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Home of Jane's blog on writing for television
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January 3rd, 2008Drama, On WritingI saw Walk Hard yesterday and really enjoyed it. It does a great job of poking (affectionate) fun at some of the clunky hallmarks of biopic screenplays, like their constant need to keep stating everyone’s age and re-establishing what year we’re dealing with.
It also goes in for some delightfully overblown teeing-up of its big moments. In the obligatory first-time-in-a-recording-studio scene, our hero is told, over and over again, about how there’s nothing he can do in this moment to save himself from failure, how there’s no way that he can possibly pull out a last-minute performance that will turn his life around, how there’s no possible chance… etc… etc. It’s a great skewering of a classic screenplay mistake. It could be taken as great advice.
However — get this — I implore you to ignore it. In my experience, you are far more likely to make the opposite mistake and let a big turn in a script happen with too little fanfare than with too much. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps too many screen-writing teachers have been making you write those spare, clean, objective-sounding stage directions that don’t allow you to drum-roll a good story turn.
Obviously, I’m not asking you to go nuts here. Don’t have characters actually seriously say “nothing could possibly go wrong,” or lines like that. But don’t be afraid of letting the drama of a story turn play out. Let the stage directions help the readers understand what the characters expect out of the moment, so that the surprise of the turn will land. And then let the characters react to the turn. Don’t be afraid of hitting it too hard. You certainly might do so, but it’s an easy matter to dial that back during a rewrite. And that’s a far easier correction to make than trying to figure out why the turn doesn’t feel as significant as you hoped it would.
Lunch: that crazy cheesy garlic bread at The Smokehouse. Yum.
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Infamy!
0December 7th, 2007Drama, From the Mailbag, On Writing, PilotsOh my! I’m still recovering from the massively successful Mutant Enemy Day picket at Fox today. Did I meet every one of you, Gentle Readers? Because it feels as though I did. What a turn-out! Joss was, I know, impressed and moved by the support, as were all of us, both Mutants and Enemies. Thanks so much to all of you who came from nearby and from very very far away to show your support. It means a lot to us personally, and it makes an impact in the struggle as well. Knowing the fans are behind the writers makes it possible for us to persevere as these negotiations drag on.
Lots of people thanked me for the writing advice I dispense here. Allow me to point a finger off-stage to someone else who is giving excellent advice. I recently stumbled across the book “Writing The TV Drama Series,” by Pamela Douglas, and it’s great. I totally recommend it. Pamela has loads of experience as a working writer and she generously lays it all out and includes input as well from a number of “guest speakers,” including my current boss, Ron Moore of Battlestar Galactica.
One of the big reasons I recommend this book is because it’s so spankingly current. The shift away from four acts to five or more, the move from specs of produced shows to spec pilots… she covers it all. I don’t know Pamela personally, but I’m darned impressed.
Once more… thank you for this morning’s picket. What a glorious thing.
Lunch: grilled artichoke, chocolate-dipped fruit
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November 23rd, 2007Drama, On Writing
A long time ago, the readers of John August’s wonderful blog collected some questions and comments for me. Due to a miscommunication, I haven’t really had a chance to study them until now. Thank you for all the questions and comments!
John-August-reader Drew T. asks a great question. He wants to know if there’s a difference between jokes written for half-hour comedies versus those written for hour dramas. And, yes, generally there is. Half-hour comedies favor what are called “hard jokes.” Here’s an example of a hard joke, which I adapted from an old episode of Family Ties:
JENNIFER: I told you to run a down-and-in. You were supposed to go to the pole and stop!
SKIPPY: I did. I stopped when I hit the pole.
You’ll notice that it’s very structured, very lean, and it’s all about the words. The set-up HAS to have the words “pole” and “stop” for the punch line to land.
The distinction between this and a soft joke isn’t as clear-cut as some writers would have you believe. The same punch line, if spoken with a self-aware wince, would be at home in many comedic hours.
Take out the constructed-sounding wordplay to soften it further. Now can you imagine it in an episode of House?
INJURED PLAYER: I was supposed to stop at the goal post but I didn’t.
Dr. HOUSE (examining contusion): Actually, I suspect you did.
The simple fact that House makes a dry joke of it makes it softer. This is another example of that general principle which I’ve laid out before: broadly comedic characters tend to be serious in their intent. More complex, “dramatic” characters are often consciously making a joke. It’s my favorite writing irony.
Here’s another version in which the speaker is attempting a mild joke, and the joke is, again, softer, more subtle. Can you see this on, say, Friday Night Lights?
COACH: One a’ your guys just ran into the pole.
ASSISTANT COACH: Oh, for pete’s sake. I told him to stop.
COACH (dryly): Looks to me like he did.Can you feel the difference between these and the sitcom version? The “ba-dum-bump” feeling has gone away even though the basic idea is exactly the same. Don’t be too afraid of certain jokes that you fear might mess with your tone. Content doesn’t determine tone as much as you think. Characters do a lot of that. A good self-aware character can soften nearly any joke.
Lunch: turkey sandwich with lots of mayo on white bread. The only way to do it.
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October 24th, 2007Drama, On Writing
Sometimes, someone will read your script and point out a problem you had never noticed. “Hmm… they go to all that trouble breaking into the bank when it’s been established on the show that one of the secondary characters has a mom who works as a teller.” Or “Wait– if they’d just set their time-travel pod to take them far enough back in the first scene, they could’ve avoided all the problems!”
Sometimes, you have to acknowledge the note and fix the problem. Sometimes, the problem isn’t fixable and your script blows up. But SOMETIMES, you can just say “can of worms!” and run away.
If a bunch of people have read your script and enjoyed it, and only one guy noticed the problem, you are sometimes totally justified in ignoring the note. Lots of good stories have threads that can be pulled if you look for them, characters who take an illogical action at a crucial moment, for example, or a super-weapon from a previous episode that suddenly seems to be unavailable. If it the problem is small enough and you feel the dramatic payoff is big enough, you have my permission to just go with it.
Just because a thread is there, doesn’t mean it has to be pulled. Sometimes you can just tuck it under and no one will even notice.
Lunch: butternut squash ravioli, baked potato, double-chocolate pistachio cranberry square
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October 12th, 2007Drama, Friends of the Blog, From the Mailbag, On Writing
Greetings from Beautiful Vancouver, Gentle Readers. I’m up here because they’re shooting an episode of Battlestar Galactica that I wrote. It’s all very exciting and a little bit cold. Anyway, my time is limited, so I decided to invite in a guest speaker. Friend-of-the-blog Marcia is very experienced as a Writers’ Assistant, and I decided to go to her with the question that so many of you keep asking me about pursuing that job. Take it, Marcia:
So, Jane tells me you want to be a writers’ assistant. I’d beg you not to, what with all of you being my competition, but if you can’t be dissuaded… then let’s talk. I’m sure your first question is, “How do I get a job as a writers’ assistant?” Good question. But before that, let me ask you one. Do you really know what the job entails, what you’re getting yourself into? Being a writers’ assistant kinda stinks. It’s the worst job ever. I’ll give you the top three reasons why:1. The pay is just enough to get by and more hours than you can imagine.
2. It’ll never be the job you pictured when they handed you your diploma back in college. Not even close. A sentence you’re sure to mutter under your breath: “I’m so glad I worked my tush off for a first rate education from a four year institution for this.”
3. You’ll be expected to sit quietly by as you watch a roomful of people do exactly what it is you’d cut off both of your hands for a shot to do (and that’s a big sacrifice considering you need those hands to keep your current job.)
Even worse… there’s nothing I’d rather do. Well, other than get staffed, that is. But being a writers’ assistant is a walking contradiction. As much as it’s incredibly frustrating, it’s also the best education on being a writer and what being in a writers room is all about that you can get. Though it’s 50-50 whether or not you’ll be learning how to successfully run a room versus how to run a show into the ground, it’s all valuable. It’s all experiences you’ll be able to cull from when you write the next great American sit-com or the next great American drama. Either way, take it all in. And never complain. I’m constantly surprised by the number of writers’ assistants I cross paths with who have nothing but bile for the writers in their rooms. And nothing but disappointment for the career they have chosen. These are the ones who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. The ones who never thought they’d be doing the job for more than a few seasons. Sure, there are those lucky writers’ assistants who end up landing their first gig on a show that becomes a hit, where they’re quickly promoted after a season or two to staff writer. But this, my up-and-coming comrades, is not the commonplace. It’s the exception. Let me just say this clearly now: being a writers assistant in NO WAY guarantees you will be staffed.
Along the same lines, it’s in no way the only way to get closer to that first writing job. Many people take the assistant route. Writers with development deals are usually guaranteed assistants in their contracts. This is often an opportunity to put in your time with a writer who could end up selling a pitch and running their own show, which gets you one step closer to the room. Not to mention earn yourself a mentor who might read your specs and give you notes and gentle nudges in the right direction. Also, the agency route has worked for some. End up on the desk of a literary agent, and you’ll have the opportunity to meet and form bonds with all sorts of writers, as well as develop relationships with current and future agents who could someday represent you. But if you’re sure that writers’ assistant is the path for you, here are a few necessities to being a good one. Don’t even bother looking for a job as one if you don’t possess the following:
1. Make sure your typing skills are honed. This may seem obvious, but new writers’ assistants are frequently shocked by the fast pace of a writers room. Nothing will get you fired faster than an inability to keep up, causing notes to be incomplete and basically useless to the writers. That includes being adept at spelling and punctuation. Often, the writers assistant’s computer is connected to a large TV monitor so the writers can see what you’re doing, and nothing distracts them more than your errors.
[NOTE FROM JANE: THE TV MONITOR IS NOT GENERALLY USED IN THE WRITERS’ ROOMS OF DRAMAS.]
2. Study up. Be an expert at one of the two most popular scriptwriting software programs, Final Draft and Movie Magic. I have found Final Draft to be the most common, but Movie Magic would be number 2. If you’re already a pro at one, it wouldn’t hurt to have a cursory knowledge of the other, if only to be able to convincingly lie when you’re asked in an interview. Also study up on MAC and PC operating systems. The computer in the writers’ room tends to be whichever the show runner prefers, so be prepared to use both. [NOTE FROM JANE: MOST OF THE SHOWS I’VE BEEN ON HAVE USED THE WRITERS’ ASSISTANT AS DE FACTO TECH SUPPORT, EXPECTING THEM FIX ANY COMPUTER PROBLEM THAT CROPS UP.]
3. Thicken your skin. A writers’ room is a place where writers need the freedom to pitch any and all ideas, including the outlandish, the shocking, and the sexually explicit in order to have something to temper down for air. It’s not a room where one should feel censored. Censorship is the antithesis of creativity, so a cringe, a self-righteous stare, or any other form of judgment on your part is a bad idea. It gives you what some writers would call a bad “room vibe.” I’m not saying prepare yourself for a hostile work environment, but don’t expect a normal one either. If you don’t think you can handle that, walk away now.
You’re probably saying, “I get it. I hear you. It’s not all cake and ice cream. But I already know I’m sure. I want this. How do I get the job?”
Since I know act breaks, I think that’s a good place to end for today. More from Marcia next time!
Lunch: Mmm… it’s the catering truck at the set! I love the catering truck! Lamb and coconut cream pie.