Schellhardt Laura. Screenwriting for Dummies
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How to Treat Your Treatment
If you had to write reports in school, you’re probably familiar with a treat-
ment. Most class projects require a cover page that explains what topics the
report includes and what it ultimately proves. A treatment is the screenwrit-
ing equivalent of that cover page, albeit more entertaining.
To be more specific, a treatment is a narrative summation of your story. It’s
part synopsis and part short story. It runs anywhere from 4–20 pages in
length, depending on the scope of your film, and it describes each act of your
script in chronological order. It does not, however, include dialogue exam-
ples, unless that exchange is pivotal to the story.
In five-page treatments, Page 1 is generally dedicated to Act I, Pages 2
through 4 illustrate Act II, and Page 5 sums up Act III. A film’s second act is
twice as long as the first or third and therefore requires more explanation.
Most screenplay treatments run 15–20 pages in length. If your film is three
hours long, or includes several subplots, it may require a few more pages.
Treatments that run longer than 20 pages are generally overwritten and over-
whelming to the eye. After all, most first acts are about 30 pages; you may as
well start writing the script.
Before you begin
Two kinds of treatments exist: the one that you write for studios or agents
and the one that you write for yourself. I talk about marketing treatments in
Chapter 19. In this chapter, you’re writing this first treatment for you, so con-
centrate on depicting the following elements clearly:
A brief description of your main characters (villains included):
Character introductions are important. Your audience will judge the
character’s initial actions on that introduction. The characters will also
change as your story unfolds. If they make strong first impressions,
you’ll be better able to recognize those changes as they occur. So think:
What do your characters look like? How do they spend time? How do
they communicate, verbally or otherwise? In other words, what are
they like when they first enter the scene in five sentences or less?
An immediate sense of their goals and motivations: Most stories entail
what people want and how they’re going to get it. You’ll probably want
to reveal the first part of that statement, the “what people want” bit,
early on. If you establish character goals quickly, you’ll have more time
to pursue them.
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The platform: What is your protagonist’s life like prior to the first big
event? What is her routine? This routine includes job, family, friend-
ships, romantic involvements, hobbies, and so on — basically, anything
that constitutes a normal way of life for your protagonist.
The catalyst: What event changes that routine forever? What event
launches the film? This event may be as large as a military invasion or
as simple as a first kiss. If it topples your character’s sense of normal,
it’s a catalyst.
Plot Point I: What event forces the character into action? At what point
does he or she commit to the journey? This event is generally the time
when your character decides to pursue her goal. Whether or not she
does so willingly is up to you.
Plot Point II: What event determines whether or not the character
decides to face the primary conflict once and for all? This is generally a
moment of great pressure for your character. He may want to give up, or
a pivotal event may strengthen his resolve to continue forging ahead.
Climax: What scene or series of scenes depicts the final battle? Pay par-
ticular attention to your antagonist or your villain here. How does that
force behave in these scenes?
Resolution: What is the outcome of that battle? What does the world of
the film look like now?
I discuss these plot considerations at greater length in Chapter 16, but this
list provides an overall sense of what to include. If you envision a number of
important events, touch upon as many as you can. If your story has subplots,
scatter the information, albeit briefly, for those characters and situations
throughout. Consider this first treatment as a personal test. How well do you
know your characters? Are their goals strong enough to maintain an entire
script? Where is the action unclear? If you find that you need more informa-
tion, do some more research and layer it in. A treatment sorts through your
drama. It immediately reveals any holes in your storyline. You may find your-
self tweaking it with each act of your first draft or constructing a new one
entirely before a big rewrite. After you’re comfortable with the process, you’ll
find it to be invaluable to your writing.
Putting it on the page
Like the concept, you’re constructing this treatment with two minds.
Artistically, you want people to visualize the plot and to fall in love with the
characters. From a business standpoint, you want to emphasize marketabil-
ity. So although you can write a treatment any way that you want, the follow-
ing guidelines usually apply:
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Treatments are written in the present tense, so that they’re active and
immediately accessible. This guideline remains true even if the story
takes place in the past.
They’re written in brief paragraphs, spaced on the page so as not to
become overwhelming to a reader.
They’re not meant for personal commentary, psychological analysis, or
editorials; include only what you intend to put on the screen.
They may be written in the style of the film.
They may include bits of dialogue, especially those written for comedies.
(Dialogue in a treatment is placed in quotes, unlike dialogue in a script,
which is not.) However, use dialogue sparingly and only if necessary.
They emphasize the visual action of each scene.
They share the goals of a first draft, namely:
• To grab a reader’s attention
• To elicit emotion
• To create a specific world and atmosphere
• To communicate genre
• To highlight aspects that are particularly unique as well as those
that are familiar to a target audience
The shorter your treatment is, the better. However, don’t skimp on
description in an attempt to be brief. The treatment should help your
readers see the film in advance.
You can flip to Chapter 19 for more info on the business treatment, but for
now, concentrate on clarifying the story for yourself. This process takes a
while, so don’t give up. It helps you assess the strengths of your idea as well
as its drawbacks. It reveals which characters jump off of the page, and which
remain vague. It provides information for you to return to as you piece
together your first draft, and eventually, it may help you sell your script.
Exploring the Ins and Outs of an Outline
An outline is a further breakdown of the treatment into individual scenes. If
you’re writing an outline without a treatment, think of it as a chronological
list of the actions in a given scene or an entire script. I encourage you to write
a treatment first, though — if only because, in doing so, many smaller actions
and images may emerge. However, sometimes, research reveals them as well.
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Outlines come in several types, and the structure of each differs according to
individual preference. Like the initial treatment, this outline is for you. You
aren’t likely to be asked to submit a scene outline to studios initially. This
request is usually made well after the completion of a first draft. The outline
is an integral part of the screenwriter’s process; it allows you to write the
bulk of the script with a sense of purpose and destination. It troubleshoots
many of the story flaws in advance, preventing innumerable bouts of writer’s
block. It also serves as a formatting liaison between the prose of a treatment
and the technical lingo of a screenplay.
So choose the form that feels right and mold it to fit your needs. The goal is
to become comfortable pouring information onto the page, so that you can
later convert it into coherent cinema.
One sentence at a time
A sentence outline, also known as a beat sheet, is a sentence-by-sentence list
of the action in any scene. You can practice this outline form off the page as
well as on. Watch the people around you and choose someone engaged in an
interesting activity. Can you break that activity into separate moments? Try
it. Convert each detail into a sentence. For example, I’m watching a woman
give a campus tour. My imagined outline may look like this:
The tour guide corrals the crowd into a designated area.
She rattles off information about the architecture on campus.
She’s interrupted by a boy on a bicycle who calls out her name and
waves as he rides by.
She watches him, temporarily forgetting that her tour group exists.
In four sentences, I suggest two characters (the tour guide and the boy), a
location (a university campus), and something that makes the moment mem-
orable (the attention she gives him). The scene is brief — it may take less
than a minute of screen time — but it conveys a slew of information. It also
raises a few questions — namely, who are these people to each other, and
what may happen between them?
A sentence outline follows exactly the same process with a few additions:
It includes the Act number, the location, and the time of every scene.
The actions of one scene inspire the actions of another.
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Hopefully, you can envision the story’s conclusion. With that end in mind,
you can highlight the moments that take you there within each scene. To
rewrite my previous example then, I must decide where that moment may
lead. When I imagine the tour guide’s raging crush on this boy and determine
that this event propels her to ask him out, I can add the scene to my outline.
The rewritten version might look like this:
Act I, Scene — Ext. Campus Street — Day
A tour guide wearily corrals the crowd into a designated area.
She recites various facts about the architecture on campus.
Suddenly, she is interrupted by a boy on a bike. He calls out her name
and waves.
He passes her, as if in slow motion, revealing in detail his blue eyes and
dazzling smile.
She watches him ride off, oblivious to the group she’s in charge of.
She finally looks at them for a second, then takes off after him, calling his
name as she runs.
The heading of each scene in an outline corresponds to the slug line that will
eventually appear in your script. Slug lines include the basic information
needed to set up a shot. I talk about them at greater length in Chapter 15, if
you want the whole scoop, but for your purposes here, just remember to
include a rough indication of where the scene fits in the chronology of your
story, a sense of location, and a sense of time. If the following scene in the
tour guide drama takes place in the bookstore where she tracks the boy
down, the next portion of the outline should begin:
Act I, Scene 7 — Int. Bookstore — Day
If you want to be even more specific about time here, the next bit may read
Act I, Scene 7 — Int. Bookstore — Moments later
Outlines help you organize the action. Planning so much may seem odd at
first, but eventually, this blueprint becomes second nature and, in many
cases, necessary.
A sentence outline (or beat sheet) does the following:
Runs in chronological order from Act I through Act III
Is broken into sequences introduced by the act number, the location,
and the time of day
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Is broken down within each sequence into individual actions. Each
action gets one or two sentences of description
Highlights the characters, situation, and the pace of each scene
Think that’s the only kind of outline to explore? Think again. The next exam-
ple fleshes the story out even further.
One step at a time
The sentence outline is like a writer’s grocery list. It’s typed directly into the
computer or written into a notepad. Some writers post it by their desks,
some carry it around, and many check off the scenes as they go. One of the
strengths of the sentence outline is that it exists in one piece. Eventually,
however, you may want greater flexibility with your outline. You may want to
switch scenes around or remove some entirely and watch the story change
accordingly. When and if this becomes the case for your story, the time’s
arrived for the step outline.
Step outlines are traditionally written with 3 x 5 note cards. This technique
allows you to rearrange the order of events, as well as quickly eliminate or
add scenes. I talk about index cards later in this chapter, but know that step
outlines are usually when they’re most handy. The slug line or scene heading
goes somewhere at the top, followed by a short description of the action in
that moment. For example:
Act I, Scene 8 — Int. School Hallway — Day
Miriam approaches her locker. It appears to have been broken into. The
door has a giant dent, and her books and papers are strewn across the
floor. Worse, the letter is no longer taped to the inside wall.
What’s the difference between this form and the last one? Detail. In the sen-
tence outline, you summarize the action in each scene. In a step-by-step out-
line, you envision every visual moment that makes up those actions. For
instance, consider the moment where the tour guide sees the boy on the bike
smile at her. This one sentence may be made up of several fleeting bits: A
shot of her turning around to watch him ride by, a shot of his face, a shot of
his mouth calling her name, a close shot of his eyes as he winks, and then a
shot of him riding down the street. Each one of those flashes might receive an
individual note card in the step-by-step outline.
In the example of Miriam at her locker, the card concentrates on the locker
from one person’s point of view. If someone taps Miriam on the shoulder and
she whirls around, the ensuing interaction merits a new card.
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Some writers further classify each card in the following ways:
Organization by location: Several moments may take place in one loca-
tion. If you add that location at the top of each card, you can tell how
many shots make up each sequence. The “living room” sequence may be
made up of several note cards.
A character list: Try recording the characters in each scene on the card.
This log lets you determine how often a character speaks, when she may
need to speak, and who she interacts with on a regular basis. The list
also helps you track each character’s journey individually.
A note on plot: Is this scene pivotal to the main plot or to a subplot?
Indicating that information on each card helps to determine when a sub-
plot scene may be necessary, when the subplot has been overextended,
and when two plots intersect.
Scene strength: You may want to delineate the strength of each scene in
a word or two on each card. For instance, is the scene primarily fueled
by character, dialogue, plot, exposition, or theme?
How much or how little you include on each card is up to you. For some writ-
ers, three or four sentences of description are enough; other writers go so far
as to color code their cards by act, strong point, or sequence locale.
Directors and cinematographers create storyboards for the film. They break
the film down into pictures that will become each shot.
This step-by-step outline is your storyboard. Do you need to use 3 x 5 cards?
Absolutely not. This method allows you to rearrange individual parts, how-
ever. The ability to spread the scenes out in front of you and mix and match
until you’re satisfied with a chronology is invaluable. You may choose to cut
and paste on a computer or use a page per action instead, but whatever you
do, choose a form that can be easily rearranged.
What to Do When the Outline’s Through
If you’re satisfied with your story at this point, the next step is to start writ-
ing. However, few writers complete an outline satisfied. If you don’t have
large portions of the script to be reworked, you almost certainly have
moments that are missing entirely. Here are a few questions to ask yourself
after you’ve completed one or both of the previously mentioned outlines:
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Do you have long sequences of dialogue or action? How might you break
these sequences up so that they don’t become monotonous?
Are the characters’ goals clear? Are they obtained in the end?
Do your characters acquire new skills or information along the way? In
which scenes?
What relationships exist at the end that did not exist at the beginning?
Do you have enough scenes to plausibly support that interaction?
Is your villain fully represented?
Are your subplots represented? Do they support the main plot?
Is each scene motivated by a preceding scene or moment? In other
words, does every scene inspire another to occur?
Does each scene propel a reader to the climax in some way?
Is enough backstory introduced to successfully frame the action?
Does the choice of location strengthen the theme or the action?
Does your script contain surprises? If so, where are they?
Be on the alert for too many scenes in one location, or of one quality in suc-
cession. Your script is like a visual symphony, too much of one melodic line
quickly becomes repetitive. Break up action-packed scenes with moments of
budding character relationships. Break up image with dialogue. Find any way
you can to vary the form and content of your story.
Also, beware of action that happens to or around the protagonist. You want
the protagonist to happen to the script, not the other way around. Force your
character to make choices, and the scenes will become active and dynamic.
When you’re finished, spread the cards out in front of you and sit with them
for a few hours. Even if you’re satisfied with a sequence of events, try rear-
ranging one or two cards. Try envisioning your piece with alternate opening
and closing images. Force yourself to remove three moments. Which three
will they be? You’re creating a visual piece, so being able to see the entire
project in front of you is very helpful. Tell the story out loud and see how it
sounds, based on your short descriptions of each moment. It may take a
week, it may take a month. By the time you’re finished pouring through the
cards, you’ll know the story inside and out — which is convenient because
the next step is composing a first draft!
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Outlining someone else’s story
This project is familiar to many television writ-
ers who rely on it to acquire a feel for any new
series. It’s helpful to feature-film writers as well,
especially because outlining someone else’s
script is easier than outlining your own.
Tape an episode of your favorite TV show or rent
your favorite film. You can do this project with a
piece of paper or with note cards. If it’s a TV
show, watch the whole thing once through; if it’s
a film, choose a portion of it to watch. Take note
of the following details:
Order of locations
Character introductions
Major events
Minor events
Actions that caused other actions
When you’re through, watch the piece again.
Keep the pause button handy for this part. See
if you can construct a sentence or a step-by-
step outline of what you see. Finally, watch the
sequence again with outline in hand to see
what you missed. By the time you’re through
with this project, you’ll know the story, the
genre, and the structure of the piece that you
selected. You’ll also know how to approach an
outline of your own work.
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Chapter 14
Surviving Writer’s Block
In This Chapter
Taking an alternate view of writer’s block
Looking at possible reasons for the problem
Dodging the block
Re-evaluating your work schedule
Getting help from your friends and colleagues
I
f you’ve ever taken up exercise, you know what writer’s block feels like.
You’re running on that treadmill, your pulse rate is high, your breathing
is steady, you feel invigorated and alive. “This is easy,” you think, and for a
while, it is. Then, all of a sudden — bam! Your muscles tense up, your legs
give way, you’re winded, and you have to stop. The impetus and the desire
to run are gone, seemingly forever. The next day, beginning again is infinitely
more difficult, if not impossible.
Writers experience this same cycle. One minute, characters speak unbidden,
and images fly across the page; the next minute nothing, no pictures, no
voices, no sense of what comes next. It’s called writer’s block, the not-so-great
equalizer. It strikes without discrimination and without warning, and it strikes
the best writers in the business. It leaves you uncertain of how to proceed
and panicked that you can’t proceed at all.
But what is writer’s block really? Is it an affliction or a natural part of the cre-
ative process? Is it to be feared or embraced? Can you do anything to avoid
it? And what, oh what, do you do when it finds you? If you’ve ever experi-
enced writer’s block, or if you’re curious about how to handle it when you do,
you’re in the right place. This chapter takes on all those questions and more.
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