A far-reaching question comes to us today, Gentle Readers, from acquaintance-of-the-blog Michael. He actually asks a whole network of questions, about getting feedback and constructive criticism from others, and about how to respond to the note, "make it more 'special,'" and about what it means when a script you like is rejected in some way.

Okay. Well, first the basics. Get notes. Absolutely. Seek out readers whom you trust and take their advice seriously. Ask them open-ended questions about what worked for them and what didn't work. If you get a strange note like "make it more 'special,'" ask what they mean. Don't argue with them or defend what you've done. Just take in their suggestions and reactions, and then sort through them to find the ones that help and discard the rest.

Usually, writers have a hard time making recommended changes that they really need to make, but Michael's questions bring up the other side of that page. It is possible to put too much stock in notes. One person's opinion isn't necessarily right, and not winning a competition is even more meaningless -- how do you know you didn't lose by a coin flip to the equally-amazing script that won? So don't feel that you have to make a bunch of changes that you don't agree with, in order to aim at some mysterious target in the mist. The target is not mysterious at all. The target is a tight intelligent script that you like. You will be able to recognize it when you've written it. That's the key: Notes are there to help you write something you like more than what you wrote unassisted.

If you've lost sight of whether you like your own script and whether or not the suggestions you're getting will make you like it more or less, then set the whole mess aside for two weeks while you write something else. When you pick it up again, you'll probably be able to look at it more objectively and you'll be able to make those decisions.

Thanks for the question, Michael -- hope this helps!

Lunch: Mulholland Grill. Chilled gazpacho and a beet salad. Excellent, although there should've been more beets.
Jane on 08.31.07 @ 04:41 PM PST [link]

So, you've got your ABC/Disney and Warner Brother's applications all submitted, maybe something for Slamdance, too, and now you feel like you're in limbo. What should you do now?

Write! You don't have another deadline breathing down your neck right now for which you have to spec an existing show. So this is the perfect time to write original material. Write a couple spec pilots -- a comedy and a drama, perhaps. Write some one-act plays and submit them to play-writing contests. Write a short film script. Write a feature. Write short stories and send them to magazines and journals. Write a comic book. Write a novel if you've got the patience/time/confidence.

Read books about writing and apply what you learn. Read film and television scripts and notice how they work. Outline your favorite episodes of television as you're watching them. Fill notebooks with creative ideas that you can go back to years from now when you've got a looming pitch meeting and you need something fast!

Make friends with writers. Take writing classes, join writing networks, chat with other writers on the net. Heck, start a writing discussion group if you can't find one in your area.

You might feel as though you should be doing something more active -- landing that writers' assistant job, for example -- but if there isn't progress in that direction at the moment, take it as an opportunity to write write write. Because when someone finally says, "hey, send me something so I can see your stuff," you really, really want to be ready. You want to say: "I have an original pilot, a humorous short film script and a feature script for an action movie; which would you like to see?" You don't want to say, "Sure, I have something I just need to polish and then I'll send it along," because that tells the person you only have one script and it's not even done! Think about it. If someone said that to you today, what answer would you give?

Lunch: cold stuffed tortellini from the salad bar

Jane on 08.30.07 @ 12:16 PM PST [link]

Gentle Reader and friend-of-friend-of-the-blog Chris in Los Angeles writes in with a wonderful technical question. She (or he) says:

How would you format a montage of still photos with voiceover? Should I write in the location of each picture on the Scene Heading Line? Or can I put some kind of overall "Montage" note and then describe what's in each picture, one by one? If that's the case, what should I put on the scene heading line?

First off, let me just say that this is the kind of stuff that drives newer writers nuts, because they're worried about doing it wrong, about breaking a rule. The fact is, however, that when you're faced with an unusual situation, the best way to do it is just to be as clear as possible for the reader and not worry too much about rules. This means, of course, that different writers would tackle this situation in different ways, and none of them would be correct or incorrect.

Now, I assume you're not talking about panning across a mantelpiece and showing us the photos there, because then I don't think you'd be asking about the scene heading and using the word 'montage'. But anyway, just for completeness, if it was the mantelpiece thing, it would probably go like this (please forgive any indentation oddness):

INT. LIVING ROOM

We PAN ACROSS a series of photos on the mantelpiece: A WEDDING PHOTO from the 1960s...

Some shows use a different kind of outline than you might've seen before. It's actually a sort of pre-outline, and it reads more like a traditional prose short story than you might be used to. It doesn't indicate act breaks, it just tells the story of the episode from beginning to end. And, get this, it tells the A-story separate from any secondary stories.

Can you picture the kind of document I'm talking about? It starts with a brief one-paragraph summary of the episode as a whole -- a little recap that sums up the reasons for telling the episode -- what does it mean? Then the next section is all A-story, all the time, a prose walk-through of those events, generally told scene-by-scene but without explicitly giving scene headings. Then the B-story is laid out, beginning to end, and then, if there's a substantial enough C-story to merit it, it can have its own section, too.

Here's a mini-example, using a fake ep of a fake show I'm making up as I go for the sake of exemplarity.


"Clarity"

Summary: When does a false memory of abuse itself become abuse? Jeremy discovers that he does have symptoms of trauma, not from any childhood events, but from years of exposure to an unethical therapist who has planted false traumatic memories. At the same time, his wife Amy is called to their son's school because the boy has been taunting the classroom's pet rat. Amy and Jeremy have to face the fact that their own psychological problems might have been handed down to their child. In the end, just as Jeremy is himself feeling more stable, another call comes from the school... and this one is more serious.

JEREMY'S STORY
We start out in JEREMY's head as he sleeps, in a dream set in his childhood - CHILD-JEREMY listens to his parents fighting in another room. Only there's an additional character in the dream. Jeremy's therapist, GRAYSON, is there, directing the scene as if it was a movie. Jeremy wakes up to find he's alone in bed.

He heads to work, but we can see that he's still pondering the message of the dream... [MORE-- ALL THE WAY TO THE END OF THE A-STORY]

AMY'S STORY
AMY gets an early-morning phone call from her son's teacher. She's been unable to reach Amy at any other time. Amy slips out of bed without disturbing Jeremy, feeling guilty that her work is removing her from family life so much that she wasn't available for the call. The teacher asks Amy if she can come in to the school to meet with her about something "sort of urgent." Puzzled, Amy agrees. [MORE-- TO THE END OF THE B-STORY]


See how that goes? I haven't written very many of these in my career. It always seemed to me like an odd stutter-step to tease the stories apart so you can tell them with narrative flow, when they're not going to appear that way in the finished script at all. And yet, whenever I do employ this step, I'm shocked at how useful it is. Especially when it comes to checking secondary stories for internal coherence.

It's easy to think of a B-story as a series of scenes that are useful for commenting on and transitioning in and out of the main story scenes. Being forced to tell a B-story in a compelling way that stands alone can help you make sure it's doing more than that.

Also, I think any step that forces you to think hard about all your stories before you write dialogue is a good thing. I picture it this way... there are hidden gems in every story, little moments that end up being the reason a reader drops your script so that he can pick up the phone and call your agent. But you have to find those gems before you can put them into the script. An outline slices up your story horizontally, so you can look into the cuts for those gems. The kind of story document I'm talking about here slices up your story vertically, so if you do both, you're creating a much better search grid.

Lunch: crab dip with pita bread

Jane on 08.26.07 @ 07:56 AM PST [link]

Ever have a fan of a particular movie watch you watch it for the first time? They're rarely able to resist helping you watch it. "Ooh, there's a good bit coming up." "Watch the girl in the background." "Oh, this guy shows up again later." Or, even worse, "He's going to turn out to be a jerk," or "Later on, you're gonna find out she's his daughter." It can be very tempting to fill in information that a first-time viewer doesn't have, thinking that it will sort of jump them ahead to the connoisseur-type enjoyment of a repeat viewer.

It can also be tempting to do this when you're writing -- wanting to let your reader in on information that the imaginary "viewer" of the piece doesn't yet have. For example, let's say you have a character, call her Barbara, and you have her look at a photograph of a young girl. You don't want the viewer to know yet that this is a photo of Barbara herself as a child. But you write a stage direction like, "Barbara's eyes widen as she recognizes her younger self." Your reasoning is that you're doing the reader a favor by letting them in on this fact before the "viewer" knows it.

The only problem with this is that it makes your reader have a split personality. From this point on, they have to remember what they know as a reader versus what they know as a viewer. They're also going to wonder if it was an oversight on your part, if you meant for this fact to be suggested in dialogue but forgot to put it in. Overall, you're going to have a distracted reader.

If you want to do this kind of thing, at least mark it clearly, so the reader knows exactly what the status is of this piece of information is. I remember once writing a piece of stage direction that went something like this:

Outside the gate, a VAMPIRE lurks, although we don't yet recognize him as such.

I'm letting the reader in on something, but I'm making it clear that the future viewer won't know it. The reader still has two separate trails of information to keep track of, but at least she knows I want it that way.

Lunch: Chinese noodle soup with pork

Jane on 08.24.07 @ 02:01 PM PST [link]

Apologies for the break in the blogging, Gentle Readers, I was unavoidably away from the internet. By the way, we need a new joking way to refer to the internet, as both "internets" and "interweb" have gone clammy on us. Or perhaps the joke -- that some oldsters still struggle with the concept -- is simply outdated. Too bad; those were heady days.

I offer you a thought today about outlines and inspiration. One of the best things about writing an outline is that, as you visualize each scene in order to outline it, you sometimes start hearing the dialog, seeing all the actions you want to put in stage directions -- you start 'writing' it. This is what people are referring to, I think, when they say they don't like writing outlines, that instead they want to find it as they go. They mean that once they start thinking about a scene, and having ideas about the dialogue, they don't just want to write a quick summary of the scene and move on, without capturing that moment of inspiration.

Well, there's no reason not to do both. If you're struck by inspiration as you outline, just start jotting down dialog without punctuation or formatting. Don't take the time to polish it, or even indicate which characters have which lines if it's clear from context. Just jot! When you've captured the extent of your inspiration, cut 'n' paste those lines into another working document -- get them out of your outline -- and keep on outlining!

This is what I do, and I really think it gives me the best of both worlds. I get a complete outline, so that I'm not just off-roading through my story, but I also have a preliminary take on the dialogue and action for certain scenes before I even technically begin work on the draft.

If this fits your writing style, give it a try. It makes writing feel almost as fast and easy as viewing.

Lunch: cheddar on flaky slabs of dried haddock

Jane on 08.23.07 @ 10:02 AM PST [link]

The ABC/Disney Fellowship and Warner Brothers' Workshop provide places to use your spec scripts for produced shows, and the Slamdance Competition is a place to use your spec pilot scripts. So it starts to seem as though there's no fear of misapplied effort -- all your scripts can be sent somewhere. Except not really.

So what's the sort of television spec writing that has no application? Writing for produced shows that no longer exist. If you have ideas for stories for Firefly or The Sopranos or Wonderfalls, then you might have some fine fanfic, but there is simply nothing else to be done with them that I can think of. Very occasionally, someone will get attention with a clever spec-script re-interpretation of a classic show, but I've never heard of anyone who's been able to do anything with a script for a contemporary defunct show.

I know that some shows have lines of novels that continue after the show is over. I don't know anything about the process the publishers use to produce these books, except that it's completely separate from the production of the (ex-)show itself. I guess you should write to the publishing company if you want more info about writing the novels, but this is a very different sort of writing than I address here.

I know it's hard to let go of a favorite show (trust me, I know), but part of the tv biz is about exactly that. You're entering a career that will stretch out over many years, and many shows. Don't get into the business because you're in love with a particular show. Get into it because you love writing and can imagine finding joy in it even if you aren't hired by your dream show. Then, when the next Buffy, the next Battlestar, comes along, getting to be involved is a glorious bonus. A really really glorious bonus.

Lunch: bomboletta pasta with lobster -- I've never had this variety/shape of pasta before. It's like the wagon-wheel shape before it gets sliced into disks, if you can picture that.

Jane on 08.17.07 @ 05:09 PM PST [link]

Friend-of-the-Blog Debbie in San Francisco has just informed me of another impending deadline. August 20th is the deadline to submit a spec pilot to the slamdance teleplay competition. So if you have one all ready to go, I'd suggest you slap it into the mail.

I didn't know much about this competition until this year, when I found myself working on a writing staff alongside a previous winner who has nothing but good things to say about his experience.

The Grand Prize Winner gets cash and some sort of interaction with the good people at Fox 21 -- some of whom I know and can vouch for. This is a legit deal and I encourage you all to submit your scripts.

Lunch: delicious sandwiches crafted by Mrs. Ron Moore, who took care of feeding the Battlestar Galactica writers during an impressively productive writers' retreat. Thank you, Mrs. Ron!

Jane on 08.16.07 @ 08:30 PM PST [link]

A spec script is a lot like an audition. Actors and writers both don't get hired until they've showed off what they can do. But it can also be more than that. It can also be a lot like an interview, a chance to say a little bit about your background. If there's something about yourself that you think makes you an interesting addition to a writers' room, you can use your spec script, especially a spec pilot, to tell your future employer about it.

Now, normally, I'm a bit skeptical about the "write what you know" advice, since, taken too literally, it means that no one gets to write about spaceships. I always point out that it should be taken to mean "write emotional truth as you've experienced it." However, in this specific case, where you're using a script to sell yourself and your point of view, there is something to be said for drawing on your own personal specialness.

Did you grow up on a farm? Train as a nurse? Witness a crime? Overcome dyslexia? Were you raised by your Filipino grandmother? Are you a twin? Does your family practice an unusual religion? Is your mother a cop? Is your sister a soldier? Did you win the national spelling bee?

If you've got something like that, a little hook, the kind of thing you'd drop into an interview situation to generate interest, then it might be worth putting your special knowledge into a script. There's certainly no reason your lawyer hero couldn't have a Filipino grandmother, and their scenes, written with authenticity, will probably end up stealing the show.

Now, if you've just surveyed your life and decided you're boring and have never had any experiences, then it might be worth having some. I know a very good smart young drama writer who went out and took a "be a private detective" class. Just like that, he had something to talk about in interviews, something that made him valuable to a show runner, as well as something that could be used to give real authenticity to a spec script.

Remember, a spec might be art, but mostly, it's a sales document. It's selling you. Push the product!

Lunch: the "famous tofu reuben sandwich" from Factor's Deli. Greasy and good. It tastes exactly like a real reuben, only it's soft. No, seriously, it's good.

Jane on 08.13.07 @ 10:39 AM PST [link]

Stephen in Canada has a good question about writing spec pilots. He wants to know if he should write something similar to what's already on television, or if he should try something more wild and strange.

Hm, that's an interesting question. Well, obviously, both ends of the spectrum are dangerous. It's going to be hard to make a Law and Order clone stand out, for example. And, at the other end, a 45-minute all-CGI bisexual space-musical might not demonstrate a knowledge of what is currently hot within the television market. (I have no idea if this is what Canadian Stephen is into, by the way.)

The answer, I think, is to take the best of both ends. Keep enough of the traditional in the show so you can demonstrate that you know the basics. Then add something unique either in concept, or by doing something interesting with character, or both. The pilots of Jericho and Big Love would have been good spec pilots, because the concepts are so arresting. The pilots of House and Ugly Betty would have made good spec pilots, because the characters are so unique. A show like Dexter might be the perfect spec pilot, with a shocking concept and a unique character. Weeds is probably a better model for a spec pilot than Desperate Housewives is. Housewives is more traditionally saleable, but Weeds is the one that makes people curious. At this stage in your career, where you're trying so hard to stand out from everyone else, curiosity is your friend.

If it were me, I would start by thinking of the types of shows I love and admire, and then consciously think about what I could add to them that pushes the boundaries a little bit, to make them different and a bit daring. Two years ago a whole bunch of pilots were purchased that fit established patterns except that the hero was mentally ill in some way. If they hadn't already done that, it would be a perfect model for what I'm talking about. But the basic recipe is still good. Take the basics, then pervert them, twist them, stretch them just a bit.

Lunch: Thai food -- som tum, and a sort of fried chicken thingy, and sticky rice. Lovely.

Jane on 08.12.07 @ 09:17 AM PST [link]

Today, Gentle Readers, I'm here to tell you to FORGET ABOUT THE BIBLE. Forget it! Ignore it! It's totally unnecessary! Spec pilots, such as you're writing, don't need to be accompanied by show bibles.

This is in answer to a question from Gentle Reader Ellen in Chicago, who wondered if writing three specs a year, as I urged in an earlier post, meant that one would have to write three separate show bibles. Nope. Not even one.

A show bible, if this is a new term to you, is a document that bridges the gap between the pilot script and the hypothetical television series that would result from it. It lays out the arcs of the characters and the show as a whole over at least one projected season of the show. It can also get into character details and back story and description/analysis of the world in which the show is set. Now, this is certainly work you can do on your own, and much of it you probably will do on your own - in your head - even if you don't actually write it down. This information will be very helpful in the writing of the script, but it is not anything that would ever have to accompany the script.

When I'm writing a pilot for a studio, I have told them all about how I see the show developing. If they were seriously considering ordering the show, they would have me write it all up, but it's just not something you do in the early stages.

This means, of course, that your script has to stand on its own as a cold read. A reader has to be able to pick it up and understand who these people are and what's going on without any supporting documents to tell them. And they have to finish the script with a good idea of how the main conflicts are going to continue into the future lives of the characters. This sounds tricky, but it's really not. Have you ever joined a movie midstream? Unless it was a very plot-twisty movie, you probably found that you were able to infer a lot about the characters and their relationships as you watched. "Oh, I think she's that guy's sister, and he's mad at that really uptight guy..." So forget the bible, take your foot off the exposition pedal, and let the viewer's understanding evolve.

Lunch: sushi at Echigo, the place with the warm rice. Get the lunch special. They bring you one perfect bite every few minutes.
Jane on 08.11.07 @ 11:47 AM PST [link]

Suppose you hear someone on the street exclaim, jocularly, "Sweet Muscular Jesus!" Or "Sweet and Sour Jesus!" Your first thought may be, "Ha! That's hilarious! I must put that in a script!" It's not a bad thought. If you're lucky, you just heard someone's original proclamation and that line in your script will sparkle with I-never-heard-that-before-ness. But more likely, you just heard an early use of a phrase that's just about to go viral and your script will quickly smell of oh-that-one-was-funny-last-monthitivity.

A better first thought is, "Ha! That's hilarious! I wonder what I can make up that has a similar structure, but is mine and mine alone?" Then you can make a list:

Sweet Potato Jesus!
Sweet 'n' Low Jesus!
Sweet-talkin' Jesus!

And then you can branch out into...

Holy Dimpled Moses!
Hail Mary Full of Pie!
Sweet Virgin Records!

Or whatever. That took ten minutes and probably at least one of those hasn't been all over the internet already.

Whenever you hear an original quip, remember that someone had to think it up. Are they really any smarter than you? Instead of helping them spread their glory, work on your own.

Lunch: another heirloom tomato salad. If you haven't tried heirloom tomatoes, you're missing out. As varied and lovely as tropical fish, only made out of tomatoes.

Jane on 08.10.07 @ 07:43 AM PST [link]

In Fellowship news, Brandon in Maryland writes in with a question about the ABC/Disney Fellowship that never would've occurred to me, but it's a really good one for anyone who might be facing a substantial move. He's asking about the "one month's accommodations" that the fellowship supplies. Well, I checked on this for you, Brandon, and I've discovered that they'll take good care of you, should you get selected. Fellows are given the choice of being put up in a furnished apartment in a very nice complex near the studio in Burbank for one month while they look for a place, or they can take the money equivalent and find housing on their own right away. This is an excellent deal, and I certainly hope housing issues don't prevent anyone from applying to the program.

Lunch: Vietnamese food again -- different place, but that same dish with the pork and the noodles and the sweet sauce. I need to write down the name next time.

Jane on 08.08.07 @ 01:44 PM PST [link]

Are scripts visual or auditory? Your spec scripts aren't going to be read aloud by actors, but they are going to be read by people who are actively evaluating how they would sound if they were. Reading a script is certainly a more ear-based experience than reading a short story or an essay is. I bet if you did one of those brain scans, all the bits of your brain that have to do with hearing would be all squirmy and lit up while you read a script.

And yet, it's all still just words on a page, and you, as a spec script writer, are in the unique position of being able to use the fact that you KNOW you're writing exclusively for readers, not viewers, to slip a few treats into the script that wouldn't be detectable if it were being read out loud. Little non-auditory gifts.

For example, when I wrote a Buffy script with a troll as a major guest character, I wrote all of his lines in all capital letters. It wasn't really a cue to the actor, who would've bellowed beautifully anyway, as much as it was just me having fun on the page for the benefit of a reader.

In another script, Willow had to comment on the fact that there was more than one Buffy. Instead of having her say "two Buffys?" I wrote "two Buffies?" knowing that Joss -- the script's ultimate reader -- would enjoy that.

Something I'm dying to do, and I can't imagine why I haven't done it already, is to write a British character's dialogue with all British spellings. I think it would be hilarious on the page:

AMERICAN GUY
Are you insulting my honor?

BRITISH GUY
Your honour? Certainly not.

Personally, I could even see a writer doing something as nonstandard as having a character very meekly say something in a tiny font. Although I'd only do it once in the script. It's right on the edge of gimmicky, but if a script was really well-written and then had one little whimsical note like that, I'd think it was pretty cocky and cool.

Others will give you different advice on this point, but I say, once your script is great, there's nothing wrong with playing just a little bit like this. Lightly, lightly.

Lunch: antipasto salad

Jane on 08.07.07 @ 12:40 PM PST [link]

There is more good news about the Warner Brothers Writing Workshop, Gentle Readers! A little bird who works for Warner Brothers (I think that makes him Tweety), tells me about two interesting developments, both of which I think are new. First of all, the program is going to attempt to recreate the feel of a working writers' room, which is very ambitious and interesting. Second, and more importantly, Warner Brothers show runners are going to be given a powerful incentive to employ the workshop participants -- the workshop will pay the salary of those writers for the first fourteen weeks if they're taken on board a staff.

If this information is accurate -- and I have no official confirmation -- it's huge. Suddenly ABC/Disney is joined by a genuine alternative, and there are two reasons to continue to write specs for shows that already exist. So set your tivos, scour the internet for produced scripts, fire up Final Draft, and let's get to work on your submissions for next year! (Or get one in the mail fast for this year -- the WB deadline is Aug. 15)

Lunch: a homemade avocado, Roquefort, heirloom tomato and prosciutto sandwich on a seed-encrusted mini-baguette. Best thing I ever ate.

Jane on 08.06.07 @ 01:04 PM PST [link]

There was a child in the hair salon this morning. So instead of the normal ennui-athon of Paris fashion show footage, the DVD player had been loaded with episodes of an animated superhero show, for said child's entertainment. The show was not the one I've written for, but I liked it. It was witty, even. I was quite happy, being placidly shorn while I listened.

And then we got to the very last line of the show. It was one of those shows that has to sum everything up at the end with a contemplative voice-over line that begins, "That's the thing about life..." (By the way, it's worth googling "that's the thing about life". Apparently, there are 932 of them.)

This one went, as near as I can recall:

SUPERHERO
That's the thing about life. It just keeps going along, and no matter what you do about it, there's always something that you didn't know was going to happen.

Actually, I think it had less content than that. It was certainly that what-inducing. And it occurs to me that a lot of scripts, for all different sorts of shows, often for spec pilots, have such a summing-up moment at the end, and that you all should be warned to be very, very careful with it. First off, be very wary of using a narrator voice-over to begin with, but sometimes even a script without one will still have a moment like this in which the theme of the script is explicitly stated. Watch out. It's a minefield.

If you decide to do this, you really have to earn it. You can't just look at your story and come up with the vaguest possible aphorism that covers both the A and B stories. Even a great story will fall on its face if it turns out that the whole thing existed as an illustration of "Life is surprising," or "I wish things were fairer!" And, by the way, it's totally cheating to make the moral, "Sometimes we can't explain why things happen," in the hopes that it will excuse unmotivated events in your script. Nice try. (No really. It actually IS a nice try.)

If you're going to try to give your readers a moral gift bag, it has to be something worth taking away, something a little surprising, something that connects with what the readers have just seen in a slightly unexpected way. For example, I might be intrigued by a story that ended with two main characters walking away from a big climactic scene while saying:

HERO ONE
I did everything I could to try to help him. I don't get why he was still angry.

HERO TWO
Maybe 'cause you wouldn't stop trying to help him.

It's still a bit heavy-handed. Summing up is a heavy-handed business. But the observation that treating someone, even a victim, AS a victim, doesn't always breed gratitude -- that's at least not a sentiment you hear every day. It's a little unusual, a little thoughtful. It's also not being expressed in a voice-over, which helps it not feel as weighty.

See, that's the thing about life, sometimes you need more than a vague platitude.

Lunch: A Vietnamese dish -- rice noodles and pork and shrimp. Mmm.

Jane on 08.04.07 @ 06:36 PM PST [link]

Eric in West Hollywood wrote in a very long time ago, with a question that I'm finally getting around to answering. He asks about the act structure for a one-hour drama. Eric:

In your opinion are five acts a blip or a trend? If I'm writing a [spec] pilot, should I write it in four acts? And which act break is the most important?

Ooh, those are great questions. Most hour shows seem to have gone to the five-act structure now, although the show I'm currently working on (Battlestar), is still holding to the older four-act structure. It's hard to tell, of course, if something is a blip until it blips out, but I think this has the feel of a something more permanent. Networks like commercial breaks and they like a longer opening sequence to hook viewers, and those impulses have created the additional act. (I hear that some shows are even toying with a six-act structure, although I wonder if, in that case, maybe that first act feels a bit like a teaser and that last act like a tag.)

The nice thing for you spec pilot writers is that the transition is still transitioning. You can choose with complete freedom whether to tell your show with four or five acts. I'd suggest that you let your story determine that. Look at how many times it turns, and number your acts accordingly.

As to the most important act break, that's a very interesting question. I'm going to rephrase it a bit, and ask how the four-act act breaks line up with the five-act act breaks. Traditionally, the end of act one is the moment that defines the main problem of the script -- the obstacle the characters face. This should still be the end of act one, certainly not any later. The end of act three in a traditional four-act show is often the "all is lost" act break. I'd suggest that the end of act four plays this role in a five-act show, certainly you don't want it earlier. So it's not that you're tacking on an extra act of set-up at the beginning, nor an extra act of resolve at the end. The new act is made out of the cloth in the middle.

Unfortunately, it's hard to get more specific than that, because shows differ so much in what they require out of an "act break moment," so you'll have to do some exploration of this on your own, by playing with your own story. And remember, it's all right if the length of your acts varies. Acts early in a script are often longer than later ones. I've seen first acts that are over twenty pages long and final acts as short as five or six pages. If the reverse is happening with your script, that's a bit strange. You might want to have that looked at.

Try, as much as you can, to let the natural shape of your story determine how it fits onto the pages. Let the demands of page-count and the number/placement of acts keep you from formlessness, but don't let them dictate your story.

P.S. thanks to Loyal Reader Lilia for the fine gift!

Lunch: a "Boston Cream Pie Cupcake" from Big Sugar Bakeshop. I love self-contradictory treats.

Jane on 08.03.07 @ 12:13 PM PST [link]

Good writing teachers have some very good advice about adverbs. "Eliminate adverbs!" "They just prop up weak verbs!" "Cut 'em out!"

Yes, that's what the good teachers say. But not me! I'm here to give you down-and-dirty practical advice. And I say use some adverbs. Writing a script is unlike any other writing enterprise. All you get to do in a script is say what people do and what people say. You don't get to engage in long word-beautiful examinations of motivations. All that stuff has to be clear from the actions and the spoken words. So being able to convey HOW the actions are taken and HOW the words are spoken is vitally important.

Sure, it's better to say he "shoves the ticket at her" than that he "hands the ticket to her forcefully." That's true. Great verbs are invaluable. But if my leading man is gazing at my leading woman, I'd sure like to hear whether he's doing it "helplessly," or "absently" and I can't think of a way to enverb that difference. And if my hero picks up a sword, I love that I can convey something different if she picks it up "defiantly," versus "with an air of tragic obligation." All sort of adverbial options are interesting, and they all paint different pictures, some with charmingly subtle differences. The boundary between something said "smoothly" and the same thing said "insinuatingly" is a nice oily line, isn't it?

There are great adverbs out there, and wonderful adverbial phrases. Just think of the things that can be done jauntily, morosely or with loads and loads of smarm. Scripts aren't like other works of prose. We already labor under so many restrictions that to cut ourselves off from a whole part of speech is to go too far! To the barricades! Swiftly!

Lunch: heirloom tomato sweet onion salad from the nice commissary

Jane on 08.02.07 @ 04:48 PM PST [link]

If you're writing a spec pilot or another piece with original characters, remember that your readers don't necessarily know who the star of the show is. Help them out. Let your main character have the last line in a lot of the scenes. Give her the big jokes, too. Tell the readers more about her expressions and reactions throughout a scene than the other characters. All this stuff will make her seem to sparkle. And you won't run the risk of having the readers focus mistakenly on some character you kill off in act two.

This might seem obvious, but it's often the case that a secondary character, because he can be more broadly drawn, has the funnier point of view. It's easy for that kind of character to get the last word all the time, and to highjack the script. Let them be funny, but make sure the spotlight stays on your star.

Lunch: Something called a "sombrero salad," but it contained no actual hat.

Jane on 08.01.07 @ 09:16 PM PST [link]