... Even the Small Victories

I make my return with the preceding image. This is the copy of my rom-com that I just finished sending to a talent agency, one of three that requested it.

Celebrate even the small victories.

I took vacation this week to spend every day working on writerly things. Broadly, this means writing, although I did spend the last three hours proofreading, making copies, hole punching, and visiting the post office.

The rest of the week I'll be working on my book adaptation. This is a change of plans, as I had been planning on writing the script for a movie to be shot on a nonexistent budget here in my own town.

But (here follows the other Big News) the wife and I are moving to LA, so now the plan is to finish this adaptation quickly so I have three truly solid scripts to flog around town.

Wish me luck.

Ah, Truisms.

I'm really starting to realize the validity of the idea that you should only write what you're passionate about.

Plunk me down in the middle of a draft, two months into writing (since I have the discipline of a kitten), and I won't have the faintest idea what the career implications of this project are.

I won't remember why I started this stupid script. I won't be able to think straight about whether I could use it to whip up any interest from an agent. Or a producer. Or anyone who matters.

The only thing I'll be able to tell you is whether I'm enjoying what I'm doing. So it better be something I enjoy, or most of the motivation goes straight out the window.

There is the odd exception. Like that rom-com that I kept working on (and will continue to work on later) simply because it was such a beautiful, golden, commercial idea (with a correspondingly golden title) that I couldn't justify not finishing it. But ordinarily, I'm going to have to be really stoked about what I'm doing, or despair quickly sets it.

Which is why this book adaptation is so great. In addition to being easy to write, as I've mentioned over and over and over, it's just the kind of story I really like. It's a movie I would race to the theater to see: dark, compelling, and full of veiled metaphysical ponderings.

My only regret about writing it is that I won't be able to take any credit if it turns out to be great. All that credit will have to go straight to the author. *Sigh*

But if by some wild chance it got made, I would be so excited to see it. And that's the kind of thing to write.

Random Thoughts After Watching Borat

So finally I saw Borat. And it's really funny, I won't deny it. I laughed. A lot. And I was watching it alone—I don't laugh when I watch movies alone.

It's also quite clear that Sacha Baron Cohen is a genius. Borat is an very smartly-developed character portrayed with stunning consistency throughout the film. It's too bad for him that Oscars do not get given to comedy actors.

But Borat is a disturbing film in a few ways.

Firstly, it's a mockumentary. I have no problem with mockumentaries (three cheers for Christopher Guest), but the difference between this and many previous such films is that only (I believe) four of the characters were actors.

So?

So that means I just spent 84 minutes laughing at real people. That smarts a little. I don't really mind laughing at people when they really deserve it, but one couldn't help feeling that many of these people were unfairly represented. In the "Southern Manners" scene, for example, it seems pretty clear that the hostility comes after the deception is revealed, but that the reveal itself is edited out. This paints the real people involved in a very negative light.

Which brings me to my next point: editing.

This may be true worldwide; I don't know. But it is definitely true in America that people do not understand that it is possible to lie in a documentary. Fahrenheit 9/11 probably helped to dispel this misconception a little, but overall I think most people believe whatever TV-like footage you show them.

And that sits a little uncomfortably with me. I don't like the idea of playing on the audience's ignorance.

And overall, Borat seems designed to highlight the most outlandish, bigoted, intolerant and insane aspects of middle-class America. Apparently I live in a country populated mostly by racist, sexist, homophobic idiots.

But you know what I thought while watching many of these scenes? "Wow, Americans are really nice people."

It's true that some people in the movie have little excuse, however they were edited. That guy at the rodeo who says all gays should be hanged? It's hard to think of a context in which that could have been an okay statement. That's pretty damning footage.

But scene after scene depicts people who were manipulated into self-condemnation simply because they didn't want to be impolite. They wanted to be nice to this strange but friendly foreigner, and they tried to just nod along and ignore some of the crazy things he was saying. And then their responses were quite obviously edited and their intents twisted.

Now, to be clear, I have no sympathy with the people who are suing Fox and Baron Cohen. Suck it up, Cupcake: you signed the release. Next time read more closely.

But I found Borat to be intentionally misleading. I don't like that. And don't come telling me it's okay because it was just a comedy. If anything, that makes it worse.

Lie to someone with a straight face, and they might be able to see through it. But get them laughing, appeal to their sense of the ridiculous, and they're at your mercy. You can feed them all kinds of half-truths, and they may never notice.

So while I cracked up (and so will you, if you see it), I wasn't deceived. But that's only because I keep my brain on at all times.

I guess that's my moral, if this post has a moral. Keep your brain turned on. There's no such thing as "pure entertainment."

On to the Next!

So I went to London to see my girlfriend. Man, that girl is haahhhhht:



Anyway, I'm back and ready to go on to my next rewrite, which I call the Polygamy script. Note the new progress bar to the right.

This should kill some time while I wait for notes on the Rom-Com from Greg and Blair and David.

Other Eyes

All the cutting is done on my rom-com. I think. It's six pages longer than I wanted, but I think that might be okay.

While I was at it, I worked in some character development and dialogue adjustments. I could probably keep tweaking this thing indefinitely, but I really feel like it's very close to finished, so it's time to get some Other Eyes on it.

Other Eyes are good. They're fresh, and they can look at things with perspective, whereas I am mired in my own work and may be currently incapable of honest evaluation.

It's a great feeling.

I did the same thing when I was a graphic design student. In an early 2-D design class, I had to produce a work incorporating (I think) seven different tricks for creating the three-dimensional illusion.

I spent days just thinking about what I was going to do before I ever started drawing. I figured out how I was going to use each and every one of these tools, and also how in the process I was going to paint something totally kick-ass.

I worked it hard, and felt pretty good about my watercolor masterpiece when it was done. The instructor critiqued everyone's project in class those days, and when he got to mine -

I got 3 out of the 7. Four, if he was being nice. And he probably wasn't.

If only I'd asked someone else whether they thought the piece was complete, instead of just making an assumption.

You know what happens when you make an assumption?

I'd rather not make an ass out of you and umption when it comes to sending out this script. So hopefully some cat like Greg will be able to help me decide if it's ready for the world or needs some more TLC.

It better be ready soon. I'm sick of writing comedy.

Cut, Cut, Cut

So when last heard from, I was trying to cut 148 pages down to 100ish pages. Special thanks to Emily Blake for the progress bar info, which adds some snazziness (oh yeah, it's a word).

I thought at first that I was going to have to cut huge chunks out of some of my favorite scenes, which kind of run a little long. However, I discovered that I can probably just go through and tighten them all up and still come out significantly shorter. The real cutting is in my connecting scenes between the set-pieces, which tend to be horribly extended by pleasant but irrelevant dialogue.

So I had all kinds of fun last night writing an eight-page replacement for a 20-page sequence. In the process I got to take it out of the realm of People Talking In Rooms and make it fun, with snappier dialogue and physical abuse. Great stuff.

So that's all. Nothing else too exciting, just working away. I hope to be done with all of this rewrite by February 28, when I go see this girl

Polishing the Jet Engine

At 5:08 a.m. EST, I finally finished this damn draft. Absolutely unbelievable, how much that thing grew in the writing. I already wrote it once! And it still wanted to get bigger when I wrote it the second time.

I sound bitter, but I'm not. I'm just not as excited as probably some people (including me) are when they finish a rough draft, because this rough draft is actually also a second draft. It should have been smoother and quicker and resulted in something much more finished-looking than this.

Now, there are good reasons why this is not the case. The first draft had kind of a pathetic plot, necessitating pretty much a page one rewrite. So as noted in my previous post, the is the jet engine to the first draft's steam engine.

But still. It took a long freakin' time. This is the kind of script that should be 100 pages. It's 148 pages. I have to cut a third of this thing. And most of it feels important.

I know, I know, everyone thinks all of his material is important. I get that. But unlike some other writers (the ones I call "bad"), I actually try to make all my scenes mean something, not just be fun or funny or exciting. Probably that's because without some sort of character development, I wouldn't be able to make most of it fun or funny or exciting.

So I now have to cut probably at least 30 pages of story that I think actually matters.

Plus, I kind of have the feeling that one reason it's so long is my paragraph structures. I break paragraphs often. My action is all diced up into little manageable chunks, often one sentence long.

This makes for some really long scenes, purely from a page-count standpoint.

I'm not sure what to do about that. I have a feeling if you actually shot this movie, it would come in closer to 120 minutes than 148 minutes.

But readers and managers and agents and producers like thin scripts. Thus, I must keep the pages down.

So my rewrite now commences. I need a progress bar like Emily, so I can show how I reach my goal of being done with major rewrites by February 22.

How do I find one of those? Anyone know?

Building the Jet Engine

I know my two faithful readers have been wondering what happened to me, and here's my explanation, but I warn you: you won't like it.

Here it comes ...

Ready?

You know you want it ...

Okay then, fine! The explanation is:

I've been working my ass off.

That's right, I've now become the thing that all blogging writers hate: someone who, when offered extra time to blog, chooses to actually write instead. You know it, baby.

I would love to follow up on The Explanation by saying that all that dedication has paid off with a finely-crafted and ready-for-querying script, but the fact is that it's only gotten me a very, very rough and not-even-quite-finished rough draft.

I did finish the ending to my own current satisfaction, but I went right back to work on the beginning I'd never quite gotten to work how I wanted, so it doesn't count.

But hopefully this week is the week. Or tonight the night, who knows?

Anyway, there's this Alex Epstein quote that I'm too lazy to look up, but I can remember it enough to make the point. It goes: "You don't want to be left polishing an old steam engine when you could have a brand new, dirty, smelly jet engine instead."

And that's how I feel right now. I'm almost done building my jet engine. Sending it to the detailing crew for cleanup and paint is a mere anticlimax away.

So stretch ye the metaphors as you will—I'm going to be over here, working away.

He postures and poses, he listens to Keane/He rants and he raves like a man in a dream

Remember when I wrote some time back about how I love rewrites and think they're the greatest time in the worldest?

I take it back.

Since then I've written a great grand seven pages. That's right. Seven. In two weeks.

Now, as usual, I'm going to go ahead and blame work conditions. I also have a new excuse for your enjoyment: Winter.

That's right, as an unforeseen byproduct of the third shift schedule, the longer times of darkness (not to be confused with Dark Times) are causing my body to send me sleep signals at an alarming rate, even when I've already had plenty of sleep.

But even with these excuses, seven pages in 14 days is pretty lame. I'm disappointed in me.

Despite Emily's exhortation to go ahead and write standing on my head, smoking a cigar if that's how I really crank it up, I've had some trouble making dents in the almost-page-one rewrite of my neo-screwball comedy.

And now The Fear is back in the form of Greg, freshly home from China. Jerk wants to meet again, so I better come up with something to validate my own existence.

Fortunately, I have at least produced a reasonable one-fifth-of-the-movie long sequence, and tonight I may well do even more. If I can kick-start my imagination hard enough to cough and sputter it's steam-powered way along the story development superhighway like the Model-A clunker that it is.

I keep looking forward to the time when writing this comedy will be over and I can go back to drama, but damned if I didn't just have another great idea for a comedy that will now nag at me with the persistence of a four-years-engaged woman tired of her fiancé's feet-dragging and his over-used hyphenation.

Maybe I'll just keep it back for a rainy-day pitch. Because we all know I meet with producers next to nonstop.

I'll see you cats in another two weeks.

Unpaid Me Will Rock Your Overpaid Development World

I like knowing Greg, because he's hooked up to the world of film, and sometimes he gives me unproduced scripts to read. I read two of them this week, and I realized something:

I'm a better writer than most people.

I know you're all surprised to hear that a screenwriter thinks himself better at the craft than other people who are actually making money (screenwriters are usually such humble people), but it's true, I tell you. Every single one of these scripts has had quite obvious flaws to which I am pretty sure I have simple solutions.

Of course, no producers are paying me to develop these ideas, so this helps me not at all, in a practical sense.

But for encouragement, there's nothing like it.

I managed an hour-and-a-half-ish of writing tonight before exhaustion overcame me, and I brought the page count up to 20 on the rewrite. More importantly, I summitted a minor story hill I'd been climbing all week, leaving the path open for some solid progress next time I write.

And what's even better, most of it is feeling at least mildly funny, and much of it very funny. This may not sound like a big deal to all you other comedic geniuses, but for me it's bloody amazing.

From now on, only dramas. Comedy is stressful.

Glorious Rewrite

Rewrite time is a fun time. I forgot how much fun it is.

Draft time is a fun time. In fact, it's probably the most fun time. But it comes with all these pressures. Namely, the pressure to create something new, and the pressure to create at lightning-quick speed.

I subscribe (at least up until recently) to the idea that a first draft should be pounded out as quickly as possible, with as little thinking as posssible.

Outline, outline, outline. Then first draft. Fast first draft. No tweaking, no going back, no second guessing.

This means that I can knock out a draft in a couple weeks or less, to the envy of all my other writer friend(s). But it also means that sometimes those drafts are less than I hoped. I suppose this to be a fairly common problem among screenwriters, but I wish to eradicate it.

When I was in elementary school, junior high, senior high and college, I wrote things at a nice, deliberate pace. My first drafts were like third drafts. It was wonderful.

When I became a screenwriter everyone said that I should write first drafts like first drafts. And certainly this helps them to come out fast.

But while draft time is definitely better than the maddening limbo of outline time, rewrite time is probably my favorite time. Granted, this is only my second time there, but the last time (almost a year ago) was all kinds of fun, and so far this time is too.

Rewrite gives you that chance to really make the script the way you wanted it to be. I can obsess and finesse and tweak and adjust and do over to my perfectionistic heart's content.

In the current case, the rewrite really is almost a complete rewrite, so it has all that magical aura of a first draft with the freedom and reward of a rewrite. It's beautiful.

I have 17 pages of rewrite so far. Because I can, I will probably remove a couple of those pages, but even so, I'm pretty proud.

I'd be making a lot more progress, but things have been absolutely insane at work, with violence, non-compliance and anger on every side. I'm not even exaggerating.

So my actual "work" work takes me much longer every night, decreasing the writing time available. And my days tend to last longer, which means I get less sleep and then can't stay awake enough to produce anything good.

I'm not really into the "suffering writer" thing. It doesn't really help my creativity as much as you'd think. So let's hope this is over soon.

In only slightly related news, I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's tonight while doing paperwork. I'm trying to dredge my memory to a certain extent, but I think this may be the original "falls in love with his best friend" movie. Anyone?

Making a Plot to Slay the Agents

I'm not a plot guy.

Some people can take an idea and go nuts with it. Tell them something you came up with, and they'll tell you ten other things that could go along with it and are probably better ideas anyway.

Greg is one of these people. I hate that jerk.

My friend Shawn is even more one of those people. Of course, I hate him less because he's not a writer, and therefore does not make me feel quite as bad about myself.

I am not one of those people. Show me an idea, and I'll say to you, "That's an idea, right there."

I mean, I'd dress it up more and so forth, but at the time, I'll have nothing to add.

I will then spend six weeks thinking about it, and if I'm lucky, I'll have a storyline for you to tear apart and tell me to rethink.

But it's a hella-long process, making a plot.

Now, fortunately for me, there are other things about writing that I am good at. This tends to redeem me in my own eyes.

But plot is hard.

And that is why I was overjoyed today when both Greg and myself deemed my current storyline good enough to at least start rewriting.

Because, while I get a kick out of making progress on a plot, and I do get that giddy writer feeling, too often the outlining process is full of very frustrating roadblocks.

Whereas draft time goes by so fast. It's the most fun, and I fly pretty well at it. It makes me happy.

This is only the second time I've tried to rewrite a script. So I'm looking forward to seeing how it comes out when I rewrite a concept that actually has high saleability.

If I'm lucky and work hard, I hope to have a ready-to-pitch script in a couple months' time.

And that's a very frightening idea, indeed.