Maya: So what's your novel about?
— Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor
Sideways
Miles: Well, it's a little difficult to summarize. It begins as a first-person account of a guy taking care of his father after a stroke. It's kind of based on personal experience, but only loosely…It shifts around a lot…And some other stuff happens, some parallel narrative and then it evolves—or devolves—into a kind of a Robbe-Grillet mystery—you know, with no real resolution.
Many years ago, I was driving down Sunset Boulevard with a musician friend of mine visiting from London when we saw a huge billboard showing a gorgeous California blonde sunning herself at the beach. Standing on the sidewalk below the billboard was a young man who was holding a little girl, maybe two or three years old, by the hand. It was a beautiful scene. As we drove by, I heard my friend mutter, “I am a child.”
I knew it was a line for a song. He reached into my glove compartment, pulled out an old envelope, grabbed a pen, wrote down the line, added a few more words, hummed a musical phrase, and in that moment the entire song came to him. It took him only a few minutes to write down the lyrics.
When we got back to my house, he sat down at the piano and began to play various phrases tying it all together. About 10 minutes later he said “listen to this” and he played the song's musical line for me. It sounded good, even though it was rough and somewhat sketchy.
Several days later he called and invited me to meet him at a recording studio in Hollywood. He was going to record the song, he told me. As I walked into the studio, I saw a huge orchestra on the stage, a number of backup singers, and a major recording artist. They started their rehearsals, and I heard the full song performed for the first time.
Needless to say, I was blown away. From a few scribbled lines on an old envelope to this intense musical experience within the space of a little more than a week! I couldn't believe it. I was jealous as hell; I wished I could write a screenplay or a book like that. I left the studio filled with a sense of wonder mingled with a layer of personal resentment and a lot of self-pity. When I think of the hours, the days, the weeks, the months, and in some cases, the years, of arduous and tedious work that goes into writing a screenplay or a book, it's no wonder I felt the way I did.
I wished I could write a screenplay that way, but it's not to be. Oh sure, I've heard stories of screenwriters who write a script in a week, or two, and they may all be true—but what you don't hear is how long they must have worked on the idea and characters and plot before they sat down to actually write the screenplay.
That musical experience with my friend haunted me because I was measuring his experience of writing that one particular song against my own experience of writing a screenplay or book. And I knew there was no way I could measure his songwriting experience against my own writing experience.
The more I thought about it, the more I saw that writing a screenplay is composed of many individual stages and they're all different. Each phase is totally separate and unique. You may get a flash of inspiration for a screenplay in a few moments, but executing it is a quite different story. Writing is a detailed, step-by-step process, a day-by-day progression, and you move through it in stages, making it better and more complete as you go along.
It's only natural. Science teaches us that. The scientific method since the time of Francis Bacon deals with measuring things or making tests which involve experimentation and measurable results. A scientist will try different things, exploring each possible alternative intelligently and systematically, always keeping a record of what works and discarding what doesn't.
So many people I talk to share with me that they don't like the idea of having to rewrite their material. After all, they've spent many months working on this first words-on-paper draft and feel that any changes that may need to be made should be authorized by someone who is going to buy or produce the script. In other words, they should be paid for rewriting the material.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. The old adage “writing is rewriting” is a truism, like it or not. Rewriting your screenplay is a necessary and essential part of the screenwriting process; it corrects the changes you might have made during the first words-on-paper draft, and clarifies and defines your story as well as sharpening your characters and situation. You want your screenplay to be the best that you can make it—otherwise why spend all this time writing it? It would be easier not to do it at all. Whether you like the idea of rewriting or not, at some point you're going to have to do it; you can't argue with it, you don't need to fight it. Just accept it because that's just the way it is. Nobody ever told you that writing a screenplay was going to be easy.
When you complete your first words-on-paper draft you know you're going to have to make changes. That's a given. Your screenplay is a living thing and it changes and grows from day to day. It is a process, and what you write today may be out of date tomorrow and what you write tomorrow may be out of date the day after the day after tomorrow. Don't expect creative inspiration to be your guide because you're going to be changing and correcting a lot of what you wrote the first time around.
Writing the first-draft screenplay is done in three distinct stages: the first stage is writing the words-on-paper draft, which you've just finished; the second stage is writing what I call the “mechanical” draft, where you correct any changes made during the writing; and finally, the third stage, which I term the “polish” draft, where you're polishing scenes and sequences until you've done the best job you can and the first draft is completed.
When you finish the first words-on-paper draft, you're ready to begin the process of rewriting. First, take a couple of days off to think about what you've done. What parts do you think work the best? What doesn't work? Are your characters fully fleshed out? Do you know already what changes you want to make? Just let these thoughts “cook” a little bit. You don't need to make any clear-cut or defined decisions at this point.
The first thing in the rewriting process is to see what you've actually got. At this stage, you may not even know or remember what you did in Act I. It's easy to forget that when you're in the paradigm, you can't see the paradigm; you have no sense of overview, no objective perspective about what you've done or not done.
You need some kind of an overview. You'll need to clarify your “take” on the material. You want to see what you've written with objective eyes and not be burdened with any subjective comments, likes or dislikes, judgments or evaluations. You need to “unplug” from your subjective view to gain an “objective” overview.
The way to do that is to read the entire first draft in one sitting from beginning to end. Lock up all pens, pencils, notes, and papers, shut the computer down, and just jump in and start reading. Resist the temptation to write notes in the margins about the changes you want to make. This exercise is for you just to read what you've got. It's the best way to gain objectivity.
As you're reading the screenplay you'll notice you're on a roller coaster of emotion. You'll read a scene and think to yourself how bad it really is, how could anybody write such drivel?; or, this is the worst thing I've ever read; or, the incidents and events of the story are so unbelievable and so predictable, nobody will believe it. You'll feel totally depressed. Just keep reading. Then, you'll read a scene you've written and think it's not too bad, and then you'll find another scene that works really well. Certain scenes you'll see are way too long and talky, but they can always be cut and trimmed. You'll be swinging on a pendulum of emotion, shifting between elation and despair. Just ride the roller coaster and don't get too plugged into your emotional response, whether it's despair, depression, or suicide. Just read the material.
It's easy to get distracted. One my students, a well-known actress, had completed her first words-on-paper draft. Late one night she called after she had read her script through for the first time. No sooner had I picked up the receiver than I heard her scream in my ear: “How could you let me write this… this piece of shit…it's awful!” and she burst into tears and banged the phone down forcefully. I looked at the phone, not sure how to react or what I should say or do. So I did nothing.
Later, she told me that after she read what she had written, she threw the script down in total despair, called me, then crawled into bed, turned the electric blanket up as high as it would go, and assumed the prenatal position with thumb in mouth. She stayed that way for two days.
She overreacted, of course, and often, when you read something you've written, it can be a devastating experience. If this happens to you, just ride it out. I waited about four days before I finally called her back because I knew she was going to have to deal with all those “unreal” expectations and emotions she had suffered. We talked at length about it and she shared that she was numb, she didn't feel anything at all. I suggested she wait a few days before she confronted her material again and “just do what you have to do to make it work.”
When she finally did sit down to rework the material, she told me she felt like a machine, with no emotion at all. When she was able to move from a subjective view into an objective overview, when she didn't react to any of her judgments and expectations, and just concentrated on writing her story, it turned out very well. It took her about two weeks to regain her confidence. After all, she had taken her idea, formed it into a story line, then written and completed a first words-on-paper draft. That's quite an accomplishment.
So, when you finish this first reading, take some time to think about it. Contemplate your overall feelings about the story, the characters, and the action. As you begin to mentally “cruise” through the progression of the story line from beginning to end, you'll move into an overview position to balance the characters and the relationships that exist between them.
Is the story set up correctly? What about the relationships between the characters? Are they believable? Do they talk too much, or explain too much? Are the conflicts and obstacles your character confronts during Act II clearly defined? Do parts of the second act drag and sag? Does your ending work effectively?
Is there anything you would like to change?
Think about it.
After you read it, the next stage in the rewriting process is to sit down and write three essays, using free-association or automatic writing. Writing these essays allows you to unplug from the material and provides an effective overview. Each essay should be a couple of pages long; what's important is to let the ideas flow naturally and spontaneously. Don't try to force your story line to conform to your own expectations.
The First Essay. Answer this question: What was it that originally attracted me to this idea? What was the idea that attracted you to commit your time and energy to writing this screenplay? Was it the situation of the main character that appealed to you, or was it the dramatic premise, or the situation the character was in? Think about it. If you go back to that moment when you felt the first creative “tug,” try to define what it was that attracted you to the material. If need be, close your eyes and see if you can recall that first moment you felt the urge to write this story. Let your thoughts roam freely and don't try to censor anything at this point. You're looking for that one moment of inspiration, that aha! feeling, that originally attracted you.
Then, in this first free-association essay, throw down all the thoughts, words, or ideas that you think attracted you to the idea. Don't worry about grammar, spelling, or punctuation; just throw down your thoughts on paper or in the computer. When I do this exercise, I write in longhand, in fragments, just as it comes to me, without any logical order. It is a process of free-association. Just try to capture what it was that attracted you to the idea. Do this in two or three pages. Do not censor what you write; just let it flow naturally and spontaneously. Write this up in a couple of pages and when you finish the first essay, go on to the next.
The Second Essay. Answer this question on a separate sheet of paper: What kind of a story did I end up writing? We usually start out to write one thing and during the process it often changes and we wind up writing something slightly different than what we originally intended. For example, you may start out to write a courtroom thriller but after you finish the first words-on-paper draft it actually turns out to be a strong romantic thriller set against a tense courtroom drama. Or you may start out to write a romantic comedy that ends up being more like a drama with comedic overtones. James L. Brooks, who wrote and directed Terms of Endearment and Broadcast News, wrote I'll Do Anything as a musical comedy, but the music didn't work, and when he removed the music it didn't work as a comedy either. During the process of writing it's very common to start out to do one kind of story and end up doing something slightly different. So go into the story you've written and see how it relates to your original idea. What did you set out to write, and what did you end up writing?
Again, write the essay in one or two pages in free-association. Just throw down your thoughts, words, and ideas in free-association.
The Third Essay. Take a new sheet of paper and answer this question: What do I have to do to change what I did do, into what I wanted to do? For example, you may have wanted to write a love story with a strong action-adventure theme, but you ended up writing a strong action-adventure played against the backdrop of a love story. Or vice versa. So, you have to change these elements. Look at The Constant Gardener—a thriller with a strong love interest; the female lead is killed early in the story. The screenwriter, Jeffrey Caine, had to create the love story through a series of complicated flashbacks; we see his wife through the husband's efforts to find out who was responsible for her death. In the same way, you may have to strengthen and set up more of the action-adventure elements, and tone down the love story.
In any case, you're going to have to change and rework what you originally set out to do. Sometimes, what you end up with is much better than what you started out to do. That's fine, but it still means you have to go back into Act I and the First Half of Act II, to set up and smooth out the story line so you have one fluid line of action.
In other words, intention must equal the result.
Again, this essay is written in free-association. Above all, you want to infuse your story with MDV, maximum dramatic value. So, what do you have to do to change what you did do into what you wanted to do? It may be that you need to add four or five new scenes in Act I, possibly remove a few scenes that don't add anything to the story or that simply don't work now, and set up the dramatic premise a little earlier. You may have to focus on your character, expand his or her characterization, perhaps even create a subplot with some of the minor characters. Now is the time to define what you want to do to implement these changes.
What's so important about these essays is to get clear on what you've written, so you can make it better. The best way to approach the rewrite process is by working in sections, or units, of dramatic action. That means working in Act I until you complete this unit of action. Then stop and work on the First Half of Act II. Define, change, add, or drop scenes, trim the dialogue until the Mid-Point. Then stop. Go into the Second Half of Act II and do the same thing. This way, the material does not become overwhelming and you can be more in control by working in sections, in units of dramatic action. Do the same in Act III.
Now, on this second, or “mechanical” draft, reread the material in Act I but this time you're going to be making notes in the margins: scenes you may want to change, dialogue you would like to add, or scenes you want to cut. Some scenes will be okay the way they are; some will not. Any dialogue changes, scene changes, or shifts in action, plot, or character, will need to be integrated into the script as a whole.
We had mentioned earlier that dialogue has two possible functions: either it moves the story forward, or it reveals character. Keep this in mind. When you're working with dialogue, it's interesting to note that the word itself comes from the Greeks and it means “a flow of meaning.” Keep this in mind as you're writing; is your dialogue flowing smoothly, or is your script “too talky,” or too explanatory? Are you sacrificing character for action, or action for character? You'll want to open up your story visually, utilizing both INT. and EXT. locations, telling your story with pictures and words.
Continue rewriting until you complete the Plot Point at the end of Act I. Always remember the context; you are setting up your story, setting up your characters and relationships, as well as establishing the dramatic premise and situation.
Each unit is a separate and complete unit of dramatic action. You'll find yourself doing more rewriting in Act I and the First Half of Act II. These two units of action are usually where you need to make the most changes, because that's where your story started to change. Check it out. See if that's accurate. In most cases, you'll be rewriting almost 80 percent, or more, of this First Act material. So what? Just do it.
You'll find rewriting Act I will be easier than you thought. Why? Because you've already established your writing discipline, and you know the story and the changes you want to make, so writing them should be natural and easy. Sometimes you might have difficulty deciding what to do, especially if Act I is too long. If that happens, you might need to cut a few scenes and move them from Act I into Act II. Structure is flexible, right? Or, you may want to enter each scene at a later point in the action and end it earlier. (If you would like more guidance, read Chapters 9–11 in The Screenwriter's Problem Solver.)
As mentioned, this second draft is what I call the mechanical draft, meaning this particular stage of the rewrite is more about getting it down on paper than being clever and original. It's “mechanical” because you just want to get the script in shape with a consistent narrative line, laying down scenes and dialogue which you know are not perfect but are used as a stepping-stone to the final, polish stage. This is where you are equalizing the story from what you started out to write and shaping it to fit what you did write. Usually, I just throw the scenes down to get them on paper, and don't worry about how good or bad they are. I'm just smoothing things out, mechanically. You'll correct any changes you made during the first words-on-paper stage, bring the script to the proper length, tighten up the dramatic tension, and sharpen the focus of your main character.
Even though you're going to possibly change a lot of things, perhaps rewriting 80 to 85 percent of Act I, maybe 50 to 60 percent of the First Half of Act II, 25 to 30 percent of the Second Half of Act II, and about 10 or 15 percent of Act III, don't think of this as a “creative” draft. This draft should not take the same time or effort required as when you were confronting the blank sheet of paper in the first-words-on-paper draft.
Concentrate on telling your story visually. You may find that you have the tendency to tell most of your story in dialogue. Maybe you're “talking” your story, explaining the character's thoughts, feelings, and emotions. For example, your character may be driving a car, see a jewelry store and say “I need a jade ring,” and explain why she needs the ring. Then you might show her walking into the store and looking at the rings while she tells the salesperson exactly what she's looking for and why. She'll purchase the ring and then you might cut into the next scene, where she is showing off her new jade ring at a party. That's basically a scene of explanation. You don't want too many of those.
Instead, you can show the same thing visually: she sees the store, enters, and then cut into the next scene at the party where she is now showing off her new ring. Woody Allen did something like this in Match Point. We've seen Chris (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) caught in his emotional dilemma; he doesn't know how or what to tell his wife, Chloe, (Emily Mortimer) about Nola (Scarlett Johansson) being pregnant with his child. Then, one night, he suddenly wakes up, eyes wide open as he realizes what he has to do to resolve the situation. He doesn't say anything and we don't know at this point what his plan may be. But at the moment he wakes up, he suddenly knows how he's going to get out of his predicament. That silent, unspoken moment is the Plot Point at the end of Act II. And in Act III, we then see how Chris solves his particular “problem.”
Think visually, continually being aware of any cinematic transitions you might use as you move from one scene to the next and always looking for ways to enter and leave the scene. Enter late and get out early. Transitions are always a good way of cutting down the material, if that's something you need to do.
If you like, when you finish Act I of this mechanical draft, go back and clean it up. Polish a scene or retype some pages, cut out a few lines of dialogue to make it clearer and tighter. Don't spend too much time on it; it's important to move forward through the screenplay. Always work from beginning to end, beginning to end.
Move on to the First Half of Act II. Reread the material and make extensive notes in the margins on what you need to do to make it work, until you reach the Mid-Point. You'll find you might be changing about 60 percent of the First Half. Determine what changes you want to make. Then, if need be, lay out this section on 3 × 5 cards, just like you did with the Act I material.
Always keep in mind your sub-dramatic context and strive for conflict, either internal conflict or external, or both, whatever works most effectively. Make sure Pinch I is clean and tight and the Mid-Point clearly defined. Sometimes, you may find that you have too many characters and need to condense two characters into one character; or use the first part of one scene on page 40 with the last part of the scene on page 55. Whatever you need to do to make your story work, do it.
Does your Mid-Point still work effectively? Is it too long or too short? Too wordy? Or does it need exposition, action, or visual clarification? Do you need to redefine it visually? Again, just write it down. It doesn't have to be perfect at this point.
You'll probably spend a week or two rewriting the First Half of Act II. After you've completed the Mid-Point, you can stop and move on to the Second Half of Act II. Read it through. Make notes on any changes you want to make. If need be, and if you feel comfortable doing it, you may want to restructure the Second Half on fourteen 3 × 5 cards just like Act I and the First Half of Act II. Sometimes you'll feel like doing this and other times you won't. You be the judge. You're clarifying and redefining your story line so you want to make it as concise and visual as you can.
Once you know what you need to do, execute it simply, keeping the dramatic context and time frame clearly in mind. You probably won't have to change more than 25 to 30 percent of the Second Half of Act II. Just keep your story on track as you follow your main character through the action, setting up Pinch II and then moving on to Plot Point II. This section may only take you about a week or so to complete, depending on how much time you can devote and what you need to do.
When you finish Act II, don't spend too much time polishing the material. You're going to be doing this the next time around, in the third and final “polish” draft.
When you reach Act III, you'll really be home free. You know the resolution of your story, you're in a good creative flow, and any changes you've made earlier in the material should have already been paid off in this unit of action. Rewriting this part of the screenplay is usually the easiest and takes the shortest amount of time. You'll feel like you're almost done. In Act III, you'll be cleaning up and refocusing the resolution, and you'll want to look for ways to add any new visual dynamics to make your ending stronger and more effective. Here's where you may have a better idea for your ending, and if that's the case, change it. Now's the time. You may want to write a new dialogue scene or make it more visual, but first you'll want to make sure you have resolved your story line. The actual writing process itself at this time is pretty clear-cut and manageable and you'll probably know exactly what you need to do to finish this second draft of your screenplay.
You should be able to complete this “mechanical” draft of your screenplay in about four to five weeks, and it should end up being anywhere from one hundred ten to one hundred twenty pages, no longer. Bringing it to the proper length should be one of your first priorities. If you're a first-time screenwriter, defined as someone who has never had a screenplay produced or purchased, they (whoever “they” are) are not going to accept a screenplay from you that is longer than one hundred twenty to one hundred twenty-five pages long.
Sorry to be the one to tell you this. Your story line needs to be clear, with all the necessary changes fused into an organic story line from beginning to end, within one hundred twenty pages. The average screenplay today is approximately one hundred twelve to one hundred twenty pages long.
When you complete this mechanical draft, take a few days off. Do what you want, but give yourself some time to digest the changes you've made. And then, you'll be ready to move into the third stage, the “polish draft” of your screenplay.
This is where you'll really be writing the first draft screenplay. You'll be polishing, accenting, and texturing each scene, changing a word here, a word there, a sentence here, a scene there, sometimes rewriting a scene up to ten or fifteen times to make it right.
You'll still be working in units of dramatic action, Act I, First Half and Second Half of Act II and Act III, but you'll be approaching each scene with the lens of a microscope. You'll go into each scene, analyze it, maybe cut this line, or move that line from the beginning of the scene to the end, lift one or two lines from the middle of the scene and tighten, condense, and polish the scene, word by word and line by line. You may be removing or tweaking lines of description as well. You want to make this “the best read” you can.
One of the rules I created for myself when I was writing screenplays is that no descriptive paragraph should be more than four sentences long. I know that's an arbitrary statement, but I've read so many scripts that had “thick,” “dense,” “bulky” descriptive paragraphs of half or three-quarters of a page. You want lots of white space on the page because that's what a professional screenplay looks like. If you want to see what a professional screenplay looks like, get any screenplay, and read it. Just Google screenplays online and it will guide you to a number of sites where you can download scripts. You'll notice how the descriptive paragraphs are lean, tight, and visual without too much explanation.
Sometimes, you'll find you may want to remove an entire character and give his or her lines to another character, so you don't have so many people on the page that the text becomes confusing. Oliver Stone told me once that when he wrote the first draft of Platoon, he had twenty-six characters in the first ten pages. You can't do that. You want to keep the action and character lines flowing simply and smoothly.
In this polish stage, after going over a scene five or ten times to make it right, you may find that it still doesn't work. As you ponder this dilemma, you'll realize that you might have to move three lines from a scene in Act I into another scene in the First Half of Act II. Or, you might bridge one scene with another scene, and drop a nice transition because it doesn't really work that well. You may telescope scenes, meaning you take one scene from the First Half of Act II, and combine it with another scene in the Second Half of Act II, thus establishing an entirely new scene that says the same thing in a shorter time. Remember the purpose of the scene: either it moves the story forward or it reveals information about the main character. If your scenes do not satisfy at least one of these two requirements, then cut the scene. You don't need it.
You'll be noticing certain rhythms of action, and possibly see places where a simple “pause,” or “beat,” before a character speaks will strengthen the dramatic tension of the scene. You'll change: “he glances at the woman sitting across from him” to “he regards her questioningly.” You'll sharpen visual images by adding adjectives, tightening and condensing dialogue by cutting words from speeches, sometimes whole sentences, occasionally chunks of dialogue.
Again, work in units of action. First, complete Act I, then the First Half of Act II, the Second Half of Act II, then Act III. Working in units like this allows you to control your story and move forward, step-by-step, toward the resolution.
Good structure, remember, is like the relationship between an ice cube and water, or fire and its heat. As you're polishing your screenplay, you'll smooth the structural line until the incidents, episodes, or events that anchor the story line won't even be noticeable.
The key words are: tighten, trim, condense, polish, cut, cut, then cut some more. Most new writers don't like to cut words— or paragraphs—but you have to be ruthless. If you're wondering whether you should keep a scene, a specific line of dialogue, a descriptive paragraph, or a sequence, chances are that you'll cut it.
There is only one purpose in this third, or polish draft, and that is to make what you've written into the best screenplay you can.
How do you know when your rewrite's done?
It's a difficult question, a hard call. You'll never really know for sure, of course, but there are certain signs to look for. First of all, understand that your script will never be perfect. There will always be a few scenes that don't work. No matter how many times you write or rewrite a certain scene, it may never be the way you want it to be. Sometimes, you'll just have to let those scenes go. No one will ever notice that they don't work or measure up to your expectations.
You might also find that you're spending a lot of time on minor changes. You may change “but there are signs,” to “and there are signs.” That's a sure sign that you're ready to stop. That's when you can lay down your pages and say, “It's done. I've completed the first draft of my screenplay.” That's when you can let it go. It will either stand or fall on its own.
At this point, I might suggest that you give your first draft to one or two people you trust. Personally, I would not suggest giving your script to your loved ones, or significant other. Why? Because out of their love, kindness, and friendship for you, they'll want to be as “honest” as they can; after all, you're putting your trust in them to let them read and evaluate your material. So, out of their love for you, they'll be ruthless; they'll tell you that this character is dull, flat, or the premise doesn't work and the dialogue is thin and weak. All your worst fears will be realized when you ask your loved ones to comment and critique your material. You've got to trust me on this one.
For example, in one of my screenwriting classes, I had a woman who was blessed with a wonderful sense of humor and a naturally wacky and unique style. She had never written a screenplay before but had an idea she wanted to write into a comedy. So, she came to class and went through the process. She laid out her subject line, developed her characters, and then wrote the four-page treatment. Then, feeling insecure about what she had written, she gave it to her husband to read. Now, her husband happened to be a very gifted film composer who had worked in Hollywood for years. He read her treatment and out of the “goodness of his heart, out of love for his wife,” he wanted to be totally honest with her.
And guess what happened. In the name of love, he literally crucified her. Your characters are weak, he told her; the plot is mundane; no one would ever believe the situation. And you know, in his mind, he thought he was doing the right thing. He really wanted to protect her from the harsh realities of Hollywood and didn't want her to get hurt. She listened politely to what he had to say, then took the treatment, put it in a drawer somewhere and never looked at it again. To this day, she has never picked up that story line or sat down at the computer to make another attempt at writing the screenplay. And, it was a good story that had a lot of potential.
From that experience, I tell people not to give their material to a loved one, or spouse, or significant other for feedback; just know that out of their love and affection for you, they'll confirm your worst fears. Or, they'll tell you how much they like it and you don't know whether it's the truth or a lie. We're all so insecure anyway we never really, truly know whether what we wrote is working or not. And you don't want anybody telling you what you already know.
Especially in Hollywood. Most of the time nobody tells you the truth anyway. They might say something like, “I like it but it's not really something we want to do at the present time,” or, “we have something like this in development,” or “we've already done that movie.”
That's not going to help you. You want some feedback; you want someone to tell you what he or she really thinks about your script, in terms of what's working or not, so choose the people you give this first draft to very carefully.
After they've read it, listen to what they say. Don't defend what you've written, don't pretend to listen to what they say and then leave feeling righteous, indignant, or hurt.
See whether they've caught the “intention” of what you wanted to write about. Listen to their observations from the point of view that they just might be right, not that they are right. They'll have observations, criticisms, suggestions, opinions, and judgments. Are they right? Question them; press them on it. Do their suggestions or ideas make sense? Do they add to your screenplay? Enhance it? Or, didn't they get it?
Go over the story with them. Find out what they like and dislike, what works for them and what doesn't. At this point, you still can't see your screenplay objectively. If you want another opinion, “just in case,” be prepared to get confused. If you give it to four people for example, they'll all disagree. One person will like the relationship, another won't. One person will say they like the robbery, but not the result of the holdup (they either get away or they don't); and the other one wonders whether you couldn't strengthen the relationship between the other characters.
Having too many people read your material just doesn't work— at least, not at this stage. You want initial feedback from two people you know you can trust, who will be totally honest with you. When you've made all the changes you think will make the screenplay better, then you can send it out into the world through a literary agent, or producer, or production company, or attorney, or anyone you can get it to.
It's either going to stand or fall on its own. It's not going to be “perfect.”
“Perfection is an ideal; it exists only in the mind, not in reality,” Jean Renoir said.
Believe it.
Are you ready? Let's do it.
First, sit down and read the words-on-paper draft from beginning to end in one sitting; take no notes, just sit down and read. You'll be on a roller coaster of emotion. Don't fight it, don't deny it, and don't try to “reason” things out. Just keep reading. You'll be making changes in your head, and that's okay. You'll swing between despair and elation, so enjoy the ride. When you've finished reading, take a day or two to digest your experience.
Then, using free-association, write the three essays in a couple of pages each. The first essay you're writing answers the question: What was it that originally attracted you to the idea? Just throw down words, thoughts, and feelings as you recall your first spark of inspiration and why you wanted to write the screenplay. Don't judge or evaluate your answer; just throw it down. You want clarity and insight here, so you don't have to worry about grammar, spelling, or the correct sentence structure. This is only an exercise for you, no one else.
When you've completed this first essay, write the second essay: What kind of story did you end up writing? You may have wanted to write an action-thriller but you ended up writing a romantic thriller. Define and articulate what kind of a story you ended up writing. Do this in a couple of pages of free-association. Just throw down your thoughts, words and ideas. Don't limit or censor yourself.
When you've completed the second essay, write the third essay. Answer the third question in a couple of pages: What do I have to do to change what I did do, into what I originally wanted to do? As mentioned, what you ended up doing may be a better script than what you originally wanted to do. So what do you have to do to change it? You may need to set up the characters more forcefully, or strengthen the relationships, or open it up visually. This is an exercise that clarifies what you need to do make your script a good read.
After you've answered the three questions you're ready to move into the actual writing.
Start with Act I. Read it as a unit of dramatic action and take notes, either in the margin or on a separate piece of paper. Structure and correlate any new scenes with the old scenes written, and then, if need be, lay out your new Act I structure on fourteen 3 × 5 cards. Go over the cards until the flow of action feels comfortable to you, then begin writing. Your first few pages may be stilted and awkward; it's okay, don't worry about it. This is only the “mechanical draft.” You may be changing anywhere from 80 to 85 percent of your material. Don't worry about it. Just do it.
Work in units of action. The whole process of rewriting this first act could take a week or two. Don't worry if your work feels stilted, or episodic; just lay out your story line focusing on the threads of your story.
Then move into the First Half of Act II. Read this unit of dramatic action, make notes in the margins, and, if need be, restructure it on 3 × 5 cards. Then, start rewriting, one scene at a time, one page at a time, through Pinch I to the Mid-Point. You may be changing 50 to 60 percent of the material in this unit. Be clear on your sub-dramatic context, and what you need to do to smooth out the story line.
As you write the Mid-Point, be sure the focus of your story is clear and defined. Then move into the Second Half of Act II. Use the same process; read the material, take notes, structure it on 3 × 5 cards if needed, then start writing. In this unit of action, you'll only need to change about 40 to 50 percent of the material. Just change what you need to change; don't worry about rhythm, tension, or transitions in this “mechanical” stage.
Move into Act III. Bring it to length, and make all the changes needed for a consistent story line. Check your ending. Does it work as effectively as you want it to? Or, do you need to modify it somewhat, perhaps even change it radically? What's important is that it works; do what you need to do to make it the best ending you can.
When you've completed this “mechanical” stage of the screenplay, move into the “polish” stage. Again, work in thirty-page units of dramatic action; polish, hone, clean, tighten, accent, cut, and shade your material.
Your name is on the title page, so do the best job you can.
Remember, a screenplay is a reading experience before it becomes a film experience.
