Schellhardt Laura. Screenwriting for Dummies

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is to imagine a moment or an image that satisfies all the senses. For example,

say that you’ve chosen the element of light. You decide that the light in your

image comes from a single candle. Next, you choose location and decide that

the image takes place in an abandoned warehouse. You might choose sound

next and layer in the dripping of water in the distance, or the scuttling of rats

off in the corners of the room. You get the idea. By the time you’re done, you

have a complete image in your mind’s eye. That image may or may not sug-

gest a scene or a situation. In any case, you’re training your imagination to

create something from nothing.

From the inside out

In the second method, you begin with a preconceived image. This method

is particularly helpful after you’ve settled on a story idea and have a few

moments devised within it. Now, you begin what I call the “bolstering and

breaking away” process.

First, go down the list and make sure that you’ve included each element in

the image. Challenge yourself to make specific choices. You may know that it

takes place at dusk, but do you know what color dusk is in your image? Dusk

in the woods of Colorado is distinctly different from dusk in Manhattan. After

you’ve gone down the list once, start stripping the elements away. One by

one, those portions of the moment disappear until you’re left with what?

Which is the last element remaining? This process may help to suggest the

most important aspects of each image as well as the movement within it.

Part I: So You Want to Write for Pictures

From something to nothing

Now, I give you a full image and let you strip it

down. Take away one sentence at a time.

Image: The sound of sirens. Red and yellow

lights flash through the space, illuminating

the scene of an accident. It is nighttime in the

city and raining. Doors open up in a hall down

the way, and teenagers flock outside. A

school dance has just let out. Boisterous

music filters through the streets. Some of the

kids notice the accident and linger to watch.

Others hurry home or take off hand in hand

down the street. A hubcap spins off the car,

rolls for a stretch, then clatters on the ground.

You decide how you want to eliminate details.

And you do want to eliminate them. In film,

description is brief, every word is important. If a

detail wants to hang in for a while, take the

others away and save it for last. Try reversing

the order in which you eliminate them. Which

order feels right? In this way, you find out how

the image should organize itself and which por-

tions of it you’re particularly attached to.

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Chapter 3

Diving In to the

Screenwriter’s Mind

In This Chapter

 Finding out from other writers what works (and what doesn’t)

 Focusing on and blurring genres

 Thinking like a writer

 Creating an opening image

 Projects to get you started

ith the incredible variety of movies that come out each year, you may

think that the only thing screenwriters share in common is their pro-

fession. Like most artists, screenwriters have different methods of finding an

idea and developing a story. Some ransack the local libraries, writing between

ever-growing stacks of books. Some haunt coffeehouses, waiting for the next

great conversation to pick up nearby. Some writers interview, and some adapt.

Were you to question a small handful of writers, your head would soon whirl

with differing opinions, approaches, advice, and techniques. So where does

an aspiring writer begin?

For starters, take a closer look at writers. Literally. Look at them. You may

notice a glazed or faraway glint in their eyes; their heads may tilt to one

side as if listening for something behind them; their speech may clip along

mechanically. Overall, you may feel that they’re really somewhere else. And

why not? After all, they’re working. They’re not sitting in front of a notepad

or a computer, but they’re still working.

A screenwriter’s sensibility resembles that of a conscientious parent who has

children romping upstairs. He or she never knows when something more

important may call him or her out of the room. A screenwriter moves through

the world with a heightened awareness — a writer’s awareness. Can you

develop this sensibility? Sure. It just takes practice and a few friends who are

willing to put up with the new, perhaps improved, you.

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Learning from Other Writers

The first step in approaching any artistic medium is to surround yourself with

examples of the art form. If you want to paint, you go to a museum. If you want

to compose, you buy scores of music or frequent concert halls. If you want to

write movies, you do two things: First, you study the impact of films firsthand

by going to the cinema and by supporting your local video store. Second, you

discover much about writing movies by reading screenplays — lots of screen-

plays. The time you dedicate to reading can reap great rewards.

Here are just a few of the many things you’ll garner from other writers:

 Multiple points of view: The most compelling stories are told again and

again. They continue to be written because each writer has a unique

approach. Reading other writers forces you to consider similar stories

from not-so-similar angles.

 Clarity of opinions and ethics: The best screenplays ask difficult ques-

tions. Considering those questions as you read can help clarify your own

set of beliefs.

 A sense of language: Strong writers possess a large vocabulary and an

understanding of grammar. Different writers use different words in differ-

ent ways. Learn from them.

 An understanding of format: Many new writers know what they want to

say but are unsure of how to lay it out on the page. Reading other screen-

plays familiarizes you with the format.

 An enjoyable way to spend a few hours: Screenplays are fun, fast reads.

Reading one is like traveling without standing in line or spending more

than $10 on airfare.

Finding screenplays to read is now a fairly easy endeavor. You can find most

popular scripts online for free. I encourage you to examine failure as well

as success here. In addition to watching great movies and reading well-

constructed scripts, study some box-office disappointments and scripts that

failed to tell a compelling story. (The two are not always mutually exclusive.)

If you can identify what components of the story caused it to fail, you may be

able to avoid the same fate in the future.

All in all, reading screenplays provides a familiarity with the craft itself. You’re

learning through osmosis — the gradual, often unconscious absorption of

details. Reading screenplays regularly can prepare you, and often encourage

you, to sit down to write with confidence.

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Reading for dramatic intent

After reading a screenplay once through for the general story, you may try

scanning it again to concentrate on one portion of the development. Among

the items to track are

 How the writer develops characters

 How the writer structures crucial events

 What images the writer repeats and why

 What techniques the writer employs to move from scene to scene

 The writer’s dramatic intent

The first four items on the list tackle how and when the writer gives the audi-

ence relevant information. Detailing the people in the script, revealing key

secrets, and manipulating images are all part of character and plot develop-

ment, which I discuss further in Part II. For now, I just concentrate on the

final item on the list — dramatic intent.

Dramatic intent, also known as the premise, refers to the screenplay’s specific

purpose or design. It alludes to the main question the screenplay asks or the

thought a writer attempts to communicate through story.

What’s the writer trying to say? What does the writer want to know? Keep

these two questions in mind as you read for dramatic intent. The strongest,

most complex scripts are written out of a great need: the need to understand

life and human interaction or the need to test on the page something the

writer has learned. This need determines the screenplay’s subject. So when

you’re looking for dramatic intent, keep an eye out for three things:

 Point of view: Who or what does the writer want you to root for? To

condemn? Does the writer have an opinion on the events you’re watch-

ing, and how do you know? If you can answer these questions, you’ve

probably located the writer’s point of view.

 Theory: Does the script present a hypothesis that the action then tries

to prove? Look at the movie Crash, an edgy look at the racial stereo-

types alienating people from one another. Each scene proves that

assumptions about race are not usually good ones.

 Questions: What questions keep you reading? Which ones crop up again

and again? Every scene in the movie When Harry Met Sally asks the

question, Can best friends sustain a romantic relationship? Generally,

the characters’ answers to the question may suggest the story’s

conclusion.

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The most compelling screenplays engage the audience with the inquiries or

opinions. If you answer the main question in the first few frames, people have

no reason to continue watching your film. If you ask the question in a variety

of ways, people can form their own answers. Present several arguments, and

they may even change their opinions once or twice. In other words, you give

them the ability to participate in your story rather than simply observe it.

Why read for dramatic intent? Screenwriters write in part because they have

something to communicate. No doubt you have something to say and are,

therefore, pursuing the craft. If you can locate another writer’s intent, you

may discover how to craft scenes that present your own. Look at scripts you

admire. What questions do they pose? What about them keeps audiences

guessing, or on the edge of their seats, or both? If you can locate the thematic

questions of other films, you’ll quickly discover what themes sustain an

entire draft, and which fall short.

Recognizing a screenplay’s genre

Take a walk through your local video store and jot down the categories videos

are shelved under. These categories outline each movie’s genre.

A film’s genre refers to the artistic category it belongs to. The genre is gener-

ally determined by a distinctive style, form, or content. It sometimes alludes

to the way writers approach their subject. Comedies and dramas, for instance,

often approach the same subject in very different ways.

The most common genres include

 Comedy: Comedies approach subjects with humor (of course). Dark

comedies and romantic comedies fall within this genre. Dark comedies,

such as Fargo, tackle heartbreaking or frightening material in a comic

way, and romantic comedies like Sleepless In Seattle, explore that

crazy thing called love.

 Drama: Dramas tend to be true-to-life stories of a serious nature. They

may contain humorous moments, but the overall effect is poignant and

sometimes tragic. There Will Be Blood and No Country for Old Men

are examples of this genre.

 Sci-Fi and Fantasy: These movies take audiences to a future time frame

or an imaginary world. The characters may or may not be human beings,

the rules of science may not apply, and the locations may or may not

resemble ours. The Matrix films and the Lord of the Rings trilogy are

successful examples of such a genre.

 Action and Adventure: These films portray characters tackling danger-

ous events in an atmosphere of excitement and suspense. The charac-

ters may be on a quest, as in the Indiana Jones series, or they may be

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in physical combat against a formidable enemy, as in Rambo. Generally,

they encounter both — they’re on a quest and must defeat the foe

before they can complete it.

 Family: If you can take your children to see a film, it probably belongs in

this genre. Family movies generally lack cursing, sexual content, and

graphic violence. For this reason, they have the G or PG rating. This

genre may include animation. Monsters, Inc. and Ratatouille are some

successful examples of this genre.

 Horror and Suspense: These two different genres attack the same sub-

ject. Horror films tend to be more graphic in their violence, such as the

Saw series or Scream, while suspense films generally depict a steadily

unfolding mystery. Virtually every Alfred Hitchcock film falls within the

suspense genre. When deftly executed, both genres make you want to

lock all the doors and turn on the lights.

 Art House and Independent: These often low-budget films don’t hail

from large production companies. The Blair Witch Project and Welcome

to the Dollhouse are some successful examples. These films often allow

more creative freedom, which may account for their acute sense of style.

Many of the strongest scripts combine genres, thereby appealing to a broader

audience. Star Wars, one of the most successful movies of all time, is both

a sci-fi film and an action/adventure. E.T., another blockbuster hit, is a sci-fi

and a family film with elements of adventure. 3:10 to Yuma is a suspenseful

adventure film. If you can identify the genre (or genres) of any movie you see,

you can quickly pick up the kinds of events associated with it. Although you

can’t follow a specific formula for writing a particular genre, an intimate

knowledge of the categories can help you identify your own.

Art and Life: What’s the Difference?

Well, for starters, yes, art and life are different, and acknowledging the differ-

ence is important, if only to give direction to your work. Much of what you

write will stem from personal experience, events relayed to you, or stories

you pull from primary sources like the news.

Just because it happened, doesn’t mean that it’s noteworthy, let alone screen-

worthy. An essay on what you did for your summer vacation may not be the

best source material for a film — unless, of course, your summer vacation

involved a torrid love affair, a deep-sea adventure, a family crisis, or a revela-

tion on what it means to be human. If that’s the case, it may have artistic

potential. If that’s not the case, abandon the premise and move on, because

it’s probably not art. You may, however, find yourself writing what you think

should have happened in any given moment. Hindsight can be a great cine-

matic aid.

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Art serves a purpose. Depending on your affiliations, you may believe life

does as well, but art is generally striving to do at least one of the following

things:

 Clarify an experience. Life moves so quickly, it’s often difficult to know

the significance of a moment while it’s in progress. You may be distracted

by family, friends, or career and miss potentially important events

as they occur. Art places you in the spectator’s chair so that you can

view the larger picture and perhaps understand events more completely.

 Interpret an experience. It’s not enough to live through a moment; human

beings usually want to know why that moment occurred. This desire for

understanding is the reason therapy has become such a lucrative profes-

sion. Art scrutinizes events and presents opinions on why they transpired,

as well as offers thoughts on the consequences.

 Intensify a sensation. I don’t go to movies simply to watch an interest-

ing story unfold. I go to the movies to feel something — to be enraged,

dismayed, horrified, elated, and so on. I go to the cinema in large part

to encounter emotions on a grand scale. Art allows you to focus on and

enhance the emotion surrounding human action.

What do these three goals have in common? They rely on an artist’s selectiv-

ity. To clarify an event, you must break it into moments and place those

moments into a comprehensible sequence. To interpret an event, you must

have an opinion on it, and that opinion will dictate which portions of the

event to script. To intensify a sensation, you must strategically arrange a

scene to affect an audience.

Screenwriters aren’t documentarians. They don’t strive to recreate life exactly

as it happened; they sift through life and choose which parts to show you, in

what order, and for what purpose. Moreover, they do so in the most visually

informative way. So while life may certainly inspire your art, and art may

inspire your life, they’re not the same thing. One you have control over; the

other you do not.

Developing an Artistic Sensibility

You’ve probably heard the saying “Imitation is the oldest form of flattery.” I’m

not suggesting that you copy the stories, or even the style, of other writers,

but you may want to try moving through the world as they do.

In the old stereotype, writers don all black and scowl at the world while

scribbling furiously in a notebook, or they subsist on coffee and cigarettes

while scribbling furiously in a notebook, or they drink heavily while scrib-

bling furiously — well, you get the picture. Although you can certainly offset

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your creative anxiety in healthier ways, that stereotype does contain a small

grain of truth: Writers are always scribbling, into a notebook or otherwise.

Their senses are story-ready, carefully selecting details from their environ-

ment and sequestering them away somewhere for the next great script. Some

writers are born with this awareness, but most hone their skills with each

new project. To develop this sensibility in yourself, you need to take a closer

look at the details writers collect and how they select among them.

What a writer sees

Imagine that you attend a school reunion. You see all the usual trappings: a

welcoming committee equipped with name tags, tables piled with food, a

beverage bar, party decorations, and perhaps a band. Most people find old

friends, socialize a bit, and call it a night. Most people do, but not most

writers.

People watching is a not just a hobby for screenwriters, it’s part of their job.

A screenwriter notices the tight smiles on everyone’s faces, their quizzical

look before they remember someone’s name, the one-time school football

star drinking too much in the corner, the former sweethearts who exchanged

glances and then left arm in arm, and so much more. The writer can also

recreate the scene in such a way that those images are evident to a casual

observer. Under a writer’s piercing gaze, these moments flourish and may

quickly become the next scene in a script.

The writer’s process is no different from any type of physical training. You’re

preparing your eyes to catch certain details — in particular, details that per-

sonalize the scene. Some of those details include

 The scene’s overall layout: Screenwriting consists of visual images con-

structed in a telling way, by which I mean with choice details in mind.

When you enter a space, test how quickly you can assess it, close your

eyes, and then recreate it. How would you write it down so that some-

one else imagines the same space?

 Anything out of the ordinary: Scan the scene for unusual details. What

seems out of place? Who seems ill at ease? The man in the suit wearing

the lovely woman’s wristwatch or the table of sports enthusiasts drink-

ing hot cocoa? Many stories rise out of something curious.

 Telling looks or exchanged glances: If someone looks at another person

for any length of time, usually something’s going on. He may be recalling

a past visit, trying to catch her eye, or checking up on her for someone

else — any number of musings are possible. If two people exchange

glances, a silent conversation’s underway. Watch and see whether you

can translate what’s being said.

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 Loaded gestures: Many conversations take place in a single gesture. A

father puts his hand on his son’s shoulder — this movement may be

menacing, commanding, or supportive depending on how it’s executed.

The gestures of any given moment become a silent score of what’s going

on beneath the conversation. If you can track the gestures, you can

recreate them later.

 Personality quirks: Someone’s eccentricities, physical and emotional,

immediately distinguish that person from others. Twin brothers may

look, walk, and talk alike, but one of them may dress with care while the

other seems to own a single sloppy outfit. If you watch the world long

enough, you soon acquire a list of personality traits ready to enhance

any character you create.

Looking at the world this way eventually becomes a habit. Your eyes auto-

matically adjust to the process. When that occurs, you may be ready to

retrain the next sense — your sense of sound.

What a writer hears

Imagine the school reunion. Interesting visual images crop up all over the

place now, but what sets them off? Is it the loud dance music, the constant

whispering behind you, the clinking of glasses in toast, or the flash and click

of numerous cameras? Screenwriters pick up on all sorts of sounds that

enhance a scene. Try locating the following in your own surroundings:

 Noises that suggest the event: Many scenarios come equipped with their

own soundscapes. You’d be quick to distinguish a christening from an

accident site, even with your eyes closed. Whether your scene takes

place outside in a field or inside a prison cell, the surrounding noises

immediately provide an atmosphere for your piece.

 Noises that punctuate the scene: Occasionally, you may notice a sound

that enhances the moment. If you’re watching a man cry softly to him-

self, the laughter of two lovers nearby may enhance the man’s loneliness

somehow. In the film Little Children, Kate Winslet is often surrounded

by laughing children and young couples in love. The sounds that emerge

as a result further enhance the despair she feels over her failing marriage

and her guilt over an affair.

 The rhythms of conversation: Every conversation has its own unique

tempo. The pace of the voices, the repetition of phrases, the moments of

silence — a screenwriter listens to all these things. Silence, in particular,

can be as effective as dialogue, if not more so, and it certainly contributes

to the punctuation of conversation. Listening to the rhythms of conver-

sation helps you compose your own dialogue.

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 Slang and jargon: These terms refer to words and phrases that suggest

a culture, a socio-economic background, or a profession. They suggest

character immediately, sometimes even location. Filmmaker Spike Lee

often utilizes street slang to differentiate between cultures, gangs, and

prejudices. Television shows like Grey’s Anatomy rely on hospital

jargon to give them a believable edge.

You’re not responsible for including all the sounds that you discover in the

body of your script. However, if you can close your eyes and hear a scene,

you’ll be better able to write it. Sound is often a more intimate way of under-

standing your story. Because the noise represents the world of your charac-

ters, this process may also help you understand their internal dilemmas as

well as the external ones.

What a writer remembers

and what a writer forgets

Enhancing your perceptive skills can be a full-time job. When you consider

the volume of compelling images around you, it’s a wonder that most screen-

plays aren’t four hours long. After your senses adapt to this new process of

viewing the world, finding and recording those details are the easy parts. Like

spring-cleaning, the difficulty comes in selecting which few you may keep and

letting the rest go.

Of course, which exact details a writer cherishes and which he forgets will

vary according to personality. However, if you’re stumped as to what you

may hold on to, consider the following information.

It may be important to remember

 Details that create a compelling image: By a compelling image, I mean

one that is full — full of tension, full of emotion, full of movement, full of

life. A screenwriter’s job is to grab an audience’s attention through such

images. You should be able to see a character’s emotional state on-screen.

Remember what catches your eye in this way.

 Details that raise a question: Questions are the key to strong writing.

Personal questions fuel the desire to write and find answers; the charac-

ters’ questions determine the choices they make throughout your story.

Any detail that forces a question is worth remembering.

 Details that tug at your moral or ethical code: Hopefully, every script

you write will serve some purpose — to inspire, to spark debate, to

inquire, to entertain, and so on. In order to communicate clearly, a

writer needs to know what she stands for and why. Any details that

refute or support your own views may come in handy later.

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