One of the best screenwriting tips I ever heard was this: write your synopsis for a distracted teenager. And, if you're lucky enough to have a distracted teenager at your disposal, test it out on them.
Why is this valuable advice? Studio readers aren't distracted teenagers (we hope). Big producers, directors, and agents don't watch TV while simultaneously playing Nintendo, texting friends, and updating their myspace page.
But they are busy, distracted people. They live in the 21st century, and therefore have short attention spans and an unquenchable need for constant information input. This makes them anxious and lazy at the same time.
Writing for your probable reader, rather than your optimal reader, forces you to be incredibly clear about your story. It requires you to think it through so it
1. makes sense and
2. is something other people care about.
(I forgot about #2 for the first decade of my writing career. But enough about me.)
This is very difficult, of course. Many (mostly new) writers punt on the whole synopsis issue, and wait to write it only after they've written the script. I'm not sure why they do this. Why wouldn't you want to sort out story problems on one page instead of spending months writing and rewriting a hundred or more just to get it to make sense?
But if writing for a difficult teen just isn't your bag, then consider some other options.
I'm working on a script that's aimed at an adult audience. It's about family and loneliness and all that good stuff. I tried writing it for a child. I made it a fairy tale.
What happens? The same thing that happens when you talk to a child: you break things down into simpler and simpler chunks. Often there's no way around the honesty that arises out of that process. You have to explain things carefully, and lay them out gently. My boyfriend's 6-year-old niece once froze me with the question, "Why do you and he sleep in the same bed?" Then I got on the kid level and answered, "Because he's my favorite person in the whole world." And she smiles and runs off to play. It's that simple. And it's true.
Do that with your synopsis and you're liable to find what you're really writing about, and why it matters. Your characters hew to type a bit. All your three-act gobbledygook transforms into some beautiful archetype.
Next I tried imagining the story from the perspective of my main character. He's a fifty-year-old functional drug addict who's shut himself off from the planet. It's a daydream as he glazes over in front of the computer. Some more issues come into focus: why he'd suddenly sacrifice his safe existence; what he truly cares about and won't let himself have; what he WOULDN'T do that I've been trying to make him do.
It's a worthwhile exercise. It's also very close to what professional writers do regularly when they tailor their synopses, treatments, and query letters to specific individuals.
But for now, realize that this is a tooling for *creating* your story, rather than selling it. These shifts in contexts remind us just how infinite stories are. One slight shift in perspective, and it's all new again.
Showing posts with label synopsis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label synopsis. Show all posts
Friday, August 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Throwing First Drafts at the Wall
Like a lot of writers, I'm cursed with perfectionism. It's hard for me to just leave something be. If a scene's not as sharp as it looks in my head, I'll sit with it all day. A few nights ago I woke up at 4 AM with the solution to a problem in a script I finished two years ago. I couldn't sleep until I wrote it down. I revise my loglines and synopses daily. Perfectionism has a good side, obviously. But perfection is overrated.
Perfectionism also has a price. It's why a lot of people either don't write, or never finish anything. It's why they never show their work around, and get good advice or new solutions. My first draft of my first script took well over a year to finish. I thought it was Shakespeare. I knew nuthin'.
I got around a lot of my perfectionism issues with the synopsis tool, which I've talked about before and may again. It's a heck of a lot easier to work out your ideas on a single page than in 120. Since it's easier, you might as well try new ideas out to see how they fly. You can afford to spend the day throwing mud at the wall.
Writing is circular and squirrel-ish and difficult, and just as you think you've nailed something down, the same problem will pop up elsewhere. It's like Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny around the rabbit holes. And this is why first drafts are so important.
In a first draft, you're still throwing mud at the wall. And you need to allow yourself to get a little messy and unpresentable if you're going to get anything to stick. There's going to be some atrocious dialogue. There's going to be jokes that you like, but that don't fit. You'll realize that, for gangsters, your characters spend an awful lot of time talking about their relationships and staring at the sea. For some reason it takes thirty pages to get two characters into a room together with their clothes off.
That's frequently what a first draft looks like. And it's a good thing, because all of those problems are actually answers if you look at them from the other way round. Nothing will make you think about easier ways than plodding through those thirty pages. You'll zap those pages, and suddenly she'll step off the bus and into his life. You'll look at your gangsters and realize what kind of script you want to write. That good joke that doesn't fit tells you where it might fit. The atrocious dialogue leads you straight to some really strong action.
And if you listen to what your first draft is telling you, you will probably end up changing most of it.
Embrace that. Throwing mud at the wall is more fun than the perfectionist in you ever had.
Perfectionism also has a price. It's why a lot of people either don't write, or never finish anything. It's why they never show their work around, and get good advice or new solutions. My first draft of my first script took well over a year to finish. I thought it was Shakespeare. I knew nuthin'.
I got around a lot of my perfectionism issues with the synopsis tool, which I've talked about before and may again. It's a heck of a lot easier to work out your ideas on a single page than in 120. Since it's easier, you might as well try new ideas out to see how they fly. You can afford to spend the day throwing mud at the wall.
Writing is circular and squirrel-ish and difficult, and just as you think you've nailed something down, the same problem will pop up elsewhere. It's like Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny around the rabbit holes. And this is why first drafts are so important.
In a first draft, you're still throwing mud at the wall. And you need to allow yourself to get a little messy and unpresentable if you're going to get anything to stick. There's going to be some atrocious dialogue. There's going to be jokes that you like, but that don't fit. You'll realize that, for gangsters, your characters spend an awful lot of time talking about their relationships and staring at the sea. For some reason it takes thirty pages to get two characters into a room together with their clothes off.
That's frequently what a first draft looks like. And it's a good thing, because all of those problems are actually answers if you look at them from the other way round. Nothing will make you think about easier ways than plodding through those thirty pages. You'll zap those pages, and suddenly she'll step off the bus and into his life. You'll look at your gangsters and realize what kind of script you want to write. That good joke that doesn't fit tells you where it might fit. The atrocious dialogue leads you straight to some really strong action.
And if you listen to what your first draft is telling you, you will probably end up changing most of it.
Embrace that. Throwing mud at the wall is more fun than the perfectionist in you ever had.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Revisiting a script.
I have a couple scripts slowly winding their way toward production. It's a lesson. I was hired for a rewrite on a gay love story. They wanted a psychological drama instead. And it's to be set in the U.S., and not Brazil. Then it got moved to Brazil for tax reasons. Then it got moved again. Then there was supposed to be a happy ending for the straight couple. And the whole gay love issue, which got pushed into the subtext, well, it was okay to use a bit more of that to turn up the tension. There's still another rewrite coming before it gets shot.
Sound awful? It isn't. If you're thinking about your settings and characters, you'll find more there than you ever will slogging through dialogue. And each of those changes, as drastic as they sound, is an opportunity to explore your characters, learn more about the set ups, and find more dramatic ways to bring your story to the screen. While writers naturally have a lot of "ownership" of their work, a screenwriter doesn't have the luxury of it the same way a novelist does. We're just the first step. And a good storyteller needs to be able to use the tools he has available.
I talked about one of those tools -- synopsis -- at length a few weeks back. Once you have that technique down, it's AMAZING how simply reworking the sentences to bring forward one aspect or another, or to brainstorm uses of new locations, can tell you more about the story than you knew existed before.
I'm adding a character to a different script for the same director now. He's got an exciting actress to play a part. She's good for investors in the first script, and adding her to the second is a smart strategy. I've learned enough at this stage that I'm thrilled at the opportunity to go back to my old work, find what needs work, and use the new tool I have wherever possible to make it better. I can't talk about the specifics too directly, but suffice it to say that she's a comic character, and everything the main bad guy envies. She'll be in a few scenes, tell a few jokes, and drive the bad guy to distraction. And it'll add exactly the kind of depth that the main character needs.
It's moments like this that make me glad to be a screenwriter...
Sound awful? It isn't. If you're thinking about your settings and characters, you'll find more there than you ever will slogging through dialogue. And each of those changes, as drastic as they sound, is an opportunity to explore your characters, learn more about the set ups, and find more dramatic ways to bring your story to the screen. While writers naturally have a lot of "ownership" of their work, a screenwriter doesn't have the luxury of it the same way a novelist does. We're just the first step. And a good storyteller needs to be able to use the tools he has available.
I talked about one of those tools -- synopsis -- at length a few weeks back. Once you have that technique down, it's AMAZING how simply reworking the sentences to bring forward one aspect or another, or to brainstorm uses of new locations, can tell you more about the story than you knew existed before.
I'm adding a character to a different script for the same director now. He's got an exciting actress to play a part. She's good for investors in the first script, and adding her to the second is a smart strategy. I've learned enough at this stage that I'm thrilled at the opportunity to go back to my old work, find what needs work, and use the new tool I have wherever possible to make it better. I can't talk about the specifics too directly, but suffice it to say that she's a comic character, and everything the main bad guy envies. She'll be in a few scenes, tell a few jokes, and drive the bad guy to distraction. And it'll add exactly the kind of depth that the main character needs.
It's moments like this that make me glad to be a screenwriter...
Friday, March 16, 2007
Tools and Character
Now we've identified a set of problems in our story with X's. And, by describing and building out our characters, we've got some solutions. Wha?! We do?!
Yes, we do. One more rule for a good story, not only must the story be identifiable throughout, so must the character. Think about it. What would happen if you watched an action film all the way to the climax, and then the hero got himself out of his pickle because of something that wasn't established earlier? It would seem like a cop out, right? Characters need to be organic, and they need to grow. The audience wants to explore them, whether they're fighting aliens or dealing with a divorce.
So take your X's. And take your list of character traits. What can your character DO to solve the problem? Find a trait and try matching it to a problem, then brainstorm possibilities.
Inevitably, action and visual convey information much better than dialogue. They are also more entertaining. Let's go back to the hedge fund trading issue -- an issue that's complex and difficult for the audience, but necessary for the plot.
What's the hedge fund trader like? He's ambitious, driven, ruthless, greedy. He's a womanizer and he's got a penchant for expensive gadgets. His weak spot? He feels guilty about his mother, who lives alone and misses him, but he never has time for.
How do you match these two problems?
Bob the hedge fund manager is in his office. He stares at his computer screen.
His secretary arrives with an important file. He tells her to get out.
He watches the numbers on the screen tumble.
His wife calls. He doesn't answer.
The numbers fall further. Beads of sweat form on his forehead.
His mistress calls him from the restaurant. He's late.
As the price on the fund drops to 25,000, he sends in his order.
As it goes through, he holds up his hand in triumph. The phone rings again.
He picks it up, expecting his wife.
"What do you want?"
His mother answers, "Bobby? Is that you?"
He shuffles to get off the phone, but fails to notice that the price is now moving in the wrong direction.
We know all we need to know, and we've learned more about him.
Next time: The instinct to go with dialogue.
Yes, we do. One more rule for a good story, not only must the story be identifiable throughout, so must the character. Think about it. What would happen if you watched an action film all the way to the climax, and then the hero got himself out of his pickle because of something that wasn't established earlier? It would seem like a cop out, right? Characters need to be organic, and they need to grow. The audience wants to explore them, whether they're fighting aliens or dealing with a divorce.
So take your X's. And take your list of character traits. What can your character DO to solve the problem? Find a trait and try matching it to a problem, then brainstorm possibilities.
Inevitably, action and visual convey information much better than dialogue. They are also more entertaining. Let's go back to the hedge fund trading issue -- an issue that's complex and difficult for the audience, but necessary for the plot.
What's the hedge fund trader like? He's ambitious, driven, ruthless, greedy. He's a womanizer and he's got a penchant for expensive gadgets. His weak spot? He feels guilty about his mother, who lives alone and misses him, but he never has time for.
How do you match these two problems?
Bob the hedge fund manager is in his office. He stares at his computer screen.
His secretary arrives with an important file. He tells her to get out.
He watches the numbers on the screen tumble.
His wife calls. He doesn't answer.
The numbers fall further. Beads of sweat form on his forehead.
His mistress calls him from the restaurant. He's late.
As the price on the fund drops to 25,000, he sends in his order.
As it goes through, he holds up his hand in triumph. The phone rings again.
He picks it up, expecting his wife.
"What do you want?"
His mother answers, "Bobby? Is that you?"
He shuffles to get off the phone, but fails to notice that the price is now moving in the wrong direction.
We know all we need to know, and we've learned more about him.
Next time: The instinct to go with dialogue.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Brainstorming the Synopsis
Welcome back! So you've got a great idea for a script, and you followed my last recommendation for getting started:
Write down what the movie audience sees. Action. Visuals. Try to tell the story without telling us what the story means.
Good job! Some of you have pages and pages. Some of you probably have a paragraph. Whatever you have, it's fine. There are only two absolutes in the world: Everything Tastes Better With Bacon and Start Where You Are.
Now we're going to start brainstorming MORE story for you, and making sure that your story works on film. And we're going to use the three-act structure. Why? Because it's what audiences are used to. It works in films. It works in short stories and novels. It works in Greek tragedy and detergent commercials. It's more or less what the human brain is wired for. Many of you are resistant to you, because it sounds like a formula. It CAN be used like a formula. But when it's used to support creativity rather than tap it down, it's an incredibly useful tool.
It's this simple:
Bob falls in love with Karen.
Bob fights for Karen.
Bob marries Karen.
Now take a look at your own story, and find the on-screen moments that "book end" your script. What starts the script, and what ends it.
Why is that a better story than Bob falls in love with Karen, Bob fights for Karen, Bob gets a job out of state? Because there's UNITY in the tale. The beginning tells us what the story's about, and the ending should satisfy that question. Screenwriters often know what the ending of their story is -- the big message, the big climax, the big pay off. And because they know that, they know where to start.
Take a moment and ask yourself if the question asked at the opening is really answered by the event at the end.
Next, BRAINSTORM.
1. Look JUST at the opening. Come up with three scenes that answer the questions asked. Remember, use just the action and visuals an audience will see on screen.
2. Look JUST at the ending. Just like before, use only what a movie audience can witness, and come up with three new openings.
What's the most dramatic combination of all these options?
I'll bet money it's the points that are as FAR AWAY from each other as possible. Now you've got an opening and an ending that are probably farther apart than they were originally.
3. Push it again. What's ONE CRUCIAL DETAIL about the MAIN CHARACTER that make the journey from beginning to end even MORE OF A STRUGGLE?
It looks like I've left out an absolute: Drama, it appears, is the distance (physical, emotional, or otherwise) a character travels in the course of a script.
More soon. Feel free to post your beginning and ending moments in the comments section. I'll be happy to comment on them!
Write down what the movie audience sees. Action. Visuals. Try to tell the story without telling us what the story means.
Good job! Some of you have pages and pages. Some of you probably have a paragraph. Whatever you have, it's fine. There are only two absolutes in the world: Everything Tastes Better With Bacon and Start Where You Are.
Now we're going to start brainstorming MORE story for you, and making sure that your story works on film. And we're going to use the three-act structure. Why? Because it's what audiences are used to. It works in films. It works in short stories and novels. It works in Greek tragedy and detergent commercials. It's more or less what the human brain is wired for. Many of you are resistant to you, because it sounds like a formula. It CAN be used like a formula. But when it's used to support creativity rather than tap it down, it's an incredibly useful tool.
It's this simple:
Bob falls in love with Karen.
Bob fights for Karen.
Bob marries Karen.
Now take a look at your own story, and find the on-screen moments that "book end" your script. What starts the script, and what ends it.
Why is that a better story than Bob falls in love with Karen, Bob fights for Karen, Bob gets a job out of state? Because there's UNITY in the tale. The beginning tells us what the story's about, and the ending should satisfy that question. Screenwriters often know what the ending of their story is -- the big message, the big climax, the big pay off. And because they know that, they know where to start.
Take a moment and ask yourself if the question asked at the opening is really answered by the event at the end.
Next, BRAINSTORM.
1. Look JUST at the opening. Come up with three scenes that answer the questions asked. Remember, use just the action and visuals an audience will see on screen.
2. Look JUST at the ending. Just like before, use only what a movie audience can witness, and come up with three new openings.
What's the most dramatic combination of all these options?
I'll bet money it's the points that are as FAR AWAY from each other as possible. Now you've got an opening and an ending that are probably farther apart than they were originally.
3. Push it again. What's ONE CRUCIAL DETAIL about the MAIN CHARACTER that make the journey from beginning to end even MORE OF A STRUGGLE?
It looks like I've left out an absolute: Drama, it appears, is the distance (physical, emotional, or otherwise) a character travels in the course of a script.
More soon. Feel free to post your beginning and ending moments in the comments section. I'll be happy to comment on them!
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