© Scott Myers / So-Called Screenwriting Rules 1

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 1
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I’m Scott Myers and I have been a screenwriter for three decades. I broke into the
business when I sold a spec script to Universal Pictures which became the hit movie
K-9 and spawned two sequels. I've written over 30 movie and TV projects for every
major studio and broadcast network, including Alaska (Sony/ Castle Rock), and Trojan
War (Warner Bros.). I have been a member of the Writers’ Guild of America, West since
1987.
I graduated from the University of Virginia with a Bachelor of Arts degree (with Honors)
in Religious Studies and Yale University, where I received a Masters of Divinity degree
cum laude. I’ve variously enjoyed stints as a musician and stand-up comedian.
From 2002-2010, I was an executive producer at Trailblazer Studios, overseeing the

company’s original TV content development for Scripps and Discovery networks.
In my spare time, I took up teaching in 2002 in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program,
receiving its Outstanding Instructor Award in 2005. For eight years, I was a visiting
lecturer in the Writing for Screen and Stage program at the University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill. In 2010, I co-founded Screenwriting Master Class with my longtime
friend and professional colleague Tom Benedek whose movie credits include Cocoon.
In 2008, I launched Go Into The Story which for the last five years has been the Official
Screenwriting Blog of the Black List. Some numbers: The site has had over 10 million
unique visits, 20 million page views, and I have posted 20,000+ items for over 3,000
consecutive days. The Go Into The Story Twitter feed has over 43,000 followers.
In November 2015, I went public with the Zero Draft Thirty Challenge – write an entire
script draft in 30 days – and over 1,000 writers joined in. Out of that, the Zero Draft
Thirty Facebook group emerged and as of January 2017 has over 1,400 members.
In 2016, I was excited to be offered and accept the position of Assistant Professor at the
DePaul University School of Cinematic Arts in Chicago where I teach screenwriting to
both undergraduate and graduate students.
The adventure continues...

FOREWORD
Two motivators I had in launching Go Into The Story in May 2008 were (1) to create an
extensive online resource for writers and (2) to provide that information for free. The
world needs more diverse voices in the filmmaking community and making
educational content available to anyone and everyone is my humble way to facilitate
that vision.
There are currently over 20,000 posts on my blog and while an impressive number, it
can be overwhelming for readers. So based on suggestions from several people, I
decided to launch a new initiative:
Every month in 2017, make available to the public a PDF of Go Into The Story posts.
I reached out to the GITS community for volunteers to help with this effort and I’d like to
express my deep gratitude to Trish Curtin and Clay Mitchell. They stepped up to
handle the process of taking blog posts and creating the PDFs in this series. A special
blast of creative juju to you both!
The first in this PDF series, released on GITS on January 10th 2017, is titled
“30 Things About Screenwriting”. If you don't have it already you can download here.
This is the second book in this PDF series, entitled “So-called Screenwriting Rules”.
Back in January 2014, I posted this about an occurrence that happens with irritating
regularity in the online screenwriting universe, the contentious specter of so-called
screenwriting ‘rules.’ What happens is pretty much this:
Somebody posts something about how there is a rule against doing this or that.
That circulates as people bat around the idea.
Professional writers catch wind of it, then lambaste the shit out of the thesis in question.
The ‘debate’ fades away…
Until the next time it arises.
Again…And again…
It occurred to me, why not just deal with it once and for all! Get every single supposed
screenwriting rule out on the table, then go through them, one by one, to see if we can take
all the heat that typically gets generated when one of these online snits breaks out and
collectively create some actual light.
I decided to make this a real learning experience and hopefully in the process, put some of
this nonsense to bed for good. I asked GITS community for its help in aggregating these
‘rules’ and as always it responded. I went through them all, thought about it, and came up
with a plan: a 15-part series on “So-Called Screenwriting ‘Rules.”

SO-CALLED SCREENWRITING 'RULES' - CONTENTS:
As long as we were going to take the time to go through this stuff, I figured we might as well
put it all into some perspective: historical, theoretical, and practical. So that’s our first part:
1. THE ORGANIC NATURE OF THE SCREENPLAY
2. THE EMERGENCE OF THE SELLING SCRIPT
3. THE EVOLUTION OF SCREENPLAY FORMAT AND STYLE
4. THERE ARE NO SCREENWRITING ‘RULES’
5. THERE ARE EXPECTATIONS
Then I sorted out five real nuts-and-bolts items which I analyzed and discussed for the second
part:
6. WE SEE WE HEAR
7. UNFILMABLES
8. ACTION PARAGRAPHS - 3 LINES MAX
9. CUT TO: (TRANSITIONS)
10. PARENTHETICALS
The GITS community made several suggestions about the larger narrative choices, so we
tackled those for the third part.
11. FLASHBACKS
12. VOICEOVER NARRATION
13. SYMPATHETIC PROTAGONIST
14. PROTAGONIST AND SHIFTING GOALS
15. CERTAIN EVENTS BY CERTAIN PAGES
Before we jump into this, a caveat: Everything I’ve posted in this series is my opinion. I think
it’s safe to say it’s a pretty well-informed take seeing as I’ve been writing scripts since 1986,
teaching in my spare time since 2002, and even taught a university course called “The
History of American Screenwriting” created by my old colleague Dana Coen, to my
knowledge the only class of its type in the United States at that time. But again, I’m simply
expressing my perspective. It’s incumbent upon you to sort out your own approach to
screenwriting style and the single best thing you can do in that regard is read scripts,
especially screenplays written within the last 5 years as they represent the latest trends.
With that, forward into the breach! And when you’ve finished all fifteen - read this:
◆ GO INTO THE STORY AND FIND THE ANIMALS

THE ORGANIC NATURE OF THE SCREENPLAY
Screenplay structure. Screenplay format. Screenplay style. Nothing associated with a movie
script is static. Rather this narrative form has been in a constant state of change ever since its
earliest roots.
Here is the first example of anything remotely resembling a script: The complete scenario for
the 1902 movie A Trip to the Moon by Georges Méliès: (You may see the movie online here.)
Even though we can recognize in the scenario certain elements similar to a modern shooting
script, such as scene locations and numbered scenes, anyone with even a cursory understanding
of contemporary screenplays will note the many profound differences, not the least of which...
no dialogue!
Jumping ahead a few decades, some of you may remember the year-long series I did on the
1920 book “How to Write Photoplays” by scriptwriters Anita Loos and her husband John
Emerson. You may read that entire series here. I have included here an actual script page Loos
and Emerson wrote:

The technical term at the time for this was a continuity. Over time it became a photoplay. Then
screen play. Then screenplay. In the example above, we can see more changes happening
including the use of subtitles to convey dialogue and more elaborate stage direction.
Jumping all the way to 1951 with this excerpt from the script for the movie The African Queen,
adapted from the C.S. Forrester novel by James Agee and John Huston:

What we're reading here looks much more like a contemporary script, now including dialogue,
however, note all those camera shots. Compare to the opening scene in the script for the 2009
movie Zombieland written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick:

There is a camera reference, but it's more of a found footage feel with no specific designations
for MEDIUM SHOTS or CLOSE UPS. That is just one of several key differences in
screenplay style and format compared to previous iterations of a screenplay.
This quick jaunt through the history of scripts underscores the initial point: The very nature of a
screenplay is organic. It is not static. It is malleable. It changes.
There have been all sorts of influences on the form since its birth — the advent of sound
technology spawning the need for dialogue, the impact of playwrights and journalists, the
emergence of directors as auteurs and scenes are broken down by camera shots, and on and on.
As a result, anyone who makes a claim about this being the way to write a script, or you can or
can't do this or that is speaking based on a false assumption — that there is a set screenplay
form.
There isn't. Screenplay format and style is in a constant state of metamorphosis, it is organic in
nature. Yes, there are conventions, as we will discuss, and expectations on the part of readers.
You would be wise to learn them. But they are not rules and you are not bound by them.
The primary subtext of this entire series is this: Your focus should be on the story. Always the
story. Whatever it takes to tell it in the most entertaining, engaging, and evocative way — as
long as what's happening on the page is clear to a reader — is how you should spend your
energy.
One of the main reasons why screenplay style has changed as significantly as it has the last 30
years is the emergence of the selling script.

THE EMERGENCE OF THE SELLING SCRIPT
Screenplay format and style has four major historical influences, the first two of which we’ve
already discussed in the previous post: The Organic Nature of the Screenplay.
Precedents: Primarily stage plays, then journalism. The former was a natural fit as some of the
earliest successful films were plays adapted for the screen, often by the playwrights themselves.
Soon newspaper writers like Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur made their way to Hollywood,
drawn by the substantial amounts of cash being waved in their direction. In fact, Hecht was
lured to Hollywood via a telegram sent to him by Herman J. Mankiewicz, formerly a
newspaper reporter himself, which read: [Millions are to be grabbed out here and your only
competition is idiots.] This combination of stage play format and journalistic sensibilities
shaped much of what evolved in the way of screenplay style in the first decades of the 20th
century.
Technology: In Part 1, I noted how the advent of sound in 1927 resulted in the need for
dialogue in scripts, but even before that, we find the impact of technology on the evolution of
the screenplay. For example, as audiences yearned to see longer movies, filmmakers had to deal
with an interesting problem: Since a reel could only hold between 12-15 minutes of film, what
to do when the projectionist came to the end of one reel, then had to stop the movie, unload the
first reel, load the next reel, thread the film through, and start up the camera. How to keep the
audience occupied for those awkward few minutes it took to swap reels? Writers took to
inserting cliffhangers/critical moments with the movieÕs characters filled with jeopardy and an
uncertain resolution at the end of each reel to keep the audience engaged with conjecture during
reel changes. So as technology evolved, especially in response to the desires of moviegoers,
that had an impact on the screenplay.
There are two other influences we have yet to discuss.
Studios: You have likely never heard of Thomas Ince, but he is an important figure in the
history of American filmmaking in that he founded the very first soup to nuts movie studio,
known as “Inceville” (located in what is now Santa Monica). In order to maximize control over
the process of producing dozens and dozens of movies per year, Ince formalized how writers
were to approach the scripts they crafted. This became a pattern that existed throughout the
many decades of the so-called studio system era, all the way into the 60s when the rigid control
of the studios began to break down. You need to go no further than your copy of Final Draft to
see a vestige of this system — the Warner Bros. format which is a preset in the screenwriting
software. Indeed, when I first broke into the business in 1987, Warner Bros. had a pool of
typists who would take whatever script a writer turned in, then re-type it in the format the
studio had been using for decades.

Over time, a type of formalism evolved in terms of screenplay format deriving from the
exigencies of the studio system. At one level, this makes perfect sense with a factory approach
to filmmaking. Here a screenplay is basically a blueprint for producing a movie, used by
everybody on the production team — location scouts, set decorators, special effects, budgets,
schedules, and so on. In order to facilitate that process, scripts needed to have the same basic
format. But then the fourth influence came into play:
Selling Script: For most of the 20th century, writers worked for hire, signing short, but often
long-term employment contracts with one of the Hollywood studios.
• Then in 1933, Preston Sturges did something no one else had done: He wrote and sold
the very first “spec script” The Power and the Glory.
• Decades later, William Goldman sold the original script Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid.
• In the 70s, Paul Schrader sold his original script Yakuza.
Those and a few others set the table for the 80s where the phenomenon of the spec script really
took hold.
This was not only about writers from any walk of life being able to pound out an original
screenplay and use that to break into Hollywood, over time it also had the impact of freeing
screenplays from the formalism of the studio system era.
Screenplays are still blueprints for making a movie, at the point of production called a shooting
script or production draft. But before any of that happens, a screenwriter has to write a script
that attracts enough attention to get some financial entity to provide the funds to produce the
film.
This we may call a selling script.
A spec script is by definition a selling script. However, a selling script need not be a spec
script. Any screenplay a writer writes in the development phase — from a pitch, on assignment,
a rewrite, adaptation — is in effect a selling script which goal is to generate heat, create buzz,
and move the project forward toward production.
Therefore at some fundamental level, our job as screenwriters is to write a story that is so
engaging, entertaining and enjoyable, it ‘sells’ the reader on the script’s commercial and
aesthetic viability.
During the last three decades, writers have embraced this goal and stretched the boundaries of
conventional wisdom in almost every single aspect of what a screenplay is.

In effect, there has been a trend toward what I call a more literary type of selling script. And
whether we realize it or not, much of these so-called screenwriting ‘rules’ have emerged as a
result of this change:
• When you read, “No ‘CUT TO’”…
• When you hear about no camera directions…
• When you learn about no paragraphs with more than three lines of description…
These are all an expression of this move toward a more literary screenwriting style: selling
script less a guide to producing a movie, more a means by which we can engage a reader in our
story, not distracted by archaic conventions.
The irony is this: While this literary style is at its core about freeing writers from the formalism
of the old approach to screenwriting, whoever these ‘gurus’ are who promote the litany of
‘Don’t do this’ are in essence creating their own type of formalism.
No matter what they naysayers opine about what you supposedly can’t do when writing a
screenplay, here is a fact: Screenwriters have never had more freedom to write what they want
to write and how they want to write it than right now. And this is largely because of the
emergence of the spec script market over the last three decades, affording writers the chance to
craft the most compelling and cinematic stories possible in order to grab readers’ attention.
So here we are at the beginning of the 21st century with the screenplay form in flux.
It’s still evolving, so let’s look at the evolution of screenplay format and style…

THE EVOLUTION OF SCREENPLAY FORMAT AND STYLE
If you go back to Part 1, you can see four script examples I posted there dating from 1902,
1920, 1951 and 2009. Those provide a macro view of the evolution of screenplay format and
style.
For purposes of this series, let's focus on the shift from the formalized “blueprint” approach to
what we are likely to see in contemporary selling scripts. As an example of the former here is
an excerpt from the famous chase scene in the 1959 movie North by Northwest:

By contrast, here is another action scene, an excerpt from the 1999 movie The Matrix:

Separated by four decades, what changes can we discern between the two?
The most obvious difference is the number of lines in each paragraph. In Northwest, there is
one paragraph that is 3 lines and two that are 4 lines with the others 5 lines or more including
one that is 11 lines long. In The Matrix, there are no paragraphs longer than 5 lines and the
average length is 3 lines.
This reflects a trend in contemporary scripts to have shorter paragraphs. Frankly by current
standards, The Matrix may come across as a bit thick.
Compare to this excerpt from the 2012 script for Looper:
Most paragraphs are 2 lines or less. Why? One reason: Shorter blocks of scene description can
be more readable than longer ones, especially for action sequences.
Another distinction: In Northwest, the action description includes specific camera shots:

In The Matrix and Looper, there is no camera lingo, no directing jargon.
This reflects two dynamics:
First, as screenwriters began to write selling scripts, untethered from the necessities of
production, directors decided they didnít like being told by screenwriters how to shoot the
movie.
Concurrently screenwriters embraced the move of screenplays toward a more literary style –
the focus on story, not production. So out went specific camera shots.
Or did they?
Look at the script excerpt from The Matrix.
Notice how almost every sentence translates into a distinct camera shot.
This dynamic is even more pronounced when we look at the excerpt from Looper.
Here each paragraph is like one camera shot. Compare to this from North by Northwest:
There are at least 5 camera shots in this scene description. If it were translated into a more
modern, literary approach -- each paragraph signifying a camera shot -- it might look like this:
This approach is not only more readable, it also affords a writer the opportunity to "direct" the
story without (A) stepping on a director's toes by inserting specific camera shots and (B) make
the script a more literary document.

We should note that consistent through all three script excerpts is the use of visual language –
strong verbs, vivid descriptors. Professional writers from all eras have recognized that movies
are primarily a visual medium.
That said, two significant shifts in the evolution of screenplay format and style as detailed here:
• Contemporary screenwriting places a premium on a script's readability. It's not

surprising that one of the highest compliments someone can offer about a script in
today's world is this: 'it's a good read.'
• Directors don't want screenwriters instructing them in selling scripts how to shoot the
movie? Fine. Screenwriters have embraced the dismissal of directing lingo by using
individual lines of scene description to suggest camera shots. It is a nifty way to make
for a more literary script while enabling us to translate the move we see in our minds
onto the page.
Those are two big pieces of the screenplay's evolution over the last half-century or so.
But do they qualify as rules?
We will discuss that next.

THERE ARE NO SCREENWRITING 'RULES'
I’ve already spoken to this point in my 30 Things About Screenwriting series.
No matter what you have read. Or may have heard. Perhaps the source is a so-called
screenwriting “guru.” Maybe it’s a friend. A member of your writer’s group. Whoever it is, if
they tell you there are screenwriting rules… they are flat-out wrong.
Why do we know this? Because there is no universally accepted codification of how to write a
screenplay. Sure, there are tons of books, webinars, seminars, classes, downloads, columns,
tweets, and blog posts. And there may very well be people who claim this or that to be a rule.
But that’s just bullshit.
Repeat: There is no single authoritative guide to screenwriting. So by definition,

there can be no such thing as a screenwriting rule. Here is what there are:
● Guidelines: There are generally known and accepted ways to approach script format that reflect how
most professional screenplays look.
● Conventional Wisdom: There are certain axioms most people who work in the script acquisition and
development universe carry with them when they crack open a screenplay for a read.
● Patterns: There are certain forms and paradigms related to story structure, character types, and narrative
which are held pretty much in common by these same people.
● Principles: We can even go so far as to acknowledge there are key precepts about a story which derive
from the relationship between human experience and our attempts to craft narratives about that
experience which entertain the masses and convey some sort of meaning about life.

None of these constitute rules.
Just to be clear, here is the first definition of rule in my online dictionary: “A regulation
governing conduct, action, procedure, arrangement.”
Regulation? Governing? Procedure? Think that’s conducive for creative expression? Hell, no!
In fact, I’d go so far as to suggest one of the big reasons we have so many formulaic scripts
floating around is because too many writers feel constricted by supposed screenwriting rules.
Rules feel like laws, and we are taught not to break the law. Seriously, this whole line of
thinking leads to nothing but the castration of creativity.
Guidelines, Conventional Wisdom, Patterns, Principles? We can live with those. Indeed, it’s
critical to know what they are. That’s part of what learning the craft is about. It’s a big reason
why we watch movies and read scripts because by diving into hundreds and hundreds of
stories that way, we pick up commonalities between them, we see and hear their shared
narrative elements.
We pick up those guidelines. We pick up that conventional wisdom. We pick up those patterns.
We pick up those principles.
That is important. On most occasions, our story will follow those patterns, play to the
expectations of conventional wisdom, work within the perimeters of generally accepted
principles.
But sometimes, a story says, “Uh uh. I ain’t fitting into any of your damn boxes. I’m gonna
invert, subvert and convert that shit into whatever the hell I need coz I am one unique mofo.”
When we hear that siren’s call, when a story tells us the Protagonist is going to be an
unsympathetic bastard… when a story tells us it’s got to be constructed in nonlinear fashion…
when a story tells us it must use voiceover narration, flashbacks, flashforwards, a long first act,
a third act with a lot of exposition, a denouement that turns into an action set piece.
Whatever defies conventional wisdom.

We not only have the right to write that story that way, we have an obligation.
If we’ve been trapped into thinking there are screenwriting rules, who do you think will win
out: The rules or the story? And what do you think is more likely to sell: A script that plays it
safe and by the rules or a great story that is unafraid to take chances?

There are no screenwriting rules.
There are guidelines, conventional wisdom, paradigms, and principles.
We need to pay attention to the latter because our scripts often will fall within what is generally
accepted and expected within the filmmaking community, or we need to know what is
traditional in order to go against type.
But we need to ignore anyone who promotes the former because each story is different and in
the end, story trumps everything.
Even supposed screenwriting rules.
Fact: There are no screenwriting “rules”. However, there are expectations on the part of
anyone in Hollywood who is in the business of reading scripts for a living -- from those
providing coverage all the way up to presidents of production.
We take up that subject in Chapter 5.

THERE ARE EXPECTATIONS
I thank you for bearing with me, but I hope you can see that any serious discussion of so-called
screenwriting "rules" requires some historical and theoretical perspective. Armed with this
background, any time you run into anyone who whacks you over the head with a “rule,” you
can tell them:
1. The history of screenwriting proves that screenplays are organic in nature. They are
malleable and continue to change over time. This is a fact, a provable truth which I
demonstrated in Chapter 1.
2. While there was a formalized approach to screenplays during the days of the studio
system, once that fell apart and screenwriters began to write original stories, writers took
selling scripts out of the hands of production and explored a multitude of creative ways
to craft narrative — what we know as spec scripts. We explored this in Chapter 2.
3. As a result over the last three decades, there has been a shift toward a more literary style
of screenwriting, stripped of camera shots and directing jargon. Screenwriters today put a
premium on readability, but at all times, format and style concerns are subservient to our
top priority: Write the story in the most entertaining way possible, as long as what’s on
the page is clear to a reader. We went into this in Chapter 3.
4. Finally, there’s this: To have rules, there would need to be a rulebook. There is none.
There are guidelines, conventional wisdom, principles, patterns. But bottom line: There
are no screenwriting rules. That was the focus of Chapter 4.
I am going to suggest a simple three-word mantra toward the end of this post which sums up my
basic take on this subject. But before we get to that, we have to switch the point of reference. Up
to this point, I have been approaching the subject from the vantage point of the writer. Now let’s
talk about the other side of the equation: The reader.
When I say “reader,” I mean anyone whose job in Hollywood involves them reading scripts. This
can be interns, assistants, professional script readers, producers, managers, agents, actors,
directors, and so on.
Each reader is different. Some have a wealth of experience in the business and come at a read
with a deep understanding of screenplays and stories. On the other hand, you’d be surprised how
many scripts that get disgorged through Hollywood’s virtual transom receive an initial read from
interns, some of whom literally have zero professional experience as readers.
Despite this enormous gap that may exist between readers, they all have one thing in common:
They bring expectations to the read. Even if an intern has no formal training, they will have
been exposed to on average 10,000 stories by the time they graduate from college. Everyone
who reads a script brings that innate personal sense of Story to the process.
Once readers receive training, formal or informal, about how to do coverage or what to look for
in a script, they combine their instinctual grasp of Story with all of these so-called "rules" that
float around:
● Do not use “we see” or “we hear”.
● Do not write “unfilmable” scene description.

● Action paragraphs must not have more than 3 lines.
● Avoid using transitions (CUT TO, DISSOLVE TO).
● Avoid using parentheticals.
● Using flashbacks is a sign of weak writing.
● Using voiceover narration is a sign of weak writing.
● You must have a sympathetic Protagonist.
● A Protagonist should not shift goals.
● Certain events need to happen by certain pages.
This is not a hard and fast list, these are not formalized into any universal codex, rather these
have bubbled up as suggestions from Go Into The Story readers as things they have run into with
their own writing.
The first five are more format-oriented whereas the second group of five are more about larger
narrative choices.
I think it’s safe to say that any time a Hollywood reader sits down to plow through a script, they
will bring at least some of these expectations with them to that reading experience.
So I can exclaim, “Hey, you are free to do anything you want in terms of style, format, and
narrative choices.” And in a purely creative sense, that is true. However there is the very real
world of the script acquisition and development, which means a lot of people can be reading
your words – and they all will be accompanied by their own expectations.
Therefore to ground this discussion, in reality, I would make this suggestion:

If you want to be perfectly safe and not risk raising a yellow or red flag in the eyes of a script
reader, you should carry with you an awareness of these conventions because many readers will
have at least some of them as expectations.
If, however, your story absolutely requires you to write in such a way that you will go against
this convention or that, you have to raise your game and make sure that is a necessary choice.
Pragmatically what this means is if you are new screenwriter, you might hew closer to
conventions, at least until you have written several scripts, read dozens and dozens more, and feel
like you have settled into your own voice as expressed through your style and approach to
crafting a narrative.
Yes, this is a nuanced position. But someone needs to say this.
Circling back to where this all started, we have teachers and screenwriting “gurus” promoting
these so-called "rules". And whenever these proclamations intersect with professional Hollywood
screenwriters, they unload their venom on the "rules" and the rule-sayers.
Both camps’ invocations – gurus and pros – can result in scaring the shit out of any aspiring
writer.
What I’m suggesting – if you’re at all nervous about these style and narrative concerns – is
understand the broad options you have available.

On the one hand, you are free to do any damn thing you want. You should always have a deep,
abiding and fundamental commitment to your creativity wherever it takes you.
On the other hand, scripts are not read in a vacuum, but rather by human beings who do bring an
amorphous, yet influential set of expectations and assumptions into any script read.
The choice is yours. You can always play it safe and stick to conventions. Nothing wrong with
that. That represents the line of least resistance, giving a reader no surface level reason to crap on
your script in coverage.
But if all you do is play it safe, that is if your focus is there and not tapping into your creativity
and giving full voice to your story, chances are it won’t matter how well you follow the "rules"
anyhow because your story likely won’t be imaginative or distinctive enough to garner the
necessary attention to move it forward in the evaluation process.
And that’s another bottom line: You could write a script in the past tense… with no sluglines…
175 pages long… written in purple crayon... and if the story is great, chances are that script will
find a buyer.
Which brings me to the simple mantra I would like to offer to you to carry forward into our
discussion: Tools, not rules. This simple phrase re-frames the discussion.
When we talk about rules, we are coming from a place that is about restriction and denial,
a negative place.
When we talk about tools, we are coming from a place that is about creativity and construction,
a positive place.
In the course of the next 10 chapters, I’m going to provide some examples how we can turn
some of the rules into tools, showing alternate ways to accomplish the same goal, but by inverting
or adapting the narrative device in question.
Therefore if you carry nothing else away from these first five parts, I humbly suggest it be that
mantra:
Tools, not rules.
Once again, these are all just my opinions. If they make sense, feel free to use them. If not, feel
free to lose them. I have no ego in these matters.
Next: WE SEE / WE HEAR

WE SEE / WE HEAR
NOTE: At the end of this chapter, I have included a link to a great,
insightful article written by the Bitter Script Reader on this very subject. We
are strikingly in accord in these matters. Frankly, his opinion may matter
more than mine because he represents the very people… readers… who
presumably hold these screenwriting "rules" like the sword of Damocles
over any script they cover.
The narrative form we call a screenplay is an organic entity, changing radically over the years.
As we have discussed, during the era of the “studio system,” there was a more or less
formalized approach to screenplay format and style. Obviously, there were differences from
studio to studio, writer to writer, but as a script was almost always a work-for-hire tied to
production, they were fundamentally a blueprint to make a movie.
Example: An excerpt from the script for the 1951 movie War of the Worlds, written by Barré
Lyndon:

Note the significant presence of the CAMERA and SOUND EFFECTS. While screenplays of
this era – obviously – told a story, their functionality as a guide for the day-to-day production
of a movie was omnipresent.
However, as we have noted, once the studio system broke down in combination with several
other factors, writers began to evolve screenplays into a more literary style. At first, it was
about directors not wanting writers to include specific camera shots because that felt like the
writer was trying to direct the movie. That created a problem: How could we suggest what we
saw in our minds in a given scene if we couldn’t use shots and directing lingo?
Enter WE SEE.
Instead of writing “CAMERA is CLOSE and ANGLED DOWN in the back of the car,” we
could do this (edits bold and italicized):
We SEE the back of the car. Tucked along fishing

and camping gear alongside a box of iced trout
is an impressive Geiger counter, chattering
furiously. A signal light is flashing
rapidly. The Sheriff's hands reach for it.
We SEE his face, looking down at the counter.
The problem here is two-fold:

• It is pretty obvious that “WE SEE” is nothing more than a different way to say
ANGLE ON or CLOSE UP. It is a camera shot without directly saying it’s a camera
shot.
• With the advent of the spec script and the tsunami of original material that began to
swamp Hollywood in the 80s and 90s, many aspiring and novice screenwriters would
use WE SEE without much discretion. Imagining the scene in their heads. I see this, I
see scripts would often be filled with “we SEE,” dozens and dozens of them.
So the value of using “WE SEE” as a substitute for MEDIUM SHOT or ZOOM OUT was not
only largely negated by the overuse of the phrase, it became downright annoying to script
readers.
My theory is that over time, this solidified into the view that writers who used “WE SEE” to
any significant degree in a script were perceived to be amateurs, which in turn led to the so-
called “rule”: Don’t use WE SEE.
As I have stated, I don’t believe there are any screenwriting rules, so, in my opinion, you are
free to write “WE SEE.” In fact, in the middle of the Twitter brouhaha a few weeks back,
screenwriter Brian Koppelman (Rounders, Runaway Jury, Ocean's Thirteen) tweeted this:

The reality is sometimes, a scene may
absolutely call for the use of “WE SEE.”
For example, if we really want to drive home the impact of a visual and bring it “closer” to a
reader, we may choose to use “WE SEE”. Also, you may remember the script excerpt from
Zombieland which I included in the very first post in this series, the writers use “we see” when
indicating what is being shown through the limited perspective of a video camera:
The camera rotates on its axis until the flag is UPSIDE

DOWN, then pulls back to reveal that it is one of those
flags flying on the hood of a PRESIDENTIAL LIMOUSINE,
which itself is upside-down, crashed and overturned
ON TOP of another car.
The further we pull back, the more we see of a destroyed,

burning Washington D.C.
So there are, in fact, times when “WE SEE” is not only appropriate, it may be the very best
choice we have to convey the story in that moment.
And yet, readers do carry with them an expectation, even a bias that if they read a script where
“WE SEE” is used more than on an occasional basis, that conveys a certain lack of maturity and
professionalism on the writer’s part.
What to do? Remember that mantra I suggested at the end of Chapter 5?
Tools, not rules.

This is another very simple tool professional screenwriters use all the time nowadays:
• Just describe what is in the shot. Period.

⁃ No need to frame the shot.
⁃ No need to take note of the shot.
⁃ Just write what is in the shot.
Here is some scene description from the script for the hit 2013 movie Prisoners, written by
Aaron Guzikowski, a key scene where the RV gets introduced into the story:
That old RV is parked up ahead on the side of the
road, the girls are racing each other to it. Joy
leaves Anna in the dust -- SLAPS the RV's bumper
victoriously.
Ralph and Eliza pick up the pace and catch up to

them. The RV is parked in front of a house with a
FOR SALE sign.
Eliza walks along the RV peering up at opaque

windows smeared with filth.
Anna starts to climb a little ladder on the back
of the RV, when Ralph pulls her off --
Eliza grabs Joy’s hand and shooshes Ralph.
They all stop and listen. A radio just came on

inside the RV: some 1970s Christian folk song.
Anna chucks a piece of ice and it SMASHES LOUD on

the side of the RV. Ralph grabs her hand.
Eliza takes Joy’s hand and the four of them

continue on around the block...
The rear windshield of the RV. A shadow appears

behind the filthy glass, watching them go...
Just describe what’s in the shot. If you want to go the extra step in terms of “directing” the
action, you can break up what’s happening into separate paragraphs, each one suggesting a
specific camera shot. As you can see, this is precisely what Guzikowski does on both accounts.
This reflects current stylistic sensibilities, a more literary approach, stripped of camera shots
and directing lingo, yet enabling us to “direct” the action in a way that tells the story within the
story, not breaking the mood with scripty jargon.
And probably 99 percent of the whole “we see” debate gets resolved with this simple narrative
device.
Tools, not rules, my friends.
Same goes with “WE HEAR.” In the days of formalized scripts, writers would indicate noises
either by CAPPING them or even using SFX to signify “Sound Effect”. That was then when
screenplays were largely perceived as being blueprints to make a movie.
Just as writers began to write “WE SEE” instead of CAMERA SHOT, they used “WE HEAR”
in lieu of SFX-GUNFIRE or SFX-A SIREN.
Here, too, we have the freedom to write “WE HEAR”.
Once again from Zombieland:
We hear munching.

But the more typical approach is the same thing as noted above: Just describe what’s in the
shot. - Again Zombieland:
...the CAMERAMAN SCREAMS and SCREAMS and SCREAMS,
accompanied by ripping, cracking, CRUNCHING.
Something just God-awful is happening to this guy. Then he

gacks and falls SILENT.
Yet another circumstance whereby we don’t have to expend any energy whatsoever debating
whether WE SEE or WE HEAR is a “rule”. They are not. We can use them. But beware: Script
readers have their antennae up about them, attuned to the prejudice they can, when used
frequently, betray an amateur writer.
If you approach the subject from a ‘Tools, not rules’ perspective, and just describe what’s in
the shot, you not only avoid this issue altogether, you will likely end up writing a cleaner,
tighter, and more visual script.
As promised, here is the link to the Bitter Script Reader’s thoughts on the subject of “We See”.
It is an absolute must-read because you will get the honest, unvarnished opinion of someone
who actually reads scripts for buyers.
Now let’s discuss ‘unfilmables’.

UNFILMABLES
NOTE: At the end of this post, I have included a link to another great,
insightful article written by the Bitter Script Reader on this very subject.
We are strikingly in accord in these matters. Frankly, his opinion may
matter more than mine because he represents the very people – readers
– who presumably hold these screenwriting "rules" like the sword of
Damocles over any script they cover.
The "rule" here is you cannot write in scene description anything an actor can't act or a
moviegoer can't see. Examples of this in scripts are sometimes called unfilmables because they
are – supposedly – you guessed it... unfilmable.
I don't know who came up with this term – unfilmables – but please stop!
How much proof does one have to see to know it is a wrongheaded approach to screenwriting?
This came up in a thread on the blog re (500) Days of Summer. In it, Vic Tional noted this:
mention unfilmables, but actually that's probably unfair. They were all filmable
because they got filmed. Every damn one of them. For reasons unclear to me, I
seem to have an extremely good recollection of that movie, and the script to
page comparison here is so near-identical it's hardly worth bothering:
‘CLOSE on Tom, looking at Summer the way every woman wants to be looked
at’. Nailed it. She's ‘pretty enough to get away with’ her kooky hair. Gotcha. ‘It
should look like the dandelions originated with Tom’s breath.’ That sort of thing.
Anyway…’ Hate to say, but damn that's good. Because this should really angry up
my blood, but it doesn't. It works. It just does.
This is all part of the choices the writer takes with “Narrative Voice,” an extension of that
invisible character's personality.
And a quick aside about so-called unfilmables: Your point is well-taken about there being debates
on this front, but here’s my deal: There should be NO debates anymore. Ever. The idea that we
can't write what actors can't act or what someone in a movie theater can't see is completely wrong.
I have taught a semester-long course called “The History of American Screenwriting” and part of
that research involved tracking script evolution since the 1890s. I found so-called unfilmables
stretching back to the silent era.
For decades screenwriters have done whatever they could to tell stories the best way they can and
this extends to what I call “editorializing” in scene description, commenting on the atmosphere of
the moment, or the inner feelings of a character, and on and on and on. Yes, we have to be
judicious – a screenplay is not a novel after all – but can we once and for all lay to rest this crazy
idea that there are certain things we can not write in screenplays. It's proven wrong over and over
in contemporary screenplays, and so-called unfilmables have been in use for almost the entire
time there have been formalized screenplays. [Vic, this is not at all directed at you because clearly you
get it, but rather to unnamed figures on the other side of the divide who have a narrow-minded, literalistic
approach to screenplay form and style].
Sorry, got off on a rant there!

Actually, I’m not sorry. This whole mentality about what you can and can't do in terms of
screenplay format and style is completely off-base. All we need to do is look at… gee, I don't
know… how about (500) Days of Summer to see that the notion of unfilmables is flat-out
wrong, disproved by a script that was nominated for the WGA Best Original Screenplay
Award! Some more examples from the script:
• P. 7: Tom watches her eat like this is the worst travesty in the history of mankind.
• P. 8: He may never eat again.
• P. 25: He’s really into it and, well, it's kinda sad.
• P. 26: Even her uncoolness is cool.
• P. 32: The wheels are spinning in Tom’s head. What’s the right answer here?
• P. 33: Tom makes copies. Making copies sure is dull.
And on and on and on and on. By subscribing to an inaccurate supposition that screenwriters
can only write what a moviegoer can see cuts at the very heart of Narrative Voice. Here is a
quote from screenwriter Larry Ferguson (The Hunt for Red October) precisely about this point:
The first thing you gotta do is sit down and ask, who’s telling this story? Who grabs hold of
you and says, ‘Listen, I’m gonna tell you something that’ll knock your socks off.’ He’s a
character. He speaks in a particular way, sometimes uses profanity, sometimes he’s a poet.
Skeptics say, Hey, you can't take a picture of that… maybe not, but you know what Don
Simpson said to me on Beverly Hills Cop II? He said:
“Jerry [Bruckheimer] and I love the style of your stage description.
We know we can't shoot them, but we can shoot the tone.”
That is straight from the mouth of a professional screenwriter, a working screenwriter. They
may not be able to shoot the scene description, the unfilmables, but they can shoot the tone.
Look, it's up to you. There is the world of whoever it is that is spreading this nonsense you
can't write something that is unfilmable in scene description, or there is the real world of
screenwriting with actual screenwriters and actual movie projects where scripts include
unfilmables all the time.
Yes, you have to be judicious, you are not writing a novel and you have to be aware of that.
But your number one priority is to your story. And if that silent character in your story, its
Narrative Voice, pipes up with a line like, “Making copies sure is dull,” then you have not only
the freedom, but the responsibility to write that scene description. Because at the end of the day,
your job is to tell the story in the most entertaining way possible. Period!
I call this use of one’s Narrative Voice – commenting on the moment – editorializing and it has
been around since the very beginning of the film industry. More proof: The 1969 movie Butch

Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, written as a spec script by William Goldman, selling for several
hundred thousand dollars. Here is how Goldman introduces Butch Cassidy:
A MAN idly walking around a corner of the building. He is

BUTCH CASSIDY and hard to pin down. Thirty-five and bright,
he has brown hair, but most people, if asked to describe
him, would remember him blond. He speaks well and quickly,
and has been all his life a leader of men; but if you asked
him, he would be damned if he could tell you why.
Three points of caution:

1. A screenplay differs from a novel in many ways, one of the most significant being it is
primarily an externalized reality. So the fundamental way we, as writers, communicate
characters to the reader is through their actions and dialogue, what we can see and what
we can hear. That is our default venue for writing.
2. Just like other so-called “rules,” I suspect this one has arisen because too many writers
have editorialized badly or too much or most likely both. So some readers may carry
with them an expectation that if they see a script with a lot of unfilmables, that is a sign
of an amateur writer.
3. You do not have to editorialize in scene description. It should be a choice tied to your
Narrative Voice, that invisible character in your story [Genre + Style = Narrative
Voice]. The attitude this character takes to the narrative should impact how much or
how little editorializing you do. Some stick to the straight and narrow, only describing
the action. But many engage in a certain amount of editorializing about the mood, tone,
what’s going on inside character's minds, their inner feelings, and so forth.
Once again, it's best to think of the mantra: Tools, not rules.
Instead of this:
You must never write an unfilmable!"
How about this:

You have the freedom to editorialize on the
moment as long as you do it judiciously and in
concert with the Narrative Voice you establish.
The former is negative in nature and restricts creativity.
The latter is positive and encourages creativity.

Finally this:
The single best thing you can do to wrangle this subject as
you go about determining what your own writing style is:
Read scripts. Lots of them. Mostly contemporary ones. The
more you read, the better you will grasp the subtleties of
the practice of editorializing in scene description.
As promised, here is the link to the Bitter Script Reader’s thoughts on the subject of
“Unfilmables”. It is a must-read because you will get the honest, unvarnished opinion of
someone who actually reads scripts for buyers.
Next: Has someone ever told you to limit your Action Paragraphs to 3 lines max? Let’s
discuss that…

ACTION PARAGRAPHS - 3 LINES MAX
To be sure, over the years there has been something of a trend with regard to the length of
screenplay paragraphs. To give some historical perspective here is a scene from the photoplay
for the 1916 movie Hell’s Hinges, written by one of the great early writers in Hollywood –
C. Gardner Sullivan, who wrote over 350 scenarios and screenplays:
Multiple camera shots aggregated within a paragraph. This was pretty much standard for
decades. For example, here is an excerpt from the 1956 script for The Searchers:
An excerpt from the script for the 1963 movie Charade:
But then an excerpt from the script for the 1974 movie Chinatown:
Generally, writers began to break up paragraphs into shorter blocks. Indeed, when I entered
the business in 1987, the conventional wisdom was scene description should have no more
than 5 lines per paragraph.

And so we would see writing like this from the 1992 Joe Eszterhas script Basic Instinct:
That trend has continued so nowadays it is not uncommon to see writing like this excerpt from
the 2012 movie Spring Breakers, written by Harmony Korine:
Scripts with paragraphs that never go over 3 or even 2 lines of scene description.
So is there a rule that says we can’t use more than 3 lines in a scene description paragraph
Of course not, because … say it with me… There are no screenwriting rules.
For every example like Spring Breakers, there’s something that looks like 12 Years a Slave:

I can hear you saying, “Oh, sure, Myers, 12 Years a Slave is a drama. Action movies, no way can
you do more than three lines per paragraph.” Here is an excerpt from Lone Survivor:
The point is professional screenwriters do whatever the STORY requires being told in the best
way possible. In this regard, once again I encourage you to think this: Tools, not rules.
When you are working with scene description, don't go to a negative place:
– NO MORE THAN THREE LINES PER PARAGRAPH! It can restrict your creativity.
Rather, think of the tools at your disposal that allow you to give full voice to your creativity:
◆ Narrative Voice: This is the invisible character who “tells” your story. It is Genre +
Style. The attitude your narrator takes toward the story universe, the characters, and
action within it. Ask yourself: How can you use this tool to enhance the telling of your
story and generate as much entertainment as possible?
◆ Imagematic writing: Active verbs. Vivid descriptors. Think of scene description more
like poetry, less like prose. Bursts of imagery. You don't need to write complete sentences
in a screenplay. Indeed depending upon your Narrative Voice, you may choose to do
something like Walter Hill did in the script Hard Times:
Granted that is not for everybody and certainly not every Narrative Voice, but drives home the
point about the power of words as imagematic tools.

◆ Imply camera shots: As noted previously in this series, writers have tended to move
away from camera language and directing jargon in favor of a more literary approach to
our scripts. That doesn't mean we can’t direct the action, rather we can use individual
sentences or paragraphs to indicate specific shots as with Spring Breakers above.
There are so many things we can do to express our creativity in writing, so many tools at
our disposal, that to get hung up on some restrictive rule – which isn't even an actual rule
– is, frankly, wrongheaded.
Tools. Not rules.

Now, as usual, time for some caveats:
• Script readers know about the trend to write shorter paragraphs of scene description so
they will likely bring that expectation to a reading assignment. If they see long blocks of
scene description, that will probably suggest to them the writer is an amateur.
• Moreover, I think it’s safe to say that most professional readers find it more difficult, even
tiring to read scripts with lots of long blocks of scene description. Plus key visuals can get
buried when stuck in a paragraph five lines or longer.
• And there is the whole white space thing, that is the look of a script page is important as
well. A script with pages filled with black print compared to a script with lots of white
space is likely to be perceived by a reader – at least on a surface level – to make for a less
good read.
So again, a nuanced bottom line: You are free to write your scene description however you
want, there is no official rule legislating how long your paragraphs must be. Yes, script readers
will likely carry an assumption with them – five lines or less - three or lines or less – so your
safe bet is to pay attention to those conventions.
However, the final arbiter on this is your Story and your choice of Narrative Voice. Every
paragraph, every line, every word of scene description ought to be fundamentally a creative
choice, not bowing down in servitude to some stupid rule that isn't a rule.
Finally this:
I included a shit-ton of script excerpts in this post for two
reasons. First, I wanted to put the conversation into a
context of actual movie screenplays. But second, this is my
way of hounding you yet again: READ SCRIPTS!
Don't get hung up with teachers or gurus and their so-called rules. Rather, read actual
professional screenwriters, the men and women, who are actively plying their trade and getting
paid for it. After all, if they are crafting scripts that are being produced into hit movies, shouldn’t
their screenplays be one of your primary sources of information and inspiration?
Next: CUT TO: (Transitions)

CUT TO: (TRANSITIONS)
Here we are again, smack dab into the history of screenplay format. Where the formalized
approach of the studio system era in which scripts were treated primarily as a blueprint to make a
movie, versus a more literary style present in selling scripts. As discussed, the latter — generally
speaking — has moved away from camera shots, directing lingo, and ‘scripty’ language.
One vestige of the older era is CUT TO and its cousin DISSOLVE TO. In script language, these
are known as transitions. Screenwriter William Goldman is famous for using them as evidenced
by this excerpt from his script for the movie Misery:

Whereas most writers would think of a transition being between scenes, Goldman has always
extended the meaning to include between camera shots.
Even as many scripts from decades ago used CUT TO or DISSOLVE TO as an indication that
one scene was ending followed by a new scene, there are plenty of examples in which the writers
did not use these type of transitions. Here is an excerpt from the 1962 draft of The Birds, written
by Evan Hunter:
In this approach, it is the slug line, either primary or secondary, which signifies the transition,
either a new camera shot or scene.
And this is the path that has led us to the 'rule' that we should avoid using CUT TO, DISSOLVE
TO, and similar transitions.

When contemporary writers wish to indicate a new scene, simply write a primary slug line (scene
heading).
For this post, I scanned nearly two dozen movie scripts from the last 5 years, and I could not find
one example in which the writers used CUT TO. Does that mean this is an actual rule: Do not use
CUT TO! I refuse to yield on this point: There are no screenwriting rules.
Yes, CUT TO feels anachronistic. It comes across as 'scripty'. Worse, it uses up 2 line spaces
which for most writers is a travesty because we're always fighting for pages.
If your script has 75 scenes and you used CUT TO between each scene, that's 150 lines which
come out to about 3 pages. Raise your hand if you'd prefer to have those 3 pages to write
something important and not add to the script's overall page count.
Finally, readers have been trained to recognize a transition through the use of primary slug lines.
And yet, there may be times when you want or need to use a CUT TO, for example, to make
perfectly clear to a reader you have made a time jump or shifted the location from one planet to
another. Maybe such a transition is so important, you may feel like you really should insert a
CUT TO in order to convey that shift in no uncertain terms to a reader.
But if you look at the mother of all transition scripts written in the last few years Cloud Atlas,
which cuts back and forth dozens and dozens of times between six parallel storylines spanning
hundreds of years, the writers did not use CUT TO, rather indicating scene changes with bold
slug lines:
Once again, think: Tools, not rules.

Instead of using CUT TO, look at this way:
We have the tool of primary slug lines (SCENE HEADINGS) to signify a scene transition.
We can even bold them. Or as I've seen in some scripts, bold and underline them.
Whatever works for you. Whatever works for your story.
Just be aware that most script readers nowadays have been trained to think of a script
that uses CUT TOs as transitions as being amateurish.
That and saving pages are good reasons not to use CUT TO.
But not because it's a rule... because it isn't.
Now let’s talk about parentheticals

PARENTHETICALS
A parenthetical is another screenplay element with its roots in stage plays. For example, here
are some excerpted sides of dialogue from the 1913 play “A Wife for Life” by Eugene O’Neill:
All of those stage directions inside the parentheses are called parentheticals. You can see how
playwright turned screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky translated them into the screenplay format
with these examples from Network:
HOWARD
(reaching for the bottle
of booze on HUNTER'S desk
to refill his glass)
-- let's do the Lennon deportation
at the end of three —
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT
(frowning and very
puzzled indeed by this
diversion from the
script)
-- ten seconds to commercial —
HACKETT
(to GIANINI, who is
seated at another
secretary's desk studying
a typescript of the
aborted news show)
Anything litigable? —
Eventually, screenwriters, used to fighting for every line space they could, scaled back

parentheticals so they would normally only take up one line. Here are some examples from the
script for the 1993 movie Philadelphia, written by Ron Nyswaner:
ANDREW
Ah hah! Yes!
(chewing a string bean)
Rentworth v. Pennsylvania... court
of appeals affirms jury award of
punitive damages for wrongful
interference with prospective
economic relations…]]]]]
ANDREW
Whacked with a racquetball.
(taking Wheeler's hand)
I appreciate your faith in my
abilities.
ANDREW
That's the third time. I better call
the office.
(smiling at Niguel)
Would you relax, please?
While there is no official rule about the use of parentheticals in screenplays today, remember
that there has been a shift from the formalized approach of the studio system era, where
screenplays were thought of primarily as blueprints to make a movie, to a more literary feel
found in contemporary selling scripts. As a result, I think it is fair to say that parentheticals are
used less than they used to be… and you should presume this is the attitude of most
professional screenwriters.
There are a few reasons for parentheticals falling into disuse:

• Using one or two words in a parenthetical is an inefficient use of a line space.
• Actors do not want to be told how to read a line. This is equivalent to directors not
wanting screenwriters to insert a bunch of camera shots, essentially ‘directing’ the movie
on the page. Similarly, actors do not like parentheticals like (angrily), (resisting), (sadly)
and the like.
• The dialogue itself should indicate enough of the characters intent, along with the entire
context of the character up to that point, then leave the interpretation of the side to the
actor.
There’s a lot of misinformation out there about parentheticals. For example, I just did a quick
Google search and found some samples of dialogue with Parentheticals:

Here are some bad Parentheticals:
What makes the second examples "bad" is that they're describing Action, not giving
information to the actor about reading the line.
In my view, this is precisely the opposite of how to look at parentheticals. Again, we do not
want to be telling the actor how to read their lines. They don’t like to be told how to act.
Conversely, one of the very few legitimate reasons to use a parenthetical is to include action
within a side of the dialogue, such as (reaches for a gun).
But here’s the thing: We have a tool available which can help us avoid parentheticals pretty
much altogether and that is our good friend — scene description.
Instead of this:
Try this:
Put the action in scene description and you save 2 lines.

If the expectation on the part of a script reader is that a screenplay with a lot of parentheticals is
a sign of an amateur, why not handle this so-called rule "Avoid using parentheticals"
By embracing the tool of scene description and minimize parentheticals?
Besides you save lines and you give your script a more literary and less ‘scripty’ feel.
Time to talk about Flashbacks

FLASHBACKS
So we all know the conventional wisdom is both voice-over narration and flashbacks are no-
nos in screenplays. Indeed the Robert McKee character in the movie Adaptation flat-out states:
“God help you! It’s flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write a voice-over narration to
explain the thoughts of a character.”
Similarly screenwriting ‘guru’ Michael Hague expresses the common negative opinion of
flashbacks in a response to one of his columns here.
And yet check out this list of movies (their IMDB ranking in parenthesis — As of Jan. 2014):
VOICEOVER NARRATION
VOICEOVER NARRATION FLASHBACK
and FLASHBACK
Fight Club (#10) The Godfather (#2) The Shawshank Redemption (#1)
Goodfellas (#15) Inception (#14) Forrest Gump (#18)
Apocalypse Now (#35) The Silence of the Lambs (#24) It’s a Wonderful Life (#30)
A Clockwork Orange (#64) Casablanca (#25) Sunset Blvd. (#32)
To Kill a Mockingbird (#70) The Usual Suspects (#26) Citizen Kane (#46)
The Apartment (#98) Memento (#33) American Beauty (#54)
Gladiator (#63) Double Indemnity (#57)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
Mind (#76)
Rashomon (#91)
That’s just me scanning through the top 100 movies, I probably missed some. Even if I did,
this is a list of over 20 notable movies that used either or both of this supposedly unworthy
pair. I take this to mean the problem isn’t with the narrative devices themselves, it’s how
writers use them.
My guess is if we asked people who read scripts professionally for a living, they would roll
their eyes and grab their stomachs at the mere mention of voice-over narration and flashbacks.
Why? Because they have seen them used poorly over and over and over again. Yes, it’s true,
both can come off badly on the page. I’ve seen it with my own eyes as well.
Yet the fact remains some of the greatest movies of all time use
these narrative devices. Does it mean simply because a lot of
aspiring or novice writers use voice-over narration or flashbacks
poorly, that precludes us from employing them in our stories,
particularly if that’s what the story absolutely dictates?
That would be most unfortunate.

Tragic, indeed, because a flashback can be a great narrative device — if used well. To wit,
here are five examples of movies that incorporate flashbacks to great advantage:
• Casablanca
• The Social Network
• (500) Days of Summer
• Once Upon a Time in the West
• Ordinary People
Hell, at least three of the nine Oscar nominated movies for Best Picture in 2014 make liberal
use of flashbacks: American Hustle, Her, and The Wolf of Wall Street.
Fact: Flashbacks ain’t going away!
Yes, we are well advised to bear in mind the general prejudice of Hollywood readers against
the use of flashbacks in a selling script, but I assure you — there is no rule outlawing them.
Again embrace the mantra: Tools, not rules.

• If flashbacks are essential to the telling of your story…
• If you can use them in a unique way…
• If you can create compelling moments with them…
• If they help make your story kick major ass…
Use them. But make sure you know what you’re doing.
How? Read scripts. Dozens and dozens of scripts which use flashbacks. When they work,
determine why. When they don’t, figure out why not. And watch movies. Same thing. What
works. What doesn’t.
Know this: If you employ flashbacks in a lazy way, simply to provide exposition, a
pair of talking heads, no visual distinction, making for a flat scene… you will not be
doing your script and yourself any favors. A flashback is a tool. Use it well and it can
help you construct a more entertaining story.
Check out the Bitter Script Reader (Puppet!!!) video on the subject of flashbacks here.
Next: Voiceover Narration

VOICEOVER NARRATION
Voice-over narration is a no-no, right? It’s “flaccid, sloppy writing,” so says Robert McKee’s
character in the 2002 movie Adaptation. And yet check out these movies
VOICEOVER NARRATION
The Shawshank Redemption (#1) Citizen Kane (#46)

Fight Club (#10) American Beauty (#54)
Goodfellas (#15) Double Indemnity (#57)
Forrest Gump (#18) A Clockwork Orange (#64)
It’s a Wonderful Life (#30) To Kill a Mockingbird (#70)
Sunset Blvd. (#32) The Apartment (#98 )
Apocalypse Now (#35)
Out of the top 100 movies on the IMDB best of list (as at Jan 2014), all of these use voice-over
narration. Let’s face it: Some of the greatest movies of all time use this narrative device. So who
are you going to believe. A fictional bloviating character from a Charlie Kaufman movie —
which by the way uses voice-over narration! — or the compelling, haunting V.O. from all of
these memorable films?
I did a multi-part series on this subject last year. Here are links to my analysis of voice-over
narration in five notable movies:
The Shawshank Redemption
Double Indemnity
Fight Club
American Beauty
A Christmas Story
These movies provide some keys to why a writer should consider using voice-over narration:
• Entertainment value, especially if the V.O. is funny (A Christmas Story)
• Provide foreknowledge and create a mystery (American Beauty)
• Memoir, unreliable narrator and a big twist (Fight Club)
• Narrative device (recording) and confession (Double Indemnity)
• Bridging time jumps and tracing the deeply personal arc of a character’s metamorphosis
(The Shawshank Redemption)
One big piece of advice: If you are considering using voice-over narration, you
should do so in conjunction with what you determine your Narrative Voice is. By
using V.O. narration, you put a specific, visceral stamp on your Narrative Voice, so
you’d better be damned sure you know what your NV is.

Now allow me to copy and paste the summation of what I wrote about flashbacks:
Yes, we are well advised to bear in mind the general prejudice of Hollywood readers against
the use of voice-over narration in a selling script, but I assure you — there is no rule
outlawing them.
Again embrace the mantra: Tools, not rules.

• If voice-over narration is essential to the telling of your story…
• If you can use it in a unique way…
• If you can create compelling moments with it…
• If it helps make your story kick major ass…
Use it. But make sure you know what you’re doing.
How? Read scripts. Dozens and dozens of scripts which use voice-over narration. When it
works, determine why. When it doesn’t, figure out why not. And watch movies. Same thing.
What works. What doesn’t.
Know this: If you employ voice-over narration in a lazy way, simply to provide
exposition, a pair of talking heads, no visual distinction, making for a flat scene…
you will not be doing your script and yourself any favors. Voice-over narration is a
tool. Use it well and it can help you construct a more entertaining story.
If you have any questions or observations, please head to comments on the blog post. Again, as
long as we are taking such a comprehensive approach to this content, let’s do it to the max. I
want to hear your thoughts and am glad to make this an extended conversation with a goal of
putting this subject into a more helpful perspective.
Next: Sympathetic Protagonist.

SYMPATHETIC PROTAGONIST
I’m willing to wager that every writer who has worked in Hollywood has gotten this studio note
at least once: Can you make the Protagonist more sympathetic?
This is part of the conventional wisdom that floats around script development circles and can be
construed as being a rule: Your Protagonist must be sympathetic.
Indeed I extracted a screenwriting lesson from the movie The King’s Speech exploring this
precise subject in this post. In it, I provide some of what I perceive to be the internal logic to this
perspective:
To fully understand this mindset, we have to step back and consider the movie-watching
experience. To create a successful movie, one goal the filmmakers should have is to lure the
viewer into the movie — make them stop thinking about their job, their popcorn, the people
around them, and instead get their heads and hearts immersed in what’s going on inside
the story universe. If a movie can transport us from this world into that world, it increases
the movie’s chances of being experienced in a positive way. After all, isn’t that the point of
movies as escapist fare — to take us away from our ordinary world and entertain us for a
few hours in the story’s extraordinary world?
The most direct and perhaps best way to accomplish that is via the Protagonist character.
From a psychological standpoint, there is a way in which it’s not the Protagonist alone
going through what they experience in the movie universe, it’s the Protagonist and us
sharing it. Indeed at some heightened points in a movie, it’s possible the Protagonist
disappears entirely from our consciousness and it is just us experiencing what’s going on in
the story.
We can call this phenomenon audience identification and it is one key to the success of
most Protagonist characters, how we identify with that pivotal character in some
fundamental and powerful way which in turn transports us into the story universe.
Hollywood is not stupid. They know the simplest, easiest way to accomplish audience
identification is by telling stories with sympathetic Protagonists. The fact is we are much
more likely to identify with a Protagonist if we sympathize with them. So as far as the
studios are concerned, screenwriters should accept that as a given and go write them a hit
script.
If you read the post, you will see several examples of how screenwriter David Seidler went to
great lengths to establish points of connection so that the audience would, indeed, sympathize
with the Protagonist of The King’s Speech: Prince George (played by Colin Firth).
It may be true that creating a sympathetic Protagonist is the easiest way to engender audience

identification, but it is not the only way. Nor does every movie have to have a Protagonist who
drips sympathy. Back in January 2009, I explored the rather stunning box office success of Paul
Blart: Mall Cop, I noted a big key is how the story went to great lengths to up the sympathy
factor for the Protagonist. However, I took the opportunity to quote writer-director Alexander
Payne (Election, Sideways, Nebraska) on the subject. Payne agrees:
“I never talk about sympathetic characters. Number one, the truth is sympathetic. Number two,
we make comedies so we want the movie to be sympathetic…we’re interested in people, we want
to see truthful people…we show our love for people precisely by including all aspects [of a
character], as many as we can, in the limited form of a two-hour film.” Payne says that if an
exec says your protagonist isn’t sympathetic, just say: “It hasn’t been cast yet. That’s the
answer.” The right actor can warm the audience up to any role, even if it appears unlikable on
the page. Payne: “Why are we interested in Alex in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE? Why are we
interested in Michael Corleone? They’re fascinating. What’s more interesting, a cobra or a
kitten?” Beware, Payne says, “especially when you’re talking about likable. Just avoid those
discussions, they’re tiring. Don’t get lured into the turf of those discussions, because they’re
moronic.”
Indeed this is true. There are plenty of movies that feature decidedly unsympathetic Protagonists,
a note I made in this post (June 2012) in which I took up a reader question: “Are there any script
rules that really shouldn’t be broken?” Here is part of my response:
I don’t think there are any rules for screenwriting. There are important principles and dozens of
tips and techniques. There is also a lot of ‘conventional wisdom’ floating around that gets
transmogrified into being perceived as rules, and that is where the problem lies.
Stories are organic. Even in a screenplay, which is heavily structured by virtue of it being the
blueprint for producing a movie, the underlying story — that universe, its characters, the events
that transpire there — all have to feel alive, spontaneous, and native to that narrative environment.
Enter the plethora of screenwriting approaches, theories, paradigms, models, and formulas. While
some of them reflect dynamics that are innate to story itself and what people expect when they
read or see a story, once they get codified in the minds of writers, a big problem arises: The
writer can write to the formula instead of to the story. Hence all the complaints from moviegoers
about formulaic movies. And by the way, the complaint exists within Hollywood script
development circles, too, as folks there often lament being forced to read one formulaic script
after another.
Besides, if you give me a supposed screenwriting rule, I am 99 percent positive I can come up
with a movie that breaks it:
◆ Movies have to be told with a linear narrative.
⁃ Consider Memento, Pulp Fiction, or Betrayal.
◆ Movies have to have a sympathetic Protagonist.
⁃ Consider Sideways, As Good As It Gets, and Taxi Driver.
◆ Movies always have to have a happy ending.
⁃ Consider Citizen Kane, Shakespeare in Love, and Manon des Sources.

If movies like Sideways, As Good As It Gets, and Taxi Driver don’t rock your “A movie must
have a sympathetic Protagonist” universe, how about Mark Zuckerberg as portrayed in The
Social Network? I analyzed this movie and drew several screenwriting lessons, including this post
in which I assess the movie’s Protagonist figure:
Let us count the ways we can consider this Protagonist to be an asshole:

⁃ He’s demeaning to Erica when he talks to her in the opening scene.
⁃ After their break-up, he immediately creates a website and blogs to the world,
“Erica Albright’s a bitch… do you think all B.U. girls are bitches,” then provides
dirt on the minimal size of her breasts.
⁃ He listens to the Winklevoss twins pitches their idea for Harvard Connection, then
turns right around and pitches something strikingly similar — as if it’s his own
idea– to his best friend Eduardo.
⁃ He takes start-up money from Eduardo without telling him about the project’s
roots, thereby ensnaring Eduardo in future business hassles.
⁃ He strings along the Winklevoss brothers, supposedly working on their project
when he actually works on his.
And that’s only the tip of the unsympathetic iceberg which led me to this question:
So why in the world does The Social Network work if it flies directly in the face of one of the
most widely held beliefs in Hollywood — that in order for a movie to succeed, it needs to have a
sympathetic Protagonist?
Because in Zuckerberg, Sorkin created a compelling character. He may not be likable. Or

sympathetic. But he’s damn interesting:
⁃ Youngest billionaire in the world.

⁃ Created a social network that has transformed hundreds of millions of lives, even
world politics.
⁃ Caught up in not one, but two massive lawsuits.
⁃ He has a brilliant mind.
Per this last point, frankly if you go through all his dialogue where his egocentricity is in full
bloom and he is being an asshole, we can’t help but be fascinated to hear what will come out of
this guy’s mouth next.
And frankly, if there is one thing that the emergence of the so-called Second Golden Age of
Television has taught us, it’s that people like to watch deeply flawed Protagonists who explore
their inner demons and sometimes just flat-out do dastardly shit… like this dude:

Where does this leave us? Clearly, there is no rule in Hollywood that a movie must have a
sympathetic Protagonist. However we do know this: The line of least resistance, both in terms of
creating audience identification and, as a result, hitting studio execs’ comfort level, is working
with a sympathetic Protagonist. If you want to play it safe, this is your path.
That does not mean you have to write a sympathetic Protagonist. Write what your story compels
you to write. If your Protagonist is a psychopath (American Psycho), narcissist (Citizen Kane),
greedy bastard (The Wolf of Wall Street), whatever, you have the freedom to write and work with
that character.
Just be sure to make him/her compelling, a character a reader will be fascinated enough by so
they are unable to put down your script.
NOTE: There’s a whole other angle on this about empathy which is different than sympathy. If
you want me to get into that, hit me up in comments on the blog post and I’ll post some thoughts
on the matter.
Next: Protagonists and Shifting Goals

PROTAGONIST AND SHIFTING GOALS
I have heard this bubble up in conversations from time to time. The ‘rule’ seems to be that a
Protagonist must have a specific goal and that goal should not change over the course of the
story.
Let’s try to be charitable here. Imagine a teacher tasked with running an Introduction to
Screenwriting class. In reading the script pages of her students, she notices something: There is
a lack of focus on the part of the Protagonists. In fact, they are difficult to get a handle on
because they seem to flit from one concern to the next.
Fed up with this ongoing state of affairs, our teacher informs the class, “Your Protagonist must
have one goal. And they cannot shift their goal.”
In one respect, she is performing a service for her students, getting them to zero in on this
critical character and determine what is driving them, what is motivating them. If they have a
specific goal, that can serve as a clear object toward which they steer their actions.
Moreover, this has two residual benefits:

● By determining what the Protagonist’s goal is, you provide an end point for the
narrative and this can help in crafting your story’s structure. Your Protagonist begins
here and they end over there. Just knowing those two aspects can provide the spine of
your plot structure.
● If the Protagonist has a specific goal in mind, they are apt to move toward it. By default,
this makes them proactive which helps the writer avoid another so-called ‘rule’: Don’t
write a passive Protagonist.
So our teacher would seem to be doing her students a solid, right?
Not exactly… if she leaves the conversation there.
First off, the intimation is that this is a rule. As we have seen, there are no screenwriting rules.
We are trying to get rid of that way of thinking and the imperative she announces works against
that goal.
Next, there’s the not so insignificant issue of looking at goal as a single layered item. If a movie
just took place in the External World, the domain of Action and Dialogue, then a single goal —
Stop the asteroid from blowing up the Earth / Find the serial killer before he commits another
heinous crime / Convince the bride to marry me, not the groom — would be just fine.
However, movies don’t just exist in the External World. There is also the Internal World, the
realm of Intention and Subtext, the psychological and emotional aspects of the journey. In other

words, what does the story mean? And so, movies will often — and I’m tempted to say always
— have other goals at work.
I like to think of it this way:

By the end of Act One, a Protagonist will almost invariably have a Conscious Goal, a specific
known target toward which they are aiming their efforts.
But they will also have an Unconscious Goal, something that exists within their Authentic Self
that will over the course of Act Two emerge into the light of consciousness.
Some language systems use the terms Want and Need. A few examples:
• The Wizard of Oz: Dorothy’s Conscious Goal is to get home to Kansas.

⁃ Her Unconscious Goal that emerges in her journey is to feel like her home is her
home, she has to find a connection to it in order claim it as her home. “There’s no
place like home.”
• The Apartment: Baxter’s Conscious Goal is to land a promotion at work.
⁃ His Unconscious Goal that emerges in his journey is getting in touch with his inner
Mensch, claim his self-respect, and quit playing the corporate game.
• The Silence of the Lambs: Starling’s Conscious Goal is to save Catherine Martin.
⁃ Her Unconscious Goal that emerges in her journey is to kill Buffalo Bill as a form of
redemption on her father’s behalf.
• Groundhog Day: Phil’s Conscious Goal is to stop reliving the same day over and over.
⁃ His Unconscious Goal that emerges in his journey is to get in touch with his caring
self and find meaning in relationships with others.
• Tootsie: Michael’s Conscious Goal is to make enough money playing Dorothy Michaels
to pay for his friend’s play.
⁃ His Unconscious Goal that emerges in his/her journey is to discover he is a better
man as a woman.
• King’s Speech: Bertie’s Conscious Goal is to overcome his stuttering.
⁃ His Unconscious Goal that emerges in his journey is to confront the underlying
psychological issues related to his speech defect enabling him to find his Voice.
Sometimes this process — of the Unconscious becoming Conscious — does in fact cause a

Protagonist’s goal in the External World to shift. For example in Tootsie, Michael goes from
desperately wanting to find work as an actor to desperately needing to find a way to quit the
soap opera gig for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is that he yearns to be able to
start an honest relationship with the Attractor character Julie.
However, even if the Conscious Goal does not change, movies almost always have a sort of
shift that does happen, whereby the Unconscious Goal emerges into the light of day, and the
Protagonist learns to embrace it and make it a part of their New Self.

We can call that shift metamorphosis.
This is what Joseph Campbell calls the entire point of the Hero’s Journey (he uses the word
transformation, I prefer metamorphosis).
So if a teacher says, “A Protagonist cannot have shifting goals,” that not only comes across, as
a rule, it also come perilously close to steering writers away from one of the most important
dynamics in a story: The Protagonist’s metamorphosis.
Once again we see the danger of these so-called ‘rules,’ how they can tend to restrict creativity
and even lead writers astray.
Much better to remember our old friend Mr. Mantra: Tools, not rules.
Instead of thinking about a single goal and writing a story with one layer of possible meaning
and depth, use the tool of curiosity to go into your characters, particularly the Protagonist, and
see what is going on in their Internal World, determine what their Unconscious Goal is, then
work with that to see how it informs your understanding of the character’s psychological
journey and their destiny as it translates in the External World.
If you do that, you are on your way to deriving Plot from Character… which in my view is a
splendid way to go.
Next: Certain Events By Certain Pages

CERTAIN EVENTS BY CERTAIN PAGES
I saved this subject for last because it seems to me this is a slippery slope that can lead to all
sorts of misery and, thus, worthy of special attention.
Formulaic movies? Surface level stories? The diminution of the value of screenwriting by the
studios? The rise of hucksters posing as experts with exclusive insights on how to write a
million dollar spec script?
All of this — and more — derives from the very idea that certain things must happen in a
script by certain pages. Because if you accept this as a rule, then you have in effect
reduced the writing of a screenplay to little more than a paint-by-number exercise. That in
and of itself diminishes the craft and can squash any actual creativity from emerging in the
writing process.
I am willing to grant this: I doubt there is a screenwriter alive who does not have at least some
intuitive sense about where key events in a screenplay should happen. However, that is not a
must, as if there exists some sort of divine paradigm of screenplay structure, but rather more of
a gut feeling where reading what one has written, we get feelings… this set of scenes lingers
too long… this beat ought to happen sooner… I need to let this moment breathe and play out a
bit more… the story needs some action here.
If the act of writing should be as much, if not more about feeling than thinking, we are more
likely to service that end by making characters the first priority in terms of the story-crafting
work we do. In that regard, whatever we do and however we approach the writing, we ought
to leave lots of room for our characters to speak and act, for the plot to twist and turn, give the
story room enough so it may emerge in as organic a fashion as possible.
The way I look at it, when we write a story, we are wrangling magic. If we go at it determined
to fill in a preassigned set of 17 plot points, 22 steps, or 40 beats, where is the magic in that?
In “Poetics,” Aristotle set out his sense of narrative structure: Beginning. Middle. End. This has
come to be known as Three Act Structure.
If you look at those three as movements, then you have four key points:
• What is the beginning of the story?
• What is the end of Act One?
• What is the end of Act Two?
• What is the ending of the story?
If you can determine the answer to those four questions, you have the backbone of your story’s
structure right there. That may be all you need to jump to FADE IN and see where the Muses
take you.
Some writers may need to know more. For example, often there is something that happens in
Act Two where the plot makes a significant shift, what some — myself included — call The

Transition. So maybe five key plot points.
Or we may go one step further: The Whammo Theory. As explained to me by producer Larry
Gordon (48 Hrs, Die Hard, K-9), basically every 10 pages, something needs to go ‘whammo’.
Thus there may be stories where in working with the characters, we surface 10–12 major plot
points.
But however we approach the process, we must believe in and protect the story’s magic. Let me
reiterate: I happen to think the best way to do that is by focusing first on the characters, work
with them to see where they take you. Who better to reveal the plot to you than the actual
participants in that plot?
So anybody who tells you they have the secret formula… a proven paradigm for
screenplay structure… a detailed set of beats lining up certain events hitting at certain
page markers… or heaven forbid a software system (!?!?) to guide you through the story-
crafting process… I would advise you to run away as fast as you can.
If your first priority in crafting a script is to hit certain plot points by certain pages, therein lies
the way of soulless, formulaic writing.
Worst of all, it contributes to the mindset that screenwriting isn’t so hard:

Just put your Inciting Incident by P. 5. Your Call To Adventure by P. 15,
and so on filling out your little paradigm with whatever nomenclature the
particular language system you choose to use.
So the Suits may eventually say, “When you boil it down, screenwriting is really nothing more
than plumbing.”
As I said, a slippery slope leading to misery.
Look, I think we can all agree, we want more great movies. We want to see the unique and
visionary and distinctive in the films we watch. If there are familiar characters, plot elements,
and tropes at work, let them play out on screen in ways that are fresh and fun, offering a new
spin on something old.
More pointedly, we want to write vibrant spec scripts, compelling and entertaining enough to
grab the attention of Hollywood readers and not let go.
Can you get there by working with some predefined set of beats tethered to page count? I
would never rule that out. As I say, there’s no right way to write.
However, I have faith that if you

Go Into The Story and find the animals,
that is a path which can lead to magic.

GO INTO THE STORY AND FIND THE ANIMALS
This mantra is both the name of my blog, and my wish for you.
It derives from a conversation I had many years ago with my then three year-old son.
It went pretty much like this:
ME
Hey, Luke, I’m starting to write a
new script tomorrow. And it’s funny,
but no matter how many times I start
a new story, I get a bit, uh,
nervous about it. Got any, you know,
advice for your dad?
LUKE
(without hesitation)
Go into the story and find the
animals.
God as my witness, that’s what my son said.
Now who knows what Luke was really thinking at the time. Stupidly I didn’t follow up with
him, flummoxed as I was at his comment. I remember mulling it over and thinking that the
whole idea of going into a story is precisely what a writer does, immersing themselves in a
narrative universe that they create. That has always seemed just right to me, both in its
simplicity and profundity, which is frankly why I named this blog GoIntoTheStory.
But over time, it’s the other part in which I’ve discovered more and more layers of meaning.
Start with the verb “find.” Is there any word more appropriate to describe the writing process?
Here are some of its definitions:

• to come upon by chance:
⁃ Doesn’t that sound like brainstorming?
• to locate, attain, or obtain by search or effort:
⁃ Doesn’t that sound like research?
• to discover or perceive after consideration:
⁃ Doesn’t that sound like what happens when we mull over our story?
• to feel or perceive:
⁃ As we go into the story, we become more and more emotionally connected to it.
• to become aware of, or discover:
⁃ The biggie, where as explorers we uncover a story’s hidden gems.

Then there is “the animals”.
I’m almost sure what Luke was thinking about was how a children’s story so often is
habituated by animals. Thus in his eyes, my task was probably pretty simple:
Go find the animals. They are your characters.
But what if we think about it more symbolically?
● Animals can be both domesticated and wild. So some things we discover as we go into
the story are what we might expect (domesticated). Other times we’re surprised, even
shocked by ideas and thoughts that spring to mind (wild).
● Animals are alive, organic, and intuitive beings. So are our story’s characters.
● Throughout human history, animals have come to mean something in stories. A fox is
sly and cunning. A crow in many cultures signifies death. An owl is wise. Per Jung and
others who study myth and psychoanalysis, animals can serve as conduits into the mind
of the dreamer.
Which reminds me of something I read about a movie director who in prepping to make a
movie gave each of the actors their own animal token as something they could reference in
interpreting their character.
I’m sure if you think about it, you could probably come up with other shades of meaning for
the mantra.
I just know that this one’s my favorite mantra of all because of its source.
There you have it: My take on the So-Called Screenwriting ‘Rules’ and my wish for you.
I hope that you have resonated with at least one of them. Use them to help you focus your
thoughts and bring clarity to your writing process.
But for now and always, my wish for each of you is the same sentiment as once uttered by a
cherubic youngster with bright blue eyes and a look of deep intention in his face:
Go into the story… and find the animals.

RESOURCES
Go Into The Story: https://gointothestory.blcklst.com/
Screenwriting Master Class: http://screenwritingmasterclass.com/
DePaul School of Cinematic Arts: http://www.cdm.depaul.edu/about/Pages/School-of-

Cinematic-Arts.aspx
Zero Draft Thirty Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/731218807011913/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/GoIntoTheStory
Email: GITSblog@gmail.com
Special thanks to Franklin Leonard and the entire Black List team. In the 12 years of its
existence, the Black List has evolved into the single most important screenwriting brand in
Hollywood. Their commitment to shining a spotlight on the craft of screenwriting and
notable screenplays, and to create new avenues for outsiders to break into the movie and
TV business is a vision I share. I’m proud to contribute to the Black List’s efforts through
Go Into The Story and serve as a mentor at their outstanding screenwriter labs.
For more information about the Black List: https://blcklst.com/
The Go Into The Story PDF Series Download Links:
Click to download the first book in this series: “30 Things About Screenwriting”
Here’s the blog post where it was released on GITS on January 10th 2017.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

From 2002-2010, I was an executive producer at Trailblazer Studios, overseeing the

The adventure continues...

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 2

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 3

◆ GO INTO THE STORY AND FIND THE ANIMALS

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© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 6

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© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 9

There are two other influences we have yet to discuss.

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 10

This we may call a selling script.

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© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 13

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• Contemporary screenwriting places a premium on a script's readability. It's not

But do they qualify as rules?

We will discuss that next.

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Repeat: There is no single authoritative guide to screenwriting. So by definition,

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 18

Whatever defies conventional wisdom.

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 19

There are guidelines, conventional wisdom, paradigms, and principles.

Even supposed screenwriting rules.

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 20

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Therefore to ground this discussion, in reality, I would make this suggestion:

Yes, this is a nuanced position. But someone needs to say this.

© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 22

Next: WE SEE / WE HEAR

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© Scott Myers / so-called screenwriting rules 24

We SEE the back of the car. Tucked along fishing

The problem here is two-fold:

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The camera rotates on its axis until the flag is UPSIDE

The further we pull back, the more we see of a destroyed,

What to do? Remember that mantra I suggested at the end of Chapter 5?

Tools, not rules.

• Just describe what is in the shot. Period.

Ralph and Eliza pick up the pace and catch up to

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Eliza walks along the RV peering up at opaque

They all stop and listen. A radio just came on

Anna chucks a piece of ice and it SMASHES LOUD on

Eliza takes Joy’s hand and the four of them

The rear windshield of the RV. A shadow appears

Tools, not rules, my friends.

Once again from Zombieland:

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Something just God-awful is happening to this guy. Then he

Now let’s discuss ‘unfilmables’.

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Sorry, got off on a rant there!

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