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03 Writing A Screenplay Myers PDF
03 Writing A Screenplay Myers PDF
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.
In my spare time, I took up teaching in 2002 in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program,
receiving its Outstanding Instructor Award in 2005. For eight years, I was a visiting
lecturer in the Writing for Screen and Stage program at the University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill. In 2010, I co-founded Screenwriting Master Class with my longtime
friend and professional colleague Tom Benedek whose movie credits include Cocoon.
In 2008, I launched Go Into The Story which for the last five years has been the Official
Screenwriting Blog of the Black List. Some numbers: The site has had over 10 million
unique visits, 20 million page views, and I have posted 20,000+ items for over 3,000
consecutive days. The Go Into The Story Twitter feed has over 43,000 followers.
In November 2015, I went public with the Zero Draft Thirty Challenge – write an entire
script draft in 30 days – and over 1,000 writers joined in. Out of that, the Zero Draft
Thirty Facebook group emerged and as of January 2017 has over 1,400 members.
In 2016, I was excited to be offered and accept the position of Assistant Professor at the
DePaul University School of Cinematic Arts in Chicago where I teach screenwriting to
both undergraduate and graduate students.
I reached out to the GITS community for volunteers to help with this effort and I’d like to
express my deep gratitude to Trish Curtin and Clay Mitchell. They stepped up to
handle the process of taking blog posts and creating the PDFs in this series. A special
blast of creative juju to you both!
The first two books in this PDF series, released on GITS in January and February of
2017, were titled:
“30 Things About Screenwriting” and
“So Called Screenwriting Rules”.
If you don't have them already, download them by clicking on their titles above.
This is the third book in this PDF series, entitled “Writing a Screenplay”.
On May 16, 2009 GITS turned one-year old. That milestone, combined with a spike in
visitors to the site made me think it was a good time to remind people of some of the
resources available on GITS. That series looked at “How to Write a Script.”
There are two resource areas here. First, Part One: How They Write a Script, the
“they” being over thirty sets of interview excerpts with professional screenwriters, ranging
from Diablo Cody to Paddy Chayefsky to Charlie Kaufman to Billy Wilder. I have focused
each post on the screenwriter’s take on screenplays and the screenwriting process, so
you should get a nice cross-reference of different approaches here.
But then I found that people wanted something even more concrete, so I posted a
popular ten-part series that forms Part Two: How I Write a Script. I’m not in any way
suggesting that my approach stands as an equal to how they write a script; but I do
provide a step-by-step breakdown of the writing process that my students have found
most helpful. My hope is that you will, too.
The title of this section, “they” refers to successful professional screenwriters who’ve been
generous enough to share information about how they do it.
There’s a boatload of content here - so to prevent this ebook’s file-size getting out of control,
here you’ll find Go Into The Story blog post links to over thirty sets of interview excerpts with
professional screenwriters, ranging from Diablo Cody to Paddy Chayefsky to Charlie Kaufman
and Billy Wilder. Just click on their name, and discover the gems of insight some of the greats
of the craft have to offer. I’ve focused each post on the screenwriter’s take on screenplays
and their screenwriting process, so you should get a broad cross-reference of different
approaches here:
Jay Presson Allen (Marnie, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, A Star is Born)
Philip Dunne (How Green Was My Valley, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, The Last of
the Mohicans)
Ted Tally (The Silence of the Lambs, All the Pretty Horses, Red Dragon)
Daniel Taradash (From Here to Eternity, Picnic, Hawaii)
Robert Towne (Bonnie and Clyde, Chinatown, Shampoo)
For me, it all starts with the concept. And every day, I task myself to come up with strong,
marketable story concepts. How?
The usual suspects: newspaper articles, radio news and talk shows, books, the Internet. At one
point, I had 25 magazine subscriptions. Advice columns, obituaries, Weekly World News,
anywhere I could think of to look for some unusual item which I could spin into a movie idea.
The not so usual suspects: Halliwell’s Film Guide which presents one-line story synopses of
25,000 movies. I’ve gone through it at least a half-dozen times, searching its pages for
interesting ideas or movies that had been made overseas, but not in the U.S..
I take an idea and genre-bend it, that is, make a drama into a comedy, or a thriller into comedy.
I also do gender-bending, changing the key characters from male to female or vice versa.
Another thing I do is read through the Yellow Pages and compile a list of jobs — septic tank
disposal guy, guitar builder, driving instructor — hoping a character or a story would pop to
life. I even generate movie titles trying to inspire a story: One of them comes to mind –-
FUTURE KILL.
I collect all this stuff and put it into files, either actual articles, which I used to put into a set of
bulging manila folders or input thoughts/ideas into my computer.
Also when I brainstorm, I start to ‘see’ the movie. Key scenes emerge, characters morph into
being, I hear bits of dialogue. Of course, that all represents potential story stuff, but more than
that, ‘seeing’ these elements fuels my passion… which drives me deeper into brainstorming…
which gives me more story stuff… which gets me more excited. And so on.
Finally, and most importantly, if I do enough brainstorming and the creative stars align, this is
where I uncover gold, those fantastic bits of story business that appear as if from nowhere,
totally unexpected, surprising ideas and beats.
The key to doing it right: no prejudgment. All ideas go into the master brainstorming file. Upon
further reflection, I may choose to toss them aside — fine. But any image, scene, line of
dialogue, action, or theme I have as I brainstorm goes into the file. I find this process frees up
that special part of my consciousness so that those wondrous gold story nuggets can reveal
themselves.
I spend days, even weeks brainstorming (in connection with research, our next subject). The
process is a lot like wallowing in a sea of ideas, but again, this is where a majority of the story
‘stuff’ emerges and, more often than not, the Plotline and sub-plots start to show themselves,
too.
Many aspiring screenwriters do not spend enough time brainstorming, their impatience getting
the better of them. That will almost always come back to bite you in the ass. You’ll either get
stuck in the writing because you didn’t ‘find’ your story or your story will have little, if
I have a whole set of prompts I’ve developed over the years to fuel my brainstorming, but there
is a common dynamic to all of them:
Get curious. Get curious about the plot. Get curious about the characters. Get curious about the
story universe. If you keep asking questions, that will help you go deeper and deeper into your
brainstorming process.
Research generally goes hand-in-hand with brainstorming as research feeds that process.
I love to go to libraries. I’ve done a ton of research at the Beverly Hill library and at UCLA.
But of course, there’s the Internet which is absolutely indispensable.
When I was researching an original screenplay “Snowbirds” which is set in the RV subculture,
I signed up for RV email newsletters, joined RV message boards, and swapped emails with
RVers from all around the country. Likewise, when I researched “Tully’s War” which took
place during the Berlin Airlift, I must have read 20 books on the subject. In both cases,
anecdotes I picked up along the way ended up inspiring scenes in my scripts. You’ll also find
great lines and dialogue in research. In “Snowbirds,” I feature the bumpers of all three RVs
early on, to give the reader a sense of who the respective couples are. One had a bumper sticker
on their RV: “Home Is Where You Park It.” Got that from research.
As great as books and the Internet are, there is nothing better than talking to actual human
beings. For a comedy I wrote called “Hand Jive,” which was set at Venice High School in LA,
I visited the campus just to talk with teenagers. Most of them didn’t mind me taping our
conversations, once I explained that I wanted to hear their lingo and catch the rhythm of their
conversation. Added benefit: This is how you can generate dialogue, riffing off what you
discover in interviews.
Almost invariably, what you discover in your research will fuel your brainstorming. I take
copious notes from books I read, and highlight anecdotes or stories which I think I can use in
I’ve known people who would tell me they’ve got this fantastic concept for a screenplay, they
can’t wait to get started, then I see them 6 months later, only to be told:
Unless you’re writing a 4-hour historical epic, you should need no more than 2–3 months to
brainstorm and research and if you can devote full-time to the project, you can likely
accomplish what you need in 4–6 weeks.
But if you find yourself using research as an excuse to keep from typing FADE IN, that’s time
to stop hitting the books and start hitting your keyboard!
An anecdote about research. At one point, I worked on a project with Howard Gottfried, who
produced the Paddy Chayefsky movies The Hospital (1971), Network (1976), and Altered
States (1980). I remember a conversation in which I asked Howard about how Chayefsky had
researched Altered States and in particular the native hallucinatory drug rituals in Central and
South America. How much time had Chayefsky spent with locals learning their ways. Howard
said, “None,” then went on to explain that Chayefsky did most of his research using the
collection of “National Geographic” magazines he had in his writer’s office. That and his
imagination was all he needed.
Bottom line, research is a critical aspect of the script-writing process, hugely important for you
to go into your story, immerse yourself in that universe, and write pages that convey a sense of
verisimilitude to the reader. If it’s not a documentary, it doesn’t have to 100% factually true -
rather your goal is to make the story feel authentic.
For the purposes of explaining each of the parts, I’m compartmentalizing my creative process,
which is a bit misleading. Because as I’m brainstorming and doing research, characters emerge,
plot ideas pop up, themes evolve.
So please don’t think of it as a rigid step by step thing: first I do brainstorming for 2 weeks,
then I move into research for another 2 weeks, then into characters. No, it’s best, I think, to
follow your instincts. Feel free to jump around these processes as the mood takes you - I find
they all feed each other in surprising ways. And at some point, you will have accumulated
enough story ‘stuff’ that key characters will spring to life. Then it’s time to dig into them.
I create individual files (in my computer) for the primary characters. I spend time with each of
them, ‘sitting’ with them, my fingers on the keyboard as I try to with engage them. Sometimes
I’ll take a walk with them, imagining us in conversation. As with brainstorming, I try not to
pre-judge; here my task is to let the stuff flow. This allows the characters to be free to evolve
into what they are to become.
Think on that word: evolve. It had never occurred to me until recently, but it’s implied in the
word “development,” isn’t it? So as we develop our characters, in the best of all creative
worlds, we’re letting them evolve into being.
The single biggest key I find about working with characters is to be curious about them…
Ask them questions. Interview them. Talk with them. That works for some characters; others I
find myself writing a narrative of their past. I don’t know why that is, again, I just follow my
instinct.
Whenever attitudes, actions, or lines of dialogue pop up associated with one of my characters, I
follow my curiosity: Why do you think that? Why do you believe that? Why do you do that?
• Who is my Protagonist?
⁃ What do they want? (External Goal)
⁃ What do they need? (Internal Goal)
• Who is keeping them from it? (Nemesis)
• Who is connected to the Protagonist’s emotional growth? (Attractor)
• Who is connected to the P’s intellectual growth? (Mentor)
• Who tests the Protagonist by switching allegiances from ally to enemy? (Trickster)
I believe that these five narrative functions represented by this group of primary archetypes:
Protagonist, Nemesis, Attractor, Mentor, Trickster — occur in most every movie. Once I can
identify the core function for each character, I can use that as a lens through which to interpret
each of them, thereby tying them directly and intimately to the Protagonist’s journey.
I go to my brainstorming list, which has been augmented by scenes and moments which arise
as I’m generating the characters, and I write down what I think are interesting beats, scenes or
dynamics — one per card. I engage in some critical analysis here, starting to separate the wheat
from the chaff — obviously, I have to or else all the story ‘stuff’ I’ve churned up would
translate into a 10 hour mini-series. But if I’m on the cusp with a beat — in or out — I write it
down and put it in: Better to chuck it later than not to consider it at all.
After I’ve written all the beats, scenes, and dynamics onto individual cards, I divide them into
three stacks: Act I, Act II, and Act III. Having written screenplays for 25 years, I have a pretty
intuitive sense of what goes where. Basically if it feels like something that has to do with
setting up the story, that goes in the first stack. If it feels like something that has to do with the
final struggle, that goes in the third stack. And everything else goes into the second stack.
I take special care to see if I can find four major plot points. This goes back to some advice I
received from a veteran writer while picketing the 20th Century Fox lot during the WGA strike
in 1988 (I used those events to grill other writers about the craft). This old dude told me:
“You gotta know four things before you start to write a script.
⁃ What’s the beginning?
⁃ What’s the end of Act One?
⁃ What’s the end of Act Two?
⁃ And what’s the ending?
If you know those four things, you can write a script. If you
don’t know the answers to those four questions, you got dick.”
I think that’s pretty sage advice. After all, those are four of the most important plot points in a
Then I go through the three card stacks, sorting and re-sorting the cards. I’ll read through the
beats to get a sense if a narrative flow is starting to emerge. If I’ve done my job right, really
brainstormed, really researched the story world, really dug into my characters, then the plotting
process can be a pretty smooth one.
I pay particularly close attention to the Protagonist’s metamorphosis [assuming the story has
one], what I look at as four movements:
Every screenplay paradigm seems to have a certain number of “plot points”: My own approach
(Narrative Throughline) has ten. Before I move on, I want to identify those ten major events.
If I know I need to have a major plot point, but haven’t come up with the specifics, then I just
write “Something Happens Here” on a card, and include it in the stack. Of course, I have to do
some brainstorming to try to come up with a great sequence to serve that narrative function,
maybe more research or spending time with characters, but eventually I try to uncover those 10
plot points.
Then I like to tack the cards up on a wall, so I see the plot unfolding left to right. I may shift
cards around as the story can feel different when looked at in a linear fashion. When I feel
comfortable with the plot, I know I’m ready to go to the next step — outline. And that’s the
subject of our next post.
The goal here is to create a blueprint with Scene 1, followed by Scene 2, Scene 3, all the way to
the last scene and FADE OUT. The hard work here is to make sure as best as I can that the
story tracks and handles all the subplots. A final consideration is to think about the transitions,
how to make each shift from one scene and sequence to the next is as smooth and seamless as
possible. Apart from locking down the story’s structure, I also think about every scene, asking
a series of questions:
⁃ What is the point of the scene?
⁃ What is the scene’s Beginning, Middle, and Ending?
⁃ What characters should be in the scene and why?
⁃ What is the conflict in the scene?
⁃ How do I enter / exit the scene?
That can change in the actual writing of the script — as well as scene order — but I like thinking
through my scenes in advance. My outlines can be quite long. I just pulled out one from my
files that is 32 single-spaced pages. But then, I like to throw in everything I dredge up for each
scene: images, bits of dialogue, Internal World dynamics, transitions, and so on. Okay, now I
want you to take a deep breath and realize something: After doing all that:
Story Concept
Brainstorming
Research
Character Development
Plotting &
Outline
I still haven’t written one word of the actual script. I have found doing the hard work up front
Let me be clear: I am not saying that every writer has to work this way. Each writer has to find
the approach that works for them. For example, Neil Simon eschews outlines:
At the start of a writing session, I note the date and time in the script diary, then get my fingers
and brain loosened up by typing up my thoughts about the scene I am about to tackle. I’ll
remind myself what type of scene it is, which characters are participating in it, what each of
their agendas is, who is playing what story function for that scene, how the scene relates to the
overall plot, what the central point of the scene is, and so on. As I’m doing that, normally lines
of dialogue pop to mind and I’ll put those down — so in essence I’m pre-drafting the scene, and
can take that sketch to my script file and use it to write the actual scene.
I also use the script diary to track my emotional connection to the story. For instance, I may be
worried about whether the scene I’m about to write will work or not. I may be concerned that
one of the characters doesn’t feel quite right. If I’m stuck, I use the diary as a place to express
my fears about the story; in fact, if I’m really stuck, I’ll ‘ask’ the characters, right there in my
diary, to talk to me, show me what they want or need.
Now you may think I’m crazy — talking to my characters, asking them for help! But ever since
I’ve started using a script diary, my experience of my story’s characters has become that much
more… real, I suppose is the best way to describe it.
My first experience of this was when I was writing Snowbirds, where something special
happened between the use of that script diary and the writing of the script: somehow a sacred
space, if you will, was created. This parallel ‘place’ sort of inside and outside my head — I
mean, I would be thinking of it, so part of my experience was inside my head, but I would
sense the place off to the side about a foot or two away from me. And in this ‘place,’ I would
find my characters.
Abby, Rosa, Emerson, Truman, Bernice, Chuck, Irene, Ed, Sarah, and Lucky. All of them.
What I am saying is that my characters led me deeper into my story. They showed me the way.
And the script diary was a crucial part of that experience because, I think, I was opening myself
up to my characters, creating a ‘dialogue’ with them on those diary pages.
And there’s something else that very cool about a script diary: when you’re done with the
project, you’ve got this journal of the entire writing process. You can go back to see and feel
the actual moments where you found a breakthrough, where you busted through a story block,
where your characters spoke to you.
Like everything else in this succession of posts, a script diary may not work for you. However,
I encourage you to try it at least once. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.
And now after all of that, our next post will finally get to the page-writing process, beginning
naturally enough with the first draft.
In the ‘old’ days, I was wholly committed to pressing on to FADE OUT. So if I hit a scene or
scenes which didn’t work, I would do the best I could, then move on. I would use the second
draft to fix the script. And normally, I found that in charging ahead, I would discover key
narrative elements which would inform what I needed to do with the previous problem scenes.
The my last several screenplays, I’ve taken to stopping and working on the problem scene until
I feel satisfied I had solved the issue, more or less.
I confess that with mixed feelings because I would never want to give any pretext to aspiring
screenwriters to slow their progress in the first draft process. So let me just say this, when your
write your first draft, keep this writing mantra in mind:
In fact, why not print that out and stick it well within sight of your work space? Once you’ve
written several scripts and you have the confidence to know that no matter what, you will finish
the draft, then you can stop your writing to fix problems…
I aim for 5 pages per day, which means it’s possible to complete a first draft in a month,
assuming you write everyday.
But what if you have a ‘real’ job and you can only write in your off-hours? Well, even if you
can only manage 1 page per day, that means you’ll finish your first draft in 4 months,
something I detailed in this post.
When I first took up screenwriting, I was doing a stand-up comedy act, traveling back-and-
forth from northern to southern California. Being self-employed, I managed my work schedule
so that I’d work for 2 or 3 weeks, then take off a week — and during that week, I’d jam out as
much of a draft as I could. I must say I really liked and still do the pure intensity of that type of
writing — and you can really knock out the pages. In fact, once I moved to LA, whenever I’d
be working on a spec script on the side, I’d go up to this little lodge in Lake Arrowhead,
always reserving the same room — creature of habit! — getting there Friday at noon and
departing Sunday noon. On one spec script, I completed over 60 pages of a first draft in 48
hours. Armed with a comprehensive outline and facing no distractions, no excuses, you can
really be productive. One last piece of advice:
Once you finish your first draft,
I suggest you set aside the script
for at least 2 weeks.
Part of the reason is you’ve exerted a lot of energy, it’s time to recharge your creative batteries,
But the more important thing is to get some distance from what you’ve written.
If I start re-writing immediately, I find I am much more prone to approach the material with a
less critical eye. With some time and distance, I can be less attached to the experience of writing
the pages and more dispassionate, because
the re-write is where you want to fix the script’s problems
and you can’t do that…
if you’re not willing to admit the script has problems.
Story Structure:
⁃ Perhaps the first act is 45 pages long.
⁃ Two big plot points in Act II feel too close together.
⁃ The final act feels rushed.
I spend a lot of time feeling my way through and reworking the story structure.
Logic problems:
Events happen or characters do things which don’t make sense.
If a reader doesn’t buy that one of my characters would logically do something they
do, then I’ve got a big problem.
Lack of focus:
This pertains to the plotline, subplots, character functions, themes and transformation
arcs. Almost always, in the writing of the first draft, a lot of this ‘stuff’ emerges, so
the issue is really more about digging deeper into what I’ve surfaced, pulling together
the various elements.
Episodic:
There will be sections or scenes within the script that feel episodic; this almost always
is the result of that ‘stuff’ not having a strong, direct link to the Plotline or an
accompanying subplot.
Emotion:
⁃ Is the emotional experience of the storyline working?
⁃ Do I feel anything?
⁃ Do I feel the right things?
⁃ A script reader wants to feel something.
⁃ What are the points of emotional resonance in my script?
I’m also always on the look-out for callbacks, lines, or bits of action which I’ve uncovered in
the writing process: Implementing those carefully in the script is a great way to provide both
continuity and measure a character’s emotional growth. Plus, I like to kick around themes
which emerge, see how I can best use those to tie together the overall story.
I may take as much as 2–3 weeks to break down the first draft. This can require more
brainstorming, character work, plotting and the rest.
In some ways, this is almost more difficult than the first draft because it represents a lot of
grunt work, all the while knowing that there may still be story problems lying in wait.
This is where I call upon another writing mantra: you may want to print this out and keep it handy
If I allow myself to get caught up in the enormity of the process, that can paralyze me.
Once I start the actual page-writing part of the rewrite, it typically takes around 4–6 weeks to
get to FADE OUT. Obviously that can vary, but I want to make sure to take enough time to
iron out the big story problems.
After I get done with the second draft, I will often-times give the script to a handful of
screenwriters who are my friends for feedback.
Once I finish the second draft, I like to take off a few days.
It’s probably a good idea to try to stretch it to a week to get some distance from the material, but
typically I’m pretty excited about getting to my favorite part of the process: the third draft.
There’s also description and dialogue with big X’s through them — as in “cut this out”. I’ll
have lines running from one page to the next, telling me to move this scene in front of that one.
I’ll have all sorts of notes in the margins about transitions, visual images, and such.
So I go back through the script and make the changes. And I do this same process over and
over, each time refining the draft.
As it gets closer to being finished, I get real picky.
For instance, I’ll highlight each verb and come up with better, more active verbs. I’ll print out
every side of dialogue for each character, then read them back to back to make sure I’m nailing
their voice. And I’m constantly cutting description, cutting dialogue. I can get very anal about
this as I really want each page to look beautiful, easy on the eyes, a clean read.
And then, one final print-out, where I read the script through aloud. Every word.
It’s amazing how hearing your words can expose them in a wholly fresh way.
As I read, I write changes on the hard copy of the script. Then it’s one last edit. Save. Print.
It derives from a conversation I had many years ago with my then three year-old son.
It went pretty much like this:
ME
Hey, Luke, I’m starting to write a
new script tomorrow. And it’s funny,
but no matter how many times I start
a new story, I get a bit, uh,
nervous about it. Got any, you know,
advice for your dad?
LUKE
(without hesitation)
Go into the story and find the
animals.
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?
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.
● Animals can be both domesticated and wild. So some things we discover as we go into
the story are what we might expect (domesticated). Other times we’re surprised, even
shocked by ideas and thoughts that spring to mind (wild).
● Animals are alive, organic, and intuitive beings. So are our story’s characters.
● Throughout human history, animals have come to mean something in stories. A fox is
sly and cunning. A crow in many cultures signifies death. An owl is wise. Per Jung and
others who study myth and psychoanalysis, animals can serve as conduits into the mind
of the dreamer.
Which reminds me of something I read about a movie director who in prepping to make a
movie gave each of the actors their own animal token as something they could reference in
interpreting their character.
I’m sure if you think about it, you could probably come up with other shades of meaning for
the mantra.
I just know that this one’s my favorite mantra of all because of its source.
There you have it: My take on the So-Called Screenwriting ‘Rules’ and my wish for you.
I hope that you have resonated with at least one of them. Use them to help you focus your
thoughts and bring clarity to your writing process.
But for now and always, my wish for each of you is the same sentiment as once uttered by a
cherubic youngster with bright blue eyes and a look of deep intention in his face:
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.
Click to download the first book in this series: “30 Things About Screenwriting”
Click to download the second book in this series: “So-Called Screenwriting Rules”
Here’s the blog post where it was released on GITS on January 10th 2017.