Unscripted: Exploits of a Penniless Screenwriter

Claim Your Genre

2011-01-12T20:12:00.001-08:00

I was reading a script recently - a rom-com. The story proceeded to unfold in a light-hearted rom-com fashion when suddenly, in act three, the protagonist dies in a CAR CRASH! I can only imagine, if this movie ever gets made, how shocked/confused/upset/pissed off the audience would be at this point. They bought tickets to see a romantic comedy, which is typically a genre where, rest assured, your beloved characters are safe from violent car crashes. The movie claims to be in one genre, but - gotcha! - the screenwriter lied!

Genres set up expectations for an audience - without a system of categorization, movies wouldn't get marketed to the right audiences, and they wouldn't make money. Genre is key. It's our duty as screenwriters to announce the genre of our script in the opening scene - and then stay within the confines of that genre.

The James Bond movies do this extremely well. It's now cliched to open with an action scene in a spy movie, but audiences expect it - and it also allows them to put their minds at ease, because when the opening action scene is over, they can sit back and relax, knowing full well they will get what they paid for. Imagine if a James Bond movie opened with a twenty-minute dialogue scene, like in Inglourious Basterds - no matter how well-written the scene is, the audience would be squirming in their seats!

It's all about expectation - the trick is to not only meet those expectations, but to exceed them - and deliver a few surprises along the way, all while operating within the right genre.

How to Raise the Stakes of Your Movie - Using a Simple Toothbrush Example

2010-11-10T13:01:00.000-08:00

As important as stakes are in a script, it's surprising how easy it is to forget about them while writing the script, especially the first draft. It's easy to get caught up in the structure during the outlining phase and forget about the characters - what they want, why they want it, and WHY WE SHOULD CARE. This last point may be the the most important thing of all in raising the stakes, because the audience has to feel that the stakes are high for the characters, or else they won't be emotionally invested in the story.

Let's start with a simple toothbrush example. Imagine you're writing a scene about a man looking for his toothbrush. He looks under his bed. Nothing. Looks in his refrigerator. Nothing. Finally, he gives up, goes to the store, and buys a new toothbrush. End scene. What's wrong with this scene? IT'S BORING!!! We don't care about the man or his toothbrush, because there's nothing at stake. It's mundane.

Stakes in a movie should be high, but they don't necessarily have to be life or death. It's just that the stakes should be high FOR THE CHARACTERS. If we care about the characters, and they really care about something, then we will care too. It's like when a best friend comes to you and tells you about a terrible breakup. You sympathize, and you feel like your heart has also been broken.

Using the same toothbrush example, how do we raise the stakes of the scene and make the viewers actually care? There are a variety of ways to do this, and each idea spins the scene into a different genre altogether:

What if it has a recording device with valuable information recorded on it? Suddenly we care about the hero finding it - before the bad guys do! (spy movie)

Or maybe the toothbrush is a gold-plated family heirloom - this makes buying a new toothbrush out of the question. Then the royal family shows up, and he has to improvise a fake gold-plated toothbrush - because if his family finds out he lost it, they'll disown him! (comedy)

Or we could add dimension to the main character, making him a clean freak who HAS to brush his teeth - or he'll go insane. If his insanity is at stake, then there's a lot to win or lose, and suddenly the scene is much more interesting. (drama - think One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest)

Or, we could put a time lock on the scene. The man's date is coming to his house in five minutes, and he has DRAGON BREATH - so he has to find a way to brush his teeth before it's too late - or he'll lose the girl. (romantic comedy)

There are a million different ways to spin this scene, but the important thing is, each of these examples RAISES THE STAKES for our hero. Some of them are ridiculous, yes, but if the character stands to win or lose something he/she cares about, then the audience will care too.

Campbell, Snyder, or McKee?

2010-11-01T11:25:00.000-07:00

Every screenwriter has their favorite "story guru," whether it be Joseph Campbell, Blake Snyder, Robert McKee, John Truby, or Syd Field. There are many others, but those are some of the "experts" that come to mind. Beginning screenwriters, depending on which guru's book they read first, often follow the formulas they read as if it were a religion. There's danger in this, because there's not only one way to look at story. It also gets really confusing for these writers, because if he/she only reads McKee, and then starts up a conversation with another writer who only follows Snyder, then they are bound to argue about certain story points, terms, and formulas.

As a burgeoning screenwriter, I first read Joseph Campbell's The Hero with a Thousand Faces, and I was impressed by the mythic structures he identified in all types of stories. However, I soon found that this one approach to storytelling limited my view, and I had a hard time applying some of the mythic concepts to modern movies. So then I read Blake Snyder, and fell in love with his very structured approach to movies with his 15 step beat sheet. However, I learned that the beat sheet, while incredibly useful in outlining, doesn't help to flesh out the main characters and the emotional through-line of my scripts. I started listening to Pilar Alessandra's podcasts, then read her book, The Coffee Break Screenwriter, where she focuses a lot on character. I also read Karl Iglesias' book, which deals with fleshing out the emotional beats of the story. Prior to this, I read Linda Seger, Paul Chitlik, Andrew Horton, William Goldman, and many others. The point is, I learned something from all of these story gurus. I liked some more than others, but that's the point - I took bits and pieces from each approach, I developed my own approach to storytelling, and I believe I'm a better screenwriter because of it.

I believe there's a danger in ascribing to only one philosophy of storytelling. Formulas, while helpful at times in the outlining process, can also be incredibly limiting. That said, there are those writers who devalue the advice of all these story gurus and do their own thing. I believe there's danger in this approach as well, because then you are only limiting yourself to your own experience - and there's much to be gleaned from reading about other perspectives on storytelling. So whether you're a Campbellite, a Snyderite, or a Mckeeophile (I just made these terms up - they sound legit though, don't they?) I think it's important to be open-minded about other approaches, because then you can always learn something new, and your writing will be better for it.

The most effective way to learn story, however, is to write your own stuff. Second, is to read other people's scripts and identify what works and what doesn't. That's why being a script reader can be the best education a screenwriter can have. The most important thing is to keep learning and not to hide behind one particular formula. If it were as easy as plugging in numbers, then every single movie made would be an instant success. But as we all know, that's not the case. Every story's different, and so each story requires a different approach entirely.

Book Review: Writing for Emotional Impact

2010-10-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

I also look forward to Karl Iglesias' articles in Creative Screenwriting. He's an insightful story consultant who gives simple, constructive advice with a fresh, unique spin. His book, Writing for Emotional Impact, is one of a kind. Instead of focusing solely on structure, Iglesias dives into the importance of connecting emotionally with the readers of your script. "Emotion is your script's lifeblood," he says, and he wisely argues that no one leaving a movie theater is going to comment on the movie's structure or use of dramatic tension - they will talk only about what they felt. Mr. Iglesias has a very good point, and one that we should all remember - if the person reading your script doesn't feel anything, then you've failed, no matter how structurally perfect your script may be.

There is a ton of information packed into this book. My only complaint is that it's organized in a bullet-point fashion, which makes it a little difficult to process as well as find what you're looking for the second go-around. Overall though, it's a great book and a unique but essential approach to screenwriting that will allow you to really hook your reader by the first page.

This book is ideal for the rewrite phase, after you've written that first draft.

Waste of Time [ ]

Worth the Read [xx]

Buy this Book [ ]

Subtext: What is your story REALLY about?

2010-10-11T20:59:00.000-07:00

In every great movie, there are really two stories happening at once. The first is the one on the surface (the plot), which the audience saw advertised in the movie trailer and actually came to see on the screen. When people ask, what is the movie about? that's what they're referring to. The second is more subversive (theme/subtext), and is actually what the story is REALLY about. They are both equally important. Karl Iglesias says, "Story brings an audience into the theater; theme makes it worthwhile." Of course, the two should be so intrinsically connected that they complement one another. The plot proves the theme; the theme adds dimension to the plot.

In my experience, beginning screenwriters tend to pitch their theme when they should be pitching their story. Perhaps they want to tell a personal story about the loss of a family member and they want to communicate the theme - "life doesn't end with death." That's all fine and dandy, but they should keep that theme to themselves. In fact, those words shouldn't even be said in the film. It should come out naturally in the movie, through the central character's decisions which lead to his/her arc. I used to be very thematic when I pitched my ideas - then I realized no one (for all intents and purposes) goes to see a movie for its theme, but for its story. They want to be entertained, not lectured to. If you want to preach to your audience, then make a documentary.

I'm not saying don't have a theme, in fact, I believe theme is extremely important. But it should be buried in the subtext so that people have to actually discover it for themselves - which is much more rewarding than being told.

Here's an example from Lost, which I consider to be THE Bible of great storytelling (say what you want about the series finale, but it rocked). The show has many themes, but one of the central questions it explores is whether it's better to live your life by faith or science. John Locke is the man of faith, and Jack Shephard is the man of science. Instead of having the two characters sit down and have an in-depth conversation about faith and science, the writers did something brilliant - they brought in THE BUTTON. (brief explanation: there's a computer in a hatch, where an apparently crazy man named Desmond tells Jack and Locke that he has to enter numbers into a computer and then press the "execute" button every 108 minutes or the world will explode!) Jack, the pragmatist that he is, thinks Desmond is crazy and that nothing will happen. Locke believes "they were all brought to the island for a reason" and that pushing their button and saving the world is their destiny. Here's the scene:

On the surface (plot), Jack and Locke argue about whether or not pushing the button is important. Under the surface (theme), they're really having a philosophical conversation about faith vs. science. But it's not just a conversation, it's a match between Jack's and Locke's egos, and only one of them can win. There's tension, on-screen conflict, stakes (the ego of both characters), and a timelock (the timer counting down to zero). A brilliant scene that shows how you can write an entertaining scene that can also be rich in subtext without being preachy.

Screenwriting Tools That I Love

2010-10-09T13:24:00.000-07:00

Make no mistake, screenwriters may considered artists, but they are most certainly craftsmen. The great Lajos Egri says it best: "It takes about three years of apprenticeship to make a good shoemaker; the same is true of carpentry or any other skill. Why should playwriting [or screenwriting] - one of the hardest professions in the world - be acquired overnight, without serious study?"

Anyone with an imagination and a self-motivated work ethic can become a screenwriter. But Mr. Egri is right - it's a craft and skill that requires years of study and practice. Even the great screenwriters are constantly learning more about their craft.

Here are some of my favorite tools that help me become a better writer. This is by no means a comprehensive list, but you may find some of them helpful.

SCRIPTSHADOW (http://scriptshadow.blogspot.com/)

You've probably heard of this site, run by "Carson Reeves," who reviews the newest, most buzz-about scripts in Hollywood. I can't recommend this site enough. Many of the articles feature links to the scripts reviewed so you can read them yourself.

CREATIVE SCREENWRITING MAGAZINE / SCRIPT MAGAZINE

Both informative screenwriting mags. They're both published quarterly, but they're stuffed with a lot of great stuff, including interviews with screenwriters and articles from screenwriting gurus, such as Karl Iglesias.

ON THE PAGE PODCAST WITH PILAR ALESSANDRA

Another must. Pilar interviews a variety of Hollywood creatives but always focuses on "the craft and business of screenwriting." I've learned a lot from this weekly podcast, and I look forward to it every week. You can access the first 15 minutes of each podcast on iTunes for free, but you have to pay $20 for a six-month subscription to listen to the full-length podcasts. It's well worth it.

JOHNAUGUST.COM

Hollywood screenwriter John August (Big Fish, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Corpse Bride) gives a wealth of practical advice and information to screenwriters. And it's free!

AINTITCOOL.COM

All the latest movie news. Of course there are other great entertainment news sites, but this one's my daily go-to site.

VARIETY AND HOLLYWOOD REPORTER

Nothing beats reading the trades. It's a bit costly, but if you're serious about staying up to date, it's worth it to get at least the weekly subscription.

TRACKING-BOARD.COM

You have to pay to get access to this site, but for the serious screenwriter, nothing beats it. It has a library of thousands of scripts, and a file exchange where the latest scripts are posted. I get most of my scripts from this site.

SCRIPT-O-RAMA.COM

If the tracking board is too expensive, this site also has a library of scripts. It's not nearly as expansive, but at least it's free.

BOOKS:

If you're just getting started:

SCREENPLAY: WRITING THE PICTURE by Robin Russin and Downs

THE ART OF DRAMATIC WRITING by Lajos Egri

POETICS by Aristotle

For beginners and vets:

SAVE THE CAT by Blake Snyder

THE COFFEE BREAK SCREENWRITER by Pilar Alessandra

THE WRITER'S JOURNEY by Chris Vogler

WRITING FOR EMOTIONAL IMPACT by Karl Iglesias

MAKING A GOOD SCRIPT GREAT by Linda Seger

I'll be reviewing some of these books more in-depth in future blog entries.

How Adding a Midpoint Can Save Your Movie

2010-10-07T17:03:00.000-07:00

Though every film has a middle, not every film has a "midpoint." What I'm referring to is a screenwriting technique that if used effectively can help remedy the "second act lag." The industry unfortunately calls for three acts, which sort of makes sense because it's simple (beginning, middle, end). In a two-hour movie, Act I is typically 30 minutes, Act II is 60 minutes, and Act III is thirty minutes. That means Act II is twice as long as Acts I and III! Seems kind of silly, doesn't it? I can see why many people argue against the three act structure. However, the three act structure is so deeply embedded into industry lingo that one simply can't ignore it. But that doesn't mean we can't cheat a little. Because Act II can be daunting, I simply SPLIT IT INTO TWO PARTS. I call them Act IIa. and Act IIb. So that's essentially four acts, but it makes Act II a lot more manageable. The moment of the script that divides Act II and Act III is the midpoint -- the moment in the script where a new surprise occurs which spins the story off into a new direction. It's essentially when things start to get serious for your protagonist.

Paul Chitlik, in his book "Rewrite," defines a midpoint as a turning point, "wherein the action takes a sudden and new unexpected direction. The goal may change. The central character may realize what his flaw is. His true needs become more important than what he wants."

Karl Iglesias, in "Writing for Emotional Impact," says that a midpoint "is often when the hero decides to stop being reactive and becomes a more active hero, or is forced into being one. He becomes fully committed to his goal and takes more desperate actions."

Linda Seger, in "Making A Good Script Great" warns that "many writers mistake the midpoint for the first turning point, thereby throwing the structure off and creating scripts where the second act doesn't begin until halfway through the script. However, if the writer begins creating a clear three-act structure, often a midpoint scene will naturally emerge."

So what are some examples of great movie midpoints? Here are some of my favorites:

-In E.T., the alien tells Elliott he must phone home, and Elliott decides to help him. Prior to this scene Elliott was merely reactive; now he becomes an active protagonist as he devises a plan to help his new alien friend.

-In The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo volunteers at the Council of Elrond to take the ring to Mordor. In the first half of Act II he risked his life to get the ring to Rivendell, but he was a reluctant hero; now he's willing to face greater danger for the second half of Act II.

-For the first half of Thelma & Louise, Louise is the protagonist that drives the action, and Thelma is along for the ride. But when Thelma loses their money to J.D., she decides to take control. The two women begin their crime spree, which comprises the rest of Act II.

-In The Visitor, Walter receives drum lessons from Tarek for the first half of Act II. The movie is shaping up to be a feel-good story about a middle-aged man finding solace in music, but then comes...the midpoint! Tarek is taken by immigration control and Walter tries to get his friend back throughout the rest of Act II. Walter even meets Tarek's mother and a romance subplot develops in Act IIb. The movie abruptly switches genres, and it actually works.

-In Transsiberian, Jessie is infatuated with handsome fellow train passenger Carlos. Act IIa builds their relationship, and we think Jessie is going to have an affair with him. But when she "accidentally" kills him at the midpoint, the movie suddenly becomes a thriller where Jessie has to cover up his death.

-The movie with, in my opinion, the greatest midpoint of all time is Jaws. That movie's structure is solid. It's basically divided in two halves. The first half deals with Brody's inability to stop the shark attacks. At the midpoint, he decides to take matters into his own hands and ventures out on the Orca with Quint and Hooper. The last half of the film, of course, is what most of us remember most because it's much more exciting than the first half. But that slow build in the first half makes it all the more enjoyable.

In essence, a midpoint is about halfway through your movie (though it doesn't have to be exact), where the stakes are raised and the hero becomes more committed to his/her goal, or may acquire a completely new goal. The important thing is that it keeps your story fresh and exciting while maintaining the integrity of your story's premise. Not all movies require a midpoint, but if you find that the middle of your movie is slow or boring, try adding one.

Book Review: The Coffee Break Screenwriter

2010-09-27T08:01:00.000-07:00

I've been a listener of Pilar Alessandra's "On the Page" podcast for a few years now, and I find her to be one of the greatest screenwriting teachers around. She disposes of theoretical terms and simplifies storytelling to its essence in order to give her listeners and students practical advice. When I heard about her new book, The Coffee Break Screenwriter, I rushed out to buy it and was not disappointed.

Pilar is a proponent of distilling various screenwriting tasks into manageable, bite-sized ten minute chunks. She knows that getting a first draft on paper quickly is the only the first step - it's the rewriting that counts. My favorite chapter is titled "The Rewrite," where Pilar actually makes rewriting fun by breaking the process down into various "passes" such as the concept pass, the structure pass, the story pass, the character pass, and the format pass, as well as ten-minute "polishes" such as the payoff rewrite, the revelation rewrite, and the subplot rewrite. Like most serious screenwriters, I have a handful of fairly decent spec scripts, but I didn't consider any of them ready to present to an agent. With The Coffee Break Screenwriter, I was able to take a decent script and make it great, thanks to the amazing rewrite chapter. There's also a chapter on "The Craft," and another on "The Presentation," to truly get your script to read well on paper.

Pilar's book isn't a theoretical screenwriting book that you read once and then dispense with. It's a workbook that I'm going to use to take all of my scripts to the next level. Well worth the money - it's like having your own personal script consultant in book form.

Easily on my list of top 5 screenwriting books.

[ ] Waste of Time

[ ] Worth the Read

[X] Buy this book

Say Goodbye to Outlining and Hello to the Blake Snyder Beat Sheet!

2010-09-22T08:32:00.000-07:00

I'm a huge fan of the Blake Snyder beat sheet. I've used it in my classes and my students have found success with it because it makes the writer's job so much easier. The three act structure just isn't useful guide to crafting a screenplay because it's too sprawling and vague. The Blake Snyder beat sheet gives you fifteen essential beats that are found in all successful movies. It still gives you room to play and have fun with your concept, but it helps you flesh out the important plot points.

I've beated out some of my favorite movies to see if they hold up to scrutiny, and guess what? They all do! Even Slumdog Millionaire, which is a nonlinear story, hits every essential beat. I thought it would take the fun out of it if I deconstructed my favorite movies, but it actually made me appreciate them that much more...because they're so well-structured. Like perfect little sistine chapels or something. So here are the 15 beats for my favorite movie of all time, Aliens. Mind you, this is the special edition (which I consider to be the definitive edition of Aliens) which is 17 minutes longer than the original. It still hits all the beats - perhaps not the exact page numbers recommended by the late Mr. Snyder, but it's pretty close.

Opening Image: A spaceship, floating through space. Ripley in hypersleep. This image is important because Ripley's main goal is to find rest from her nightmares. This idea is repeated throughout the film in her conversations with Newt. (1)

Theme Stated: Ripley tells the corporate suits that they think this “bullshit” is important but they don’t understand what the aliens can do. Cameron, like he does in Avatar, makes a statement against colonialism and corporate greed. (5)

Set-up: Ripley learns that she's outlived her daughter. This sets up a void in her life which Newt will later fill. She also has recurring nightmares, and we know she cannot rest until the aliens are destroyed. (1-14)

Catalyst: Burke offers her a position on the mission to LV-426 to discover what happened to the colonist families. (21)

Debate: Ripley turns down the offer from Burke. She doesn’t want to risk her life again. (22-25)

Break into Two: After another nightmare, Ripley tells Burke that she’s in – as long as they destroy the creatures. (25)

B Story: There are three main subplots in the movie, and they are all introduced in the first half hour: Newt provides the emotional backbone of the movie. She and her family are introduced early (15-20). Although Newt and Ripley don't meet until much later (55), this setup is sufficient because the "fun and games" section is all about exploring the strange alien planet.

Burke provides another subplot, which allows for human conflict later in the film. He's been introduced earlier to Ripley; the question is: can he be trusted? His character also represents the corporate establishment, and as such allows for the exploration of the theme involving corporate greed.

Also, we meet Bishop in the cafeteria. Ripley immediately distrusts him. Like the Burke subplot, we don't know whether we can trust him or not, especially following the events with the android Ash in the original Alien. (32)

Fun and Games: This is the section of the movie we've been waiting for. The crew prepares for the mission. They go to LV-426. The tension builds until finally they are attacked, and Ripley saves them. (25-85)

Midpoint: The transport ship crashes and our heroes are stranded. Now the stakes have been raised. (85)

Bad Guys Close In: The aliens literally close in on Ripley, Newt, and the marines. Our heroes set up a perimeter to hold them off while Bishop makes his way down a pipe to a ship. This is a built-in time lock, since our heroes must survive until Bishop returns with the ship. Meanwhile, facehuggers attack Newt and Ripley as a result of Burke's treachery. Burke is exposed as a traitor, but before our heroes can do anything about it, the aliens break in and kill half their group. (85-120)

All is Lost: Newt falls down a shaft and is taken by an alien. (120)

Dark Night of the Soul: The planet is about to explode. Ripley has a decision to make – flee or go back for Newt. (125)

Break into Three: Ripley lights up her flame thrower and prepares to go back for Newt. Now she has another time lock - the planet is set to self-destruct in twenty minutes. (125-130)

Finale: There is a double-finale here. The first is Ripley saving Newt from the nest and escaping the planet. (130-143) We think everything's safe, but there's a second surprise ending, where the alien queen appears and Ripley must fight it in her power loader. (143-150)

Closing Image: Ripley and Newt in hypersleep. (151) The opening image is brought back full-circle. Now, neither Ripley nor Newt will have nightmares because the evil has been vanquished. At least, until Alien 3 ruins everything.

So there you have it. Though the special edition of Aliens pushes two and a half hours, its structure is solid and it hits all the beats successfully.

Wish Songs

2010-06-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

I was watching The Princess and the Frog recently and during the 'Almost There' number, in which the protagonist, Tiana, informs the audience of her dream to open up her father's restaurant, I noticed that Disney has used this "wish song" device in all its musicals. It started with Snow White singing at the wishing well, and it was used throughout the 90s during the Disney golden age. The wish song is usually used within the first ten minutes of the movie, and it's always sung by the protagonist, who spills his or her heart's desire or motivation which will dictate the plot of the movie.

It's a useful device to study because the character motivation is so clear, and it's always paid off by the end of the movie. Even if you're not writing a kids' movie or a musical, it's helpful to look at the tried and true Disney formula because making a protagonist's goal clear is always a challenge.

Crafting the Perfect Logline

2010-03-21T13:54:00.000-07:00

It seems silly that after all the work you put into a screenplay, the success or failure of your script ultimately depends on a one-liner. But such is the case. Many up-and-coming screenwriters don't know how to write a good logline, but it's essential that they do so. Most agents, managers and executives don't have time to read your script, but they all have time to hear your logline. Why waste all the effort you put into your script by neglecting to craft a simple one-liner? It is well worth your energy and attention to craft an effective and catchy logline. You will thank yourself later.

So what makes a good logline?

The late Blake Snyder had some important things to say in his book, Save the Cat. He says a good logline should have four elements: irony, a compelling mental picture, audience and cost, and a killer title. While I agree with these four, I would also add the following: character (adjective + profession), conflict (goal + antagonistic force), and when needed, setup.

I'm not usually one for formulas, but I find the following helpful when crafting a logline:

setup + character (adjective + profession) + conflict (goal + antagonistic force).

Example: In a galaxy far, far away, a restless farm boy struggles to save a princess from an evil empire.

In this case, because the genre is sci-fi there needs to be a brief setup to give us the world of the story (in a galaxy far, far away). The protagonist is introduced as a "restless farm boy" - we don't need to know his name. We have the protagonist's goal (to save a princess) and the antagonistic force (an evil empire). The verb "struggles" is always a good choice because it suggests conflict on a large scope.

Finally, the juxtaposition of the adjective used to describe the character ("restless") with the antagonistic force ("evil empire") should provide irony. What's more ironic than a restless farm boy suddenly thrust into a journey to save a princess from an evil empire? He's restless to begin with, so he probably craves adventure, but in the logline we get the sense he gets more than he bargains for.

There's a difference between a tagline and a logline. A tagline is a marketing tool often seen on posters. For example:

In space, no one can hear you scream. (Alien)

You'll believe a man can fly. (Superman)

The list is life. (Schindler's List)

They're catchy and they want to make you see the movie. But they don't necessarily tell you what the movie is about. Loglines, on the otherhand, probably wouldn't look good on a poster. But for our purpose, a good logline tells the essentials of your story.

Here are a few other examples of good loglines that have a character, conflict, and irony:

A reckless cop struggles to save his estranged wife when terrorists overtake her office building. (Die Hard)

A suicidal teen struggles to overcome depression but must confront his greatest fear - his mother. (Ordinary People)

After her sister is kidnapped, a timid romance novelist ventures to South America to save her. (Romancing the Stone)

In all three examples, we have a clear idea what type of person the protagonist is and what conflicts he or she must confront. We also can sense the genre and tone by the context, and they all have irony. Most importantly, we know what these movies are about.

The Rules of the Game

2010-01-31T13:52:00.000-08:00

You know when the end of a movie feels totally inorganic to the whole story? You feel cheated. You feel that the writers didn't know how to attend the story, so they blame it all on the Nazis (The Unborn) or aliens (The Forgotten). Audiences aren't stupid. They know when an ending is tacked-on, and when it breaks the very rules of the story the screenwriter has created.

I had a teacher last semester who drilled into our heads the mantra, "Is your story believable?!" It kind of annoyed me a little because she seemed to hate any script that was even remotely fantastical, out of the ordinary, or shall I say - creative. But then I realized she probably wasn't attacking the genre of each story, but the breaking of the rules. What do I mean by rules? In every story a screenwriter establishes a world, which is made up of rules. This is true in any genre - no matter how fantastical. As long as this world is established early, the audience can believe this world. Take Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, for instance. It's set in Ancient China, and in this particular world, certain trained fighters can actually fly. It's strange, but we believe it, because it's established early on.

Imagine if nobody flew in the movie at all - that it was like a basic historical epic with some realistic fighting scenes, and then suddenly in the climax, Li Mu Bi decided to fly to the top of a mountain. We would be like, WTF?

Just remember - if you don't know how to end your story, you can always just blame everything on aliens or Nazis. In twenty years, you'll also be able to blame it on the Taliban.

Tell Me What You're Thinking! (Voice-over and how not to use it)

2010-01-14T14:38:00.000-08:00

Wow. I can't believe it's 2010 already. One of my new years resolutions is to write something every day - and since I'm a typical writer and I procrastinate, I'm probably going to end up writing more blog entries than screenplay pages. But better than nothing, right?

"God help you if you use voice-over in your work, my friends. God help you. That's flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write voice-over narration to explain the thoughts of a character."

- Robert McKee in Adaptation

Though Charlie Kaufman used McKee to mock screenwriting gurus in Adaptation, there is some truth to what McKee (played by Brian Cox) says here. However, when used effectively voice-over can be a valuable tool for a screenwriter. Some screenwriters take McKee's advice and say stay away from voice-over completely - it's just a cop-out for lazy writers. Others say that well-written voice-over narration can elevate a movie to the realm of literature. What do I say? I say use it wisely - if you have to use it at all. There are effective ways to use voice-over, but the most important rule is this: don't use it to talk down to your audience. If the audience can't figure out what's going on without voice-over, then you haven't done your job as a screenwriter. Tell the story visually, and if necessary, use voice-over to enhance what's already there, or to create irony. The juxtaposition of what you see and hear creates a third idea - and allows the audience to come to his/her own conclusions. Great soundtracks do the same thing in a movie - rather than playing a song that merely repeats the anguish of the protagonist (i.e. every romantic comedy break-up montage) a good soundtrack can play an unexpected song that juxtaposes with the image (i.e., The Sound of Silence in The Graduate, Somewhere Over the Rainbow in Face/Off).

Some of the worst voice-over tells you what you can already see on the screen. Audiences want to participate in the action of a movie - they want to watch it unfold, piece by piece. Flat-out telling them what's going on not only cheats them out of the experience - it's also kind of insulting. If you want to merely tell a story through words, write a book. Some screenwriters use voice-over to spout out exposition. I feel there's some leeway with this approach, especially opening scenes of the movie, where exposition is expected in order to understand the setting of the story. When used effectively it can establish a mood - think of the cynical dialogue delivered by William Holden at the opening of Sunset Boulevard, or the immortal lines "I had a farm in Africa..." at the opening of Out of Africa. If your story requires exposition at the opening, there are also other devices to employ. Some movies open with written words on screen explaining the setting or time period - such as the scrolling text in Star Wars. Other movies in which the backstory plays a crucial role often start with the backstory so the audience can actually see it - X-Men, Up, Cliffhanger. The Lord of the Rings employs voice-over narration and a ten-minute prologue sequence, and it's incredibly effective.

Most audiences are tolerant of voice-over at the beginning of the movie because they want to be brought into the world of the story as quickly as possible. But when voice-over is used extensively throughout an entire movie, that's when it can become dangerous. Not saying it can't be done, but you risk pulling the audience out of the experience. Case in point: Blade Runner. An otherwise great movie with clunky voice-over. This is what Frank Darabont has to say about the voice-over in Blade Runner:

"It's like you're having sex and someone dumps cold water on you." What a perfect description of what bad narration can do to you when you're emotionally engaged in a film. It pulls you out of the experience completely. In the case of Blade Runner it can be argued the movie needed the voice-over in order to be comprehensible, but still...voice-over shouldn't be used to compensate for an unintelligible plot.

Good examples? Wish I could post clips, but youtube is being ridiculous. Maybe I'll post them later. Here are a few that come to mind: American Beauty, Goodfellas, Shawshank Redemption, Sunset Boulevard, All About Eve, To Kill a Mockingbird and Arrested Development. I'm sure there are many more.

Making Bad Guys Badder

2009-10-31T14:22:00.000-07:00

Since it's Halloween, I decided to focus on the most memorable characters in film - the villains. Great films are often memorable because they have memorable villains. Nurse Ratched, Darth Vader, Norman Bates, Hannibal Lecter, The Wicked Witch of the West...these villains have gone down in history as some of the greatest in movies because they are wonderfully written - not as "mustache-twirling," one-dimensional baddies, but as characters that have specific motives and goals. What makes them bad is not necessarily that they are "evil," but that their goals conflict with our protagonists' goals. Sure, they're not the most moral people, but in order to write effective villains we as screenwriters can't judge our villains - we have to get inside their heads and find out what makes them tick. Ironically, if the audience feels even the slightest sympathy for the villain, that villain will become all the more frightening because they will feel real. Remember, your villains are the heroes of their own story - at least in their mind. The only difference is that you've chosen to tell their opponent's story. It's all about point of view.

Take Nurse Ratched for example. We don't see her side of the story at all. Imagine if One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was shown from her point of view instead of McMurphy's. We would automatically sympathize with her. In fact, we would probably hate McMurphy because he causes so many problems for poor Nurse Ratched! She's just trying to keep the peace at the mental institution!

Darth Vader just wants his son to take his place beside him as they conquer the universe together!

Sure, Hannibal Lecter eats people, but mostly just the bad people that deserve it.

Norman Bates just wants to please his controlling mother. Can't we all relate?

The Wicked Witch of the West just wants her shoes back!

You see? All these villains have relatable motives that, although twisted, makes sense to them. They are the protagonists of their own stories.

One last thought: the antagonist's and the protagonist's goals should be in direct conflict - a "unity of opposites," as Aristotle wrote in The Poetics. One cannot succeed without the other failing. It's like a sports game - only one team can win. Compromise is not an option.

Setting the Scene

2009-10-21T08:49:00.000-07:00

Most scripts begin with a brief scene description in order to establish the world of the story, as well as to set the tone, genre, and visual style. Those accustomed to writing fiction often find this a daunting task because screenwriting is not concerned with dense, prosy paragraphs of description - it calls for the immediate establishment of the protagonist's world through a brief, succinct description of the location. Only those elements that aid the story are necessary. All else should be cut. Ask yourself - what about the location of my story is essential for the audience/reader to know in order to understand the story? What is the "essence" of this place? How can I most effectively (and succinctly) communicate that essence?

Here are a few examples of effective "scene setting" -

From Young Frankenstein, by Gene Wilder:

EXT. FRANKENSTEIN CASTLE – NIGHT

A BOLT OF LIGHTNING!

A CRACK OF THUNDER!

On a distant, rainy hill, the old Frankenstein castle, as we knew and loved it, is illuminated by ANOTHER BOLT OF LIGHTNING.

From Signs, by M. Night Shyamalan:

INT. WINDOW – MORNING

We are looking out a second story window of a house. The backyard is large and green with a wooden jungle gym, worn from use. A single tree throws shade onto a barbecue and a picnic table.

The backyard is lined by crops. Corn. Golden and brown. Six feet high.

Everything is perfect. Like a postcard. And then we HEAR A CHILD SCREAM. IT'S FAR AWAY. WE DON'T KNOW WHERE IT'S COMING FROM.

From Fargo, by Joel and Ethan Coen:

FADE IN FROM WHITE

Slowly the white becomes a barely perceptible image: white particles wave over a white background. A snowfall.

A car bursts through the curtain of snow.

From The Devil Wears Prada, by Peter Hedges:

INT. CHATEAU – FRANCE - DAY

An elegant 17th century mansion a short distance from Paris. A dinner is set for about a hundred people. Everything is perfect: exquisite flowers, linens, silver…

And my personal favorite, from Training Day by David Ayer:

INT. BATHROOM – DAY

Pink carpet and porcelain kitties.

All of these examples set the scene quickly and effectively. They also indicate tone and genre while communicating the essence of the location. It's worthwhile to note that in the final cut of Training Day, the bathroom did not have pink carpet or porcelain kitties; however, the essence of pink carpet and porcelain kitties was still communicated in the film. As screenwriters, we're most concerned with telling the story, which includes establishing the essence of a location, a prop, a character - while also giving enough space for the director, the actors, the set decorators, and all the other talented people working on the film to do their thing. A script is a blueprint for a film, not a manuscript detailing every minutiae of the film in lengthy prose. Keeping this in mind makes us better screenwriters because we can leave the set decorating to the art department and focus on our job - telling the story.

Addressing the Elephant in the Room (without talking about it)

2009-10-02T10:40:00.000-07:00

One of the most difficult things a screenwriter has to do is address problems the characters are dealing with without explicitly explaining those problems for the audience. It's not that those problems can never be addressed by the characters, but the more they discuss their real issues the more likely their dialogue will seem on-the-nose, obvious, or expository. Look at this amazing scene from my one of my favorite movies, Ordinary People. The "elephant in the room" is that the mother (Beth) blames her son (Conrad) for ruining the family's life by trying to kill himself following the tragic death of his older brother. He knows she resents him, but they never discuss their issues because they want to keep the facade that they are "ordinary." The father, Cal, has no idea all this is going on. Screenwriter Alvin Sargent wisely puts Beth and Conrad in a situation that exposes their true relationship without them having to explain this to the audience through boring dialogue. Here's the scene:

Notice how uncomfortable both of them are, how they can't even bring themselves to touch each other. Finally when Conrad yells, "Give her the goddamn camera!" we know exactly how he feels. He doesn't say, "I don't want to take a picture with her! She blames me for trying to kill myself! She's mean!" Both characters reacting to this awkward situation tells us all we need to know about their relationship. The audience doesn't need to be told. They can piece it together because we're all experts at observing human behavior. As a screenwriter, put your characters in situations that make them squirm, and let the audience figure out what the characters are thinking based on the actions they take to get out of those situations.

Here's another example that is semi-related to the "elephant in the room" scenario. It's from The Remains of the Day, another really depressing movie (I have a thing for this type of movie. Maybe I should seek help). This scene depicts Mr. Stevens, who believes that keeping an emotional distance from others is part of his duty as butler to Lord Darlington. Miss Kenton, the housekeeper, is in love with him. In this scene she wants to get him to reciprocate. How does she get him to do this? Watch this scene and find out:

Potentially, this could be a really sentimental scene. She could go up to him and say, "I really like you, Mr. Stevens, and if you didn't act like a robot it would be so much easier to know what you're thinking! What do you feel, Mr. Stevens? Spill your heart out!" It could be really, really bad. But instead screenwriter Ruth Prawer Jhabvala brilliantly uses an object as the center of the conflict. This object, a romance novel that Mr. Stevens is reading at the beginning of the scene, becomes a CHARGED OBJECT - in essence, the book takes on more significance because it is, at least in Miss Kenton's eyes, a possible key to unlock Mr. Steven's cold exterior. We know that the scene really isn't about the book. It's about their relationship. But the book is used as a tool to explore the conflict between these two characters. The "elephant in the room" is not even mentioned, but we as the audience know exactly what each character wants thanks to the use of the book as a charged object (and of course due to the performances of two brilliant actors). Notice the way Mr. Stevens stares at Miss Kenton while she rummages through the book - so much is communicated with that one look. Finding ways to avoid addressing the "elephant in the room" while still utilizing the unspoken tension is one of the most challenging tasks a screenwriter has to do. But when done well, these type of scenes can transform from dull and boring to unforgettable.

On-Screen Conflict

2009-09-12T08:43:00.001-07:00

I'm currently working on a rom-com and my script was workshopped in class yesterday. I received a lot of helpful feedback from Scott (our screenwriting professor) and my fellow grad students. It's interesting how even though you know all the basic principles of storytelling, it's so easy to drop one of the pieces while you perform the complex juggling act of actually writing your screenplay. I was so focused on setting up the story that I forgot one of the most important elements - conflict! My characters talk about conflict. A lot. But Scott made a great point - if characters talk about conflict, is that necessarily conflict? The answer is no, unless while talking about the conflict those characters get into an argument. But in my script the conflict wasn't happening ON-SCREEN, before the eyes of the audience. It was in the background because I was spending all my time setting up the story. The trick is to set up the story without it actually feeling like it's being setup. The audience wants the story to unfold at page one. That means conflict from the moment you type "FADE IN." So how do you make sure you have conflict in every scene, even the early ones? First, ask yourself the simple questions, "what is my character's goal in this scene? Who or what is opposing him/her?" Second, view every scene as a mini-story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. If you see your scenes merely as a means to an end, a necessary checkpoint along the way to the inevitable climax, you will most likely fail at providing effective on-screen conflict. Each scene should be written in the now, as if it were the most important scene in the film up to that point. Make each scene count. Enjoy the journey. And the audience will too. I know, that's easier said than done. But it's important.

Cutting to the Chase

2009-09-12T08:26:00.000-07:00

When I left an IMAX screening of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, I felt as if I'd been beaten over the head with a hammer for two and a half hours. The movie should not have been boring - it had explosions, car chases, spectacular special effects - all the goods any fan-boy could crave. So why was I so disappointed? There were many reasons, but I'd like to focus on one essential element of action films that screenwriters Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman (who both delivered this summer with Star Trek but somehow failed with Transformers 2) passed over completely - the positive/negative crescendo. Okay, so I made up that term. But it works because I see action sequences (and any sequences from other genres, such as musicals) as a piece of music that needs to be carefully orchestrated by the screenwriter. Imagine if you were listening to a song that had no rising and falling action. Just the same beat. Over and over and over again. In the case of Transformers 2, we have explosions. And another explosion. And another. Sure, they may look cool on screen, but if there is no rising and falling action, no build-up, no crescendo, then we are removed from the story. In other words...WE. DON'T. CARE. Those three words spell disaster for any screenwriter. The way to avoid audience disengagement is to alternate between positive and negative, between hope and fear, all within the same scene. Take a look at this classic sequence from one of the greatest action movies of all time: Raiders of the Lost Ark.

The suspense in this scene is perfectly orchestrated between positive and negative, or what David Trottier referred to in The Screenwriter's Bible as "good news and bad news."

THE BREAKDOWN:

good news: Indy and Marion escape the tomb and see the plane. They decide to steal it.

bad news: While trying to sneak up on the pilot, Indy's seen by a Nazi mechanic.

good news: Indy easily dispatches with the mechanic.

bad news: An even bigger Nazi joins the fight.

good news: Indy tricks the dumb Nazi into looking at his feet, then takes the first hit.

bad news: The Nazi takes the second hit, which takes Indy off his feet.

good news: While the Nazi pulls Indy to his feet, Indy bites his arm.

bad news: The Nazi hits him again.

good news: Indy throws sand in the Nazi's eyes.

bad news: The pilot realizes what's going on and pulls out his gun. He's going to shoot Indy.

good news: Marion hits the pilot over the head with the brake blocks.

bad news: Marion accidentally gets herself locked into the cockpit.

good news: She uses the turret gun to take out a truck of incoming nazis.

bad news: the wing of the plane knocks over a container of gasoline, spilling gas everywhere.

bad news: Indy continues to get beat to a pulp by the giant nazi.

bad news: the gasoline is getting close to the fire, which will inevitably lead to an explosion.

[notice how the bad news is increasing]

bad news: Indy can't get Marion out of the cockpit. Meanwhile, the large nazi is still after him.

good news: Indy finally gets a few punches in.

bad news: The nazi knocks him over again.

good news: The nazi hits the plane propeller and gets chopped to bits.

bad news: The gasoline is within inches of the fire!

good news: Indy blasts open the cockpit and pulls Marion out. They escape just as the plane explodes.

Whew! All that in a little over 4 minutes. So what can we learn from this classic scene? It alternates between positive and negative, maintains tension throughout, reveals character (the way Indy fights, tricks the Nazi, and still maintains his sense of humor) and builds to an impressive climax. Actually, all scenes should accomplish the same thing, even non-action ones. The point, however, is that action scenes should move the story forward, and all the while prey upon our hopes and fears. If the scene is successful, the audience is exhausted by the end (in a good way).

Final note: Can there be too much action in a film? Definitely yes, as evidenced by Transformers 2. Raiders, on the other hand, brilliantly spaces its action sequences out - and also curtails the less-important ones, such as the scene where Indy shoots the swordsman. It's a funny moment because it goes against expectations, but it also saves time and allows the story to move forward.

What I learned from watching Citizen Kane again

2009-08-18T08:28:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons Citizen Kane is such a consistently popular film with modern critics is that it is an enigma, just like Charles Foster Kane himself. It is a puzzle film, one of the first (if not the first) films to use a fragmented storytelling technique. Welle’s film is a triumph not only aesthetically, but also from a storytelling point of view. The movie was way ahead of its time, and only in the past decade or so have other filmmakers tried to mimic its structure, such as Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, Nolan’s Memento and Haggis’ Crash.

Citizen Kane is like no other film because it blends genres. It is partially a horror film. One of the first images we see is Xanadu, the gothic fortress built by Kane in his megalomaniac days. It’s more like something out of a Boris Karloff film than a serious psychological drama. Welles also borrows from the film noir genre, mixing light and shadow throughout, and using common plot devices such as the detective (Thompson) and the death (like a murder in a regular film noir) to drive the story forward. It’s also a biopic about a fictional man (though the connection to William Randolph Hearst is worth mentioning) and the story centers around the man of its title and the entirety of his life. All of these elements combine to form the psychological drama that is Citizen Kane. But it’s also more than that. It’s one of a kind.

I had seen the film before, but this time I paid attention to this fractured approach to storytelling. I was fascinated by the way that Welles used certain devices to cue the audience in to the action so that they wouldn’t get lost, but at the same time presenting the information in a seemingly random order. The film begins, famously, with Xanadu and Kane’s death scene, where he mutters the immortal words, “Rosebud.” This is the catalyst of the film, the only real plot point that will tie the rest of the story together. The film, we discover later, is a mystery, and the question, “what is Rosebud?” is the only tangible thing that keeps us really interested. And it’s introduced in scene one. This bleak beginning is juxtaposed with News on the March, a jovial ten-minute film reel that gives us glimpses into the public life of Charles Foster Kane. Welles’ use of the film reel is ingenious, because it orients the audience, providing them a framework that they can reference as they make their journey throughout the jigsaw puzzle that is the rest of the film.

It is interesting that Thompson is never lit from the front – though he is our protagonist, the detective that drives the story forward, Welles doesn’t want us to get attached to him because the real mystery of the story is Mr. Kane. Thompson is more of a plot device than an actual flesh and blood character. When looking at the film as a series of interviews, its structure doesn’t seem too complex. There are five central flashbacks, each given by a different person in Kane’s life. Each gives us a different perspective on Kane. The first occurs while Thompson researches Kane in the library. He stumbles upon an entry written by Mr. Thatcher. We then flash back to Kane’s childhood. Watching the movie the second time, this is ingenious because the sled is already introduced into the story at this early stage. We see how it is really the only piece of innocence in his life – even his mother is a heartless woman who gives him up to Mr. Thatcher. The second flashback is given through Mr. Bernstein, where we flash to Kane taking over the newspaper and marrying Emily. It’s a happy, exciting time in Kane’s life, but we already see hints of selfishness and a hunger for power. The third flashback is given through Jebediah Leland, Kane’s former best friend. He recounts the breaking up of Kane’s relationships, from his marriage to Emily to his friendship with Leland. The fourth flashback is given through Susan at the El Rancho nightclub. She tells of her failed singing career and finally the moment that she left him, which ultimately led to his death. Finally, Raymond, Kane’s servant, gives the final flashback, where we see the death scene again from a different perspective. Kane has become a lifeless, pathetic man by now. Through these five flashbacks, we are brought full circle, right back to the beginning again. Thompson is unable to solve the mystery, but Welles gives us a glimpse of the sled in the film’s final moment. What I find most interesting about this fragmented storytelling is that even though Welles gives us the answer to the question, “what is Rosebud?” he never completely answers the more important question, “Who was Charles Foster Kane?” That is up to the audience to decide.

Screenwriter or Novelist?

2009-08-13T16:52:00.001-07:00

There’s a certain credibility that is endowed to published works. Scripts are a blueprint, while published novels have a certain finality to them (it probably has something to do with the copyright). Lawrence Turman says that novels, even if they don't sell at the top of the charts, are still more accessible than scripts. Sadly, it's true. Scripts are not fun to read, and producers do anything to avoid having to read them. This gives me more incentive to finally finish that novel I’ve been working on and actually publish it, without worrying too much about how it will be received. On this note, The Graduate was a “little-known, poor selling” book before the movie came out, and then following the movie’s success, the book sold like hotcakes. Yet, it makes me wonder if The Graduate would have ever gotten made had it not been written as a novel first. In fact, most successful films are based on novels, plays, comic books or other works. Thank you, Turman. You’ve convinced me to pursue publication.

Star Power

2009-08-10T12:38:00.000-07:00

Star power doesn’t necessarily refer to the actors, but to the “package” – it could be a well-known director, or maybe a movie based on a popular novel (i.e. Harry Potter) or a comic book– whatever the element that attracts an audience, or as Harry Cohen said, puts “fannies in seats.” Regarding actors, Lawrence Turman said that 99 ½ percent of the people in Hollywood spend all their time chasing the other half-percent to star in their films. Those are not good odds. It seems, then, that the best way to build star power for your project and simultaneously give yourself greater control over the project is to write a novel, sell it, and hope it makes the New York Times Bestseller list. But that's probably even more difficult than selling a screenplay. How does one get his script noticed? Even if you want to get a big star to read your script, you have to shell out money for their time, and there’s still no guarantee they’ll accept it. A part of me wishes that we didn’t have to depend on the star system, and I guess there are some ways around it – as long as you find another way to attract an audience. I guess it just comes down to the unavoidable fact that the audience is king. You want to get an audience for your film, and the audience knows and recognizes stars.

Why do I love horror so much?

2009-08-09T20:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been fascinated with horror, but never understood why. As the youngest of five children, I grew accustomed to the horrific at any early age because I took the brunt of the teasing and practical jokes. The fact that I had a large imagination didn’t help the matter. My sisters weren’t too bad, but my older brother thought that it was his responsibility to make life a living hell for me. He used to lock me in closets, put things in my bed, and tell me stories designed to scare me, which they always did. One of the more memorable stories was that an evil leprechaun lived in a stump in our front yard. The stump actually had a light inside of it, but my brother told me that was the pot of gold. He told me that if I went near the stump, the leprechaun would attack me and bite my ears off. One night, my brother decided to drag me to the stump. At the time, I wore thick prescription glasses because my eyesight was really bad. When my brother pushed me to the ground and ran off, my glasses fell off my nose and I couldn’t see a thing. I thought for sure the leprechaun would get me as I frantically felt the ground for my glasses. As chance would have it, our gentle black lab, who normally wouldn’t harm a fly, got excited and decided to attack me while I was lying on the ground. This was only one instance from my childhood that probably helped to fuel my creative, and sometimes horrific, imagination.

My biggest fears were always the most unrealistic scenarios. Every night, I laid awake while looking up at the skylight above, convinced that every plane that flew by was a UFO intent on abducting me. It was my interest in the strange, even the occult, that aided my writing skills. I began to write stories in Kindergarten, and most of those stories involved strange creatures and lots of death and gore. Nobody really worried about me. I guess they just thought that was a regular stage for young boys to go through – but is it? I don’t know; I guess I’ll find out when I have kids of my own. The important thing is, I never really grew out of that phase. I still write horror stories. The Gates of Wickshire is my most precious one, and I have been working on it since high school. In the past year, I’ve done five full-length drafts of the screenplay. And I’m still not satisfied with it. It’s my masterpiece, or at least it will be. And yet why a horror story? I’ve been trying to figure that out for awhile, but sadly I don’t think any of us really know why we do the things we do or know why we are interested in what we pursue.

Horror, as I’ve come to understand it, encompasses much more than the contemporary genre involving knife-wielding psychopaths. When seen in much broader terms, horror becomes not a debase genre meant for preteens, but an essential element in all kinds of stories, no matter the genre. As an English major, I have studied various works by many authors of the literary canon, and looking back on some of those works, I realize that novels deemed “classic” by today’s scholars deal with horrific subject matter. Charles Dickens delved into the horror of the lower-class, for what can be more horrific than starving to death? Shakespeare was a master of horror himself, because his tragedies explored the horrors of human nature, especially Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear and Othello. Contemporary authors such as Cormac McCarthy also inquire into the question of horror. In No Country for Old Men, McCarthy presents a parable of evil and its increasing power in our day and age. I suppose all of this is to say that horror, when seen for what it is, can be invaluable tool to the writer of any genre. It’s conflict. It’s life. And we can’t get along without discussing it, because we live it every day.