01 30 Things About Screenwriting Scott Myers PDF

30 things about
screenwriting…
© Scott Myers
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 1400 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...
© Scott Myers
FOREWORD
The Go Into The Story PDF Series
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 both!
The first in this PDF series is titled “30 Things About Screenwriting”. It is a compilation
of 30 daily posts I published on the blog in December 2013. The collection contains
my reflections and takes on basic tenets of the craft. If any of them resonate with you,
great. If not, feel free to ignore them. Each writer needs to figure out their own approach
to screenwriting. My hope is to help feed that process and provide writers with
inspiration along the way.
It’s my goal to do whatever I can to open up the gates of entry to the world of
screenwriting to any and all who feel the calling -- which is why I started the blog in the
first place -- so share this ebook with anyone you feel may benefit. You have my
blessing.
More installments in this series to come each month in 2017.
Onward!
© Scott Myers
CONTENTS
30 Things About Screenwriting - CONTENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FOREWORD
RESOURCES
1. THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY TO WRITE.
2. SCREENPLAYS ARE STORIES, NOT FORMULAS.
3. LEARN THE CRAFT.
4. WATCH MOVIES. READ SCRIPTS. WRITE PAGES.
5. A SPEC SCRIPT WON’T SELL WITHOUT A STRONG STORY CONCEPT.
6. WRITE WHAT THEY’RE BUYING? Or SELL THEM YOUR DREAM?
7. THERE ARE NO SCREENWRITING RULES.
8. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN CINEMA.
9. WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS… SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS…
10. FACING THE ODDS
11. KNOW YOUR GENRE
12. STACKING PROJECTS
13. LIVING AND WRITING IN L.A.
14. SIMILAR BUT DIFFERENT
15. BREAK YOUR STORY IN PREP
© Scott Myers
30 Things About Screenwriting - CONTENTS CONT'D
16. FEET ON THE GROUND… HEAD IN THE CLOUDS
17. GET THE DAMNED THING DONE!
18. BEGINNING. MIDDLE. END.
19. DON'T THINK… FEEL.
20. IMAGEMATIC WRITING
21. IF YOU WRITE A GREAT SCRIPT…
22. MOVIES DON'T OWE ANYBODY A LIVING
23. STORY AS PSYCHOLOGICAL JOURNEY
24. 1, 2, 7, 14
25. SET-UP AND PAYOFF
26. TEST YOUR STORY CONCEPT
27. MINIMUM WORDS, MAXIMUM IMPACT
28. THE SPIRIT OF THE SPEC:
⁃ You get an idea

⁃ You act on your idea
⁃ You write your story
⁃ You put it out there
⁃ And if it doesn’t sell?
29. THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH
30. GO INTO THE STORY AND FIND THE ANIMALS
© Scott Myers
THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY TO WRITE.
This article was first published on the Go Into The Story Blog
It is perhaps the single most fundamental truth about screenwriting in particular

and writing in general that I know… There is no right way to write.
No single formula. No one system. No mystical process that guarantees success.
Think about it: Why should there be? Stories are organic. Living, breathing,
malleable entities. They are not widgets. We work on them tirelessly. We engage
them fully with our minds and hearts. We write… and rewrite… and rewrite some
more… Yet with all that conscious effort and intentionality, there is always some
element of magic to the story-crafting process. And no one has discovered a way to
box up that magic into a universal approach for every writer. Each of us has to find
our own way.
We can — and probably should — seek out as much advice as possible. Wisdom from

our writing peers. Study, analyze, ingest. But our paths as writers are individual
ones. Whatever he says about his writing… Whatever she says about her writing…
That can be informative, instructive, even inspirational…
But that is about their path. Your path? The process of being a writer is about
carving out your own way. Yes, it would be easier if there was one right way to
write. But then all our stories would be pretty much the same. Besides whoever said
writing was supposed to be easy? So learn what you can along the way.
Listen to the Masters, actual writers who have successfully created a sustainable path
of their own. Test out a variety of approaches. Try tips you pick up here and there.
Always be learning. However at the end of the day… It’s about you… Your Creative
Self…And your Stories.
There is no right way to write… But there is your way.
© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 6

SCREENPLAYS ARE STORIES, NOT FORMULAS.
William Goldman has famously written, “Screenplays are structure.”
That is true in a tangible sense because at some point, a script becomes a blueprint
for the production of a movie. And in a very real way, everything hangs on the
structure of the narrative — how one scene flows to the next, how the beginning is
shaped, how the middle is crafted, how the ending plays out, even the designations of
scenes — Exterior, Interior, Day, Night — shape the nature of a film coming to life.
So Goldman’s assertion is true. It is also problematic. Somewhere along the line,

screenplay structure started to become routinized. In part, this is because a certain
segment of the screenwriting ‘guru’ caste generated some takes on what that
structure is supposed to look like, each with their own system where this key plot
point ought to land between these pages and that major plot point needs to hit
between those pages, a script needs X amount of acts, sequences, beats, etc.
Over time, structure was reduced to paradigm. Paradigm transmogrified into

formula. And that contributed to perhaps the most common complaint among those
in the Hollywood movie development arena foraging through mounds of
submissions: formulaic scripts. As screenwriter David Seltzer (The Omen,
Punchline) has said, “If you go in with formula, you come out with formula.”
This approach may have worked in the 80s and into the 90s with Hollywood
churning out one high concept movie after another, but the inherent problem with a
formula is it eventually wears out its welcome. Why? Because if the audience knows a
formula well enough, they can anticipate precisely where a movie is heading, and
that eviscerates almost any possibility for genuine entertainment.
Little wonder that contemporary audiences, their minds cluttered with tropes,
memes and patterns, are looking for something different. By and large happy

endings still, but how the story gets from FADE IN to FADE OUT, that needs to be a
rocking ride of twists and turns, known unknowns and unknown unknowns.
And right there is the key. Did you catch it? The one word that is a writer’s salvation
when it comes to formula. Story.
A story roils with potential to go anywhere and do anything. Its characters are active
sentient beings who live in the moment and can make any of a myriad of choices.
If you create multidimensional characters, conflicted, confused, driven, uncertain,
and all the rest, they will resist formula because they are living, dynamic entities who
can surprise us. And when a story plays against type and expectations, that’s when a
writer is on the path toward a great screenplay. Again from David Seltzer:
“The whole thrill of being a writer is to do a prototype every time out. And you can
do it, something that nobody ever wrote before.”
A prototype every time out. In other words, meet the story on its terms, allow it to
breathe, enable it to go where it needs to go, not cram it into some sort of
predetermined formula.
I understand this desire to reduce the mysteries of a story to something manageable,

a nice little system to speed our way through the writing process, an approach we can
duplicate time after time to ensure we churn out scripts in an efficient and timely
manner. But efficiency and timeliness — and most of all formula — do not sell a
script. Rather a distinctive concept, compelling characters, and a narrative that
moves in unforeseen and unexpected ways, those are key to crafting a marketable
script. So as you wander through the noisy spectrum of people pitching you this or
that screenplay paradigm or methodology, be sure to remember this one essential
fact: Screenplays are stories… not formulas.

LEARN THE CRAFT
Being a screenwriter is much more than just writing a script.
Here’s one big problem with most of the screenwriting approaches I see floating
around: Their focus is almost exclusively on writing a screenplay. Obviously this is
important. You must be able to translate your talent, voice, and vision for a story onto
the printed page. A script not only is a commodity which you can sell, it is also a
representation of who you are as a writer.
But while a screenplay is an end product of what we do, there is so much more to
actually being a screenwriter than simply writing a script. And much of what that is
about, that ‘stuff’ we ingest along the way, impacts how we approach our writing,
where we put our focus, and what ends up on the page.
In other words, it is not just about writing a screenplay. It’s about thinking and
acting like a screenwriter… And to do that, we need to learn the craft. Write.
Rewrite. Write. Rewrite. Write. Rewrite… How?
Just as there is no right way to write, there is no right way to learn the craft.
However here is a list of areas I think any writer would be wise to include in their
learning process:

Theory:
Some writers need less of this, some require more, but at least a basic take on the
fundamentals of screenwriting theory.
Research:
While it might not be necessary to determine a specific approach, a writer should
know their way around a library or nowadays the Web. Perhaps more important, a
writer should engender and feed their curiosity to dig into the subject matter of the
story they are writing as that is the surest path toward being able to create a world
that feels authentic to a reader.
Prep:
While it may be fine to approach writing a novel with zero advance work,
screenwriters who choose to work on assignment are not allowed that luxury.
Generally we have about 10 weeks to turn in a draft and one key to managing to pull
that off on a consistent basis is to break your story in prep. This varies from writer to
writer, but often an outline becomes their best friend.
First Draft:
Some call it a ‘vomit draft,’ others a ‘muscle draft,’ I prefer Zero Draft. However a
writer refers to it, they ought to develop a mindset whereby they can knock out that
first draft without constantly going back or getting stuck. This is where the value of
prep emerges in a big way because if a writer breaks the story before they type
FADE IN, they are much more likely to be able pound out a first draft.
Rewriting:
There is perhaps no other narrative form to which the saying ‘writing is rewriting’
pertains more than screenwriting. So part of this learning curve is not only
developing an approach to the rewrite process, but also an embrace of this as an
ongoing reality of what screenwriters do. For a screenwriter, rewriting is akin to
breathing. It just is.
Production:
If a writer is lucky, their script becomes an actual movie. That sounds wonderful, and
it is, but it also means every scene gets translated by the film crew into the nuts and
bolts of actual production. Therefore it behooves a screenwriter to understand the
connection between what they write on the page and what that entails when a movie
gets made. Helpful hint: Make some short films to put yourself on the set.

Post-Production:
There’s a lot involved in post, but the single most important point of focus for a
screenwriter is to be mindful of the editing process. Indeed a writer thinking like an
editor when crafting a script, everything from scene construction to scene transitions,
can make for a better read and benefit the entire production and post process.
Acting:
One of the smartest things a writer can do is take an acting class (or two). Yes, this is
about writing dialogue that is ‘actor friendly,’ but it is also about something
incredibly fundamental: understanding characters. Actors ask the same questions
about a character writers do: motivation, personality, backstory, want, need, goals.
The more a writer can grasp how actors think about their craft, the more that can
translate into strong characterizations on the page.
Business:
While a writer relies on their agent, manager and lawyer for career advice as well as
inside information about industry trends, it is important for a writer to understand
the basics of the entertainment business. From acquisition to development to
production to marketing to distribution to finance, a writer’s stories get touched by
people in all of these areas, so it just makes sense for them to have a basic
comprehension of how the film business works.
Producers:
Per this last point, one of the most important ways of thinking about screenwriting is
as a producer. The ability to put on their ‘hat’ and see things through their eyes can
be enormously helpful for a writer in terms of everything from story decisions to
business strategy. Producers are often a writer’s best friend on a project.
Understanding their world view is a plus.
Critical Eye:
The movie business is incredibly competitive and it is ridiculously hard to get any
movie produced. Therefore a writer must adjust their analytical instincts accordingly.
A good place to start is with this basic question directed at each story a writer takes
on: Is this a movie? The ability to answer that question honestly and without
prejudice is key. A writer can use that same level of scrutiny to story choices: Is this
distinctive? Is this cliche? Is this the very best I can do? If not, do better.

The World of Cinema:
Any writer who hopes to grow a career as a screenwriter must immerse him/herself
in the world of cinema. See every movie. Read every script. Know film history. This
is important for a myriad of reasons including the simple fact that everyone in the
business constantly refers to other movies, therefore a writer must know their stuff to
be able to converse knowledgeably in development meetings, meet-and-greets, social
circumstances, and the like.
There’s a lot more I haven’t mentioned — how to pick your battles, how to incorporate
script notes, how not to be an asshole, and so forth — but the point should be clear and
worth repeating: Learning the craft is much more than knowing how to
write a screenplay… It’s about becoming a screenwriter.

WATCH MOVIES. READ SCRIPTS. WRITE PAGES.
I coined this triptych in 2009 and it seems to have caught on. Here’s why: You can
learn pretty much everything you need to know about screenwriting by doing these
three things:
Why watch movies?

Because to be a good screenwriter, you need to have a broad exposure to the world of
film. Every movie you see is a potential reference point for your writing, everything
from story concepts you generate to characters you develop to scenes you construct.
Moreover, people who work in the movie business constantly reference existing
movies when discussing stories you write; it’s a shorthand way of getting across what
they mean or envision.
But most importantly, you need to watch movies in order to ‘get’ how movie stories
work. If you immerse yourself in the world of film, it’s like a Gestalt experience
where you begin to grasp intuitively scene composition, story structure, character
functions, dialogue and subtext, transitions and pacing, and so on.
Movies must be in your lifeblood — and the best way to do that is to watch them.
If you haven’t seen all of AFI’s Top 100 Movies or the IMDB Top 250, now is the time
to start.

Why read scripts?
Because every script you read is a learning experience. If it’s a good script, you can
break it down scene-by-scene to determine why it works. If it’s a bad script, you can
see aspects of writing you do not want to emulate. By reading screenplays of great
movies, you can see how the pages were translated onto the screen, thereby giving
you insight into how to write cinematically.
But most important, you need to read screenplays because these are primary source
material, the ‘stuff’ you traffic when you write. Reading other writers’ screenplays is
a great way to expose you to different approaches, which will help you inform and
define your own unique style, your own distinct voice.
Screenplays are the form through which you tell stories — and the best way learn that
form is by reading scripts. If you haven’t read the WGA Top 101 list of screenplays,
now is the time to get started. You can go to simplyscripts.com or other screenplay
sites to access literally thousands of screenplays.

Why write pages?
I don’t really have to explain this, right? You know that you have to write to get better
as a writer, not just the words you manage to write, but how you approach writing
from a psychological, emotional, and spiritual perspective. Nobody is born a writer,
we all become writers, it’s an active process that is ongoing throughout our lives.
But most important, you need to write to feed your creativity. Putting words onto
paper is an act of incarnation. Rewriting and editing your words are acts of shaping
the material. Screenwriting is a craft, but you have to be able to tap into your world
of ‘art’ in order to make your pages come alive.
Writing is the process whereby you create stories — and the best way to develop that
process is to do it. Every day. For this, I have no websites to which to point you. No
lists with which to challenge you. Just this fact: When you aren’t writing, someone
else is.
Screenwriting is an incredibly competitive business. There are no short cuts to

success. But there are three habits you can embrace that can teach you everything
you need to know about the craft, about creativity, and about your writer’s self:
Watch movies. Read scripts. Write pages.

A SPEC SCRIPT WON'T SELL
WITHOUT A STRONG STORY CONCEPT

If you write a spec script based on the first story idea that comes into your mind, that
script likely won’t sell. Why? Because almost assuredly, the first story idea that
comes to mind is not a strong story concept.
One key to come up with a GREAT story idea… generate LOTS of story ideas.
It is impossible to overemphasize the importance of a story idea to the eventual
success of a spec script.
A good story concept:

⁃ enables producers and studio execs to ‘see’ the movie.
⁃ provides ammo for marketing departments to advertise the film.
⁃ emboldens managers and agents to sell the crap out of your script.
⁃ Although I have no way of proving it, I believe the story concept may
represent up to half of the value of a screenplay to a potential buyer. That’s
right, half.
Here are some quotes from a pair of established screenwriters about the importance

of story concepts:
“Most aspiring screenwriters simply don’t spend enough time choosing their concept. It’s by far
the most common mistake I see in spec scripts. The writer has lost the race right from the gate.
Months — sometimes years — are lost trying to elevate a film idea that by its nature probably had
no hope of ever becoming a movie.”
— Terry Rossio
(Aladdin, The Mask of Zorro, Shrek, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl)
“Ideas cost NOTHING and require ZERO risk. And yet, oddly, the LEAST amount of time’s
usually spent in the idea stage before a small fortune is dumped on a whimsy that’s still half-
baked… Ideas cost nothing yet have the potential to yield inexplicably long careers and happy
lives.”
— Kevin Smith
(Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Zak and Miri Make a Porno)
Are you thinking of story ideas every day?
Do you have a master list of story ideas that is… growing?
Is one part of your brain on auto-pilot, always sifting through the daily data that
comes your way in search of possible story ideas?
We, as writers, should be generating “lots of ideas.” How to do that?
Perhaps the single biggest key is two simple words: What if?
Consider anecdotes from three screenwriters:
“The inspiration for coming up with the story [Back to the Future] is that I was visiting my
parents in the summer of 1980, from St. Louis Missouri, and I found my father’s high-school
yearbook in the basement. I’m thumbing through it and I find out that my father was the
president of his graduating class, which I was completely unaware of. So there’s a picture of my

dad, 18-years-old… The question came up in my head, ‘gee, what if I had gone to school with
my dad, would I have been friends with him?’ That was where the light bulb went off.”
— Bob Gale (1941, Used Cars, Back to the Future I, II, III)
“The secret, the great key to writing Hook, came from my son. When he was six, he asked the
question, ‘What if Peter Pan grew up?’ I had been trying to find a new way into the famous ‘boy
who wouldn’t grow up’ tale, and our son gave me the key.”
— James V. Hart (Dracula, Contact, Hook)
“The Shakespeare in Love screenplay was written by Marc Norman and playwright Tom
Stoppard, although the original idea was rooted in a third creative mind — one of Norman’s
son’s, Zachary. It was in 1989, while studying Elizabethan drama at Boston University, that the
younger Norman phoned his father with a sudden brainstorm of a movie concept — the young
William Shakespeare in the Elizabethan theater. The elder Norman agreed it was a terrific
idea, but he hadn’t a clue what to do with it. Two years later, with bits of time stolen from other
projects, the notion had formed — what if Shakespeare had writer’s block while writing his
timeless classic, ‘Romeo and Juliet’”?
— Marc Norman (The Aviator, Cutthroat Island, Shakespeare in Love)
What if I had gone to school with my dad? What if Peter Pan grew up?
What if Shakespeare had writers block?
Each the basis of a successful movie. Each a strong concept.
The two most powerful words for generating story concepts.
Want to jump start your ability to think concepts? Make the words “what if” an
essential part of your brainstorming vocabulary. That is the single most proactive
way you can go about trying to surface strong story concepts.

WRITE WHAT THEY'RE BUYING?
OR SELL THEM YOUR DREAM?

There are many writing paths. Here are two of them.
Let’s consider this a response to a reader question because I get this type of inquiry
pretty regularly from aspiring screenwriters via email. It takes different forms:
What type of stories should I focus on?
I have a lot of story ideas: How do I know which one to write?
What’s the best approach to take to maximize my chance of selling a script to

Hollywood?
There is no one right answer to these questions. Even if there was and I gave it to
you, you can be certain you would open the trades tomorrow to read a story about
some writer who came along and did precisely the opposite, and just sold a spec for
six figures.
That said broadly speaking, there are two basic paths a screenwriter can take when
writing a spec script.
The most obvious approach is this:

Write what they’re buying.
It’s the first rule of sales: Qualify your customer. If Hollywood is your ‘customer,’
then you find out what they are buying. That can mean right now, that can mean
established patterns in terms of genres and movie story types over a decade or more,
that can mean reading the tea leaves for what you think may be the next big thing.
You do due diligence in terms of gathering information about the Hollywood
acquisition market so when you assess your story concepts, your own interests, and
your potential as a writer to develop your voice, you can make an informed choice in
what you pursue.
I know there is a pretty persistent piece of advice given by established writers that
goes something like this: “Don’t pay attention to the market. Things change. What
you write today won’t reflect what they’re buying tomorrow. Besides it’s important to
be authentic.
The old adage is true: “Write what you know.”
The problem with this take is while it may be sound advice for some types of writers,
it can be absolutely the wrong thing for others.
For example, if your passion is action-thrillers, those are the movies you watch, those
are the scripts you’ve analyzed, that’s the type of story that oozes from your creative
pores, then you’d probably be dumb not to track the acquisition market.
First off, what if there is a script that sells or a project in development that is the
precise concept you were planning on writing? What a waste of time that would be to
write a script that has zero chance of selling.
Second, determining what’s going on in development and production may provide

you with just the spark for a variation on a preexisting idea to use for a new spec.
Third, you can be damn sure professional screenwriters track what sells to know
what’s going on. Shouldn’t you? So in the case of this type of writer, why would they
consciously not pay attention to the acquisition marketplace when in fact there are
multiple good reasons to do precisely that?
Now I will grant you the above words of wisdom : ‘Don’t pay attention to the market’
is solid advice for other kinds of writers, those for example who are more interested
in exploring their own creative instincts and pushing the boundaries of what they
perceive the Hollywood norms to be.
In that case, there is another path, an approach we may sum up in this way:

Sell them your dreams.
At its core, this is about believing passionately in yourself as a writer and specifically
your own unique vision of the world in combination with your ability to translate
that perspective into a story. You watch movies, you analyze scripts, you read books,
the same basic practices any aspiring screenwriter should follow, but it’s all about
providing fodder for your creative instincts.
It’s Tarantino writing Reservoir Dogs. It’s Sodebergh writing Sex, Lies and
Videotape. It’s Kaufman writing Being John Malkovich.
Think of these two approaches in terms of Hollywood’s mantra re acquisitions, how

the studios want something ‘similar but different.’
The “Write What They’re Buying” path is more about being similar.
The “Sell Them Your Dream” path is more about being different.
My advice? Go off by yourself for a day. Take a good honest look at your skills, what
you bring to the table as a writer. Consider your creativity, how it works. Pay special
attention to what types of movies inspire you, theki nd of stories for which you have
passion.
Then look at your story concepts, the entire list. If you don’t have a list, put one
together. Sit with each of your ideas. Which ones bubble up to the top as being the
most interesting ones? Which ones feel the most like a movie?
Finally imagine you are standing at a fork-in-the-road: One path has a sign that reads
“Write What They’re Buying”. The other path has a sign that says “Sell Them
Your Dream”. Which path feels right to you? Which path pulls you in its direction?
You’re not looking for the right choice or a wrong choice, rather you are looking for an
honest choice: Which best reflects your instincts as a writer? Hopefully one or the
other path will speak to you. If not, don’t worry.
Follow Yogi Berra’s advice: “When you come to a fork-in-the-road, take it.”
Go down one or the other, and write something. That way, you will end up with a
story which has the potential to sell. Perhaps more importantly, you will learn about
yourself as a writer.
How about you? Which type of writer are you? Which path will you take?

THERE ARE NO SCREENWRITING RULES
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.
There are no rules.
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 bull shit.
“Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”
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 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 movie 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.

IMMERSE YOURSELF IN CINEMA
If you want to write movies, you need to love movies.
And that love ought to manifest itself in a thorough, longstanding and passionate
immersion in the world of cinema.
Love it. Live it. Learn it.
You may squint your eyes at that word cinema. Sounds awfully high tone if one’s goal
is to write mainstream commercial Hollywood movies. Popcorn films. Stories for the
masses.
Cinema. Really?
I prefer that term because if we think movies, we might be inclined to limit the
scope of our efforts to watching films and perhaps reading scripts. Maybe tracking
the comments section at Deadline.
Not enough in my humble opinion.
Yes, you must watch movies, read scripts and write pages.
But you should consider doing more. Much more.

Read filmmaking books:
▪ “Making Movies” by Sidney Lumet,
▪ “Conversations with Wilder” with Billy Wilder & Cameron Crowe,
▪ “Adventures in the Screen Trade” by William Goldman.
Just a few of the many essential books.
Watch DVD commentaries:

▪ The Third Man (filmmaker Steven Soderbergh, screenwriter Tony Gilroy),
▪ The Silence of the Lambs (director Jonathan Demme, actors Jodie Foster,
Anthony Hopkins, screenwriter Ted Tally, FBI agent John Douglas),
▪ Little Miss Sunshine (directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris,
screenwriter Michael Arndt).
Three of literally thousands of audio commentaries.
Film analysis:
▪ “Roger Ebert’s Book of Films” by Roger Ebert,
▪ “5001 Nights at the Movies” by Pauline Kael,
▪ “A Biographical Dictionary of Film” by David Thomson.
So many great books of film criticism, plus numerous journals.
Evolution of filmmaking:
▪ “Film History: An Introduction” by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson,
▪ “An Empire of Their Own” by Neal Gabler,
▪ “What Happens Next” by Marc Norman.
There is a treasure trove of books about the history of filmmaking and the
movies business.
Screenwriter interviews:
▪ Watch, read, and listen to interviews with professional writers.
You can get a good start in this area right here on my blog, literally
hundreds of interviews: Audio, Video, Written.
Podcasts:
▪ “Scriptnotes” with John August and Craig Mazin,
▪ “Nerdist Writers Panel,”
▪ KCRW’s “The Treatment”
and many MANY more.
Online:
▪ The Bitter Script Reader,
▪ Thompson on Hollywood,
▪ Box Office Mojo.
Just the tip of the iceberg of sites you should bookmark.
Every writer is different. There’s no right way to write. But having been in the
business for over a quarter-century and met literally hundreds of writers, I can safely

say that to a man and woman, they live and breathe movies.
That’s why I use cinema. It’s all-embracing, expansive and comprehensive. If you
want to maximize your chances of success as a working screenwriter, you should
immerse yourself in cinema.
But how? And where to start? If only someone would put together a primer.
Guess what?
The fine folks who frequent this site have done that, right here:
Deep Focus: The Go Into The Movies Project.
Subject Area I: Movies
Subject Area II: Scripts and Screenwriting
Subject Area III: Film Analysis and Criticism
Subject Area IV: Filmmakers
Subject Area V: The Evolution of Filmmaking
Deep Focus In Brief syllabus: 25 movies, 25 screenplays, 5 books [For those with
limited time or looking for a good starting point]
So, cinema. Not trying to be snooty. Just hoping to inspire you to immerse yourself in
this amazing world of visual storytelling.

WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS…
SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS

The dynamic dual nature of a screenplay universe.
One would think this is obvious, but I continue to be surprised by scripts I read which stories
suffer because they live on the surface exploring solely what’s going on in the plot.
That does not reflect the depth of a screenplay universe - which exists on two levels:
There is the External World, the domain of Action and Dialogue, the realm of a story’s Physical
Journey.
There is the Internal World, the domain of Intention and Subtext, the realm of a story’s
Psychological Journey.
Of course, these designations are artificial because a story should come across to a script reader
or moviegoer as an organic entity. However as lenses through which a writer may look at a
story during its development and writing, this binary approach reminds us of a key dynamic
that is at work every moment of every scene:

When something happens… something else happens.
In every scene, the Actions and Dialogue of character, what we see and hear in the External
World, almost always carry with them Intentions and Subtext, what we intuit and interpret
arising from the Internal World.
Every character has a whole other Self in the Internal World, sometimes made clear, other times
mysterious through the use of masks in the External World — Protagonist, Nemesis, Attractor,
Mentor, Trickster.
With every Plotline point, events that occur in the External World and shift the narrative in a
different direction, there are ramifications in the Internal World as characters process
experiences… which change their attitudes… which impacts behavior… which leads to other
Plotline points… a continuous interweaving between the story universe’s twin dimensions.
In other words, there is a dynamism that exists between these two realms.
Moreover by being sensitive to the ebb and flow of what transpires in both the External World
and Internal World, we become privy to multiple layers of meaning, emotions, wants, needs, all
of which can enrich our writing and make our stories more compelling because there is more —
sometimes much more — than meets the eye.
On the other hand, by focusing too much attention on screenplay structure (and by structure,
many equate that with plot) is to diminish the importance of the psychological life of a story.
We may end up with a nicely crafted plot, but if there is no emotional resonance, no underlying
meaning derived from within the Internal World, no complexity and depth to what’s going on,
chances are slim the story will connect with a reader.
So there is a fundamental truth about a screenplay that its universe is comprised of an External
World and an Internal World. As a result, there should be no such thing as a static moment in a
script, there is always movement and energy at work, each realm influencing the other, a
dynamic tension of intention and subtext shading actions and dialogue.
When something happens… something else happens…

FACING THE ODDS
How to sustain creativity in the face of considerable odds against success.
Some time ago, a GITS reader [who wanted to remain anonymous] forwarded me this
information:
As you are known for tracking sales, I thought I’d throw in some stats I got from someone at
the WGA yesterday (stats are circa 2007):
• About 250 films are made by the studios’ major divisions; another 100 are made by
independents, some of whom are owned by the studios. (Another 50 or so foreign
features are released each year).
• The WGAW Registry processes approximately 65,000 transactions per year. Of these
registry transactions, about half are film, the other half are TV, and some are repeat
registrations of further-developed drafts.
I do have an article from the blog Fencing with the Fog, Screenplay Sales statistics which puts
the odds of a spec sale at one in 1,100.
Also, this CNN Entertainment article “Screenwriters Chasing the Brass Ring in the Land of
Dreams” puts the odds at a spec script being purchased and then produced at 1 in 5375 (1998)
if I am extrapolating correctly: (it says that the California lottery is more likely to produce a
millionaire!)
To this we can add a post by the Unknown Screenwriter who also figures the odds against

selling a spec to be about 5,000 to 1.
No matter the number, the simple fact is the odds are against you. Get used to it. Even when
you break into The Biz by selling a spec, you will face odds against you at every turn of your
screenwriting career: Odds against selling that pitch, odds against landing that OWA (Open
Writing Assignment), odds against your project getting a green light, odds against the movie
turning out well, odds against the movie being a hit, and on and on.
Writers come in all psychological shapes and sizes, but there are some areas we all have to deal
with universally and facing the odds is one of them.
You have to develop an iron stomach and steel spine: The former to fend off nerves whenever
you take a risk, the latter to keep you unbowed when confronting passes.
You have to find that balance point between rationality and irrationality: The former to help you
assess what to write and where to put your energy, the latter to buck you up to leap again and
again into the breach.
You have to keep your head in the clouds and your feet on the ground: The former to feed your
creativity and fuel your hope, the latter to remind of reality and the daily challenge you face in
overcoming the odds.
You have to be able to celebrate your victories and survive your defeats.
But here’s the crazy thing: In a business where the most apt description of how it works is
screenwriter William Goldman’s assertion that “nobody knows anything,” this bit of wisdom
turns things on their head. For the fact is screenwriters are not dealing with widgets, we are
trafficking in magic. Stories are part-creativity, part-persistence, and all-ineffable bafflement at
what works and what doesn’t, why this sells and that doesn’t. Those intangibles twist about the
whole ‘numbers against’ dynamic.
Add to this unholy mix of psychological dynamics and unruly statistics another set of numbers:
2.
That is the number of writers or writing teams who sold a spec script on average per week in
2011 and 2012.
Actually to be precise, it’s 2.01 [209 spec script sales divided by 104 weeks in 2011 and 2012].
Which means that basically every week, some lucky bastards are going to face the odds… and
beat them. Their confounding combination of story concept, character development, months of
slamming one’s fingers against a keyboard and one’s forehead against a computer monitor,
seemingly endless rewrites, and countless hours of fending off the voices of negativity will
result in a script that sells.
No matter how depressed you may become at facing the odds, twice a week your faith can be
restored, if you allow yourself, by the simple fact of reading about how Studio A bought Script
B from Screenwriter C who then mainlined Champagne D.

If you need more tangible proof this is possible, you need look no further than yours truly: I
was a complete Hollywood outsider who wrote and sold an original screenplay to Universal for
$750K, it was produced, then spawned two sequels.
So yes, the odds are against you. Really against you. Way the hell against you.
But there is only one way to succeed as a screenwriter: By acknowledging those long odds…
telling them to screw off… then writing the best damn script you can.

KNOW YOUR GENRE
If you want to write in a genre, you’re wise to immerse yourself in it.

I have gotten to know a lot of screenwriters through the years. In talking with or
interviewing them, one thing I find they pretty much have in common: They know
their genre. That is a lesson for all of us.
When you write an original screenplay within a specific genre, you really should
know the heart, soul and guts of that genre. This will inform every step of your
creative and writing process: concept, character development, brainstorming,
plotting, tone, style, atmosphere, voice, pace, and so on. There are patterns, tropes,
memes and attributes common to certain genres, and you need to know as much
about them as possible, if you want to follow, reverse or break those conventions.
If you are an action writer, you need to know the action genre.
If you are a comedy writer, you need to know the comedy genre.
If you are a science fiction writer, you need to know the science fiction genre.
And so forth down the list of genres, sub-genres and cross genres.
There are so many reasons why this is the case. Here are a few:

Knowing a genre means you will be informed about what has come before which can
help you avoid too closely duplicating scenes or key beats in previous movies. An
homage is one thing. Unknowingly mimicking a familiar beat not only means you
will have to change that bit of business, it will also convey to a Hollywood insider you
aren’t steeped all that well in the genre. On the other hand, if you do have extensive
awareness of a genre, that can raise the comfort level of a potential buyer.
Knowing a genre means you can be inspired by other movies in that arena. Think of
any Quentin Tarantino movie, each of them standing on the shoulders of dozens of
predecessor films, even to the point where he will cast actors from those movies as a
way of honoring them. If you are smart, you can refer obliquely to famous bits in
previous movies and they can work as an homage, a great way to draft on successful
moments in prior films.
Knowing a genre means you will understand whether you are inclined to write
within that genre or not. If you find it easy to watch horror movie after horror movie
as part of your personal education, chances are you have the inclination, even the
passion to write within that genre. If, however, it is a struggle for you to watch
movies or read scripts in a specific genre, that’s probably an indication you should
look elsewhere to find what type of stories turn you on creatively.
There’s a whole other aspect of knowing your genre: Hollywood will pigeonhole you
(and this can be a good thing).
If you get known as a writer who does sports dramas, you will get offered lots of
sports dramas.
If you become known as a writer who does broad physical comedies, you will get
offered a lot of broad physical comedies.
If you are known as a writer who does turgid period pieces about bipolar
quadrasexual polar bears who speak in Norwegian subtitles… well, you’re probably
not working in Hollywood. But you get my point.
Hollywood is a busy damn place and people there tend to operate in shorthand. “That

writer is good with dialogue… He’s great with character-oriented projects… That
team really gets frustration comedies.”
There are several reasons why this state of affairs exists. First and foremost, a
predominant way studio executives look at writers is that we are problem-solvers.
The exec has a project that needs a rewrite, a fresh take, a new set of eyes. So if the
project is, let’s say, an R-rated adolescent romp in the vein of American Pie, the exec
will more than likely look for a writer who has a track record in that area. This is only
natural. If the studio is going to commit dollars to a writer, that writer has to hit the
studio’s comfort level. Who would they be more comfortable with: A writer with an
established set of writing credits in the specific genre of the project in question or a
writer with background in some other area?
Contributing to the state of affairs is the attitude of most managers and agents.
Whereas execs look at writers as problem-solvers, reps tend to operate on a line of
least resistance approach toward their clients. Being both smart and busy, agents and
managers tend to slot the writer into projects that are the easiest deals to make
happen. If your claim to fame is aggressive action movies with lots of spilled blood,
chances are you’re going to have an uphill slog landing that OWA on an adaptation of
the YA title “Summer Camp Puppy Love.” Indeed it’s highly dubious your rep would
consider putting you up for that, even if expressed an interest in the project. Why?
Because they know your chances of landing the gig are minimal given your area of
supposed expertise.
Here is an excerpt from an interview with manager-producer Adam Kolbrenner,

founder of Madhouse Entertainment:
The real true evaluation of a manager comes down to the ability to help you navigate
and ultimately not waste time on scripts and ideas you shouldn’t be writing… What’s
your voice, what are the stories you want to tell, and how are we going to get there
together… If a writer comes to me and they’re a great thriller writer, an action writer,
and they pitch me an interesting comedy idea, okay great. Don’t write that.

Don’t write that. Your rep is thinking not only about your next writing gig, but also
your career. While there are some writers who write multiple genres, most focus in
one area. That becomes your line of least resistance to continued employment as a
writer in Hollywood.
So yet another reason to delve into genres — watching movies, reading scripts — is to

surface what specific arena interests you most, where you talent best lies, and what
you have the most passion for. Because if you’re going to be put on a Hollywood list
noted for writing a certain genre, you want to be sure that is something you can work
at with enthusiasm for at least 5–7 years. At that point, you can, if you choose, stretch
your creative wings by writing a spec script in another genre, break into TV, become
a mime… whatever you want because if you are successful, you should have the funds
saved up to bankroll your reinvention.
But the first step in all of this is to know your genre. Here are the big eight:
Action, Comedy, Drama, Family, Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction, Thriller.
What’s your genre?

STACKING PROJECTS
One key to the craft: Learning how to manage several projects at once.
Here’s something interesting to do if you subscribe to IMDBpro.com: Check out

some of the top screenwriters and see what projects they have in development.
Here are three of them: Ron Bass, Steve Zaillian, and Guillermo del Toro:
Ron Bass
Players Rules (2010), writer
True Believer (2011), writer
Teacher man (2011), writer, producer
Lover’s Leap (2011), writer, producer
Godmother (2011), writer
A Season in Central park (2011), writer
What a Wonderful World (2012), writer, producer
Boomsday (2012), writer

Steve Zaillian
My Dinner With Herve (2011), producer
I Heard You Pain Houses (2011), writer
Deep Water (2011), producer
A Thousand Splendid Suns (2011), writer, director
Untitled John Hlavin Project (2012), producer
Timecrimes (2012), producer
The Girl Who Played With Fire (2012), writer
Red Riding (2012), writer, producer
Gangland (2012), producer
As She Climbed Across the Table (2012), producer
Untitled Cryonics Project (2013), producer
Guillermo del Toro

The Witches (2011), writer, director
Saturn at the End of Days (2011), writer, director, producer
Pinocchio (2011), executive producer, writer (story)
Death: The High Cost of Living (2011), executive producer
Puss in Boots (2011), executive producer
The Haunted Mansion (2012), executive producer, producer, writer, director
Midnight Delivery (2012), producer
Drood (2012), producer
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (2012), director
Trollhunters (2013), producer, writer, director
The Orphanage (2013), producer, writer
Champions (2013), producer, writer
Alma (2013), executive producer
Notice something — apart from the fact that these projects represent a buttload of
work? Each one has several titles in play per year. That’s called stacking projects and
it requires a certain skill-set.

First, why do you want to stack projects? Simple answer: So you can know what your
next gig… and your next gig… and your next gig is going to be. As a free-lancer, that’s
as close as you get to job security. If you can stretch your project horizon out a year or
two, that’s a damn fine situation, knowing you’ll have the wherewithal to pay for little
Brenna and Slater’s $20K private school tuition for the foreseeable future.
But it also means you have to be able to handle several projects at once. I can’t say
exactly how other writers manage stacking projects, but here’s how one way to
approach it.
At any given time, you are actively working on three projects:
The rewrite:
This is a project for which you have already written a draft and turned in,
and you will edit per studio / producer notes.
The first draft:

This is a project you are working on to get to the studio.
Prep-writing:
This is your next project on which you are doing research, brainstorming,
developing characters, and plotting.
In a perfect world, you get to knock out a first draft while your rewrite is under
review. Prep-writing is something you do along with the other writing. Sometimes
you spend 1–2 days per week just doing that. Or you devote your evenings for
research.
If a screenwriter wants to stack projects, they need to develop the ability to jump
from one script to the next, shift creative gears from this story universe to that. If you
are capable of doing this and doing it well, you have the makings of a producer which
is what some writers end up adding to their resume, like Kurtzman & Orci. Per

IMDBpro.com, they currently have 18 projects they’re attached to, 14 by my count on
which they are involved as producers only, not writers.
Here’s the thing: You can develop this skill-set right now. Generate three quality
story concepts. Crack one and write a first draft. While you’re doing that, prep
another one. And while you’re doing that, start researching the third one.
When you finish Project A’s second draft [you never let anyone other than you read a
first draft], send it off for people to review. During that time, knock out the first draft
of Project B. And while you’re doing that, prep Project C.
Now you’re stacking projects. And as you complete the first one, you fold in yet
another of your great story concepts to take its place.
Prep, writing, rewriting. Three different projects at once. This way you’ll not only be
generating a lot of scripts, you’ll also be learning the art of stacking projects.
Comment: Some writers aren’t wired to work like this. They must focus on one
project at a time. That’s okay. Understand what kind of writer you are and follow
your instincts. In fact, I do not recommend stacking projects for those people who are
on their first or second script. As a rule of thumb, you need to put in enough time
writing to feel comfortable with the essentials of the craft before you should entertain
the idea of stacking projects. It will do you no good if you write several scripts, each
one of them below average because you weren’t able to give them the kind of
individual attention they deserved.
On the other hand, if you’ve written four or five screenplays, and you know how to
knock out drafts and get a good result from your writing, there’s no reason why you
shouldn’t at least try to stack multiple projects at a time. That way when you do sell a
spec script and break into the business, you’ll be primed to line up multiple projects
at a time.

LIVING AND WRITING IN L.A.
Should you live here to be a writer? Do you HAVE to live here?
Let me say up front, there are enormous advantages for a screenwriter to live in or
near Los Angeles. Here are a few key ones:
• You are where the action is. There’s no better way to keep track of the ebb
and flow, ins and outs of the movie business than by living in L.A. as the film
industry is a ubiquitous presence.
• You are where the players are. Agents, managers, producers, studio execs,
talent, L.A. is the center of the film business. Your presence in Los Angeles
puts you in proximity to these people which enables you to do networking that
much more effectively.
• You are where the deals are. Whether it’s general meetings, pitch meetings,
open writing assignment meetings, script meetings, it all happens in L.A.,
much easier to be a presence if you get a call and have the capability of
hopping in your car to drive across town to take a meeting.
Beyond that, L.A. offers writers opportunities to learn more about the craft,
everything from presentations through the WGA or Writers Guild Foundation, and
an endless stream of public screenings followed by Q&A’s with filmmakers, to
meeting up with other writers or attending industry screenings of movies.
And there are the intangibles. When you’re in L.A., it’s virtually impossible not to
become infused with the culture of the film business. That can inspire you, motivate
you and fuel your drive.
On the other hand, depending on how things are shaking out with your career, the

sheer omnipresence of the film industry can be intimidating, even overwhelming.
When things are going great with your career, there’s perhaps no better place to be.
L.A. feels like your town, you’re an active part of the business, you belong here. But
when the inevitable drought occurs, three… four… six months without a gig… you
can’t escape. Huge movie billboards, film shoots on street corners, movie stars at
Gelson’s, floodlights piercing the night sky as you walk your dog.
Its presence is everywhere!
Also you have to understand that it seems like everyone in L.A. is working on a
screenplay. Stop by any coffee bistro and there they are, a half-dozen slump-
shouldered, pasty-faced writers tapping away on Final Draft.
Being surrounded by scribes can remind you of a basic fact: You should be writing.
And that can be a good thing to get your ass in a chair to actually, you know, write.
But there are times when all of those goddammed writers you see, and the thousands
you don’t yet you know are out there pounding out pages, convey in a visceral way
the harsh reality of life for a working screenwriter: the fierce competition we all face.
There’s also this: Assuming you’re not a native Californian or a long-time transplant
to L.A., you developed your writing voice elsewhere. Iowa, New Jersey, England,
Norway, wherever. The sum of your life experiences and the very place in which you
live now has helped to make you the writer you are, giving you your distinctive take
on the world.
If you move to Los Angeles, it will change you. Hopefully for the better. But you will
feel the same 70 degree sunny days that every other writer in L.A. does. You will have
the same conversations with your managers and agents other writers do. You will
show up at the same screenings and restaurants. You will chase the same gigs. You
will read the same scripts. And over time, the sum of what you go through in L.A. will
alter you as a writer. As I say, maybe it will make you a better writer. On the other
hand, it’s possible the unique voice you developed by living elsewhere will get
subsumed into the generic attitude and tone of every USC, UCLA, Loyoyla
Marymount or Chapman film school grad hawking their wares in studios from
Burbank to Culver City.
There’s so much more to discuss with regard to this topic, things you would likely
never consider like how the choice of your child’s private school can present work
opportunities as you rub shoulders with execs and directors, producers and actors. Of
course you’re paying $30K+ per year for the privilege.
Let me end with the question that is always on the mind of aspiring writers who live

well outside Los Angeles:
Do I have to move there to break into the business of writing movies?
The answer is no. You can write a spec script anywhere. If it’s great, that will be
your passport into the business. In fact, I have interviewed two 2012 Nicholl Fellow
winners, one from Louisiana [Allan Durand], one from South Africa [Sean Robert
Daniels]. They and many other writers I know live and work outside Los Angeles.
But if you do sell a spec, and even in anticipation of that chance, at least you should
be envisioning the possibility of relocating. Because on the whole, the positives of
living and writing in L.A. outweigh the negatives.
NOTE: If you want to write TV, you pretty much have to live in Los Angeles.

SIMILAR BUT DIFFERENT
Or Precedent / Analogy. However you refer to it, it’s how Hollywood operates.
Sequels. Prequels. Remakes. Reboots. Why do Hollywood studios choose to go this

route with such familiar material? Why not fill their development slates with bold
projects full of fresh ideas and innovative stories?
That would run entirely counter to the working ethos which informs the studio
system decision-making process, a business mantra that can best be summed up in
this manner: What they are inclined to buy, develop, and produce are projects,
including screenplays, that are similar but different.
Again the question: Why? There are many reasons. Here are the biggest two.
The increasing importance of marketing: The simple fact is after the

acquisition of a project, years of rewrites, talent falling in and out, battles over
budget, months of pre-production, production, post-production, none of it matters
one whit unless the studios can sell the movie. And in an increasingly noisy world
with consumers bombarded by advertisers on all sides, a studio’s task of getting the
message out about a movie has become harder and harder.
If the movie’s concept or storyline has a familiar ring to it, so the marketing theory
goes, it’s more likely to connect with consumers. And if a consumer remembers some
aspect of a movie’s ad campaign, the odds increase exponentially they will be

motivated to get off their fanny, drive to the local Cineplex, and actually buy a movie
ticket.
Think of the sport of stock car racing. A competitor can position themselves after the
leader and benefit from reduced air resistance by taking advantage of the slipstream.
Likewise if a studio can position a movie similar to a preexisting property — (e.g.,
movie, TV series, book, graphic novel), the movie can reduce the amount of ‘drag’ in
the marketplace because consumers will already have some awareness of the title.
Hence the value of similar. The different component should be obvious: the story
can’t be exactly the same as the preexisting title, it has to be spun enough to make
the consumer think they’ll be viewing something… well… different.
So from a purely marketing standpoint, similar but different is supposed to make

selling the movie easier and more effective. That’s the first reason. The other reason
lies at the heart of the studios’ decision-making process regarding movie deals:
Fear of making a mistake: Studio executives are afraid to commit to projects

because if a movie they’re associated with bombs, it doesn’t bode well for their
careers. This is especially true with the current climate where the major Hollywood
studios are all part of major corporate conglomerates which means pretty much
everything boils down to profits.
Flops make bad things happen.
The 1981 historical epic Heaven’s Gate, subject to massive cost overruns, essentially
killed United Artists. The 1987 comedy Ishtar was perceived as being such a bomb, it
led to Coca Cola selling Columbia Pictures to Sony.
And a studio exec’s fear is not only based on the prospect of giving a green light to a
project that flops; they also have to be worried about passing on a project that turns
out to be a big hit elsewhere such as the case of the Twilight movie series to which
Paramount once had the rights, but let slip away to Summit Entertainment. That’s

over $500 million in box office receipts Paramount could have included in their
revenues, but did not because their execs decided to pass on it.
Big budgets. Pressure if they say yes and a movie tanks. Pressure if they say no and a
project does well elsewhere. All of that translates into a subtext of fear. And that
translates into yet another reason why similar but different rules the roost in
Hollywood today. If a studio green lights a body-switch project that is similar but
different to a movie that was successful, they have a built-in excuse: “Hey, their
body-switch movie was a hit.”
This should put a personal spin on why Hollywood puts out so many sequels,
remakes, and film adaptations of TV shows. Even if they fail (Cats & Dogs II, The A-
Team), studio execs can defend themselves because there are equally, if not more,
hits based on similar but different content (Iron Man 2, The Karate Kid, Star Trek).
The thing is similar but different doesn’t just pertain to movies based on preexisting
content. It also comes into play in the spec script and pitch market. And this is where
this state of things can turn in a screenwriter’s favor.
First of all, no one in Hollywood is expecting a writer to come up with a completely

new, wholly fresh story concept. One reason we’ve hit on already: Hollywood doesn’t
actually want that type of thing because it’s too risky, not similar enough to existing
movie titles. The other reason is this: There are no new ideas. Writers know this:
“Every writer has certain subjects that they write about again and again. Most people’s books are
just variations on certain themes.”
— Christopher Isherwood
“I think one writes and rewrites the same book.I lead a character from book to book, I continue
along with the same ideas. Only the angle of vision, the method, the lighting change.”
— Truman Capote
“Mostly, we authors must repeat ourselves — that’s the truth.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald
So the burden of generating a heretofore unseen, unknown and untouched story is

removed from our shoulders.
Second, because everyone in Hollywood knows there is nothing new under the sun
combined with the fact that the suits embrace the very concept of similar but
different, that translates into this:
We can recycle ideas.
I have run a series of blog posts called Movie Story Types, which is archived here,
featuring story arenas like The [Blank] From Hell, Contained Thriller, Mistaken
Identity, Road Picture and dozens more. Looking for a story concept? There is no
reason you can’t dig into one of the story types, research a bunch of existing titles,
then spin them in a unique way. Gender bend. Genre bend. Geo bend. Mix and
match.
If you think this is cheating, think again:
Take a look at the 1903 Silent Film The Great Train Robbery by Edwin Porter
Now take a look at Edison’s 1905 The Little Train Robbery
Hollywood has been recycling stories since before there was a Hollywood!
Moreover here is where I get the chance to trot out one of my favorite anecdotes on
the subject. The great American songsmith Woody Guthrie is said to have written
over 4,000 songs. He was asked how he was able to come up with so many tunes. His
answer [paraphrased]: “Well, I take a melody I like, give it a twist here, a twist
there, and I make it my own.”
I make it my own.
That is what you can do when recycling story ideas: Spin it a different way, dig into
the characters to surface what is unique about them, and make the story our own.

Gravity is Apollo 13… but different.
Prisoners is Se7en… but different.
Last Vegas is The Hangover… but different.
So see what I did there? I started off exploring what is seemingly the depressing
reality which is similar but different, examined why that business ethos is as locked
in as it is, uncovered some positives for writers, then charted a path through it
enabling us to work within its confines while still exploring our own creativity and
unique voice.
Or something like that.
Anyhow similar but different is here and won’t change anytime soon. It’s a fact of
Hollywood life. As writers we can fight it, condone it, or embrace it.
The choice is yours.

BREAK YOUR STORY IN PREP
Prep-writing is essential to the success of page-writing.
Let me begin with this acknowledgement: There is no right way to write. Each writer is
different. Each story is different. There is no single universal approach that works for everyone.
However in my view, it is impossible to overstate the importance of prep-writing.

Brainstorming. Character development. Research. Plotting. Index cards. Outline. However you
do whatever you do leading up to FADE IN, do it and do it an immersive, thoughtful way.
In other words, break your story in prep.
As far as I can tell, this is the origin for the idea of “breaking” a story, as in breaking a wild horse.

I understand writers have an itch to get into the page-writing, which is great because that can
help overcome the single greatest challenge of writing: depositing one’s ass onto one’s chair to
actually write.
However we have to balance that out with finding the story.
Some writers absolutely loathe and can’t handle any sort of prep. They simply have to type
FADE IN (or if a novel, crack open that file) and have a go at it. Nothing wrong with that… if
it works.
Repeat: You may be a writer who either cannot abide the process of prep-writing or find it
actually inhibits your creativity. Whatever approach you discover that works for you, even if it
involves little or not prep work, good luck and go with God.
However standing on the front line of aspiring-screenwriter-to-pro-screenwriter as I do, having

worked with literally hundreds and interfaced with thousands through my blog, I strongly
believe the single biggest hurdle for writers is not doing sufficient prep-writing.
First, in my experience a writer is much less likely to finish a script if they haven’t figured out
at least the major plot points before they type FADE IN. If they get lost, confusion sets in. If
they are not finding the story, their enthusiasm wanes. At some point, frustration enters, then
bitterness, then rejection. Another script on the Died On The Vine pile.
Second, even if they do manage to get to FADE OUT — and acknowledging that a first draft is
always going to be rough — unless they do 10–15 drafts, I doubt they will ever find the story
they could have discovered if they had fully immersed themselves in it in prep. That is one of
the big values of brainstorming and character development especially, giving yourself the
freedom to explore and test out a wide variety of narrative options as opposed to narrowing the
field of choices before surfacing other possibilities.
Third, if a writer wants to have a realistic chance at succeeding as a professional writer, they
have to be able to turn around stories in an efficient manner. You sign a contract on a writing
assignment giving you ten weeks to deliver, you’d better be prepared to do precisely that.
Having figured out whatever sort of approach to prep you use is a big plus in that regard rather
than watching the ink dry on your contract, then going, “Uh, what do I do now?”
On a side note, if you have any interest in writing TV, whether you like prep-writing or not,
you are simply going to have to embrace it. For example in one-hour dramas with narrative arcs
that extend over the course of one or more seasons, they break all or almost all of that out
before divvying out scripts to individual writers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say a majority of
time in the writers room is devoted to breaking stories (after shooting the shit and eating
snacks, of course).
So different strokes for different folks and all that. And yes, we all want and need to leave
room for the mysteries and surprises of stories to reveal themselves. If a full outline stifles your
creativity, don’t do a full outline.

Paul Schrader’s outline for the movie “Raging Bull”

However for writers not of that ilk, my point is you need to figure out the story somehow.
Why not do it in prep?
Then you can concern yourself in page-writing with all the fun stuff of writing — scene
description, character interaction, scene construction, transitions, atmospherics — rather than
desperately attempting to sort out what goes where, does this work, oh my God, I’m lost.
Finally let me say this. I have seen writers get ‘converted’ on this point. Many who had never
done much in the way of prep, some who said they knew it wouldn’t work for them. After I
got done working with them, it was like the heavens opened and the light of revelation shone
down upon them. I’m not kidding. I have dozens of testimonials to that effect.
The essence of prep-writing is really quite simple: Get curious about your characters. Engage
them, get to know them, interact with them, listen to them, ponder their personal histories, delve
into their personalities, dig, dig, and dig some more. If you do that in a thoughtful way, the
story, indeed the plot itself will emerge as a natural part of the prep process.
I’ve seen it happen over and over and over and over again, which is why I say to most
writers…
Break your story in prep.

FEET ON THE GROUND… HEAD IN THE CLOUDS
A twist on a familiar adage speaks more to the business of writing.
I’m sure we’ve all seen the saying, “Keep your head in the clouds and your feet on the
ground.” If you Google the phrase, you find all sorts of “growth experts” and
“motivational speakers” riffing off this old adage, encouraging us to seek a balance
with our ambitions and the realities of life.
Then there is screenwriting and its harsh realities.
One thing I have consistently done on this blog is acknowledge the long odds against
anyone breaking in as a professional screenwriter. The competition is fierce. The
buyers reluctant. The jobs limited. In short, it’s a rough and narrow path to financial
success. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or full of shit.
So what is one to do: Give up?
If you love movies…
If you believe in your creativity…
If you have the passion to bust your ass and hone the craft…
If you feel a calling to ‘follow your bliss’ and that bliss is screenwriting…
How can you not pursue that goal? To do anything less would repudiate an essential
part of your Self. And unless you believe in reincarnation, you have one shot at
pursuing your dreams.
You may not sell a million dollar spec script.
You may not own a home in the Hollywood hills.
You may not get a movie produced.
But isn’t there some value in acknowledging an essential part of Who You Are,
responding to that and taking on that hero’s journey?
Besides new writers do break into the business every year. Not a lot, but some.
Including total Hollywood outsiders. I should know. I am one.
So how to look at this conundrum: The desire to pursue screenwriting in light of the
significant odds against achieving financial success?

I propose we take that old adage noted above and flip it.
“Keep your feet on the ground… and your head in the clouds.”
Start off knowing the odds are long. The competition fierce. The need to understand
the craft of screenwriting in-depth high.
That awareness is keeping your feet on the ground and an important place to start.
But if you feel called by the Creative and are consumed by the magic that is Movies,
there is nothing wrong with keeping your head in the clouds. Indeed isn’t that what
we call ‘inspiration’?
Visualize writing a great script.
Imagine that script becoming your ticket to Hollywood.
Dream of the possibilities of working as a writer in the business.
As screenwriters, we live with a fundamental dichotomy.
It’s goddammed hard to succeed.
But we are goddammed committed to pursue that journey. How to do that?
Feet on the ground. Head in the clouds.

GET THE DAMNED THING DONE!
The one unalterable truth about writing a first draft.
No, not the line leading to Finland.
I lied. When I wrote that thing about “There are no screenwriting rules”
…Actually there is one.
It’s about first drafts. They are of such importance, I break my own rule about there
not being any screenwriting rules by allowing this one rule. And here it is:
Get the damn thing done!
You have to start somewhere. And one of the most fundamental values of having a
first draft in hand is it gives you something on which you can work. Your story is no
longer vapor, an illusion, some fantasy flitting about in your mind.
Rather a first draft is a tangible object you can print out and feel in your hands… but
only when you get to FADE OUT.
Moreover if the adage “writing is rewriting” is true — and it is — then it is imperative

to get to that rewriting part of the process. And logic dictates you cannot get to that
phase until you have gotten through the first draft.
Well, technically you can rewrite along the way when doing a first draft. Or go back

and rewrite what you’ve written starting at Page 1… but that path is wrought with
peril. Because a kind of inertia can set in where a pattern emerges like this…
Go back to Page 1. Tinker with the opening. Rewrite. Go back to Page 1.
Tinker some more. Back to Page 1…
That’s not rewriting. That’s perfectionism. There is a place for that… but in your final
draft, not in the first draft process.
Do not expect perfection… because your first draft is going to be flawed no matter
what.
Indeed if you embrace the spirit of a first draft — Get the damn thing done! — that
should free you up to pound it out.
You’ve done the hard work of finding as much of the story as you can during prep.
Now it’s all about putting words down, scene by scene, page by page, from FADE IN
to FADE OUT. Nothing. Else. Matters.
The first draft is a journey of discovery where no matter what your opinion of the
pages are, you find essential truths about your story… what works… what doesn’t.
Keep moving forward even if what you’re writing feels like utter shit.
Finally there’s this: Finishing a first draft is an enormous psychological

accomplishment. Because let’s face it, the greatest joy of writing is having written.
When you type FADE OUT for the first time in your story-crafting process, you will
have written something. In the process, you will have beaten back the Hectoring
Voices Of Negativity Inside Your Head.
What are you thinking? Don’t write this story, it’s ridiculous? Who are you trying
to kid anyway? Don’t write today, it’s beautiful outside, let’s go play! You are never
going to get anywhere with this story!
When you type F-A-D-E-O-U-T, each letter is like a hammer blow to The Voices’ ugly
skulls. Take that, ya’ bastards!!!
So when it comes to this first draft you are writing, remember the only screenwriting
rule I believe ought to exist:
Get the damn thing done! Get the damn thing done!!
GET THE DAMN THING DONE!!!!!!!!!

BEGINNING. MIDDLE. END.
In Poetics, Aristotle wrote “A whole [story] is what has a beginning and middle and
end.” His articulation of each of these three parts and how they fit together is as
follows:
“A beginning is that which is not itself necessarily after anything else, and which has naturally
something else after it.
An end is that which is naturally after something itself, either as its necessary or usual
consequent, and with nothing else after it.
And a middle, that which is by nature after one thing and has also another after it.”
Beginning. Middle. End.
Three parts. Three movements. The number “3” is an interesting one:
• Three is first odd prime number and the second smallest prime
• There are three types of galaxies:
⁃ elliptical, spirals, and irregulars
• Three basic Earth divisions:
⁃ Igneous- Metamorphic- Sedimentary
• Freud suggested that psyche was divided into three parts:
⁃ Ego, Super-Ego, Id
• Holy Trinity:
⁃ Father — Son — Holy Ghost
• The three R’s:
⁃ Reading — ‘Riting — ‘Rithmetic

There is an inherent sense of structure to the number 3:
• a triangle of three points

• three pitches in a triad,
• the most basic form of a chord.
There is also a sense of finality upon experiencing that third part:
• Third one’s a charm.

• three strikes and you’re out.
• One……. Two……… Threeeeeee!
Furthermore there are innate cycles in the physical universe that reflect three
movements:
• Sunrise Day Sunset
• Departure Journey Return

• Birth Life Death
So, too, in the world of ideas:
Hegel’s dialectic:
Thesis Antithesis Synthesis
classical music’s sonata form:

Exposition Development Recapitulation.
This idea of these three movements [Beginning — Middle — End] is so fundamental

to the human experience, it is little wonder it has dominated storytelling on
Broadway and in Hollywood for more than a century — known as 3-Act Structure:
More than likely you have run into this concept. You may be so familiar with it, the
very idea might seem rather obvious. Indeed there are those who deride 3-Act
Structure as an outdated approach to screenwriting. I disagree. And I urge you in the
strongest sense possible: Do not stray from Beginning — Middle — End.
First on a pragmatic level, whereas people involved in the moviemaking process may
have varying ideas or understanding of story, it’s guaranteed they will all know the

concept of three acts. Agent or manager, studio executive or producer, director or
actor, everyone uses Act One, Act Two, and Act Three when discussing a script.
More importantly and directly related to screenwriting, these three movements

undergird all aspects of the craft:
• Every scene should have a Beginning — Middle — End.

• Every sequence should have a Beginning — Middle — End.
• Every subplot should have a Beginning — Middle — End.
• Every screenplay should have a Beginning — Middle — End.
Beginning. Middle. End.
Innate to story.
Innate to screenplays.

DON'T THINK… FEEL.
I stumbled across this quote recently and it struck me as profoundly right.
I do a lot of thinking about the craft of screenwriting. I come by it honestly. I never

went to film school or had any formal training before I broke into the business, so I
had to do whatever I could to get my act together to sustain a career as a
screenwriter. Moreover I had trained to become an academic, albeit in a completely
different field, before I took my “year off from school” which subsequently became
the rest of my life.
Put those two together and the result is applying a significant amount of my gray
matter to reading, studying, analyzing, questions, concerns, ideas and concepts
related to writing screenplays.
When I began teaching screenwriting in my spare time about a decade ago, that only
intensified my thought process. Writing is one thing. Teaching writing is quite
another. The former is pretty much just ‘doing.’ The latter requires one to… well…
think about the doing, then articulate that process in a coherent form which can be
conveyed to students.
In the ten years or so I’ve been teaching, I have created dozens of classes and taught
well over one hundred of them to over a thousand writers. All of that required
considerable thinking.

And yet while I’m proud of the approach I have developed which I teach — grounded
in solid theory and years of experience working as a professional in Hollywood, not
formula, not pap, a comprehensive, character-based approach to the craft — when I
send writers off to write their scripts or accompany them in workshops, I always
make a point similar to Bradbury: No matter the books you’ve read or theories
you’ve ingested, no matter what you’ve come up with in your prep work, whatever
your thinking has brought you to, you must be willing to trust your characters, follow
your feelings as you write. Because writing is a journey of discovery no matter how
much thought you’ve put into it.
Now I would hasten to add a proviso: Bradbury was a genius. He was destined to be
a writer, perhaps even born with a writer’s soul. So it was probably natural and easy
for him to ‘cut off’ his intellect and trust his gut when writing. Those of us who exist
on a more terrestrial plane may not be so lucky and will have to rely at least
somewhat on our intellect as we write.
But it’s that last point that really grabbed me: Your intellect is always buried in that
feeling anyway.
Wow. I love that. Because it describes in succinct fashion the very process I try to
convey here on the blog, in my teaching and in my own writing.
Learn the craft as best you can through study and analysis. Immerse yourself in your
story universe during prep-writing. Brainstorm. Character development. Plotting. All
of it. That should engage both your intellect and your heart.
But when you hit FADE IN, default to your emotions. At the end of the day, you want
a script reader to feel something. What better way to ensure that than by feeling
something ourselves?
Look, as I say ad nauseum, there is no right way to write. But consider the potential
of Bradbury’s imperative when you launch into writing page: Don’t think! Feel. If
you’ve done sufficient prep work, the intellect with be there as a sort of ‘subtext’ to
your feelings.
And that combination could be the ideal one for your creative process.

IMAGEMATIC WRITING
Consider poetry. How a poem can take a simple moment — a boy watching a moth, an
old man splayed on a porch chair, a single drop of rain trickling down a window —
and create a universe of meaning. And what are screenplays but a series of
meaningful moments?
Then there is the use of language in poems. When you read a line of poetry from a
writer like Tom Chandler (“To the Woman at the Red Edge Motel”):
Some tourist of love in his cheap suit of longing elbows the bar in
the lounge of no last names.
Or Howard Nemerov (“Fiction”):
The people in the elevator all, face front, they all keep still, they all
look up with the rapt and stupid look of saints.
Those lines read like a screenplay’s scene description. They depict the scene, but
equally as important they convey the mood and tone of the moment, making it
become that much more alive and vivid in the imagination of the reader.
Screenwriters are not chained to complete sentences. We are free to create images
however we can. So when Shane Black (Lethal Weapon) writes about a suicide
victim:
She lies, dead, like an extinguished dream. Still beautiful.
Or Walter Hill (Hard Times) describes a street brawl:
Speed’s man tries a kick. Gets knocked backward for his trouble.
Grapple. Hair pull. Powerful men but without grace.
Those are examples of what I call imagematic writing — using words to create

strong, visual images. Imagematic writing, along with psychological writing, is a
second storytelling sensibility tied to style.
Here are three touchstones for effective imagematic writing:
Verbs Descriptors Poetics

Verbs:
This is Narrative Voice relating to us the active nature of the story’s present tense.
Descriptors:
This is Narrative Voice capturing key visuals happening in the moment.
Poetics:
This is Narrative Voice using words to evoke a sense of place, mood, and tone.
So when Michael Arndt describes Olive’s dance routine in Little Miss Sunshine:
And when Joe Eszterhas details a murder on Page 1 of Basic Instinct:
Or when David Webb Peoples paints a picture of a key moment in Unforgiven:
Each is an example of imagematic writing, an expression of Narrative Voice as

poetry. Again such stylistic choices are fundamentally connected to the specific type
of story we are telling and the genre’s impact on our Narrative Voice. But there are
ample reasons for you to look at scene description more as poetry than prose.

IF YOU WRITE A GREAT SCRIPT…
…Hollywood will find you.
Sale. Option. Representation. Writing sample. Writing assignments. Any/all of the

above.
This is not a pipe dream or fantasy.
This statement does not involve unicorns, leprechauns, or magic pixie dust.
This is the damn truth.
If you write a great script, Hollywood will find you.
How do I know this?
Because it happens dozens of times each year, emails I receive from GITS followers
sharing their good news with me.
Because hundreds of scripts that do not sell result in writers landing a manager and/
or agent and busting into Hollywood to write movie projects and begin screenwriting
careers.
Because Hollywood is always seeking new writers, new voices, new blood.
But mostly because there is not an agent, manager, producer or studio exec with
whom I have ever talked who has said anything different. [As an example, check out
this interview with manager Dan Halsted and scroll all the way down to the bottom.]
All of them are looking for great stories. All of them are hoping for a great script. All
of them are searching for great talent.
This is not conjecture. This is a fact. And it is the basis of an invisible pact that exists
between Hollywood and aspiring screenwriters, originating perhaps in an imaginary
Iowa cornfield: If you write it, they will come.
Sure, you will have to take that first step. Maybe you send 400 emails to people in the
business. Perhaps you get your script to a second cousin who has a co-worker whose
friend knows the father of a guy who is married to an assistant of an L.A. agent. Or
you submit your script to the Nicholl or Austin screenplay competitions. Or the Black
List website.
No matter the entry point, a great script will always find its way to Hollywood…

because Hollywood is always looking to find great scripts.
Yeah but…
There are no but’s. There are no excuses. There is nothing more to say about
anything other than this: Write a great script.
Everything else will take care of itself.
So why this bromide today? Because I want to remind you to get your mind off
concerns that don’t mean squat and onto matters that mean everything: You should
be entirely focused on the writing, your script, your story, your craft.
Focus. On. The. Writing.
If after having read this post you still have a hard time believing what I’m saying,
consider this: I was a complete and utter outsider to Hollywood. I knew nothing
about the film business. I had never taken a course in screenwriting.
And a spec script I wrote sold for three quarters of a million dollars and was made
into a hit movie.
So if you ever doubt the veracity of that invisible pact between Hollywood and
aspiring writers, all you need to do is think of me.
I am living proof it is true. It is a fact. It is the way of the movie business.
If you write a great script, Hollywood will find you.

MOVIES DON'T OWE ANYBODY A LIVING
This is actually a lesson I learned before I became a screenwriter. After I graduated
with an M.Div. from Yale and turned my back on an academic career — although I
didn’t know it at the time, only thought I was taking a year off before I went on to a
doctoral program — I played music professionally for 7 years, then did stand-up
comedy for 2. So before I wrote and sold the spec script K-9, I worked in the
entertainment business for nearly a decade.
During that time, I learned a lot about writing, knowing your audience, working a
room, comic timing, and how to entertain people. I also found out a great deal about
life itself.
One thing that stuck with me was a quote. I attribute it to Levon Helm, formerly the
drummer of The Band, but I’ve never been able to find a source online to confirm
that. The quote as I remember it is this: “Music don’t owe anybody a living.”
It made quite an impression on me when I first heard it. At the time, I was living
and playing music in Aspen. In one respect, it was a great place to be because the
town was, at the time, filled with a ton of talented musicians, drawn by the success of
Aspen residents including John Denver, Jimmy Buffett, Don Henley, Glenn Frey,
and others.
Some of the local musicians, living so close to superstar performers, had an attitude
that could best be summed up this way: “I deserve that.” In their eyes, there was no
substantive difference between their talent and the talent of Denver, Buffett, and The
Eagles. I suppose it’s possible they could have been right. But I found their attitude
offensive. I’ve always worked my ass off in every job I’ve ever had — even if you don’t
know me personally, you can probably tell by the fact that I spend so much time on
this blog that I have no aversion to work. To think that anyone deserved fame or
success based upon sheer talent rang false to me.
No, I think Levon Helm or whoever it was who said “music don’t owe anybody a
living” has it right or at least more right than “I deserve that.”
I carried that attitude with me to Hollywood and the inevitable lean periods I
experienced reinforced that truth. But even in flush times, when I’ve written 4 or
more studio projects a year, I have always acted like I needed to prove myself. Any
story can be your last. The town has an insatiable desire for young, new talent, and
rightfully so. In order to feed the filmmaking process, Hollywood owes writers — in
general — a living… but not necessarily me. Or frankly you.

So what can you do with this bit of wisdom?
1. Even if you sell a spec script, I would recommend not giving up the day job. Just
yet. See how things shake out for a year or two. You get a few paid writing
projects lined up, maybe then make your move to L.A..
2. Sock away at least 20% of what you earn into savings to give you a buffer when
the Hollywood winds starting blowing in your face, not at your back.
3. Treat each script as if it’s your first and last chance to tell a great story. Yes, there
will be assignments you take where the subject matter doesn’t lend itself to being
‘great,’ but even then you need to bring your A-game to your writing.
“Movies don’t owe anybody a living.” On the one hand, a harsh truth. On the other
hand, if you live by that credo when you work in Hollywood, it can keep you honest —
with your creativity and with your Self.
UPDATE: The Internet is a wondrous thing. It turns out the quote does come from
Levon Helm, cited originally in People magazine from 1980. I was in Aspen then.
Why I was reading People magazine, I have no idea, but I remember that line and it
has stuck with me all these years.
Here is Levon Helms’ quote in its entirety:
And you know, playing-wise, music don’t owe anybody a living.

Just because you play music, it ain’t supposed to make you rich or
famous. It’s supposed to be your life, and it’s supposed to help you,
and help those you love, and you’re supposed to play it, really try.
And if you get a shot, if you get on national television, or if you get a
record out that somebody can remember, great. That ought to
encourage you not to quit, but it don’t mean a whole lot. You know,
that was day before yesterday, and if that’s the best that any of us
can do, it ain’t going to count for long. So, in case we can’t do any
better, at least we can show up and have a good time.
I always tell aspiring writers, “Write because you love it.” No
guarantees of any financial success. And like Helms said, “At least
we can show up and have a good time.”
You can read a great interview with Helms here.

STORY AS PSYCHOLOGICAL JOURNEY
We can look at story from many different vantage points: structurally in terms of
plot, thematically in terms of symbolism, visually in terms of imagery. However
when we consider a story from the perspective of character, what we are doing is
interpreting it as a psychological journey.
Indeed from this particular point of view, it is not out of line to think about all the
events of the story and all its characters as existing precisely in order to support the
playing out of the Protagonist’s psychological quest.
The noted Swiss psychoanalyst and theoretician Carl Jung said this:
The psychological rule says that when an inner situation is not

made conscious, it happens outside, as fate. That is to say, when
the individual remains divided and does not become conscious
of his inner contradictions, the world must perforce act out the
conflict.
On a personal level, this is quite remarkable, meaning that if we don’t engage all
aspects of our psyche, especially the darker impulses, the universe will create
circumstances to compel us. In terms of screenwriting, the implication of this
observation is two-fold:
• A Protagonist who begins a story in a state of Disunity has an implied destiny

to move toward Unity
• The events that transpire in the story’s Plotline have a direct connection to the
core elements of the Protagonist’s Disunity
As Joseph Campbell suggested, “The Hero needs to change, even if they are
unaware of that need.” So when Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz seeks to go
“somewhere over the rainbow,” driven by her sense of disconnect to the place she
knows as her home but doesn’t feel like home, we already have a sense from the start
that her psychological journey will involve events which feed into her eventual
realization, “There’s no place like home.”
This is how we begin a character-based approach to screenwriting: Delving

into our story’s Protagonist, determining what is at the core of their Disunity, then
working outward from that base of understanding to craft a throughline that
combines events and actions as the Protagonist grows through their unique

metamorphosis process.
While there are movies where a Protagonist does not go through any sort of
significant transformation or their arc may be a negative one, the fact is they do
experience a positive metamorphosis in most stories. Indeed Campbell posited that
transformation is the central theme of The Hero’s Journey.
For a screenwriter, perhaps the best way to go about digging into their story’s
psychological journey is to ask these two questions:
What does my Protagonist want?
What does my Protagonist need?
By want, I mean their conscious goal, an end point they have clearly in mind,
perhaps at the very beginning of the story, but surely by the end of Act One. What
was Dorothy’s want in The Wizard of Oz? Once she had reached that magical realm,
her goal — stated multiple times — was to get back home to Kansas.
By need, I mean the Protagonist’s unconscious goal. To a certain degree they may
be aware of this inner desire, but more often than not it is an instinct the Protagonist
has been suppressing unconsciously. What was Dorothy’s need? To feel like these
people she lived with in Kansas were actually her family and the farm was actually
her home.
The tension of the Protagonist’s want and need is the core of their Disunity. As a
result, there is an important truth that lies hidden in plain view: The seeds of the
Protagonist’s unity lie within who they are from the beginning of their journey. Their
need is the key and as it emerges into the light of consciousness and the Protagonist
embraces it as part of their destiny, the more likely they are to achieve a cinematic
semblance of Unity. This truth is reflected at the very end of The Wizard of Oz when
Glinda tells Dorothy, “You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.”
You have always had the power. If there is one mantra key to understanding the
essence of the Protagonist’s metamorphosis, it is probably this phrase.
The Protagonist has always had the power. It has been tied up:
◆ By the Protagonist’s belief systems, coping skills, defense mechanisms, and

behavioral patterns in their lives in the Ordinary World leading up to
FADE IN.
◆ By the Protagonist’s suppressing and disavowal of their need, even though it

is a key aspect of their authentic Inner Self and Core Of Being

All of that requires energy, diverting the Protagonist’s resources. When they finally
do allow their need to emerge, it unleashes the floodgates of power, typically what
they require to overcome the challenges they face in Acts Two and Three.
We see this type of positive metamorphosis at play over and over again in movies,
the Protagonist evolving from a beginning state of Disunity, embarking on a journey
during which they confront different obstacles and tests, challenged by some
characters, aided by others, then ultimately facing a Final Struggle which if they
succeed allows them to achieve some manner of Unity.
Which is why when we think of a story, we must always consider its psychological
journey.

1, 2, 7, 14
Here is a simple formula about three things — Read Scripts. Watch Movies. Write
Pages. — you need to do to expand and deepen your understanding of the
screenwriting craft.
4 numbers for you to remember:
1 2 7 14.
1: Read 1 screenplay per week.
Pick out your favorite movies. Or do a genre study of several scripts in a row in one
genre. Try scripts in genres you don’t particularly like to experience different tone
and atmosphere. But every week, read at least 1 full-length movie screenplay.
2: Watch 2 movies per week.
Go to a theater and watch 1 movie for sheer entertainment value. Rub shoulders with
a real crowd to remind you of your target audience. Then cue up Netflix or pop in a
DVD, and watch 1 movie to study it. Note its major plot points. Better yet, do a scene-
by-scene breakdown. Maybe 1 new movie, 1 classic movie. But every week, watch at
least 2 feature-length movies.
7: Write 7 pages per week.
That’s one page per day. It may take you ten minutes, it may take you an hour, but
however long it takes, you knock out a page per day so that every week, you produce 7
script pages.
14: Work 14 hours per week prepping a story.
This is how you will learn the fine art of stacking projects. While you are writing one
story, you are prepping another. Research. Brainstorming. Character development.
Plotting. Wake up early. Take an extended lunch break. Grab a few hours after
dinner. Stay up late. Whatever it takes, carve out 2 hours per day for story prep.
Create a master file Word doc. Or use a spiral notebook. Put everything you come up
with into that file. You’d be amazed how much content you will generate in a month.
Most professional screenwriters juggle multiple projects at the same time. Here’s
how you can start learning that skill-set: Writing one project, prepping another. Two
hours per day so that every week, you devote 14 hours to prep.
1, 2, 7, 14.

Those are simple, clear goals. Daily goals, weekly goals.
If you do this, here’s what you will have done in one year’s time:
You will have read 52 screenplays.
You will have watched 104 movies
You will have written 2 feature-length screenplays.
Spread that out over 5 years: 260 screenplays, 520 movies, 10 original screenplays.
That means you could have read every one of the top 101 screenplays as voted by the
WGA, plus 159 more.
That means you could have seen every one of the IMDB Top 250 movies, plus 270
more.
That means you could have written the exact number of original screenplays
Lawrence Kasdan (Body Heat, The Bodyguard, The Big Chill, Grand Canyon) wrote
before he sold his first one.
All by setting these simple goals: 1, 2, 7, 14.
UPDATE: And now Sergio Barrejón has translated this post into Spanish on his blog
here.

SET-UP AND PAYOFF
One of the most important narrative elements screenwriters have available to us is

set-ups and payoffs. The basic idea is this: We establish something that pays off later.
Here are some examples:
• Aliens: In an attempt to make herself useful, Ripley sets up how she can
control a power loader. This pays off later when she engages the alien ‘mother’
in combat and delivers her classic line, “Get away from her, you bitch!”
• The Dark Knight: At dinner with Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent provides a set-
up when he says, “You either a die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself
become the villain.” By the movie’s end, Dent pays off the truth of his own
words.
• The Shawshank Redemption: Warden Norton creates a set-up when he
returns Andy’s Bible and says, “Salvation lies within.” This gets paid off when
Norton opens Andy’s Bible which is inscribed, “You were right. Salvation lies
within,” and Norton sees the hollowed-out pages Andy used to hide his rock
hammer.
• Magnolia: The numbers “8” and “2”. There’s an 82% chance of rain. Science
convention begins at 8:20. That’s a set-up tied to Exodus 8:2: “If you refuse to
let them go, I will plague your whole country with frogs.” Which pays off at the
end of the movie.
• Fatal Attraction: Alex creates a set-up when she tells Dan, “I’m great with
animals and I love to cook.” The boiled bunny rabbit serves as the payoff.
Implicit in the set-up / payoff dynamic is the idea of foreshadowing whereby the
writer gives the script reader an insight into events that will happen later on before
they understand the significance of those occurrences. It can be an especially
effective psychological ploy for several reasons:
• It can get the reader’s attention: Presented without context, a foreshadowed

event can surprise the reader as the opening of The Hangover.
• It can raise the reader’s curiosity: A foreshadowed moment can cause the
reader to wonder what is going on, what is the significance of this, why am I
seeing this now, like the cold opening of Fight Club.
• It can create a sense of mystery: A foreshadowed image can generate a riddle
we carry with us all the way through the script as in perhaps one of the most
famous set-ups of all time — this “Rosebud” scene in Citizen Kane.
A great example of set-ups is the opening of Back to the Future [you can see an

homage by high school students to that scene here]. Consider all the details that pay
off later:
• The coffee maker with no pot. This sets up the fact that Doc Brown is not at
home, indeed, hasn’t been here for at least a few days.
• A TV Anchorman talks about the theft of plutonium from a research facility
and suspected Libyan terrorists. That sets up the fuel rods for the DeLorean
time travel machine and the men who shoot Doc Brown.
• Einstein’s overflowing bowl of dog food. This sets up Doc Brown’s dog who
does the first time travel experiment.
• Marty’s skateboard. This sets up a whole runner for how Marty gets around in
the present — and then in an improvisational fashion in the past.
• The skateboard rolls across the floor and hits a container marked “Plutonium”.
See above.
• Marty playing guitar. Loud. This sets up the fact that Marty is a musician
[another runner] and that he likes to show off when he plays [which we see in
the present and the past].
• Phone call from Doc Brown. This sets up two things. One: He asks Marty to
meet him at Twin Pines Mall at 1:15, which Marty does. Two: The clocks going
off at 8AM confirms for Doc Brown that his experiment worked. And as a nice
grace note, when Mary discovers the clocks are 25 minutes slow, he hustles out
of there — late for school — into the movie’s opening credits.
Another good example is The Sixth Sense. Look at this scene at the very end and
consider how this series of payoffs [told as flashbacks] lead Malcolm to the startling
conclusion that he is a ghost:
• Cole: “I see people. They don’t know they’re dead… they only see what they
want to see.”
• The kitchen table where Malcolm’s wife Anna has been dining… alone.
• Their meeting at the restaurant where Anna picked up the tab.
• The basement door with the red handle Malcolm couldn’t open.
• The frost emitted from Anna’s lips.
• And of course, the gunshot to Malcolm’s abdomen.
The Sixth Sense is one of the most notable examples of what is known in Hollywood
as a Big Twist movie. To pull that off, the writer needs to set up those surprising
payoffs [see also The Usual Suspects, Se7en, Psycho, Memento].
Set-ups and payoffs are terrific tools for screenwriters. Don’t forget to use them!

TEST YOUR STORY CONCEPT
If your goal is to traffic in mainstream, commercial movies, I cannot overstate the

importance of your spec script’s story concept. As I detailed here, it is critical to the
success of your original screenplay.
So let’s say you take this seriously. You generate lots of story ideas. Great. How to
assess them? Here are five questions you can ask about any idea you come up with to
help determine if it’s something worth pursuing as a script.
Does the concept have a grab?
The concept should have significant narrative elements that “grab” a reader’s
imagination, elicit curiosity, and arouse an emotional response.
These elements may include the core conceit, key characters such as Protagonist and
Nemesis, the central conflict, themes, where the story fits into its genre, and so on.
Does the concept have an indicator?
The concept should “indicate” to a reader the general direction the narrative will
take, and that it promises to be an entertaining ride.
When any studio executive, producer, manager or agent hears a story concept, they
want to be able to see the overall contour of the plot and what is compelling about it.
Does the concept have an audience?
The concept should conjure up a distinct “audience,” one a reader can readily match
to a targeted, demographic group.
Anyone who is in a position to buy a script when hearing a story concept for the first
time will immediately think, “Who will want to see this movie?”
Is the concept big enough to be a movie?
The concept should feel “big,” something that could sustain the interest of a script
reader (and eventually a moviegoer) for up to two hours.
From a buyer’s standpoint, this question is directly related to the previous one: “Will
the experience of watching this movie satisfy the viewer who spent $10 or more to
see it?”

I have framed these four questions from a script reader and buyer’s perspective,
however they work at the level of a writer thinking about the story strictly as a
writing project:
• Does the concept have enough of a grab to give me confidence I can write a
fully fleshed-out and entertaining story?
• Does the concept have a clear enough indicator to suggest a strong Plotline and
Themeline leading to a satisfying resolution?
• Does the concept have a specific enough audience so I know for whom I am
writing the story?
• Does the story feel big enough for me to find the narrative elements I need to
write an engaging story of one hundred pages or more?
If those questions don’t speak directly enough to your writer’s soul about a story
concept, this one surely will:
Does the story resonate with me on a personal level?
You may have stumbled upon the greatest high concept of all time, but if you don’t
connect with it, if you don’t sense much in the way of enthusiasm for its narrative
possibilities, and/or if the story doesn’t play to your writing strengths, it’s probably
not a good idea to write that story.
You need to have some sort of personal connection with a story to find its emotional
core and imbue its characters with life.
You need to have a passion for a story to keep luring you back to the writing and push
you to FADE OUT. Writing is hard work. Writing something for which you do not
have much enthusiasm is really hard work.
So, five questions to help you assess any concept, but bottom line: you must be
passionate about any story to write it in such a way that it lifts up off the printed
page and comes alive in the imagination of a script reader.

MINIMUM WORDS, MAXIMUM IMPACT
I know the source of this mantra. It was one of my online screenwriting students. During a
weekly live-chat session. I was going on and on about the importance of writing tight, taut, lean
scene description, make it easy on the eye, clean on the page, really getting on my bully pulpit.
Then a student typed: Minimum words, maximum impact?
Here I had been guilty of the very thing I was decrying, then — boom! The perfect comment.
Four words. And maximum impact indeed!
Screenplays are a unique form. Unlike novels which can be hundreds, even thousands of pages
long, a feature length script is typically no longer than 120 pages, even less nowadays with
action, comedy, and horror scripts clocking in at 90–95 pages. Simply based on the fact that
you have a limit to the page count means you should be mindful of how you approach your use
of words when handling scene description.
Beyond that, there is an aesthetic consideration. Scripts filled with black ink are not only less
pleasant to look at, they’re harder for a reader to get through. White space is more attractive to
the eye, which can have a psychological effect on a reader, and can make a script a better read.
In truth, I’ve known some script readers who have told me they hate reading scene description
and often will skip big blocks of it to read the dialogue. Why? Because dialogue margins are
narrower and therefore easier to read.
But there’s an even more important reason why we need to be incredibly choosy about the
words we use when writing scene description: To make an impact on the reader. How do we
do that? Strong verbs. Visual nouns and adjectives. Tight paragraphs. Good, lean imagematic
writing. Here’s an example from the beginning of The Matrix:

18 lines and a ton of action. Average paragraph length: 2 lines. And note those descriptors:
flicks, inhumanly fast, blinks, snaps, explodes, erupting, kicks, wrecking ball, flies, limp meat
and bone, slams, raking, sweeping, leather-clad ghost, snatched, twisted, fired, gunfire. You
could almost just read those key words and get a sense of the action.
Of course, the mantra pertains to dialogue as well. I’ve heard an anecdote about one of the first
things Clint Eastwood does when he agrees to act in a movie is take a red marker and cross out
half of his dialogue. Movies are primarily a visual medium. While important, creating moments
where with a minimum of dialogue we let the emotion of the scene work its magic in subtext
and silence is most often the preferred way to go.
File this one under “less is more.”
Minimum words, maximum impact.

THE SPIRIT OF THE SPEC
I had a conversation recently with a former studio executive turned producer in
which I found myself talking about the “spirit of the spec,” essentially when a person
chooses to pursue a project or goal entirely on speculation with the hopes of some
eventual payoff. Not everybody would make that choice. To many, with the odds so
long against success, doing something on spec is not only illogical, it’s also seemingly
inane.
And yet almost all screenwriters, TV writers, novelists, short story writers,
playwrights, and poets have as some part of their creative self the spirit of the spec.
After my conversation with the producer, it occurred to me this is a subject we

should discuss here at GITS because it speaks to the very core of why we’re here and
what we’re about as people driven by creative impulses.
So these next five posts explore what it means for a writer to have
the spirit of the spec.
You get an idea.
You act on your idea.
You write your story.
You put it out there.
And if it doesn’t sell…
This is what I call the spirit of the spec.
Live it. Be it. Do it.

YOU GET AN IDEA...
That’s where it all starts.
An image. A feeling. A line of dialogue. A conceit. A character.
Something that catches your fancy.
Causes you to stop and think.
Triggers your imagination.
Could this be a story? A novel? A movie? A TV series?
You play around with it. Tinker with it. Ask questions.
What genre is it? Who is the main character? What is distinctive about this idea?
Is it big enough to sustain a feature-length screenplay? Is it any good?
But the biggest question of all you can ask is the shortest one: What if?
What if I stuck this character in that situation?
What if I made the character a female instead of a male?
What if I started out this character as far away from their goal as possible?
What if I switched genres?
What if I switched Protagonists?
What if I amped up the stakes?
What if…
And before you know it, you are watering this seed of an idea with a cloudburst from
your brainstorming. Will the seed take root? Grow? Blossom into a story worth
writing?
You likely will not know the answer at this stage.
Here it is just you… and your idea.
The idea may turn out to be a pathway to success… Or a dead end.
But if you are a person who lives for creativity, who exists with the oftentimes
bewildering ramblings of your instincts, never forget for one second the awe and

mystery that is this…
Your ideas.
They are the cornerstone of everything you do as a writer.
For those who live with the spirit of the spec, ideas are our creative lifeblood, ideas
are what fuel our stories, ideas are what keep our dreams alive.
How about you? What is your attitude toward your ideas? How do you engender
them? How do you develop them? How do you honor them?
You Act On Your Idea.

YOU ACT ON YOUR IDEA...
Yes, I know this line looks like it’s straight out of an early morning cable TV
informercial, but there is a fundamental truth conveyed in it that every dream-
selling hack knows:
In order to make it happen, you have to…
Make. It. Happen.
If all you have is an idea, you are little more than this fellow:
FULL GROUP SHOT
A man stands talking, people in groups behind him. Two born
like gadgets are attached to his shoulders; he's wearing a
bizarre space costume.
3RD MAN
Right now it's only a notion, but I
think I can get money to make it
into a concept... and later turn it
into an idea.
You are the equivalent of 3rd Man in the L.A. party scene from Annie Hall, talking
about making it happen instead of making it happen.
Fortunately for a writer, there is nothing mysterious about what we need to do to act
on an idea: We need to figure out the story, then write it.
As we all know, this process is not easy. We know this not only from our own personal
experience, but also from the very way we talk about it.
This is where we crack the story, we break the story, we nail the story, we
wrangle the story.
Every single one of those descriptors suggests the same thing: It’s a struggle, a fight,
a battle.
So much easier to just talk about your idea, like 3rd Man, rather than act on it. I
know this. You know this. But let me lay two thoughts on you.
First if it was easy to craft a story, just imagine how many more people would be

trying their hand at screenwriting. Or novels. Short stories. Plays. You think it’s
competitive now? If writing was easy, the entertainment business would be utterly
overrun by writers, a horde of chattering lemmings with stacks of three-hole punch
paper jammed in their teeth, sputtering loglines along the way.
Worse imagine how shitty those scripts would be!
So yes, writing isn’t easy and that is a pain in the ass for those of us who write. But
every time we take up an idea and go about the process of nailing the story, we play
our small, but necessary role in proving Darwin’s theory: survival of the fittest.
Those with the spirit of the spec take up the fight. Those lacking the spirit, just talk
about it.
Second I suggest you take those verbs I noted above — crack, break, nail, wrangle —
and use them as scene description (they’re actually good, visual words). Instead in
referring to your own process of taking an idea and crafting it into a story, try using
this verb:
Find your story.
This way you re-frame the task. It’s no longer a battle, rather it’s a journey. A journey
of discovery. And the essence of what you are doing is simply this: getting curious.
Curious about your characters.
Curious about who they are, why they are, what they want, what they need.
Curious about their interrelationships and their respective destinies.
Curious about their goals, particularly those that come into conflict with each other.
Curious about the story universe, the various dynamics and influences at play.
Curious about how this unique mix of individuals and plot elements will evolve into
being.
Prepping a story is ultimately about the act of asking questions, each one another
step on the path to finding your story.
Now think on this: If there is a path, that presupposes there is an end to the path. So
instead of a battle over your story where some random barbarian can spring up out
of nowhere and split open your meager confidence with a pole axe, if you are on a
journey of discovery, it’s all a matter of taking the time, asking the questions, and

walking the steps necessary to get you to that end point, where you do find your story.
And once there, you are ready to type FADE IN. Lights up. That compelling first
sentence of your novel or short story.
If someone is truly infused with the spirit of the spec, they are not the 3rd Man at
parties, talking about how they are going to take a notion into a concept into an idea.
Rather if you have the spirit of the spec, you act on your idea.
You get curious about it. You ask questions. You learn your way into and through it as
part of your journey of discovery.
And miracle of miracles, once you reach the end of that path, you make the most
profound discovery of all. That while you were trying to find the story…
The story was — all along — trying to find you.
So now that it has... What now?
You Write Your Story.

YOU WRITE YOUR STORY...
Probably most people imagine that when a writer writes a story, they are seated at
their desk, plunking away at their keyboard, hour after hour until they finish their
opus.
Yes, there is a good deal of ‘butt on chair’ time involved in writing. But when you are
moved by the spirit of the spec, committing yourself wholly to your story, the fact is
you are never not writing.
You are writing your story when you drive.
You are writing your story when you eat.
You are writing your story when you shower.
You are writing your story when you fold the laundry.
You are writing your story when you exercise.
You are writing your story when you sleep.
You are writing your story when you are engaged in conversation with others.
This last point can be a particularly vexing condition for your friends, family and
loved ones. They know they only have a certain percentage of your attention. That at
any minute, you will be there, then not there. Your body present, your mind off with
your characters somewhere.
But it’s not just somewhere, is it? No, when we write our story, we create a universe
in which that story exists. The characters live and breathe. We may sit and write
about them for a few hours at a time, but they go on with their existence, every
minute of their every day.
And frankly that’s one of the most damnable aspects of the writing process: Knowing
just what to pluck out of that universe to put into our story. To my knowledge, there is
only one way to determine that, summed up wonderfully by my then three year-old
son when asked his advice about writing: “Go into the story, and find the animals.”
We come up with an idea and test to see if it has merit.
We act on our idea by getting curious and following the path on our journey of
discovery.
Then we write our story by going into it [immersing ourselves in that place and with

those characters] and finding the animals [everything of substance that prowls there
— moments, scenes, dialogue, images, feelings, and so on].
The animal allusion is particularly apt because stories are organic in nature and
frankly rather wild, teeming with life which is both great in terms of the vitality that
exists there, but also dangerous because there are times when we lose our way… as if
in a jungle.
A thick, dark jungle with lots of creepy shadows, a multitude of trailheads — which

ones to take?!?! — and a constant chorus of whispered voices: Go back! Who are you
kidding? This story sucks! You suck! Why are you wasting your time? You’ll never
make it to the end! You’ll be humiliated if you continue! Epic fail dead ahead!
On the whole, writing is not only a daunting task, it is also a frightening one.
But when you have the spirit of the spec, you have a card you can play to trump your
fears, a simple and pragmatic one: “If you don’t write it, you can’t sell it.”
There is no way around that. It’s an inescapable fact. Truth with a capital “T”.
Thus when we struggle with our story, even to the point of feeling fear about writing
it, the spirit of the spec reminds us we haven’t done squat until we have that finished
manuscript in hand. Everything we do is just words vanishing into thin air, an
exercise in vainglory… until we type FADE OUT / THE END.
But then a moment of true existential bliss: Printing out that final draft. Feeling the
heft of those pages in our hands, their warmth as they slide out of the printer, one by
one. We touch them. We hug them. We smell them.
This… THIS… is what it’s all about. We have gone into the story, immersed ourselves
in that universe and with those characters, given ourselves over to an all-consuming
creative process in order to craft something tangible, something real. Creativity
incarnate. Our story. Come to life.
And now having written our story, we are ready for the next step on our journey.
You Put It Out There.

YOU PUT IT OUT THERE...
One might think typing FADE IN, thereby signifying your commitment to writing an
original screenplay, is the single act requiring the most courage in the process.
But time and time again, I hear from writers who have a problem on the other end
of the spectrum: Actually doing something with the script when it’s done.
Some have confessed to me they are petrified to submit a script to an agent or

manager.
Others have said they can’t even bring themselves to give their script to a
professional reader for coverage.
And there are some writers who have one or more scripts — I’m talking completed
drafts — which they have never let anyone read, not even friends or family, let alone
somebody in the entertainment industry.
I get it. I think we all get it. Writing a story is a scary endeavor.
And yet the fact is the entire time you work on it — coming up
with an idea, acting on that idea, the actual page-writing part
of the process — your story only exists in theory.
That is , until you send your script out into the world.
Only then does your story become in any meaningful sense of

the word ‘real.’
No matter what fears you have to overcome to write a story, they don’t compare
substantively with the type and degree of fear that can arise when you actually hand
over your script to someone else to read.
At that point, your story becomes their story, no longer the private experience of you
and your characters, but rather your characters and the world.
Talk about courage! Sure, typing FADE IN is a significant moment. But there the
stakes are limited. If you don’t write a good story or don’t finish, you have
disappointed nobody but yourself.
However if you present your story to other people, you are taking a leap of faith they
will respond favorably. And if they don’t? It’s no longer just you and those hectoring
voices of negativity in your head to deal with.

Now you actually have to take into account the feelings, thoughts, impressions and —
get ready for it — criticisms of other people.
And yet if this is a fundamental truth :
“You can not sell it if you don’t write it”
There’s another reality etched in stone:
“You can not sell it unless you submit it.”
A buyer is not going to magically read your mind, buy an airplane ticket to your
home town, sneak into your house, locate the drawer in which you keep your precious
script, read it, then wake you up with a check for a million dollars.
No, you need to put your script out there.
Indeed this is where you would do well to embrace the spirit of the spec. And the
spirit of the spec provides writers with two incredibly powerful words to help them
circumnavigate all their fears, thus enabling them to submit their manuscripts to
people who matter.
Those two words: Screw you!
If you are afraid to let your spouse read your script, repeat after me: Screw you!
If you are afraid to let other writers read your script, repeat after me: Screw you!
If you are afraid to let a professional script reader provide coverage of your script,
repeat after me: Screw you!
If you are afraid to send out email inquiries to managers about your script, repeat
after me: Screw you!
Who is the “you” you are telling to screw? Why fear, of course. If you have any
realistic chance of succeeding as a writer, you have to squash your punk-ass fears,
give them a big time beat down.
You telling me I don’t have any talent? Screw you!
You telling me people will hate my story? Screw you!
You telling me not to believe in myself? Screw you!

Screw you! Screw you! Screw you!
Here’s another fact to add to your list:
You can’t sell a script unless you write it.
You can’t sell a script unless you submit it.
You can’t sell a script unless you defeat fear.
Now you may consider that to be Coach Myers talking. If you need a confrontational
therapy to get you over the hump to put your script out there, go to town.
Empowered with those two key words — Screw you! — you should be on your way.
There is another dimension to the spirit of the spec. This message comes from Pastor
Myers. For those who are more spiritually inclined.
If there is a path, that presupposes there is an end to the path.
So instead of a battle over your story where some random barbarian can spring up
out of nowhere and split open your meager confidence with a pole axe, if you are on a
journey of discovery, it’s all a matter of taking the time, asking the questions, and
walking the steps necessary to get you to that end point, where you do find your story.
I want you to consider this idea:
Your story’s path does not end when you type FADE OUT.
Rather that is simply a new beginning. The path goes on. The journey goes on.
It goes on as your story gets read by others.
It goes on as your story gets bought.
It goes on as your story gets developed.
It goes on as your story gets a green light.
It goes on as your story gets produced.
It goes on as your story gets edited.
It goes on as your story gets released into theaters.
Your script, while a key component of your story, is but one step in a longer journey. I
suppose you can look at the day your movie goes wide into theaters as the end of the

path. But that’s not even true. I get emails every week from people who have seen
K-9, Alaska, or Trojan War. It’s one of the most endearing and enduring aspects of
our movies that they continue to live as long as people will watch them.
Which is to say you, as the writer, are but a player in that larger journey. Your story
already exists, its path is already laid out. Whether it sells or not, gets produced or
not, while we may work as fiercely as we can — and should — to make it happen, in a
very real way, our story’s fate has already been determined.
So in actuality, you really have nothing to fear. The destiny of your story will play out
the way it will play out. Thus when your obnoxious voices of fear would do their best
to restrain you from putting your story out there, here are some other words you can
use to quiet them:
Let it go.
I am afraid…
Let it go.
I am scared…
Let it go.
I’m not ready…
Let it go.
Afraid or not, your story’s fate is determined. You can not control its destiny, only the
story can.
So how to put it out there? Let it go.
Okay, two possible courses of action in confronting fear, one from Coach Myers, the
other Pastor Myers. I know for many of you, this is not an issue. You knock off your
scripts, you get them out there. That’s being filled with the spirit of the spec. Because
there is a baseline of belief undergirding what we do: If you put it out there,
something can happen.
But only if you put it out there.
And if it doesn’t sell?…

AND IF IT DOESN'T SELL?

THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH
Imagine the process of writing a story as being a journey.
Perhaps as you embark on your adventure, you have a map — an outline or beat
sheet. Or maybe you don’t, plunging into your story in order to find it along the way.
In either case, it’s almost certain that you will reach points in the writing process
where you will feel lost.
The plot isn’t working like you thought it would.
Your characters feel remote and confusing.
Your scenes don’t seem to be working.
Your map or instincts become a labyrinth.
Basically you are left to ponder, “What the hell was I thinking?”
That’s when you are tempted to give up.
Don’t.
Giving up doesn’t get you out, rather it only allows you to avoid story — or so you
think. It still exists. And by quitting, you create a shadow, your story as unfulfilled
potential looming over you like a ghost.
No, the only way out is through.
You have to push yourself through your feelings of doubt.
Push yourself through the ambiguities of your plot.
Push yourself through the hard work of pounding out pages.
Rather than quitting, take the opposite approach:
Go deeper into your story. To paraphrase “The X-Files,” the truth is in there!
If you go through the process, you will find your way out.
Every journey has its twists and turns.
You may not be able to see where you’re heading around the next turn, but the fact is
there is a path.
And the only way out is through.

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 any 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: 30 things about screenwriting.
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
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/

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30 things about

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

The adventure continues...

More installments in this series to come each month in 2017.

30 Things About Screenwriting - CONTENTS

1. THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY TO WRITE.

2. SCREENPLAYS ARE STORIES, NOT FORMULAS.

3. LEARN THE CRAFT.

4. WATCH MOVIES. READ SCRIPTS. WRITE PAGES.

5. A SPEC SCRIPT WON’T SELL WITHOUT A STRONG STORY CONCEPT.

6. WRITE WHAT THEY’RE BUYING? Or SELL THEM YOUR DREAM?

7. THERE ARE NO SCREENWRITING RULES.

8. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN CINEMA.

9. WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS… SOMETHING ELSE HAPPENS…

10. FACING THE ODDS

11. KNOW YOUR GENRE

12. STACKING PROJECTS

13. LIVING AND WRITING IN L.A.

14. SIMILAR BUT DIFFERENT

15. BREAK YOUR STORY IN PREP

16. FEET ON THE GROUND… HEAD IN THE CLOUDS

17. GET THE DAMNED THING DONE!

18. BEGINNING. MIDDLE. END.

19. DON'T THINK… FEEL.

20. IMAGEMATIC WRITING

21. IF YOU WRITE A GREAT SCRIPT…

22. MOVIES DON'T OWE ANYBODY A LIVING

23. STORY AS PSYCHOLOGICAL JOURNEY

25. SET-UP AND PAYOFF

26. TEST YOUR STORY CONCEPT

27. MINIMUM WORDS, MAXIMUM IMPACT

28. THE SPIRIT OF THE SPEC:

⁃ You get an idea

29. THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH

30. GO INTO THE STORY AND FIND THE ANIMALS

It is perhaps the single most fundamental truth about screenwriting in particular

No single formula. No one system. No mystical process that guarantees success.

We can — and probably should — seek out as much advice as possible. Wisdom from

There is no right way to write… But there is your way.

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 6

William Goldman has famously written, “Screenplays are structure.”

So Goldman’s assertion is true. It is also problematic. Somewhere along the line,

Over time, structure was reduced to paradigm. Paradigm transmogrified into

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 7

I understand this desire to reduce the mysteries of a story to something manageable,

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 8

Being a screenwriter is much more than just writing a script.

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 9

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 10

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 11

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 12

Why watch movies?

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 13

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 14

Screenwriting is an incredibly competitive business. There are no short cuts to

Watch movies. Read scripts. Write pages.

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 15

WITHOUT A STRONG STORY CONCEPT

A good story concept:

© Scott Myers / thirty things about screenwriting 16

Are you thinking of story ideas every day?

Do you have a master list of story ideas that is… growing?

We, as writers, should be generating “lots of ideas.” How to do that?