Trainee Writer

Adventures of a screenwriter in training…

Letting Trends Set You


Okay, so it’s been a little while since I updated this little blog of mine with any kind of insightful hints and tips into the craft of writing and – as usual – it’s been birthed by my recurring and endless struggle with writer’s block.

So in today’s long awaited post, I’m going to be exploring some ways of finding inspiration through social media. Actually, I’m going to be doing it from a single source of social media (a social medium?) that we all know and love to hate: Twitter.

funny-twitter-facebook

Now, even though I haven’t blogged about this myself (because, as anyone who has read my blog *ever* will attest, I update about once every four years) a lot of the expert writing teachers are strongly recommending that all aspiring writers flock to Twitter. It’s supposed to teach us about engagement, character voices, brevity and all sorts of things that I’ve forgotten are things. Basically, the message is ‘tweeting good’ and you should take this opportunity to follow me on Twitter so that you can receive great insights like this from me on the daily:

Yep. Insights.

So why am I talking Tweeting today? It wasn’t actually to shamelessly plug my own feed, surprisingly, but to point you to the one handy tool that can help the blocked writer find inspiration: the list of what’s trending.

Now, as most of my audience is probably aware, a lot of what Hollywood does (or the publishing industry – I don’t want to forget the budding novelists) is trend-based. They’re either trying to follow one or set one at all times. Now, obviously, unless you’re a super-powered self-publishing novelist, your chances of getting your work out there whilst a trend is ongoing on Twitter are approximately similar to my chances of persuading Mila Kunis to let me film her playing NES atop Mount Everest. That doesn’t make them useless…

Most writers are familiar with the concept of a ‘word prompt’ contest; Writing.com offers one almost daily and the basic concept is this: Every day you get a word. You write a short story, or poem or haiku or ransom note based upon that word. Winner gets plaudits.

Think of Twitter like the world’s biggest word prompt generator. Instead of getting one a day, the trending function gives you unlimited, ever-changing prompts every second of every day. And you can use these to inspire you to write your way out of that block. Don’t believe me? Let’s see what’s trending right now, and we’ll see if we can’t find some loglines in there…

Trends

What should be immediately apparent is that you can’t and won’t be able to use every trend to generate an idea. For example, Pokemon and Shutter Island are existing properties. I don’t own the rights to them, I can’t use them outright… but maybe we can take Shutter Island as a concept, not a property, and do something. Things like “Bellator 158” are okay to discard out of hand, though. Unless you have a great sports movie in mind, of course. MTV Hottest, likewise, doesn’t spark anything great.

So what does that leave? Let’s take a look.

Life Lessons In Five Words sounds for all the world like it has the potential to be some kind of romantic comedy or romance novel; think “Silver Linings Playbook” or similar. Let’s think about it some more; what might those five words be? We could look at the trend and see what people are replying with, but that’s cheating our creativity. Let’s pick those five words:

Live. Love. Laugh. Dream. Believe.

I think those are five strong words we can use. They would even be title cards if we played five acts, or leitmotifs to draw from. So where’s the logline here? How about this:

Life Lessons In Five Words

“A cubicle worker is inspired in a journey of self-discovery by a cryptic five word note that he receives in his father’s will.”

I can see that movie. I already know how that could go. It feels almost like the beginnings of a Nicholas Sparks book, doesn’t it? Let’s try another…

Unmade Film Prequels could be interesting in some ways. Obviously, this goes back to the rights issue: we don’t own any film franchises, so how can we write prequels?

Well, simple. An idea isn’t something that you can own. Just because James Bond exists, doesn’t mean that a similar idea like The Bourne Identity can’t. So, let’s think of a film and figure out what happened before it, and how we can make that idea into something original.

Let’s try Rocky out for size, just for the simple reason that it’s a movie that everyone knows with a simple premise: An unknown club boxer gets the chance to fight the heavyweight champion of the world and win the heart of the girl he loves. But what happens before we meet Rocky Balboa for the first time?

Think about what we know about him: He’s a small-time club boxer, he’s involved as some kind of enforcer for a loan shark, he’s a labourer. He loves animals. That’s a lot of unanswered questions to work with. Why did he become a boxer? How did he get involved with the mob? Why does he love animals so much? Rocky’s backstory could be a great movie.

So, let’s turn this into a logline:

Unmade Film Prequel: The Boxer

“After witnessing his father’s murder, a young farm hand trains as a boxer in an attempt to infiltrate the mob family who killed him.”

This character isn’t Rocky, but I’ve taken just a few unanswered questions from his past, given them an answer and spun a story from it. It makes sense in the context of who Rocky becomes, but it’s original enough that nobody can sue for it.

Now, I’m going to semi-skip “Turkey” for good reason: they’re currently having a bit of a sticky political situation (a coup which might eventually be a movie in its own right) but I will say this: there’s one hell of a Christmas or Thanksgiving comedy that could come from that as a name itself…

Finally, because I’ve now written more words in this entry than I ever intended, let’s circle back to “Shutter Island.” Now, obviously, that’s already a movie: an outstanding mystery-thriller set on a psychiatric facility on the eponymous island. That doesn’t mean that’s all the title has to offer. It’s time to channel my best Ted Mosby impression.

“Kids, way back in the day, we had this wonderful invention that we called a Dictionary, which was sort of like spellcheck but with some work involved. A Dictionary told us what words mean. It had a companion book that was also useful, called a Thesaurus. That told us what words were similar to the words in a dictionary. Together, they allowed us to do more with the English language.”

The kids, naturally, shrug at this point and return to Pokemon Go. But we’re going to go old school: we’re going to put the words ‘shutter’ and ‘island’ into a dictionary.

So, we learn that a ‘shutter’ can be a cover for an opening, a person who shuts (or closes) something or it’s a mechanical part of a camera lens. Those are things we can use for inspiration. And an island? Obviously, we have the geological definition of land surrounded by water. But it’s also something isolated, it can be a kitchen work surface, something a fuel pump sits on or a clump of woodland. That’s a lot of possibilities from two words. Maybe there’s something interesting about a man who photographs fuel pumps? Perhaps there’s a story about a hidden island in there. Interesting places to start. Let’s see what our Thesaurus throws our way, shall we?

So, a ‘shutter’ could be replaced with a screen, a cover, a shade or a curtain… all things which we use to hide things. Suddenly we’ve got a theme developing. Maybe our guy who photographs fuel pumps is doing it to solve a mystery? That’s certainly interesting. Can we add to that? I think we can.

Take a long look at some of the synonyms of the word ‘island’ and remember, we’re not necessarily taking them at what they mean in context.

Key. Refuge. Haven. Shelter. Retreat. Bar. These are all very evocative, versatile words. Maybe that fuel pump thing isn’t the most interesting thing we can do with the word ‘island’ after all. What if we take our photography theme and our mystery that needs solving and find a logline that looks a little like this:

“A photojournalist investigating a mysterious murder takes shelter among refugees in the aftermath of a tsunami.”

Yes, it needs work. It’s imperfect. But there’s a story there. You know that one of the refugees is going to be the killer without being told. You know that he’s got all kinds of difficulties to prevent him solving it. It’s a beginning.

And a beginning is the one thing every story has in common.

Try it for yourself, and let me know in the comments (or on Twitter) if you manage to make this work for you. It’s worked for me – my block is gone (for now!) – and now I have a whole bunch of new ideas to work on.

Keep writing, keep smiling.

Kriss

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July 16, 2016 Posted by | Ideas, lessons, screenwriting, specs, Theory, writing | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Frustrating Firsts


Remember the first time you typed the magical words “FADE OUT”? That feeling of accomplishment of having finished your first script and feeling ready to take on the world? Amazing, wasn’t it? So, for my first blog post in far too long, I want to address something that’s been bothering me of late – the debut screenplay.

Why has this been bothering me? Because in the 21st century, anyone with a laptop and a bootleg copy of Final Draft has decided that they’re a screenwriter, and they expect that their first 90-page (or, more usually, 72- or 175-page) effort will sell immediately and they’ll be catapulted to the Hollywood A-list. And it happens once per million scripts. In fact, your chances are only mildly slimmer of winning the lottery than they are of selling a debut script.

As a big internet trawler (it’s not ‘procrastinating,’ it’s research), I come across a lot of forum/discussion posts by folk who’ve written their first script and are asking how to sell it. Don’t waste the effort is my advice. Just open a new window, type FADE IN and start again. Even starting the post with “I’ve just written my first script, it’s AWESOME and AMAZEBALLS! Now, how do I get it to Tom Cruise?” is a massive waste of effort. Tom Cruise isn’t going to read your first script unless, if you ever become ‘lucky’ enough to make an impact on this business, become a major director and slowly befriend him, you decide to show it to him as a bit if a laugh twenty years from now.

See, your first script is a lot like those other milestone firsts in life: the first step, the first kiss, the first car, the first home, the first time you had sex… all felt like they were awesome at the time, right? Except you fell over after your first step, the first kiss was sloppy, awkward and too wet, the first car was a rust bucket that cost you £200 and you only got 100 miles out of and the first home was actually a dingy, damp room in a house that you shared with a crack addict and an unemployed musician who was “just working at Starbucks until I find a new drummer, man.” And the first time you had sex… well, I mean, I was pretty awesome the first time, but I know for most people it was probably the most exciting thirty seconds of their life before one of them had to use the time-honoured phrase “I’m sorry, that’s never happened to me before…”

See, it is a truth, universally acknowledged, that the first scripts every screenwriter – aspiring or successful – ever wrote was terrible. Mine would be charitably describable as a steaming pile of dog shit on a hot day. Most people have similar experiences to relate.

So kids, don’t sweat the first script… just get it done, put it in a draw, and use it as a learning tool. Zepplin wrote a lot of crap in the early days, too. And there’s a reason you’ve never heard any of it. The first five scripts (minimum) are your apprenticeship. They’re where you apply the lessons you learned from the last screenwriting book or blog you read. Sure, if the premise is good, they might one day see the light of day in some form; maybe you win an Oscar, remember the script you wrote about the Clown with AIDS when you were nineteen and decide to play with it again. I don’t know. But selling takes time. Don’t panic, don’t worry and – for the love of Christ – don’t go on the internet telling people it’s the greatest thing since Citizen Kane. Those of us who know better just treat such claims with mild amusement – and that includes every experienced writer, director and producer on the circuit.

I’ll be back very soon with an update on the irons I have in the fire, but until then… look after yourselves, and each other. (Springer ending!)

Kriss

March 28, 2013 Posted by | lessons, screenwriting, specs, writing | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Guest Blog: “Pilot Season” by Serge Kozak


The Pilot Season, what is before and what follows 

Pilot Season is usually the time of the year, when all TV series promoters produce prototypes of their new series, called “Pilot”.

What  actually is the development cycle of a TV series?

It starts in autumn, when a writer/producer with good reputation presents his or her idea for a new series to the network or studio.  If the latter like the idea, they decide to make a Pilot. The writer/producer works out the script of the Pilot. If they like the script, too, they start preparing for shooting the Pilot.

In the first months of the new year, a casting director is chosen to breakdown the script. The breakdown contains: the names of the producer, writer and director of the Pilot; the studio; the type of show (drama, sitcom, action, etc.); when and where the shooting will be; description and requirements of the roles to be cast. The casting director should find the regulars, co-stars and guest stars, about twenty actors altogether for a pilot. This happens in about ten weeks.

Then Pilot season comes, usually January to March, even June of late, which is the hectic casting time for all actors.

The order of auditions is as follows: pre-read with the casting director, callback for the producer, a second callback for the producer to make the final choice of actors. The studio and the selected actors then start a “test deal option” – a detailed negotiation between the actor’s agent and the business department of the studio, leading eventually to a contract of usually five years. This contract will be signed before the actor goes for a test before the executives in the studio.

This great audition is the moment of truth; there is no second chance for the actor that fails it, not even for the great ones. If the executives fall for the actor, he/she will go to the last, the network test before the executives of the network that will broadcast the show.

There are usually three or four actor competing at this stage, a very ugly but frequent situation. The winner however can count on at least $50 000 for fourteen days of shooting the Pilot. If the “actor’s option is picked up”, i.e. he/she is taken for the role in the series, big money is following – from $15 000 upwards per episode.

When a Pilot is ready, it goes to the network/studio along with the other pilots produced in the same time. Then a decision is made whether and which pilot will go to series.  This decision is announced at the so-called Up Fronts, a magnificent media event in New York in May, where the general public and the actors themselves come to know what the new season will look like and who will be in it. Series production starts in July or August.

Many pilots never reach the phase of series. Pity for the efforts and hopes.

Pilot Season is the event and time of the year that many actors build their life plans around. They all have to take part in it if they want to have a chance to end up on the TV screen. For families with children actors this could be a frustration, even a tragedy, when children are taken out of their common environment and forced to compete like the elders. That however is the price paid for early success.

Serge Kozak is the founder of Edictive, a studio management software and film marketing company.

October 6, 2012 Posted by | Guest Blog, networks, screenwriting, specs, writing | , , , , | Leave a comment

Looking after the pennies…


Inspired by a comment on Shades Of Grey by Jane Frost (Thanks, Jane!), I’ve finally found time – and a way – of talking about an oft-overlooked issue for the spec writer: budget. But this isn’t just about the cost of shooting your script, but the way everything you write on the page affects somebody on the production team and the importance of being aware of that. Ultimately, though, it all comes down to budget. Nobody wants to spend $100m producing a script by an untested writer – admittedly, there are a couple of exceptions – even if you have written the next Avatar. So in today’s lesson, we’re going to talk about the importance of making sure that your scripts are as production-friendly as possible. In an ideal world, a producer would love to see a script that he can shoot for free. He has more chance of finding a Golden unicorn ridden by a mermaid, of course, but the lower you can make the budget on your specs, the more chance you’ll have of someone producing it.

Making it as low-budget as possible should never mean you sacrifice quality, however. If your screenplay is a retelling of the 300 in space, it’s natural that we’re going to see massive fight scenes, lots of special and elaborate effects. I don’t see much chance you’d sell such a spec anyway – it’s a deliberately extreme example to illustrate my point – but always be aware.

So how do we tell the story we want whilst reducing budget to its bare minimum? Well, if you’re writing space-based sci-fi or the next Die Hard, I probably can’t help you too much. SFX will cost money and they’re genre staples. So here comes my first advice on that score: If you can write them, stick to the low-budget genres. What are the low-budget genres? They’re the ones that, when you walk into Blockbuster, you see hundreds of. (I’m assuming you still use Blockbuster. If you’ve gone strictly Netflix/LoveFilm you need to hunt down a Blockbuster and take a look sometime!) We’re talking horrors, psychological thrillers, comedies, romances, coming-of-age dramas and their crossovers and ilk. You see so many of these being made because they cost much less to produce. And people are making so many of them for exactly that reason: it’s good business. These genres have huge fanbases and a low-cost, which makes them infinitely profitable.

Interesting fact: Remember that scene in Swordfish where the helicopter is flying the bus around Los Angeles? That scene cost $13 Million to shoot. In The Bedroom (starring Tom Wilkinson, Sissy Spacek and Nick Stahl, written by Todd Field & Robert Festinger, directed by Field and produced by Good Machine Films) was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture that same year. Its total production budget? $1.6 million. You could almost have made that movie ten times for what it cost to shoot that one helicopter scene. You don’t have to go big budget to make a big impression.

To keep your budget low, there are some pretty obvious things to keep an eye on. First, you need to reduce the ‘essentials’ as much as possible. Kevin Smith shot Clerks for $28,000. How? It has three locations, around six actors and no special effects. It’s also a classic, won two awards at Cannes, one at Sundance and was nominated for three at Independent Spirit and launched Kevin Smith’s career.  Again, an extreme example, but it’s exactly what producers hope for – a break-out hit that cost (effectively) nothing to make and made a 1000% profit. And guess what? You could easily write the next Clerks if you just keep an eye on your budget as you write.

A good grounding for writing low-budget spec features is to become a student of TV, especially sitcoms. Sitcoms have a core cast of four-six and three or four regular locations. You can test this for yourself if you wish – look at any sitcom and count the locations that appear regularly. Friends had four (five in later seasons), Cheers essentially had two, Frasier three, How I Met Your Mother had two for the early seasons. TV, for the most part, writes to a lower budget. That’s why the lessons learned there are so good.

So what have we learned so far? Keep characters and Locations to a minimum. But how does this affect the rest of the production crew? Location scouts and set designers are often paid by the day – per diem – the less locations you have to find or build and the less locations you have to dress, the less time you need to have these guys on the payroll. That saves money. You can save even more money by keeping the events that go on inside a set as neutral as possible. If you destroy a set in your script, you have to redress it if it appears afterwards. Another day’s money for the set designer. Likewise, if you keep the number of cast members to a minimum, you have to spend less time casting them. That reduces the money you’re spending on casting directors. Also, less actors means less actors salaries. And the two play into each other, too. Try and choose less populous locations for your scenes; a scene at Grand Central Station will require not just hiring the station for a day (tres expensive anyway) or building a replica but also filling it with extras. If each extra is costing $80 a day, that adds up. Nobody is going to believe your lead is at Grand Central in the morning rush if there are five people milling around. Always be considering how busy your scene is versus the cost of it if you want it to appeal to a producer.

Now, my next piece of advice goes against the grain. Assuming you intend to forge a career as a writer rather than having a one-shot hit (if you do, great, but it’ll take much, much longer) then your first sale is most likely going to be a production company you’ve never heard of, one you’ll Google a hundred times to check they’re legit, and they’re going to want the budget to come in just above zero whilst shooting in ten days. An easy way to achieve this is to fly against accepted technique – and it is technically very wrong in the world of features – and tell, don’t show. Obviously, if you’re submitting to top dogs or people who read too many screenwriting books without getting any real knowledge, they’re going to hate this. But here’s a simple home truth: Sometimes you can save money by having actors talk more. Again, Clerks is the best example of this. Rather than showing events that affect the story, the characters simply talk about them. Why? Because showing them required building an extra set, finding an extra location or hiring an extra dozen actors. You have to be skilled at this though. Don’t turn your film in to a monologue or have an extended scene filled with a conversation about ‘that time we were involved in that massive car chase where seventeen people died, that oil tanker exploded and half the LAPD smashed up their vehicles’ unless there’s a punchline. Because people would rather see that stuff. But in situations where you can save a scene by having someone talk about it, do it. I see a lot of writers using flashbacks to show trivial events and, yes, it’s great in theory. It adds colour. But shooting that insert gag where we see the guy running through the Mall Of America in a mankini being chased by dogs is going to cost money. And it’s just as funny as an anecdote in the scene you flashed back from.

Again, reduction of scenes, characters and budgets.

Assuming you absolutely must fulfill some latent desire to write the next Star Wars, I’ll give you a little advice regarding budgets and special effects: Minimise the use of special effects as much as possible, and always be thinking about their plausibility. I always wanted to see a film where the guy gets kicked off the space shuttle and his helmet comes off, forcing his head to explode. But you can’t just force an actor to put an M-80 in his mouth and film it. How are you going to shoot those pick-ups later on? Besides, I bet M-80s taste horrible. To do it more practically – and legally – you’re going to have to use CGI. CGI requires hundreds of man hours by animators and technicians. They don’t work for a daily rate, either – most charge by the hour. If that head-exploding scene needs a hundred animators putting in a hundred hours each at $100 an hour, that’s a million bucks you just added to your budget. I could shoot Clerks 33-ish times for that. Imagine you go more elaborate – Waterworld, for example. I know of several SFX experts who laughed when they heard about that film. Set designers panicked. You, as a newbie spec writer, cannot write that sort of film and hope to sell it as your debut picture.

You may not be a SFX guru yourself, but always be thinking of the plausibility of any special effects. Stunts apply here, too. As a golden rule, if you’ve never seen something similar done, assume it can’t be. It may not leave room for originality, but therein lies the challenge. Earn respect for that first work, though, and people will listen to the next one.

My final word on this – for now – relates to setting again. But not locations. Oh no. We’re going to talk time. See, you may have looked through the first few paragraphs and thought ‘Well, I’ve got a comedy, it has three actors, one location and no SFX. But it’s set in the 1720s.’ Guess what? That’s your budget through the roof. Period pieces cause untold hell for location managers, set designers, prop masters and costume designers. They now have to find or build locations that are architecturally relevant to the time period, design and make costumes that are period-appropriate and make sure that none of the props are anachronistic. Often these jobs cross over each other, causing chaos, confusion, extended production time and major, major headaches and budget problems. This came to mind as I have a passion piece I’ve been planning for a while; a TV teen drama set in the 1920s. I’ve wanted to try this for a while but, in my heart, I know I can’t sell it on spec. I can’t sell this until I have the credits to establish my credentials as a writer, a showrunner and (probably) a producer.  Will it stop me writing it? No. Will I be pitching it? No. Not until I have a reputation that means I can demand that agents, producers, networks and studios trust me with their time to pitch it. So there goes my final piece of advice for spec writers: Avoid period specs entirely.

I’ll be back as I think of more (maybe Jane will spot something I missed. Feel free to weigh in, Jane!) but, in the meantime, I’d like to invite you all to join my Writing Workshop & Forum. We’ve started slowly, but I’m eternally grateful to the eight members who’ve joined so far; we’re all welcoming enough that you’ll enjoy your stay, and don’t be disheartened by the lack of activity so far. We’re still taking baby steps, so come along, post whatever’s on your mind, ask questions and enjoy. Whilst I’m plugging things, I’d also like to recommend a new social networking site for industry personnel, aspiring or otherwise: Stage32. It’s basically Facebook for the film industry. Except without getting a thousand invites to join Farmville every hour.

On a very personal note, I’d also like to plug a favourite charity of mine, which you’ll see advertised in the sidebar to the right also. They’re called To Write Love On Her Arms, a charity that focuses on helping people – particularly young people – who are struggling with depression, self-harm issues, addictions and suicidal feelings. I’m pretty open about the fact that I’ve suffered with all four problems, and I wish there were more charities who were willing to reach out and help folk with them. I don’t want to guilt anyone into doing it or beg, but I would like to ask that if you’ve enjoyed my blog and found anything I’ve posted useful, please click on either the link above or the one to the right and help them out a little. Even if it’s only a dollar, I’m certain they can put it to good use. Who knows? One day I or someone you love could use their help. The work they do is so valuable, so important, and I cannot state my passion for helping them out strongly enough.

Until next time, in the words of Jerry Springer, take care of yourselves… and each other.

K xx

October 2, 2011 Posted by | lessons, networks, screenwriting, specs, Theory, writing | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Shades Of Grey


Though the name might suggest I plan more discussion on characterisation, I actually want to discuss another grey area in screenwriting. The near-sale.

Just as there are three acts to a screenplay, there are three ‘acts’ to the career of a screen writer. Act one, as always, is the beginning.

In act one, our hero – you – has decided that s/he wants to write a screenplay. To do this, they have certain things they must accomplish before setting out on their journey towards success. They must learn the craft, the format and the art of storytelling. They must find their story and work out how they’ll tell it, planning meticulously as they do so.

In ‘act 3’ we find our conclusion as the hero finally makes a sale, finally sees some money in their pocket, their name in lights and earns the title of ‘professional screenwriter.’

My focus today is on the second ‘act’ of the screenwriter’s story, which I call the ‘grey area.’ As with a screenplay, act two is often the most torturous, emotional rollercoaster on the writer’s journey. It has highs and lows, twists and turns, brings happiness and heartbreak. The grey area is the longest part of our story, but it’s also the one with the greatest learning experience along the way.

The grey area covers that wonderful time between our initial education and our first sale, a time when we’re regularly completing scripts and trying to market them. How long does this period last, you ask? As long as a piece of string. Some get lucky, selling their first script within weeks. Others, myself included, wait years within touching distance of that first sale.

For years we plug away, knowing that what we produce is good enough. But still the producers don’t call, the agents don’t respond, the futures looks bleaker. It looks bleaker, but it’s an illusion. The future doesn’t ever get bleaker; we’re always learning something new to take us forward and make our futures brighter.

So why write this particular post? Hope, I guess. I wanted an excuse to renew my own, but also to give other screenwriters in the same position, who feel stranded in the ‘grey area’ a little hope of their own. To reach out and to tell you – all of you – that you’re not alone. That your frustrations are understood by your peers.

More importantly, I wanted you to know that, if you keep plugging away, that first sale will come. It will. That much I promise you. And should I ever sound like I’m losing that hope when I post here, I want you, all of you who read this, to jump on me and remind me of what I said.

September 20, 2011 Posted by | lessons, screenwriting, specs, Theory, writing | , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

[Development Diary] – Improper Representation #2


I’m so excited to be able to say this, but my new pilot, Improper Representation is now at a stage where I think I can call it ‘complete.’ Of course, no script is ever completely finished; every so often you go back and change a word here, a phrase there, you get a note about something from someone, etc.

That said, I’m very happy with the current draft; it’s only the second pass I’ve taken at it but it’s already looking near-near perfect and has had some very positive reviews so far.

Writing this script has been another wonderful learning experience for me. Being a comedian, it comes as a surprise to people when they learn that I don’t write many comedy-based scripts. In fact, this is the first teleplay I’ve written that deliberately crosses into the genre, and reviews suggest that it’s funny, intelligent and culturally relevant, which are three things I was shooting for but didn’t know I could achieve.

On the off-chance any producers or agents are reading this, Improper Representation is available to read upon request, with a logline available on the My Work section of the site.

For those regular readers looking for me to write another formal lesson, I play to post my thoughts on creating great dialogue on Wednesday at the latest.

August 22, 2011 Posted by | Development Diaries, Improper Representation, screenwriting, specs, writing | , , , , , | 2 Comments

[Development Diary] Improper Representation – #1


It feels strange to me to be writing a development diary about something I’ve completed a draft of; usually I write these to explain my writing process and to help myself to organize some of my thoughts semi-coherently. With Improper Representation it’s all been very different to my usual methodology.

Ordinarily, an idea hits me, I scribble some note down, play with the idea in my head for a few days and sit down to write it, piece-by-piece, as the ideas come to me. In this case, the idea just hit me, so I scribbled down the basic premise (which was ever-so-slightly longer than a logline) named my characters and – BOOM! – got straight into the writing of it. Two sittings later (around six hours total, for those interested – no, I have no idea where that burst of writing energy came from either) I have a completed first draft of a thirty-page pilot script.

So what’s it about? Scott Weismann, 26, is a disgraced lawyer who flees the scene of his troubles (New York City) to return home to Los Angeles. After catching up with his high-school best-friend JJ, an out-of-work actor, he goes on a job hunt around the city only to find out that his reputation has preceded him. Nobody will hire him.

JJ, meanwhile, finds himself caught up in some office politics; his sister Rosie is in the mail room at a major talent agency -the agency that represents him – and whilst waiting for a meeting with his agent, he sees her being sexually harassed by her boss. After confronting her about it and a long wait he finally meets with his agent, who promptly informs him that he’s being dropped from the agencies books.

After lunch with the two boys, Rosie feels empowered. Called in by the boss, who wants to pimp her out to attract a new, A-list client, she finally reaches her breaking point, making his sexual harassment public and quitting her job. The three friends are at a crossroads. They’re all unemployed, all needing a new opportunity but maybe, just maybe, their shot at the American dream is staring them right in the face.

What happens next? You’ll have to wait and see if someone buys it to find out.

So that’s it, job done. Right? Nope. Now I’ve completed the first draft and, as is my custom, I’ve submitted it for review by my peers over at American Zoetrope (link is in the sidebar on the right) to see what they think; the advice they gave me was invaluable when I was creating Holland Park and I’m hoping they can be of the same help to me this time. Aside from them, the only people likely to read it before I have a final draft ready for pitching are close friends and family.

That said, it’s at this point that the most emotional investment goes into a script; whilst you might pour a small part of yourself into the writing, the characters and the story – an often-cathartic experience – the really emotional part is waiting for the reviews.

As a writer, or any kind of artist, you (and, in turn, your projects) live and die by their reviews. No matter how confident you are of your writing abilities, you never truly know how good something is until you show it to the world. If people love it, you feel on top of the world. If they think it sucks then, well, that sucks. The important thing is to keep fighting, to take any and all suggestions aboard and move on to the next project.

My next project? Well, aside from getting caught up with my reading for the contest, (I’ve had quite a few submissions so far. If you’re one of them, don’t panic, I’m getting there!) I’ve got another concept in mind that looks like it’s leaning towards being ether a sitcom or a romantic comedy feature, which I’m actively plotting right now.

I also have planning in motion for a new feature, which I’ve given the working title Invisible and tells the story of three teenage runaways trying to make a better life for themselves whilst living on the streets. It’s looking like this is going to be the grittiest, most emotional drama I’ve ever written. But that’ll be another [DD] for another day…

Until then, take care.

Kriss x

August 5, 2011 Posted by | Development Diaries, specs, writing | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Competition: It’s good for the soul.


As my regular readers will know – thank you for being a regular reader, by the way – I’m something of an oddity among screenwriters, because my main goal, my focus as an artist (that sounds pretentious, but writing is art, okay?) isn’t primarily on the golden ticket, the cash cow that is feature films. That isn’t to say that I don’t or can’t write them. After all, the principle is roughly the same with both media. But I’m one of the breed that would rather write for television than see my name stuck in the small print at the bottom of a movie poster every couple of years.

The trouble with being a television writer is how little support there actually is for the budding television writer. There are thousands more guides to writing for features than television out there, both on the web and in bookstores. There are arguably more opportunities to break into features in an age where everybody with a digital camera can become a director-producer-whatever else you want to hyphenate in there.

In television, you write thousands of specs, mail them out to anyone with a postal address who might vaguely know someone who occasionally does catering on the set of Days Of Our Lives in the hope that someone, anyone up there will read it and decide you’ve got what it takes. You call and e-mail hundreds of agents, literary or otherwise, hoping that one of them will say that they’ll read it and represent you. You get an unfathomable amount of rejections.

There are so many independent movie production companies at this time that if you shop a half-way decent 90 page script for long enough, someone will option it for way below Guild minimum and produce it on a shoestring budget. You’ll see your name in lights, on that movie poster, but in reality, very few people will actually see the fruits of your labour.

Despite that, the feature writer is rewarded, supported and encouraged. Not just by their thousands of peers on wonderful sites such as Triggerstreet and Zoetrope, but by the hundreds of people out there willing to run (and sponsor) competitions that offer the budding feature writer some much-needed affirmation.

In television, we don’t have that support. Going from the top of my head, the only two television pilot contests I’m aware of are the excellent TVWriter.com “People’s Pilot” contest and the ongoing Storyboard.tv contests, which have received mixed reviews. Aside from that… nothing. Some film festivals – usually the minor ones – offer contests for television writing, but at the cost of extortionate entry fees with no real benefit of exposure from them. There are plenty of festivals for produced television pilots, too. But nobody really offers the humble television writer the chance to get that positive affirmation.

With that in mind, within the coming hours I intend to launch a television writing competition of my own. Sort of. It’s not strictly a contest in traditional terms – there’s no cash prize, there’s no option or production deal on offer. The prize is something arguably more valuable: exposure.

For this contest, there will be no entry fee and no exaggerated promises. There is no deadline. You will receive feedback from me for your entries and you can enter as many times as you like. If I like what I read, I’ll post my review on the blog for the world to see and make the script available to download.

Why does that benefit you? Frankly, I’m something of a publicity whore. Every time I post to my blog, I pimp the link all over the net: On Zoe, on Twitter, on Facebook and to over 1000 industry professionals by posting the link to the various groups on LinkedIn of which I’m a member.

By the time you read this, I’ll either be in the process of or have already finished adding a page to this website giving all the competition details. The contest will be open to entries in the form of 30-minute sitcoms (pilots and specs), hour-long dramas (pilot and spec) and 30-minute soap operas (pilot and spec.) I’ll read anything written for television, with the exception of MOWs – you can enter those in most feature contests – as long as it’s in English. Though I may also consider scripts in French, Spanish and German (e-mail first to check, they’ll take me much longer to read and review. Especially if you want the feedback in one of those languages!)

Submissions are being accepted NOW. Click here for details.

I look forward to reading your submissions.

Kriss

August 2, 2011 Posted by | Contests, screenwriting, specs, writing | , , , , , | 1 Comment

Speculate To Accumulate


I know, it’s a cheesy-as-hell title. You’ll get over it, because what I want to talk to all of you about today (and it’s a growing number; I couldn’t have dreamed so many people would be reading my little screenwriting blog – thank you!) is every aspiring television writer’s biggest nightmare: the spec script.

Whilst I am not an expert – and if you’ve mistaken me one, I’m sorry. In this field they rarely exist – I just wanted to give you my point of view on this whole messy area.

Read any book, listen to the advice of any old-school screenwriting guru and they’ll talk about the spec script until the cows come home. They’ll tell you the following almost entirely too vague things:

  • Write an episode of a popular show that’s currently on the air.
  • Never write an episode of a show in its first season.
  • Never write an episode that continues, or makes reference to, a series’ story arc. As an addendum to this, they’ll tell you to (essentially) ‘always put things back where you left them’ – especially when writing a sitcom.
  • Never introduce a major new character.
  • Never try to get too ‘cute’ or ‘clever’ with your script; always write an episode that fits with the tone of the show.

Okay, perhaps not actually all that vague. And, for the most part, solid advice. But that doesn’t tell you what you should be speccing or how to work out what your script should be about. So I’m going to give you the benefit of my $0.02.

First of all, we should assess the aforementioned rules.

Write an episode of a popular show that’s currently on the air is good advice, but should never be taken as gospel when speccing for a show. Sometimes there are no good shows on the air in a particular genre. Trying to find a decent political drama on the air in 2011 is like trying to find Charlie Sheen in rehab – you know it should be easy, but it’s just not happening. So what do you do?

Well, you have two choices: the first is to write an episode of the best show ever made in the genre you’re struggling to find a current example of. If that’s a political show, that means writing an episode of The West Wing. The other is to take what some ‘gurus’ might tell you is a huge risk and write a spec pilot for a show in that genre. If you can pull it off – and, to be honest, if you can write a West Wing then a pilot in that genre should be a cakewalk – you’ve told your potential agent or employer two things: ‘yes, I can write a political show’ and ‘yes, I am capable of creating a show of my own.’

An offshoot of this advice is when there’s only one show on the air in a genre, when a modern show bears similarities to an older one or if the showrunner/production company has a history of predominantly working in the same genre. Under those circumstances, the choice becomes a little harder. The spec pilot is always an option, but if I were trying to get a staff job on Fringe, for example, that would not be the path I’d take.

Fringe, created by JJ Abrams, is basically a science fiction detective show. Each week our heroes go out and solve a case that brings them one step along the myth arc. So if we’re not going to write a spec pilot, which was are we going to go? Well, Fringe, bears striking similarities to one of the greatest sci-fi shows of all time: The X-Files. So one option to get to that writers’ table is to write a really good X-Files spec. Every book you’ll ever read will probably tell you this is a horrible idea; there’s a whole generation of TV execs who’ve never seen the show. But this is my blog, so I’ll give you the advice I think makes sense.

If you also think that’s a risk, I’ll present you with a ‘Plan B’ – JJ Abrams’ production company, Bad Robot, was also the force behind a very similar show, Alias. You can pick up a series box set for peanuts these days, watch it over a couple of weeks and get all fuzzy over unraveling the Rambaldi mystery. Now write an episode of the show (I’d recommend something that slots in mid-second season or late-fourth, to demonstrate you can add to or carry the show’s mythology) that they never did, that works within the boundaries of the show.

Never write an episode of a show in its first season is advice given for the following two reasons:

  1. You don’t know if it’s going to be popular enough to get a second.
  2. You don’t have enough episodes to watch to get to know the characters properly.

The first part is true, and it’s a risk you’d have to knowingly take; understand that, if you do, the show may get cancelled and, if it does, it probably didn’t have the popularity to guarantee that any decision makers saw it. And if they didn’t see your show, they’re not going to understand how brilliant your script is.

The second part, however, is an outright lie. I know people are going to point me to a thousand other blogs where guys who wrote a million episodes of Star Trek say the opposite, so let me counter with this question: when was the last time you saw a show in which all the first-season episodes were written by the same writer? The only shows I can think of, in recent years, that had the same writer throughout the first season were Aaron Sorkin’s masterpieces of television, The West Wing and Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip.

So ask riddle me this: if one guy wasn’t writing every episode, that means more than one person must’ve been involved in the writing; how did they get to know the characters so quickly? Exactly – I’m not just picking wholes in the accepted wisdom, I’m also offering a new perspective. It’s perfectly acceptable to write an episode of a show in its first season; the truth is that the producers of that show will never read your script whilst that show is on the air anyway because of the massive legal minefield that puts them in. Which brings me to another point:

Always remember, when writing a spec script, that you’re not writing for the show you’re trying to get a job on. I promise you that David Shore is not reading House specs. I promise you that Al Jean (I’m assuming he’s the head honcho right now, it changes so often it’s hard to keep track)  is not reading Simpsons specs. And I promise you that Kevin Williamson is absolutely not going to read that Vampire Diaries script you’ve poured your heart and soul into. Or lack of soul. I’m not sure how that works with vampire shows.

If you’re speccing, spec for the opposite show. The rival show. Every showrunner has a vague idea of what their nearest rival in the genre is about, what they’re doing, etc. You want to write for House? Write a Grey’s Anatomy or a Castle. Want to write for The Simpsons? Show them a really good Family Guy. Want to write for The Vampire Diaries? Show them a great Pretty Little Liars or Dawson’s Creek. (Why Dawson’s? Remember what I said about ‘unique shows’ and ‘showrunners’ previous work’? KW created Dawson’s Creek.)

Never write an episode that continues, or makes reference to, a series’ story arc is theoretically good advice. And I thoroughly disagree with it. What if the show you’re speccing for often has several story arcs running at once? Dramas and soap operas often do. This is the one area I would absolutely advise not writing for a show in its first season. Why? Because you can always spec that ‘missing’ first season episode, elongating a story arc by 46 pages and showing how neatly you could’ve slipped into that writers’ room and contributed.

As an addendum to this, they’ll tell you to (essentially) ‘always put things back where you left them’ – especially when writing a sitcom. I actually agree, in part, with this addendum; the convention with animated sitcoms dictates that thirty minutes later everything goes back to normal. However, a large number of live action sitcoms do have a continuing storyline (Arrested Development being a prime example) that is constantly called back to but almost all of them do occasionally take a break for a stand-alone, animation-style episode. Frasier was particularly good at this.

Never introduce a major new character. Never, ever do this. Seriously. If you think there should be wiggle room on this, that I should have some counterpoint, you’d be wrong. Imagine reading a Simpsons episode and – boom – in walks Bobby Simpson, Marge and Homer’s 15 year-old eldest son that we’ve never seen before. And he’s still there at the end of the episode. You could get away with it if you write him out by the end (as they did with Herb, Homer’s older brother) but, for the most part, it’s best to stick with the show’s regular characters. Only staff writers can get away with such big moves and, well, sometimes they go wrong. The Cosby family had more grandparents than the average nursing home.

Never try and get too ‘cute’ or ‘clever’ with your script; always write an episode that fits with the tone of the show. This sounds like basic advice, but you’ll be surprised how often people submit things that they think are ‘quirky’ or ‘interesting’ enough to make them stand out in the mind of the reader. That episode of House you’ve written where the good doctor decides he wants to try being a blacksmith for the day and cures some obscure equine illness will stand out ad the reader will remember you – at best, for being an absolute whack job; at worst, for being a terrible writer. Either way, it’ll probably be the last of your screenplays they agree to read.

That said, a trend has begun recently for writing modernized versions or classic shows; 21st century-style episodes of Lucy or Bewitched have been known to capture the attention of readers as a novelty spec. And 21st century-styled episodes of things like Charlie’s Angels and Knight Rider have, terrifyingly, even started to go into production.

Now, having deconstructed the ‘rules’ of the plot, I’m yet t answer the question that I wrote this with the intent of answering. What exactly should you be speccing?

Well, you need to be conscious of two things: the genre you want to be working in and what everybody else is submitting.

So what genre do you want to write for? This is the most important question you’ll ever ask yourself as a writer and, very rarely, is ‘any’ the answer. In addition, what genres are you qualified to write for? You can research your House spec until you go blue in the face and probably produce a great one, but if you don’t have any medical knowledge, that’s going to take you months. But the great script is all that matters, right? The foot in the door? Not necessarily.

Should you be lucky enough to make it onto a top-rated medical drama, you’re going to be expected to turn in a script, at times, in under a month. Sometimes (although rarely) it could be less than a week. You might not have time to research a fantastical medical disease to keep viewers enthralled in that time, and Dr. Gregory House doesn’t deal with cases of the flu, no matter how entertaining your B-story featuring Wilson, Cuddy and Thirteen entering a speedboat race is.

So what should you be writing? Always start with a show or genre you know well. From my point of view, and speaking on a general basis, the genres I know best are teen dramas, police, legal and medical procedurals, sitcoms, reality-based sci-fi and female-oriented dramedy; what I don’t know is alien-based sci-fi, action, horror or soap operas. So I’m going to be very, very uncomfortable speccing a Coronation Street (or General Hospital for my American readers) or an episode of Battlestar Galactica because I don’t watch those shows. I don’t know the characters, the formats nor the genres.

On the flip side, I can very easily write a West Wing, House, Cougar Town or One Tree Hill. The lesson here is to always play to your strengths and, as Mark Twain once said, “write what you know.”

The other piece of advice I’ll give (gleaned from years of reading screenwriting books and other writers’ blogs, I’ll admit) is to be smart about what you spec. Never write for the most popular show in a genre if you can help it. Everyone who wants to do procedurals is speccing House or Law & Order or CSI now. Everybody who wants to do animated comedy is writing a Simpsons, Family Guy or South Park and, frankly, both are best avoided by now just because almost every plot that can be done has been done.

So, to close – and help you out – I’ve compiled a list of the shows for each television genre that I feel are worth speccing. This list is not exhaustive, but intended to provide inspiration. Incidentally, if you’re reading this, now would be a good time to check the date I’ve posted it (May 16th 2011), because these lists only have around a 12-month shelf life. Hopefully I’ll have posted a newer one by then anyway. Click the ‘spec lists’ tag to find out.

  • Action: 24, Sons Of Anarchy, Spec Pilot.
  • Cartoon: You probably still can’t go wrong writing a Tom & Jerry or Scooby-Doo, to be honest.
  • Animated Sitcom: American Dad, Robot Chicken, King Of The Hill, anything [Adult Swim].
  • Teens: Just take a look at the Disney or Nick listings; personally, I’d recommend Victorious, Big Time Rush or Wizards Of  Waverly Place. Spec pilots can be strong here.
  • Historical: The Tudors, Spartacus or Boardwalk Empire. Also a strong spec pilot genre.
  • Science fiction: Battlestar Galactica, Fringe and V seem to be popular. Flashforward and Jericho make great novelty pilots. If you want to go retro go X-Files or take a risk with a Dark Angel or Mutant X.
  • Fantasy: True Blood, The Vampire Diaries, Buffy/Angel, Spec pilot.
  • Dramedy: So much scope here. Glee fits. Otherwise, Desperate Housewives, Ally McBeal, spec pilot.
  • Legal: The Good Wife.
  • Western: You have a choice here: Go retro with a Lone Ranger, modern-ish with a Deadwood or go post-modern with a Firefly. To be honest, this is a genre crying out for a good spec pilot.
  • Serial Drama: To be honest, you can throw s stone and hit one. Still stuck? Brothers & Sisters or maybe Treme.
  • Teen Drama: Hellcats, Pretty Little Liars, The Secret Life Of The American Teenager, 90210, Gossip Girl, The O.C. or Dawson’s Creek. If you feel super-ballsy, you could write a Veronica Mars or Life UneXpected, but definitely avoid writing a One Tree Hill. It’s just going into its ninth (and probably last) season, and people have been reading them for the last nine years.
  • Sitcom: So many to pick from, I’ll tell you which ones nobody wants to see another of for a while: Friends, Earl, Will & Grace. Only submit a Frasier if it’s exceptionally funny. Otherwise, go wild.
  • Soap opera: To be honest, they’re all the same and they’re only going to be read by soap opera producers. Best avoided, but if you must, be very careful on character usage. Watch a few weeks’ worth, you’ll see what I mean. And if you don’t, ask.
  • Police procedural: Rookie Blue is supposed to be the best thing to pilot in this genre at the moment. Though, if you get desperate, swing for a spec pilot and mid-season episode combo.
  • Medical: Everyone is sick of reading House and Grey’s now. Write a spec pilot, maybe write an ER or an episode of Mental. Not a wide choice in the medical genre in today’s market.

On that note, one last, all-encompassing pilot secret. One I shouldn’t be telling you because I’m going to dump one on the market myself soon: Get writing Castle specs. It covers three genres (police procedural, serial drama and dramedy), has strong characters and masses of unexplored potential. And, actually, the best spec I’ve ever read was a Castle that I reviewed recently by my friend Jennifer Zinone. Maybe, if I ask her nicely, she’ll let me upload it for you to read. Either way, definitely remember her name, she’s gonna be huge.

Until next time,

Peace x

May 16, 2011 Posted by | lessons, screenwriting, specs, writing | , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments