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I think I might re-read some Jane Austen soon. You know that mood? Jane Austen was funny and romantic. Emma Thompson’s take on her was the best of any screenwriter yet, I’d say. So what’s the trick to, you know, titrating two different emotions like that?

Let’s imagine that you’re writing a spec for a comedy with heart or for a comedic drama. (A recent letter-writer referred to one of these as a “coma”. Is that really used? It’s hilarious.) So you’re mixing jokes in with some more serious content. A good rule of thumb is that when the going gets really serious, the joking should stop. Jokes, generally, undercut emotion. When an audience laughs, they’re relieving tension. So you don’t want that happening when you’re trying to build up the tension. This can be a hard lesson for those of us used to comedy writing – if a page goes by without a joke, we’re certain that we are failing to be entertaining. But, in fact, the sudden lack of jokes can be part of what makes these scenes riveting. Like the sudden absence of the sound of running water, turning off the joke faucet can attract a viewer/reader’s attention. This is particularly true if there’s a character in the scene who is normally a joke factory, or if something about the situation would normally be seen as laughable. Playing it straight can be mesmerizing.

But what if you can’t stand it? What if you really want to joke, but without relieving tension? There are a few specific types of jokes that you can use here.

1. When the character himself is joking to try to relieve their own tension and it isn’t working. We used this a lot on Buffy – something horrible appears and Xander jokes about its appearance and no one laughs.

2. When the character is bitterly self-deprecating. Someone who is laying open the contents of their heart can make a comment about how it’s no better organized than their closet, and it doesn’t decrease the tension because their pain is so obvious and exposed.

3. When the character is trying to appease someone who is angry with them by trying to make that person laugh. Add some jeering humorless laughter in response and you’ve got a real heartbreaker.

There are probably other categories here, but you’ve got the idea.

The interesting thing about these jokes is that they aren’t funny. They look funny, and some part of your brain gives them credit for having joke content. What they convey is bravery and intelligence in the face of anger or pain or fear. They’re endearing. Heart-crushing. But they’re not funny. And they’re great.

Lunch: McDonalds. That Big ‘n’ Tasty Sandwich, the one with tomato. You know the Big Mac doesn’t have tomato, right? Sing the jingle – it’s true.

Hi everyone! Hmm… there was a bunch of stuff caught in my spam filter just now. (That would have been a much more disgusting sentence years ago than it is now.) You know the kind, with the subject lines like “remember me?” or “I’m back from Japan” or “an interesting thought.” The kind where I think, well, just maybe it isn’t actually spam, but some interrupted communication that I’ve forgotten. Well, I accidentally hit “delete all” before I could look closer and… whoosh… all gone. Doesn’t even show up in the “recently deleted” place. Hmm. I suppose it was probably for the best.

It’s just like cutting lines out of your spec. You regret losing them as it’s happening — there’s a reason you put them in to begin with, after all — but once they’re gone, everything’s better. I often have such a hard time making these cuts that I find it’s helpful to have another file open when I’m working a script, reserved just for putting the cut material in, in case I need it back later. I never go back and get it, but it makes it easier to make the cut knowing that, in theory, I can. If you have a hard time making cuts, you may want to give this a try. I think of it as a bucket into which I can throw scraps of fat, but now we’re back to that spam-filter image, so you may not want to go there.

Remember, sometimes a line just isn’t needed, even it was the reason you created the scene in the first place. Even if the audience isn’t going to know something you were sure you wanted them to know. There are probably lines in your script that you would never even consider cutting, but that are actually totally unnecessary. (If you’ve got two people having a fascinating conversation for four pages – it’s probably not as fascinating as you think.) When you have friends read your scripts, it’s often good to specifically ask them to look for cuts — they’ll find things you never thought of.

And, when you’re the one doing the reading, I find it’s best to make two separate passes through a script. Once, to read for content and make suggestions in that area. And a separate time just to read for cuts. I don’t know why, but these two agendas don’t seem to work well together when you try to do them simultaneously.

Cleaner, leaner, shorter, faster. It is almost always better.

Lunch: Cup o’ Noodles, drained and heated in a fry pan with hot sauce. Try it!

So, all right, let’s talk more about that thing about not building a spec around a guest character. I’ve tended to follow that up by saying that centering a spec around the show’s main character is best. And certainly, there are shows where that’s the case. Most shows, in fact. A House without House at the center will not stand. BUT…

Friend-of-the-blog and dazzlingly successful writer Jeff Greenstein has told me of the specs he wrote, with his then writing parter to get into the business. Specs that got attention, that got them meetings. Their trick? Write to the underdeveloped character. Hmm. Interesting, no? This only works, of course, in a show with a strong ensemble, in which the series can shift the focus around a bit. And, of course, the main character should come into it somehow… crucially affecting or being affected by the story.
A good way to approach this technique might be to think about the main story being centered on the *relationship* between the main character and the underutilized ensemble character.

The example Jeff told me about was a spec episode of Murphy Brown, in which the story was created to center on Miles’ 30th birthday. Miles was a strong supporting character, who hadn’t, at the time the spec was written, been given tons of air time. And the topic of age/accomplishment is obviously well-chosen to get a reaction from Murphy.

I’m reminded of some of the Buffy episodes I wrote — “Superstar,” and “Storyteller,” specifically. This is one of my favorite things to do (although I have to say that the original ideas for these episodes came from Joss). I love taking a character who is secondary (or tertiary), especially if they tend to be discounted by the others, and showing how they are the masters of their own house, the centers of their own universes. In real life, no one is a tertiary character — everyone’s feelings count for as much as everyone else’s, so I like it when the same thing holds in Fictionland.

Be careful, gentle readers, don’t lose sight of the center of the show, make sure it’s an episode you think the actual writers of the show might write. Then pick part of the ensemble that has been out of the spotlight… and light it up!

P.S. Such good mail lately! Thank you to Micky in Long Beach for a great letter — good luck on the writing career, Micky! And a generous note from Cheryl in Lodi offers encouragement to Angie, the recent correspondent who contemplated giving up our ink-stained pursuit. Cheryl is finding that success in screenwriting doesn’t have to be limited to the under-30 crowd. She encourages Angie to hang in there. Thank you, Cheryl! I haven’t heard back from Angie — I hope that means she’s too busy writing spec scripts!

And candies! German chocolates from faithful German reader Nic! Wow! Thank you!

Lunch: scrambled eggs and cream soda

I had a very spec-writer-y experience today, gentle readers. I was writing my pilot in a deli, when the waiter asked what I writing. “A TV script.” “Oh? What show?” “It’s a pilot.” He instantly looked deflated-slash-encouraging and lost interest. Sigh. I know you guys face this all the time. Interestingly, it tends not to get better. Buffy writers were routinely asked if the show was animated, or if it was a kid’s show, or even just told “never heard of it.” And that was pretty much the MOST well-known show I’ve worked for. When I mentioned Battlestar Galactica recently, I actually got a, “Oh, is that a magazine?” So… I guess… chin up, it doesn’t get much better.

Anyway, here’s a thought that might actually be helpful!

You know how I’m always talking about the most common spec-writing mistake? Namely, centering a spec around a guest character? Well, you know when this is even more important? When what you’re writing is a spec pilot.

And it would be really easy to make this mistake, too, since in a pilot EVERYONE feels like a guest character. The detective’s client has been known to the reader just as long as the detective, after all. But resist! You’ve got to establish new characters here, make the reader/viewer fall in love with them and want to see that next case. And you’ve got limited room to do it in.

So get ’em in, make ’em interesting, and then get ’em the heck off the stage. Let your fine new regulars get down to work. They’ve got readers to seduce. They’re gonna need room.

Lunch: corned beef hash and poached eggs. Yum!

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