Schellhardt Laura. Screenwriting for Dummies
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You Have to Go to School
to Learn How to Write
If this myth were true, half of today’s screenwriters wouldn’t be writing. If
your aim is to teach screenwriting, then yes, a degree in writing or film will
probably help. If your aim is purely artistic, your career depends on your
ability to tell a story. If the script is exciting, innovative, and marketable, it’s
going to generate interest. If the story is flat or cliché-ridden, a degree from
the best film school on the planet can’t help you.
A writer should be curious, passionate, alert, and determined. In many ways,
determination gets you farther than raw talent can. You may dream up the
next Casablanca or American Beauty, but if you don’t sit down every day
and pound it out, who will know? Screenwriting is a difficult job. It requires
hours of writing, a capacity to meet deadlines, a mind that can juggle many
tasks at once, and constant collaboration. Getting through all that is more
than half the battle.
Will a film school or a creative-writing program help you? It depends on
what you’re looking for. Educational settings offer perks that may be worth
investigating:
A network: The students, mentors, and visiting artists you meet may
turn out to be invaluable when you’re trying to sell your work later.
A workshop: Film schools and writing departments generally provide a
critical forum for your work. You’ll have to bounce your work between
readers later on — why not do it here?
Deadlines: Schools require you to write at least one screenplay during
your stint, sometimes three or four. You may generate an entire portfolio
by the time you leave.
Classes, classes, classes: Everything that you learn strengthens your
writing. Universities provide an array of subjects for you to explore.
If you want some of these perks but would rather not commit to an entire
program, see whether the educational institutions near you offer writing
courses or seminars. Colleges, libraries, and community centers tend to
schedule creative-writing classes or workshops after school hours, at night,
and in the summer. Also, screenwriting expos are held all over the country,
but in Los Angeles in particular. I encourage you to consider the educational
route, but don’t place undue importance on it. In order to write, you must
have a story and a will to write. If you have those things, a diploma’s just
icing.
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Screenwriting Is Entertainment;
It’s Not a Real Profession
I would argue that storytelling is one of the few professions that has stood
the test of time. Throughout the ages, cultures of all kinds have crafted sto-
ries to preserve their heritage, chronicle historical events to explore what it
means to be human, and make sense of a nonsensical world. Why do people
continue to flock to theaters? Some people may say as a means of escape,
and that may be true. But I argue that, more often, people go in search of
something. Is it inspiration? Hope? An education? A better understanding of
themselves or some part of their world? If they go for even one of these rea-
sons, screenwriting’s a noble profession.
If the question you’re trying to answer is “But does it save lives?”, stop
trying. It probably doesn’t, but then how would you ever know? At its best,
screenwriting asks questions, challenges tradition, inspires action, sparks
debate, and makes people think and feel on a potentially grand level. Now,
how many professions do all that?
If You’ve Never Written Before,
It’s Too Late to Start Now
It’s never too late to start writing. The older you are, the more stories you’ve
encountered, the more wisdom you can impart, and (hopefully) the more
questions you have to ask. Margaret Mitchell completed her first and only
novel when she was 36. It won the Pulitzer. Perhaps you’ve heard of it — it’s
called Gone with the Wind, and it was adapted into a screenplay by Sidney
Howard. Frank McCourt wrote his first novel, Angela’s Ashes, when he was 66.
It was a bestseller and also won a Pulitzer. Ray Krok founded McDonalds in
his 50s, Grandma Moses began painting at 78; the list goes on and on. If you
don’t start writing now, the only regret you’ll have in five years is that you
didn’t start writing five years ago. As a student of mine once said, “You’re
going to be 72 anyway. Why not be 72 and a writer?”
Writing Is a Lonely Profession
I’m not going to lie to you: Writing involves a lot of time alone. When crafting
a first draft, you will (hopefully) spend three or four hours a day, four to five
times a week, in a room with your computer, your characters, and your plot,
which is really just another way of saying “by yourself.”
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On the flip side, screenwriting is a highly social profession. A screenplay, like
a stage play, isn’t really complete until you’ve handed it to a production team.
You craft the story, and they transform it into a three-dimensional piece.
Want a metaphor for that relationship? You build the boat and the sails,
and the production team provides the wind. Research for each project will
undoubtedly require interaction of all sorts, as will revisions. Frankly, you
can’t do this job without collaborating at least 60 percent of the time. You
may become more social as a result of the craft.
Screenwriting also differs from many professions in that the kind of work you
do varies in form. Working means spending time alone, but it also means
taking long walks, conversing with friends, or cooking dinner for six. Writers
work everywhere. So keep writing or start writing. When cabin fever sets in,
and it will set in, go work somewhere else.
Hollywood Has No Ethics; It’ll Ruin
the Integrity of My Script
I think that the underlining question here is “Can I work in Hollywood and
remain an artist?” The answer is yes, you can. Commercial success doesn’t
negate artistry. As in any profession, you have to know what you’re getting
into, and you have to be savvy. Do your research. Know the answers to the
following questions:
What movies are current box-office hits?
What are the major production companies, and what kind of work are
they producing? (See Chapter 19.)
What are the smaller production companies, and what kind of work are
they producing? (See Chapter 19.)
Who’s writing scripts you enjoy? Who represents them?
What are the artistic strengths of your piece? The commercial strengths?
(See Chapter 20.)
What parts of your piece are you the most interested in protecting?
What parts of your piece are you flexible on? (See Chapter 12.)
How can you sell someone on your story? (See Chapter 20.)
Answering these questions in advance enables you to plan an appropriate
marketing campaign. You’ll know which studios and executives are more
likely to champion your story and keep it intact. If you prioritize the elements
of your story prior to meeting with those executives, you’ll also know how to
respond should they propose changes. You’ll know what elements you want
to safeguard at all costs, and you can entertain suggestions on the rest. This
strategy allows you to be both protective and flexible.
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Hollywood has a lot of money and, like any business, it has a lot of people
interested in that money. Hollywood also has many champions of strong work.
Finding them may take a while, but they’re there. If you go into the profession
with your eyes open, if you know your story backwards and forwards, if you
know the market in advance — those supporters will eventually find you.
It’s Not What You Know; It’s Who
You Know That Matters
I’m going to address this myth in two parts. First, does it help to know some-
one in Hollywood? Probably. Approaching the business isn’t unlike going to a
new school or your first day on a job; if you know people in advance, the tran-
sition is usually less frightening. A Hollywood contact can do the following:
Introduce you to agents, producers, directors, actors, and so on
Help you find temporary work that may further your career
Show you the town
Pass your work onto readers
Fill you in on what kind of work various companies are doing
Knowing someone in L.A. also considerably cuts down on the fear factor and,
if you’re moving to the West Coast, on the loneliness.
However, is it who you know that really matters? No, the story is what mat-
ters. If your story is compelling, it will make the introductions for you. If
you’re passionate about what you know, someone will respond. So, to the
beginning screenwriter I say, get out there. It’s a social profession, so meet as
many people as you can. But worry about your script first. In the end, every-
thing comes back to the story.
I Have Too Many Obligations
to Be a Writer
The first thing to do when you encounter this myth is to list those
obligations — all of them. That list might start with any or all of the
following: a family to support, a job (or two or three), classes to take,
social functions to run, and a household to maintain.
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Think about it for a while. Jot down anything that takes time out of your day.
If you’re responsible for walking the dog or looking after the neighbor’s flow-
ers, include those tasks on the list, and when you’re through, add one more
item. At the bottom of the page, write “Work on screenplay.” Now, it’s on the
list of obligations.
If you want to write a screenplay, you need concentrated chunks of time, at
least an hour for each session, and any schedule can be managed. Anton
Chekhov wrote his short stories between seeing medical patients and sup-
porting a family. J. K. Rowling was a single mother trying to make ends meet
when she wrote Harry Potter. You have time if you make time. Face it, any one
of the top items on the obligation list can take up your whole week, if you
allow that to happen. You simply can’t allow that to happen.
You’re Only as Successful as the
Last Screenplay You Sold
What if you’ve never sold a screenplay? Does that mean that you’re not suc-
cessful? What if your screenplay was purchased but never produced? Or if it
was produced, it bombed at the box office? Or if it was commercially success-
ful and critically panned? Or if it was critically successful and socially
panned? Are you successful then?
The real questions to ask are “Why am I writing?” and “How do I define suc-
cess?” If you’re writing to make money, you’re writing for the wrong reasons.
You may never make money. If you’re writing to seek critical acclaim, you’re
writing for the wrong reasons. Think of all the artists who died prior to
achieving that goal. In order to write continually, you have to love the
process, writer’s block and all. You have to love finding an idea and develop-
ing it into a story. You have to love pounding away at a computer all day,
even when you hate it. You have to love words and images and action.
More importantly, you have to redefine success. Know what you’re trying to
achieve in each script and push yourself to accomplish that task. If your pur-
pose is to write a piece that sells, so be it. Do the research, watch the market,
and sell the script. If your purpose is to ask a question, ask it in every scene.
If you write because you love the process, you’ll be far better off when you
approach the West Coast. Your scripts aren’t always going to sell; those that
sell won’t always make money. If you love the process more than the product,
you’ll write regardless of how your last script fared.
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I’m Not Talented Enough to Be a Writer
This myth is so common that it borders on an affliction. Every writer harbors
an internal critic, otherwise known as the “little voice,” and “I’m not talented
enough to be a writer” is the voice’s favorite quip. It is, of course, a false
notion. You have talent. Anyone who’s made it through adolescence has a
story to tell and the experience with which to tell it. The real issue here is
whether you have something to say. Do you have a question that you want to
explore on the page? Has something made you angry, confused, exhilarated,
or curious? If you answer yes to these questions, you should be writing.
Fear is a funny thing. It can be your best friend; it can force you to do research
and prepare for a project in ways that you wouldn’t have attempted in a more
relaxed state. It can also completely shut you down. If you’re worried about
your own talent, remember this: If you choose to honor the fear, it will weaken
your work. If you choose to honor the work, it will weaken your fear.
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• Numerics •
3:10 to Yuma (film), 27, 105
20th Century Fox, 272
• A •
About a Boy (film), 127, 136
about-face, 231
abstract goal, 135
abstract time clock, 68–69
academic education, 141
acquired education, 142
Across the Universe (musical), 168
Act I
first ten pages, 225–226
inciting incident, 12, 183, 226–227
opening moments, 225
plot point one, 227
Act II
about-face, 231
creating impediments, 230
defined, 85
determining action, 229–230
information within, 95
midpoint, 231
plants, 230
plot point two, 231–232
purpose of, 228
Act III
characteristics, 232
climax, 232–233
resolution, 233–234
action
defined, 87
formatting, 213
genre, 26–27
opening with, 81
of the scene, 202
spectacles, 246
active listening, 154
actors, 270, 302
adaptation
defined, 251
fiction to film, 255–257
music, 259
from original source, 12–13, 260–261
poetry, 259
stage to screen, 257–259
troubleshooting, 262
types of, 253–254
Adaptation (film), 318
adapted from (adaptation), 254
adjectives, eliminating excessive, 49
ADR (additional dialogue replacement), 273
adventure (genre), 26–27
Adventures in the Screen Trade (Goldman), 312
adverbs, eliminating excessive, 49
Affliction (film), 68, 105
Age of Innocence (film), 68
agents/agencies. See also query letter
approaching, 296–302
“cold call” compared with “drop in,” 301–302
literary, 297
locating, 294–295
meetings with, 304–305
overview, 271
packaging, 297
pitching without, 302–304
query letter, 298–301
size, 297
traits, 296–297
Allen, Woody, 42
alliteration, 149–150
Altman, Robert, 164
American Beauty (film)
about-face, 231
awards, 314
beginning of, 82
characters in, 79–80, 106, 109, 125–126,
138, 145
conclusion of, 119
middle of, 101–102
plant, 98
plot point two, 232
Anderson, Wes, 317–318
Angela’s Ashes (McCourt), 323
angle on, 217
antagonist
defined, 92
strengthening, 244
Arachnophobia (film)
backstory, 64
character makeovers, 243
conflicts and obstacles, 93
plants, 230
Index
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arc
character, 243
dramatic, 105
Aristotle
biography, 70–71
Poetics, 70–72
arsenal, elements of, 39
art
factors of, 27–28
house (genre), 27
artistic license, 43
assonance, 149–150
atmosphere development, 78–79
attentive listening, 154
attitude, 275–276
attorneys, 302
audience
connecting with, 61–63
identifying, 58–61
pros and cons of focusing on, 60–61
Aviator, The (film), 67, 316
• B •
Back to the Future (film)
characters in, 96
story elements in, 114–115
theme of, 289
backstory
character rewrites, 244
defined, 63, 94, 255
developing a screenplay through, 65–66
elements of, 63–64
Ball, Alan, 99, 313–314
banter, 116
Barton Fink (film), 266
based on (adaptation), 254
beat sheet, 185
Beautiful Mind, A (film), 13, 64, 91, 93, 108
Being John Malkovich (film), 107, 318
Best in Show (film), 166
Big Chill, The (film), 50, 80
big event, 180
Big Lebowski, The (film), 266
Billy Elliot (film), 289, 293
Blade Runner (film), 138
Blair Witch Project, The (film), 27, 98, 274
blogs, 279
bolstering and breaking away process, 22
Braveheart (film), 68, 77, 135
Broderick, Matthew, 137–138
Bronx Tale, A (film), 142
Buena Vista Motion Pictures Group, 272–273
Burnham, Lester, 125, 126, 138
business (of the scene), 202
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (film), 312
The Buzz, 273
• C •
Cage, Nicolas, 316
camera
angle on, 217
close-up, 216
importance of, 45
insert, 215
intercut, 215
montage, 216
point of view, 217
series of shots, 215–216
split screen, 217
superimpose, 217
types of scripts, 214
Cameron, James, 165
Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely
Stripper (Cody), 320
Capone, Al, as character in The Untouchables
(film)
as antagonist, 101
character goals, 135, 136–137
character name, 123
resolution, 118-119
in scene one, 81–82
Capote, Truman, 9
Capra, Francis, 142
cascading, 116
Casino Royale (film), 80
Castle Rock Entertainment, 272
Cat In The Hat, The (film), 254
catalyst, 12, 183, 226–227
Cather, Willa, 9
Chaplin, Charlie, 92, 172
character arc
defined, 130
makeovers, 243
tracking, 105–107
character building. See also characters
approaches to, 122
balancing dialogue and action, 134–135
character argument, 132–133
constructing internal worlds, 129–133
dreams and desires, 130, 133
establishing routines, 136
internal obstacles, 131–133
making inner worlds visible, 133–138
narrators, 137–138
talents and expertise, 130–131, 133
character voice, scene description compared
with, 48
characters. See also character building
actions in climax, 111
appearance, 124–125
argument, 132–133
building generic physical worlds, 127
crafting goals, 135
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crafting secondary, 138
dialogue, 246
education, 141–142
emotions, 144–145, 246
external changes affecting, 106
forcing choices, 136–137
geographic location, 143–144
internal transformations affecting, 106–107
introductions in formatting, 207–210
makeovers, 243–244
names, 123–124
neutral phrases, 147
overview, 71, 121
physical being, 122–125
physical environment, 125–129
in play, 128–129
professions, 142–143
providing opportunities, 135–136
at rest, 126–128
rewrites, 244
stage to screen, 258–259
status, 160–161
at work, 126
Chicago (musical and film), 13, 170
Chocolat (film), 246
choreography, 213
Cider House Rules (film), 254
cinematic auteurs, 266
cinematic description
location, choreography, and action, 213
slug line, 210–212
sound and special effects, 212–213
cinematographers, 271
Citizen Kane (film), 316
climate, 108
climax
crafting tips, 233
defined, 12, 107, 110
elements of strong, 110–111
overview, 183, 232–233
close-up, 216
Clueless (film), 144
Cody, Diablo, 320
Coen, Ethan, 265–266
Coen, Joel, 265–266
“cold call”, “drop in” compared with, 301–302
Cold Mountain (film), 254
collaboration, 263–264
colloquialisms, 144
color, 20
Columbia Pictures, 272
comedy, 26
Comedy Central Films, 272
competitive time clock, 68
composer, 167
concept elements, 181
conclusion
crafting of, 109–112
guidance in writing, 104
successful, 117–119
conferences, 279–280
conflict
defined, 79
development of, 79–80
introducing, 92–94
consistency problems, 241
consultant (script), 274
contact list, 276–277
contests, 280–281
continuation, 219–220
contrasting elements, 20
Coppola, Francis Ford, 316
Coppola, Sofia, 316–317
copyrights
The Library of Congress, 285
Literary Property Agreement, 253
obtaining permission, 252–253
optioning agreement, 253
“poor-man’s copyright,” 286
understanding, 252
Writer’s Guild of America (WGA), 285–286
courses (screenwriting), 280–281
coverage
defined, 273, 290
sample form, 291
Cowboy Mouth (film), 148–149
craft
form, 46
of screenwriting, 9
technique, 46–50
talent, compared with, 40
Crash (film), 25, 114, 172
Crazy Salad (Ephron), 315
creative arsenal, 39
creative process, 38
criticism/critique, 250
current events, 42
cut to, 219
CutePDF writer, 207
cutting scripts, 247–248
cyclical structure, 164
• D •
Daily Variety (trade publication), 279, 295
Damon, Matt, 98, 106, 112, 137, 142, 146
Darjeeling Limited, The (film), 317
dark comedy, 26
De Niro, Robert, 130
Dead Poets Society (film), 20
deconstructing plot, 242–243
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Index
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