting yourself and the integrity of your work.

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Script Notes

As a script contest reader, I see the whole gamut from utter crap to sparks of brilliance. There are some writers I want to grab by the collar and say “please, delete your copy of Final Draft and do the world a favor by never writing again.” There are others whose hands I’d like to shake and marvel “how are you not already a major writer?” Most are somewhere in the middle, trying their best, doing a fair to middling job, and could do better.

As many how-to books and screenwriting gurus will tell you, there is a science to the art of screenwriting. There are rules, there are best practices, there are structures. This should make judging screenwriting a fairly scientific and objective process. And yet. I’ve fallen in love with scripts that had original premises, well-crafted humor and strong protagonists only to find a fellow judge gave the same script a barely passing score. I’ve read for producers who’ve gleefully handed me their latest gem and been astonished anyone could find a filmable story in the haphazard pages. Most pointedly, a veteran writer friend recently shared that she got her big break when she won a prestigious contest. On the same day, she heard from another contest that the very same script was not advancing past the first round.

So who is right? Everyone and no one. As scientific as we make our rubrics, a good script is still all about striking a chord with an audience. In this case a reader, then hopefully an executive and with any luck an actual, theater-going audience (and maybe with the Academy for those rare few).

My point is this: do your best to learn everything you can about the science of screenwriting (for it is a science before it is an art). Surround yourself with trusted readers (or enter contests) where you will get brutally honest critiques as they are the only ones worth anything. Be brutally honest with yourself on your strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Work on developing your craft. Rewrite and, for the love of god, proofread the heck out of your script. And then, if you’ve done all of this, know that any scores your work garners, good or bad, are purely subjective and from people who’ve worked as hard (if not harder) than you to be in a position to say so. The key is getting it in front of the right eyes, taking the notes and trying again tomorrow. If you’ve put in the work and the script really is as good as you think it is, it’s just a matter of finding the right reader.

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In Production

For the first time in our short production company’s life, we’ve been working on larger projects that are under someone else’s auspices. It’s both thrilling and frustrating.

We’ve shot some of the best footage we’ve ever done with incredible sets, locations and actors. We’ve upped our production game playing with new lighting styles and more advanced camera equipment with beautiful results. I’m very proud of what we’ve accomplished with this client. And because it’s a bigger client, we’re part of a production team that is shooting components in the UK and Miami as well as here in LA. This means we don’t simply get to finish our edit and share it with the world when the artist signs off. We must wait until each team member does their part and we feed into the larger whole. I can’t wait to share this project and our part in it with you!

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Music For The Masses

As a surly outcast teen, I hated everyone and everything that wasn’t “my music.” In those pre-Nirvana days before alternative went mainstream, we defined ourselves by our music taste. We self-selected into tribes based on favorite bands. A serious topic of discussion was whether or not you could consider dating or even being friends with members of another tribe. Depeche Mode, The Grateful Dead and Bobby Brown did NOT mix. Nor did their fans eat at the same lunch tables.

This belief system was reinforced during my college radio DJ days when we pitted ourselves against the big station behemoths like KROQ who played “the hottest new song” sometimes a year after we’d been spinning it. We considered ourselves the vanguard, the tastemakers, the music cognoscenti. Woe to he who cited a major corporate rock band as his favorite for much eye-rolling derision would follow. He’d never get it. He’d never be one of us, the poor sap.

As I’ve grown up, I’ve relaxed and even learned to embrace the music I once would have decried as derivative corporate pabulum. In fact my Christmas card these days consists of a CD-and-witty-liner-notes compendium of what I consider to be the best cheesy pop of the year and why. (All these years later, I’m still making mix tapes. My music snobbery may have relaxed and matured but the framework is still there.)

In my new life as a music video director I’ve had the good fortune to get to know many wonderful and talented musicians. As the authors of the creations to which we were so devoted, I had long assumed musicians would be even more “my tribe and your tribe don’t mix” than regular music snobs. Instead, I’ve found myself humbled by their openness. Sure, they value craftsmanship and taste. But they are first and foremost lovers of Music with a capital M.

After a recent magical day shooting in the Mojave with a new client, we settled in for the long drive home to LA. I should mention these guys are Progressive Rock artists, a genre I’ve long been intimidated by with its creators who are often highly trained and musically educated. We took turns DJing for each other off our iPhone playlists. The guitarist would play something which would remind me of something which would remind the singer of something and so we’d go. I was tentative at first, afraid my selections would be beneath them. I started with some indie rock, moved into Brit pop and finally ventured into an a cappella Malaysian siren song. They loved it. They commented on specific aspects of the songs, asked me if I knew the drummer to a friend’s track, bounced and nodded excitedly when a track really clicked for them. It was not about the genre. It was simply about good music. All those carefully cultivated and defended tribal lines of my youth have simply vanished; no longer of service. It was freeing, unifying. It was grown-up. I hid my sad whiff of nostalgia for indulging in a little music fan holier-than-thou-ness.

“You’ve got great music taste,” the singer remarked as we neared the engulfing lights of LA.  Well, yes, I agreed, thrilled by the compliment. Music genres and their fans may have all blurred into one tribe:  sometimes pop-filled, sometimes artist-driven, but defined by quality musicianship, writing or production (hopefully all three). And I may have become a kinder, gentler, more inclusively-minded music fan thanks to my musician friends. But my surly-teen music-snob heart finds solace in the fact that there is one music fan subset I can still deride: the tasteless. And with the wonderful subjectivity that is all art, I get to decide who they are.

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Meanwhile, On Another Channel

Our fourth video in our year-end shoot marathon could not have been more different in every way; theme, setting, equipment, approach.  Where our Rocket Scientist videos are structured and meticulously laid out (see my Reel tab), our shoots for Ted Wulfers reflects the laid back, beachy nature of his latest album. Not to say there is not plenty of structure behind the scenes. We had come up with the concept for Ted’s latest song two months ahead of time and I had been steadily gathering props, costumes and supplies, testing paints for effects and coming up with a look in collaboration with our model, the radiant Stacy Sellers.

Naturally, the optimal shoot day for Ted and crew was the day after the Rocket Scientist three video marathon weekend. But because I’d done so much prep and I knew the day would be easy going because that’s how Ted is. I was able to relax and enjoy (read: not totally panic).

We drove out to a Malibu beach to catch the golden light of a mid-winter afternoon and things came together better than I could have imagined. My partner had pared his equipment down to a mobile single backpack so we were very unobtrusive on the beach. The model turned on her special inner light and we filmed her frolicking on the beach. As whales spouted and pelicans swooped behind her, it was all more beautiful than we could have imagined.

Then we shot Ted playing, grinning and strumming in the waves. In the footage you can see that he genuinely wants you to enjoy that beautiful day as much as we did. It helps so much to have a client who is willing to trust our vision and be open to play. Despite the December sea, Ted was willing to throw himself, fully clothed, into the waves as the sun set.

The hardest thing about this edit will be narrowing down all the lovely footage we got. And I’m still sure there will be stuff we wish we had shot. There’s always another day, another beach, another song.

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