JaneEspenson.com

Observant readers will note that the “Who is Jane” header on this page has changed to reflect my new position on Battlestar Galactica. Now, I am still involved with Andy Barker P.I., of course, so you need to watch that too, starting on March 15. (You can also check it out here!)

Battlestar is a blast — a great room and a great show runner, making the best show on television. So much fun I cannot express it. Really.

But I can talk more about the importance of theme in a spec script! While we’re on the topic, I just want to warn you about something I used to do, early in my career. I could convince myself, quite skillfully, that any two stories were thematically linked. I’d have an A-story in place, and I’d try to come up with a B-story. As soon as I’d have an idea for one, I’d declare it themic because both stories dealt with, um… “Lies!” or “Secrets!” Well, an awful lot of stories have lies and secrets. They’re perfectly good themes, but they’re better when they’re cut into tailored suits, not thrown over stories as if they were horse blankets.

Also beware of using word play in place of a genuine theme. Check-kiting and kite-flying both have “kite” in ’em. Doesn’t make ’em themically linked. This is an exaggeration, but it’s not far off from what a writer eager to locate a theme will settle for.

So give it some thought. If you really want two stories to resonate with each other, engineer the theme, don’t just mine for it after the fact.

Lunch: bacon cheeseburger. Ate every bite of it, too. Yummy.

Let’s imagine that you’ve looked at all the example produced scripts you’ve collected for the show you’re specing. And let’s say that you’ve noticed that the show’s A and B stories are usually united by theme. Well then, it’s pretty clear that your spec should do the same thing. Now let’s say they’re only sometimes united by theme. What should you do?

Theme! I say use it. I say use it even if the show only does it rarely. Gilmore Girls scripts, for example, don’t tend to have unifying themes. But if I had ever written a spec GG, I would’ve made it totally themalicious. If you want your spec to feel deep, unified, professional, there’s nothing better for doing that than creating that sense that these stories are together for a reason.

You don’t need to make the connection explicit, nor too neat. But if there’s just a subtle sense that the stories comment on each other, it can really kick the script up a notch.

Lunch: More from the Universal salad bar. Love those beets.

Ooh. I saw another example of a rehabilitated clam last night! Recall that a “clam” is an old familiar joke. I posted recently about the process of using clams as the basis for newer, fresher jokes. Well, they did one on The Daily Show last night.

Correspondent Rob Riggle: “What part of ‘no doubt’ didn’t you understand? Was it the silent ‘b’? Because that’s kind of tricky, actually.”

The “what part of” clam is one of the clammiest clams in the sea, so I give ’em lots of credit for trying to do something new with it. I’m not sure it really works — jokes about orthography are really tough sells under the best conditions — but I love that they gave it a try.

Lunch: Universal Studios cafeteria salad bar.

Last time I was in New York, I thoroughly enjoyed a performance of “The 25th Annual Putnum County Spelling Bee.” The play contains several intertwined stories of the various children in the bee, with the stories given differing degrees of time and focus. That means, of course, that there was a B-story in the bee story. Mwuph! (That’s the sound of my muffled laughter. Oh, I love the wordplay.)

So let’s talk about B-stories. The B-story is the secondary story in your episode. It’s the thing that Toby and Oscar are doing while Dwight and Michael are carrying the A-story, to put it in Official terms. You might have more than one story in addition to your A-story, and sometimes you’ll hear the term “C-story,” but often all the non-As are called B-stories. (Unless a supporting story is so small that it’s really just a few moments here and there — then it’s called a “runner”.) If two stories share an episode and are of equal importance, they’re sometimes called “Co-A-stories.”

Developing a B-story is often a matter of playing with negative space. It’s determined to some degree by whatever the A-story is not. It involves the characters you have left over, and it often takes on an opposite tone: it’s humorous if the A is dark, it’s talky if the A story is full of action.

In other ways it’s similar to the A-story. It has to take place in the same amount of time, for example. I remember a very tough story breaking session at Gilmore Girls because we had an A-story that played in real time that for some reason we really wanted to pair with a B-story that took place over a series of days. Something, ultimately, of course, had to give. It’s also often the case that the B-story and the A-story share a theme, sometimes dealt with in a contrasting way. If the A-story is about someone dealing with grief by becoming grim and self-destructive, the B-story might be about someone dealing with the same loss by becoming manically life-affirming.

The key, as always, is to consult the produced episodes of the show you’re specing. This is one you can do using the scripts, and also just by making close observations as you watch. Make a chart of the A and B stories in each episode and note how they relate to each other. Do they share a theme? Do they explicitly comment on each other? Does one story influence the events in the other story? As always, try to emulate whatever your show is already doing.

If you’re writing a spec pilot, you can decide to combine your A and B-stories in whatever way you find the most effective. (You might want to think about how your favorite show handles the issue and try doing it how they do.)

And remember that the B-story might just be more important than the A. Because it’s often the more emotional, more internal story while the A story has the action and explosions, it’s often the B-story that ends up being the more memorable, more affecting story. In my old NYPD Blue spec, it was the comedic Martinez-and-Medavoy B-story that caught everyone’s attention. The same thing can happen with that funny little Chase-and-Wilson story you’ve built into your “House.”

Lunch (yesterday’s): hot fresh char sieu bao in Chinatown, SF. Wow.

There’s a trap that’s very easy to fall into when you’re breaking a story, and that’s when you trick yourself into thinking a story is progressing when instead it’s just alternating.

The very first (never submitted) spec script I ever wrote was an episode of M*A*S*H I attempted when I was 12 or 13 years old. One of the many things wrong with it was that I structured it around a simple choice: would Charles commit to the young woman he had been engaged to back in Boston? At first he didn’t. Then he did. But she didn’t. Then she did and he didn’t. Then they both didn’t. When I finished the script I looked at what I’d written, changed the name of the episode to “The Seesaw,” and added a scene in which they talked about how they kept changing their minds. (Already I was a big believer in “hanging a lantern” on a problem.)

Now, I’m sure you haven’t done things this badly, but it is pretty amazing how this kind of story-telling can still occur even now that we’re all grown-ups. If your spec is about a choice, make sure that the act breaks are about more than just alternating which choice is made. If your plot is about whether or not something will occur, make sure you’re not just alternating a “yes” and “no” answer to whether it will or not.

Look for more than a reversal, look for an escalation. Change the question.

Lunch: a baked potato with broccoli and cheese sauce. Waaay too fatty.

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