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Today, I received some hot inside info on the Warner Bros Writing Workshop from Jack Gilbert, this blog’s man on the inside. He wanted me to tell all of you that everyone there is looking forward to your submissions, and then he added a whole bunch of good news. Take it, Jack!

Under the first year of Chris Mack’s leadership, an astonishing 7 of last year’s 12 participants got staffed, by far the best result ever.

You can tell them that we’ll spot great writing whatever series they submit with, and that they shouldn’t worry if their specs have similar elements to aired episodes, or if their story choices turned out to be different than where the series eventually landed. We’re just looking for the very best writers we can find.

Let’s count the good news. First, that’s a really amazing placement statistic. Second, although the adjusted deadline gives you less time, you’ve got some warning, and I have to say the total number of submissions is less than I’d thought — they have almost as many participants as the ABC/Disney program and far less competition.

Finally, I love that they’re going out of the way to clarify that their standard is writing quality, not clairvoyance. We all know how hard it is to aim a spec script at a moving target, and this program is letting you off the hook for errors of anticipation. I think that’s an excellent policy.

So start polishing those scripts and aim really high — it doesn’t have to be as good as what’s on television. It has to be better.

You can do it!

Lunch: a chopped antipasto salad. But the pepperoncini were left whole and stemmed. A flaw in an otherwise fine attempt.

Gentle Reader Victoria in England writes in with a great observation about bad writing. Ooh good, I love complaints about bad writing. Here’s what she’s talking about:

One thing that particularly stands out is when a scene calls for a lot of exposition, and the writer has obviously chosen to write one long paragraph of dialogue and then randomly dish out sentences to different characters. It ends up sounding as though the characters are delivering a presentation to each other, having agreed in advance what they are going to say.

She goes on to ask about how to avoid this problem as writer. Well, first allow me to blush. Because before I got this letter, I’d’ve been far too ready to actually recommend this technique as a clever way to break up long bits of exposition delivered by a single character. Farm it out around the room and you can disguise it, I’d’ve said. But, of course, Victoria is right. Doing this runs the risk of exactly what she’s talking about — it sounds like one of those grade school performances in which each child’s been assigned a different line of the poem to read out loud.

The problem is a tricky one and the best solution is probably to avoid getting into this situation at all — parse the exposition out over more scenes, or let characters (and the audience) be less-well informend — they’ll pick it up as they go, which is often more interesting anyway.

But let’s suppose there’s no choice. Five people know a bunch of stuff and a sixth guy walks in and you simply have to have a big explain-o-fest.

Well, you can try using this as an opportunity to highlight your characters. Got someone impatient? Have them interrupt the explanation and take it over. Got two characters who don’t like each other? Have them compete to be the one to deliver the information — talking over each other. Got a natural leader? Show the others automatically deferring to her to sum up the info. This kind of thing can be big and overt, or you can just subtly use stage directions to indicate some pointed looks and eye-rolls that will let your reader see how the scene would be played.

I would also consider giving the characters different opinions on what happened. I don’t just mean different opinions on what do next, but different interpretations of what they already know. Like this:

JULIAN
Then the alien started talking about how we’re all gonna die–

HEATHER
Wait– it wasn’t a threat. It was a warning. Wasn’t it?

JULIAN
It was a threat.

You can also have the characters learn new information in the process of relating it, instead of preparing them with all of it in advance:

KELLY
If we don’t get the sprinkler system back on line, the whole place is gonna go up!

SHEILA
At least it’ll only take out the one building.

MARGARET
(looking up from computer)
You’re wrong. Their system’s been hit, too. The whole neighborhood could go.

All you have to do is hold back some little bit for them to find and it becomes a much better scene.

The first step is realizing you have a problem scene. Thanks to Victoria for pointing it out!

Lunch: chopped salad with warm chicken (And many thanks to Anthony in Oregon who sends along a delicious-looking recipe for a spinach-strawberry salad with a much more appealing dressing than the one I’ve been dealing with here. Thanks, Anthony!)

Some of the hardest work in writing a scene can be the transition from one topic to another. I’m sure you’ve all observed this. You know that both Jenny’s divorce and the impending home-repairs have to both be discussed in the scene, but you’re wasting the majority of the lines on trying to find some natural way for the topic to turn from one subject to the other. You’re starting to think that your only option is some desperate reach like “Wow, that sounds like a bad custody situation. Speaking of disasters, did you see the mess the roofers made yesterday?”

Well, every now and then you can avoid this problem just by avoiding this problem. If a character changes topics without any transition, it can have an interesting effect. Generally, it suggests that the new topic has been on their mind the whole time and that it finally, gracelessly bubbled to the surface because he couldn’t keep it in anymore. That can be very powerful. Without wasting a single line, you’ve given the readers/viewers a peek into your character’s thoughts. The other effect it can have is to link the two subjects. If talk of someone else’s divorce leads this character to think of their own crumbling home — well, they don’t have to say “speaking of disasters” to give the impression that they are in fact, speaking of disasters which they have linked in their own minds. Another powerful hint at their thoughts for the audiences.

There is one more thing you need to do to make a topic transition without any transition. Mark it. I would put in a quick stage direction like so:

DAVID
I just hope he gets the kids. Man, what a screwed-up situation.

DAVID
They told me the roof is in bad shape. Earlier, I mean. They didn’t even want us stay here tonight…

Just drop in that little “Without transition” or “He changes topics without warning,” or you can do with a parenthetical on his line, something like (out of the blue). This lets the reader know that you’re doing this on purpose. Without an actor there to make your intention clear, it’s possible that a reader might miss what you’re doing and simply think you omitted a transition. By calling attention to it, you avoid that misreading, and make it clear you’re in command of the script.

Note that this technique is not adaptable to all situations, but if something is simmering in a character’s thoughts, it can emerge without warning, and when it does, it creates a wonderful, script-dense moment, with no time and space wasted on turning a topic.

Also today, an update to a previous entry. I keep forgetting to mention that I’ve also been told that Blazing Saddles is another source for the “state your name” joke we were discussing earlier. It occurs to me that whole joke is really just “Say goodnight, Gracie,” with an option for group participation. Classic, indeed.

Lunch: Did you know that you can ask Baskin-Robbins to put three different flavors in a malt? I went for Cherries Jubilee, Peanut-Butter Chocolate and Rocky Road. And make sure it’s a malt, not a milkshake. The difference is malt powder and it’s crucial.

I have never written for a show without commercial breaks. So when Adam in West Hollywood writes in to ask about structuring episodes of Showtime or HBO shows that air without breaks, I find myself blinking in momentary confusion. He’s finding that he’s having a hard time structuring a spec because he misses the toeholds that act breaks provide. Yes, I would too.

In standard television writing, you rely on those breaks when you’re structuring your story. You generally begin with a sort of grid on your whiteboard or corkboard, with the acts arranged in empty rows or columns before any material is put up there.

I would guess that breaking a show without act breaks probably would be more like breaking a movie. There would be three acts and the breaks would be virtual. We could test this hypothesis by back-forming outlines for episodes of these shows. In fact, this is exactly what you should do, especially if you’re writing a spec episode of a show that already exists. Make a little outline of all the episodes as you watch them, and see if there are story turns at anything like predictable intervals. Then structure your spec to match.

If you’re writing a spec pilot for a show without act breaks, well, I know what I’d do. I’d break it with four acts, since that’s what I’m most familiar with, and then just not indicate the breaks. Either that, or I’d do the same thing I said above — analyze a show that already exists, then use their basic structure for my show. There is no need to reinvent anything here. People write these shows, and we can see what they’ve produced. Analyze the product and you can infer the process.

I’ve heard people say that they can sit down and come up with an outline just by “telling the story straight through,” but I find this hard to imagine. My theory is that these people have internalized some sense of structure that they can apply without conscious thought, but that is still there.

I would always recommend against making an outline without something to structure it. And, obviously, I turn pale at the thought of starting to write without an outline at all.

Lunch: In ‘n’ Out burger

Michael in Hollywood writes in with a concern. He’s having a hard time finding sample produced scripts. I’ve written a lot about the importance of having these if you’re going to write a spec of an existing show. They give you the show’s exact format and answer loads of questions such as, as Michael points out, whether they slug the characters’ dialogue with their first or last names.

They also help you figure out the structure and pacing of your script because you can compare those things apples-to-apples if you’ve got script pages to spread out.

But I am hearing from you and others, Michael, that these scripts are getting harder to find. They are, after all, the property of the studios, and apparently they are cracking down on their release. If I were you, though, I’d still make an effort to find them. Look on Ebay, for example. You might also try some of those Hollywood book shops like Book City. Since you live in Hollywood, you can even go in person and look at their selection. Also, living in Hollywood, you have access to the group Scriptwriter’s Network, which maintains their own library of such scripts that you can look at if you join. I just spoke to that group last weekend and can recommend them not just as a source of scripts but also for writing help, networking and all sorts of useful things.

In other mail news, to Terry in Kentucky: I’m sorry, but I don’t have contact info for Ringo or his assistant. But I love that you asked.

And a big “Thanks” to Elizabeth in Texas who loved my most recent Battlestar episode — glad you liked it!

Lunch: left-over potato salad from a party

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