JaneEspenson.com

I used to work at a company that named things. It was a wonderful job. I’d show up for work and be told: “beer that tastes like vanilla! Go!” Or “anti-depressant!” Or “computer chip!” Or “laundry pre-soak agent!” And then I’d sit down and start making lists of names — lists of hundred of names — that would fit that product.

Often, the first step was to think metaphorically. You can’t make a list of hundreds of names for a laundry detergent that just tell you literally that it eats grease. So do I and there’s just not that much to say about it. So instead you think figuratively. The naming company owned hundreds of books on gems and sailing ships and animals and weather and planets, so that you could find the perfect abstract way to suggest that a car was fast, a drink was exhilarating, or a wipe was soothing.

I’ve written before about how I use this same method when I need to name a script. I often will try to come up with some concrete symbol for what’s going on at the heart of the story. If it can relate to both the A and B stories, well, even better. “Harsh Light of Day,” one of my Buffy episodes, did this, relating to the actual sunlight that was important in the action story, and, figuratively, to a cold realization that was important in the emotional story. My Battlestar episode “The Passage,” was already named when I was assigned to it, I believe, but I love that title, since it relates literally to a specific hazardous mission and figuratively to a death that results from it.

Even if you can’t find anything literal in the script that connects to the name, a figurative title can often still work, cutting right to the most important concept of the episode. My newest Battlestar episode title works in this way, but I don’t think we’re making those public yet. Let’s imagine though, that you’re writing an episode about regaining an old friendship. I’m not talking about calling it “Mending Fences,” since that’s so familiar that it’s lost any charge as an actual evocative image. But you could call it “Vital Repairs,” or something in that area.

The best thing about finding a title like this, if you can, is that it can actually improve the writing. I like to come up with a title before I write the episode. In fact, I like to come up with it before I write the outline. If I’ve really managed to come up with something that captures the vital core of the episode, there’s nothing that can possibly help me more than to have a constant reminder of that. Every time I open or save the document, I see the name. If you do this, and you keep it in mind as you write, it can act like a handrail that’ll keep you heading right down the middle of the story. Play around with it. Sometimes a literal title works best, or a figurative one feels labored, but finding a title that constantly reminds you of your main goal is precious.

Lunch: leftover chicken piccata from Maria’s. Can’t get enough. It’s so lemony!

Nuts! Nuts and bolts! That is, I’m hoping, primarily what you’re here for. Nuts-and-bolts advice about writing scripts. Stuff like this:

If you simply have to give a character a very long chunk of dialogue — if there’s simply no way to shorten it, try breaking it up with parentheticals and stage directions so that it doesn’t sit on the page as one big block.

I mention the nutsy and bolty nature of this advice because I’m looking at a lot of blogmail here that I simply don’t know how to answer. I’m afraid I can’t get you Battlestar scripts or suggest what you can do to get your Battlestar specs to the Battlestar show runners or take your ideas for episodes to my bosses or any of the similar things that I know would be very helpful, but are simply, as we used to say in grad school, “beyond the scope of this work.”

It’s probably time to review the basic premise of the exercise that is getting work as a television writer. Again, my expertise is in the writing, not the getting hired, but here is what I’ve observed. There are two primary ways in. One is by getting recognition through a contest or a fellowship, or by doing well in film school, that kind of thing. Leading with your script and letting your body be pulled after. The other is by moving to Los Angeles and getting work as a production assistant, then a writers’ assistant, and simply working your way into the writers’ room where you can make friends who will read you. This is leading with your body and pulling the scripts behind you. Both ways require that you, at some point, get someone — someone from the ABC/Disney Fellowship, a professor, a boss… someone to read your spec script.

That’s really where my part starts. Not by reading your script. But by making sure that when you hand that script over to that someone – whether at the start or the end of the process – it’s perfect. Clean, spare, elegant, confident, funny where it’s supposed to be, mature and reflective of your sensibility. Sound fun? I think so!

Lunch: roast chicken, broccoli, corn

On Friday night, Gentle Readers, I got a chance to sit down and chat with the current crop of ABC/Disney Fellows along with some of their execs and other Fellowship alums. Great people, great fun, and very interesting.

I can report that eight of the ten current television fellows have been placed onto writing staffs. That’s enormous, particularly given the current trend toward smaller writings staffs. I’m extremely impressed at the job the people running the fellowship are doing, not just in training the Fellows, but also in acting as effective liaisons between the Fellows and the shows.

I can also report that a surprisingly large number of Fellows are comedy writers and have been placed onto comedy shows. Hmm. Maybe that pendulum is finally swinging.

Finally, I have a suggestion for those of you who submitted scripts to the program, hoping to be part of the next batch of Fellows. Be ready with a second script, Gentle Readers, in case they call and ask you for one. This happened to me when I got into the program. I was borderline, and they asked for another script. Apparently, this is still part of the procedure. So dig out your second-string scripts, everybody, and start getting them in shape!

Lunch: A “Cuban sandwich” and what I expected to be a piece of rum-soaked custard filled cake but which turned out to be a whole entire cake. Plus, I don’t really like cake. It was ill-advised.

Whoa. This humble blog has been praised by the amazing John Hodgman. Holy crap! I’m absolutely beside myself. If you follow this link, you’ll be taken to his blog entry which then links back here. Theoretically, you might never get out of the loop, so bring an apple.

Please linger on his side of the looking glass while you’re over there. Hodgman has a sense of humor that manages to be both dry and twisty (like uncooked ramen). I highly recommend his book “The Areas of My Expertise” and I consistently giggle with glee when he appears on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

In fact, there was a joke he made during his most recent Daily Show appearance that I’ve been wanting to discuss with all of you, Gentle Readers, and this is the perfect time. He was displaying a chart that purported to show an increase in the number of leprosy cases in the U.S. The joke went like this:

“As you can see, over the last seven years the average number of fingers per American hand has dropped off, while the number of fingers that have dropped off has risen dramatically.”

Wow. That joke is so well constructed that I want to live in it during the rainy season.

Here’s why it works. The phrase “dropped off” is one we use automatically when discussing charts. As a joke writer, you should immediately look for humor in the literal interpretation of any metaphorical language. In this case, the beautiful collision of the subject matter and the way we naturally talk about charts produced the joke. It’s identical in this way to this joke from my Buffy episode, “Harsh Light of Day,” in which Anya is trying to talk Xander into sleeping with her.

ANYA
I think it’s the secret to getting you out of my mind. Putting you behind me. Behind me figuratively. I’m thinking face-to-face for the event itself.

Often, you find this kind of joke as you’re typing. You write the words “dropped off” or “behind me,” and it suddenly hits you that those words, taken literally, are colliding with your subject matter in an interesting way. Your first impulse might be to change the wording to avoid muddying what you’re talking about. But before you do, play around with it for a while and see if the ironic clash of language can be turned into a joke.

A close relative of this kind of joke, by the way, is this classic one from the Simpsons in which Bart finds himself in the audience for a performance he doesn’t enjoy:

BART
I didn’t think it was physically possible, but this both sucks and blows.

The starting place, again, is taking figurative language and considering its literal meaning. My buddy John Hodgman and I recommend it. Hee!

Lunch: cup o’ noodles, pie

Clams! Fresh hot clams! Well, not all that fresh, actually. I have it on good authority that no fewer than three of the new pilots for Fall series use “That went well” as a punchline. Nooooo! Have I accomplished nothing?!

I also hereby call clam on these mollusks:

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

And

(sing-song) “Awkward!”

And

“I said, ‘good day, Sir!'”

Really, people, even in real life, don’t use these! They’re past their expiration date and they will make you ill. An excellent rule of thumb is “if you’ve read it, don’t write it; if you’ve heard it, don’t say it.” Adapt it, sure. Or make fun of it if you want — use it ironically. But don’t expect a genuine laugh.

Notice that there are also dramatic dialogue clams, which aren’t really clams, just overused lines. Usually these are lines that characters on screen say so often that they’ve become a sloppy shorthand for actual writing.

I’m talking about lines like “Don’t make me do something I’ll regret,” “I guess my reputation precedes me,” and “Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?” They’re dangerously easy to write because you’ve heard them before. There’s nothing wrong with the sentiments, exactly, it’s just that the words have become calcified into these empty shapes.

And just because wealthy characters are meeting at a high-toned party, it doesn’t mean that they have to have the following exchange:

MATRON
Jeffrey! Finally we meet! Audrey’s told us so much about you!

JEFFREY
Ha Ha. Only good things, I hope.

ME
Bleagh!

Note that the “I said ‘good day!'” clam I list above was very funny the first time it was used (Seinfeld, I believe), because it was actually functioning as a parody of dramatic lines like these. Now, it’s entering its double clamage as it is itself growing hoary within its own function as a parody. Haven’t heard it? Keep your ears open. I have a feeling it’s not done with us yet.

So be careful, as these lines have a nasty tendency to type themselves when you’re not looking.

Lunch: fajitas, made with surprisingly excellent steak

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