QandA

Outlines aren’t essential

June 10, 2011 QandA, Writing Process

I looked at your outline for Big Fish and noticed you had it broken up into acts and what happens in each act. How exactly did you know what was suppose to happen? How do you start to figure it out?

For me, I might know some of the events pretty clearly but I might not know what happens in-between. Or I might know the middle and end, but not the beginning. I find it hard to break down my story the way you do.

Sometimes when I have a scene in my head, I’ll just start writing particular scenes and then go back to figure out more of an outline. Is that wrong?

— Ian Topple
Syosset, NY

It’s not wrong. The correct way to write your screenplay is whatever gets it written.

My original one-page outline for Big Fish is really an anomaly. I rarely go into that level of detail.

Most scripts begin more the way you describe, with a few key moments and characters that gradually chain themselves together. I’ll always have a sense of where the story is going — I can write a third-act scene before I’ve written the end of the first act — but I won’t necessarily know how I’m going to get there.

The sequence outline in the Library came after the first draft, and charted what was actually happening in the script I wrote. It was a way of seeing how the movie was dividing its time between the real world and Edward Bloom’s stories.

Don’t beat yourself up over outlines. Save the self-flagellation for the scenework.

How do you read a script?

June 7, 2011 QandA, Writing Process

questionmark How do you read scripts these days? I am used to reading printed documents and writing and annotating and leaving notes in the margins, but it is becoming really expensive.

And as I look across your blog and other screenwriting sites I notice a lot of people read screenplays on their computer. How can I really learn from and analyze the work without having a physical copy to make notes on? Should I buy a Kindle? iPad? Use a notebook?

— Alandre Drakest
Silver Spring, MD

When I read Other People’s Screenplays, it’s almost always on my iPad. For a PDF, I use either the GoodReader app or iBooks. For an .fdx file, I use FDX Reader. Because, you know, I made it.

Reading a screenplay on the iPad means you can’t circle typos or scribble thoughts in the margins. While some of the PDF apps do a fairly good job with notes and annotations, I haven’t found any of them to be better than paper and pen.

When I read My Own Screenplays, I either use FDX Reader or plain old paper. Printing isn’t admitting defeat. You see some things on paper that you miss on the screen.

For quick-and-dirty proofing, I often choose the two-up setting in the Print dialog box, giving me two smaller pages side-by-side. I do this for drafts I only expect to keep around for a day or two before recycling.

Working with a collaborator on an upcoming project, I’ve started using three-ring binders for my active scripts. I’d always been a brad man, and dismissed binders as un-screenwriterly. But I was a fool.

Binders are kind of awesome.

Pages lie flat, and stay open.
Scripts in three-ring binders don’t get mangled as easily.
I can flip back and forth easily between sections.
For some projects, divider tabs can help you jump to specific sequences. A musical, for example, will have tabs for each song. An action movie might have tabs for each action scene.
When making notes, I can use Post-It notes and flags.
Revised pages snap in nicely, so you don’t always need to reprint the whole thing.
When a project goes into a holding pattern, that binder can sit on the shelf.

As to your Kindle question, the larger Kindle DX is the right size for screenplays, and was briefly popular among the more gadget-inclined screenwriters. But most of those people jumped ship for iPads. I don’t know any who are still using the Kindle for reading scripts.

You are the host of your own talk show

June 1, 2011 Psych 101

I never watched Oprah. But I’m not surprised she had some good parting thoughts:

Each one of you has your own platform. Do not let the trappings here fool you. Mine is a stage in a studio, yours is wherever you are with your own reach, however small or however large that reach is.

Maybe it’s 20 people, maybe it’s 30 people, 40 people, your family, your friends, your neighbors, your classmates, your classroom, your co-workers. Wherever you are, that is your platform, your stage, your circle of influence. That is your talk show, and that is where your power lies.

People underestimate their influence. And use it poorly.

If you like something, don’t just click “Like” on Facebook. Say that you like it. Write about it. Let others know that something is worthy of their attention. If something is wrong, broken or unjust — speak up.

Yes: you have to be mindful of your audience. Curate. Don’t overwhelm their Twitter feeds or drone on in the break room. Say interesting things and people will listen.

But don’t say only the stuff you expect everyone will agree with. Outlying opinions are often ideas everyone is thinking but afraid to say.

Credit your sources. I got this Oprah quote from a blog called Tin Man. I’ve never met the blog’s owner. I don’t know his name, or what made me add his feed to my RSS reader. But I end up reading most of his posts, because he seems consistently thoughtful. That’s not a very high bar to clear. You don’t have to be funny or clever to have an audience. Honest gets you a lot.

Obviously, you’re going to have influence over the people you know and see every day, the circle of 20-40 people Oprah mentions.

But people put a lot of trust in folks they’ve never met. Quite often — usually at Peet’s Coffee on Larchmont — a young screenwriter will tell me they moved to Los Angeles because they read my blog. That’s influence. It didn’t come through screen credits or official decree. It built up gradually, post after post.

When you think about your life as a talk show, it makes you reflect on your opinions. What topics interest you? What do you believe? Are your positions logically consistent? No one expects you to have the answers. They want the conversation.

Oprah didn’t become an icon by giving away cars to housewives. She did it by being the best talk show host she could imagine. That’s a goal that scales well.

Get a manager

May 31, 2011 Film Industry, First Person

Justin Marks is a screenwriter who has worked on feature films ranging from the geek-driven to the way-too-serious. I first met him on the Film France trip to Paris in 2008, when his career was in its early stages.

Last week, Justin tweeted:

Protip: Get a manager. A great manager. The best manager. It’s the difference between having a career and having no career.

On that last note: there are pros who disagree with me. But they came up in a different generation. So be mindful of that.

I mildly disagree, but: I came up in a different generation. I may be wrong. It’s entirely possible that the experience I had coming of age as a screenwriter in the late 90s is enough different that some of my reflex opinions (e.g. managers are useless) should be questioned. I asked Justin to write up his experiences and opinions. He has has graciously agreed.

You can follow Justin on Twitter @justin_marks_.

Hello, my name is Justin Marks, and I’m a working screenwriter.

Feels great to say, doesn’t it? It’s not the kind of job description that happens overnight. It was born of more than a decade of frustration and hard work. Good scripts and bad scripts. Good advice and bad advice. Good days and bad days. Easily the most satisfying and unnerving years of my life.

But when exactly did I become a screenwriter? Was it the first time I wrote a screenplay? The first time I got paid to do it?

No.

For me, the moment I became a screenwriter was when I met my manager. He taught me the fundamentals -– how to build a career in a competitive and at times impossibly frustrating business.

Which is why, with John’s permission, I’d like to speak about this thorny issue of literary managers.

So let me come out and say it: if you want to make it in today’s business, I believe you need a manager. It’s as simple as that.

Strangely, among the community of established writers, you’re not likely to find a strong consensus on this topic. Opinions range everywhere from “they’re awesome” to “what kind of moron are you for giving up ten percent to someone who does nothing?” And while I won’t pretend to be some kind of ultimate authority on the issue, I think my insight can be particularly helpful to other young writers looking for a way to get their start.

Here’s the thing about the writers who say you don’t need a manager: chances are they “broke in” during a very different era. As early as five years ago, there were better DVD sales, a writers’ strike that hadn’t yet happened, and far more studios willing to spend far more money on the development of scripts.

Today, not so much. There are fewer screenwriters being paid to do what they do. Even if you’re an established writer, it means doing a lot more work for free, competing with a lot more writers for assignments, and accepting significantly less than your quote for the assignments you get.

And if you’re not yet an established writer…oh boy. The window of entry has narrowed to a pinhole, and your margin for error is nearly non-existent. Write a bad script, slip it to the studios, and your name will be in that computer system for years to come. Every time someone looks you up, you’ll have the stink of negative coverage tied to your name. It puts ever-more precedence on starting with your best foot forward.

Not to mention the agent issue. Say you’re lucky enough to score one. Congrats! They’ll look out for your best interests, right? Sure. There are great agents out there. But they’re also looking out for the best interests of a thousand other clients their agency now represents –- the result of mergers necessitated by the shrinking job market.

How do you get the attention you need when your agent has to handle hundreds of phone calls from dozens of clients, many of whom are competing with you for the same job?

Enter the manager.

A lot of people wonder what a manager does. After all, an agent gets you jobs. A lawyer negotiates them. So who is this other strange person collecting ten percent in the middle of all that?

Let me answer your question by telling you what my manager does. Or rather, what he did to get me where I am.
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