Screenwriting: beyond structure, solving a mystery

Even after teachers began to tell me that I was ready to "go for it" as a screenwriter, I kept taking courses. And I hope to keep taking them!

In business of screenwriting class, Frank Wuliger told us that out of the entire room fewer than 10 people would make their living as screenwriters. Throughout the semester it was intriguing to meet each guest speaker and listen to them talk about how their love of screenwriting and storytelling was realized through their work as agents, managers, producers and studio execs. They spoke about their respect for writers and the craft of writing, and each guest had helped screenwriters' stories come to life onscreen.

I'm now preparing send out queries and work every source so that my work will be read. Until then, it has been fun to use things I've learned in writing classes at USC in my work as an editor/writer for a non-profit organization.

Within the last year or so I began to understand one of the mysteries I'd tried for years to solve—how to craft a screenplay to increase the chance that the audience will feel as if five minutes have elapsed when they've been watching the screen for an hour and a half or longer. Even after earning the master of professional writing degree I had much more to learn about this; I knew I couldn't work on my own unless I figured it out.

Courses in screenplay analysis (for both feature films and dramatic television shows), and studying classic films have helped provide answers that don't only apply to writing a screenplay.

The organization where I work is raising funds to support the work of a researcher who's using technology rivaling any appearing in the most futuristic sci fi film. Part of the appeal would be made through a video, and a colleague asked how to make it as strong as possible. Our researcher had been filmed in an office with bookcases in the background, in front of a window with vertical blinds letting in bright sunlight.

After watching clips from the original video shoot I remembered Irvin Kershner's words: anchor the characters in their world. He said this after watching clips I'd taken of doctors working in Nicaragua. "That doctor could be in an office in California, or anywhere," he told me after watching video I'd brought to his home office. "You've lost the opportunity to show the beauty of the country, to make the viewer know that your doctors are in Nicaragua." I cried that night; I knew I couldn't go back and reshoot the piece. Many of the things I'm writing about in this blog were learned through tears and determination! A new video shoot was being planned and I told my colleague that it would be critical to place our researcher in a high-tech environment instead of sitting in an office. The shoot was rescheduled for a room where high-tech medical imaging takes place.

Our researcher is wearing a suit and even before he speaks the audience has examined his environment; he's in a high-tech medical setting. He's no longer in a generic office. He's not a well-dressed politician or an accountant; he's a respected medical researcher, comfortable in a world-class medical research environment.

This is just one reason why, after watching a well-crafted movie as the audience sees the credits begin to roll they re-enter the real world feeling as if very little time has elapsed. For the past 90 minutes dozens of images appeared onscreen. With each, there were hundreds of details to take in—architecture or decor, color. The audience wanted to be entertained; should they feel terrified or anticipate laughter? They learned a great deal about the characters as they searched for clues in the environment.

NOTE: These entries are inspired by the final assignment for "The Business of Writing for Screen and Television," a School of Cinematic Arts' course taught by Frank Wuliger. Hoping to help his students become working screenwriters, he asked us to create a personal, five-year road map into the industry.

Putting it all together, a master class

I used to arrange and lead tours for students considering a career in one of the medical profession. The director of the marketing department often spoke with the students about the programs offered at the university and it was interesting to watch him tailor his talk to each group.

One Friday, the students on the tour were not connecting with him. The group was a couple of years younger than previous groups, so he tried making his presentation more simple.

When this didn't work he stopped and said, "You may not understand everything I'm saying. It's like someone is handing you a spoke, a wheel, pedals, a handlebar. It doesn't make sense; you're thinking 'what is this?' And one day you'll say, 'I have a bike!'"

Screenwriting classes were like that for me. I'd read about 14 books to get ready to take screenwriting classes. With each class I'd learn something that I knew was important, but I didn't need it for the exact project I was working on. But I kept collecting the tools and gems, knowing they would be important later.

Even after finishing the MPW degree/emphasis screenwriting, screenwriting was the most fascinating puzzle. I knew I wouldn't be happy doing anything else, and I was determined to continue until I reached my goal of becoming a full-time screenwriter so I continued taking screenwriting classes (USC allows alumni to take any class, with permission of the department, how cool is that?).

A major breakthrough came when I took Ron Friedman's beginning screenwriting course. Beginning screenwriting! That was the first class that the School of Cinematic Arts approved for me to take; everyone has to take it, I was told. Two or three weeks into the semester, I remember telling Mr. Friedman that I loved screenwriting but that writing screenplays was still like struggling with an octopus. He reassured me that I could tame the creature. I treated the class like a master class in screenwriting and for the first time I began to draw on the various tools I'd learned. For the first time I saw the entire bike and had fun riding! At the end of the class, he told me he was confident I had the skills needed; and that he thought I was ready to 'go for it.'

Storytelling and the elements of good screenwriting helped me recently as I wrote a 500-word feature about a hospital in Haiti for an annual report. I'd done research about the hospital and the staff that would be featured, and the earthquake. I went to the CIA Factbook and learned about the country and the people. I interviewed the hospital administrator over the phone. I struggled writing that article; there were so many things I had to leave out that were interesting!

After I had finished writing I thought about what I'd had to cut and what made it into the final piece. I realized that the following elements of powerful storytelling had helped me craft the article:

• Something happens so that the protagonist's life will never be the same again; and he or she can never return to the way things were before.
• Create distinct world/worlds where the story takes place.
• Answer: Why are these characters unique; what makes them different from anyone who has lived, or who will ever live?
• Don't save the best for the second sentence or hold it until the last sentence. "The curtain rises, and the reader is seeing your characters for the first time as if on stage."* How fun is that? That's what I live for!
• Use the senses/sound. Use things the reader/audience can connect with. Write stories that show our humanity and ability to change and connect.

Each story uses different storytelling elements but those are a few I used to decide what to include to tell the Haiti hospital story within the 500-word limit.

I'll always want to take more classes, to join writing groups. And whether working with professionals who have written, directed or acted in movies that have been seen by millions of people, or with eager writers who are beginning their first story, I will treat each as a master class.

Highlights & thoughts: TV Script Analysis course

I've received my final grade for TV Script Analysis class. The professor, Pamela Douglas, is chair of the television track in the screenwriting division, USC School of Cinematic Arts.

Professor Douglas's bio says that her book, Writing the TV Drama Series, "has been adopted by network mentoring programs at NBC and CBS, and foreign language editions have been published in Germany, China, Korea, Spain and around the globe." As I studied her book for class, I felt like Professor Douglas was standing next to me with heartfelt admonitions. Her writing is stern, authoritative and funny. She loves television, she loves what she does, and she loves teaching.

One week in class we studied a clip from MASH. The clip is only a few minutes in length and each of the main characters is being interviewed for a documentary. What brilliant acting and writing; while being filmed talking about their experiences taking care of the wounded, the depth with which each character understands themselves (truthful, evasive, kind, broken, exhausted) and the real psychological impact of their experiences is revealed by their expressions, layers revealed between words; with each pause. The reality for each character is often different from the words they are speaking and is visible and clear. If I learned this lesson well, my character's words will never be generic. Each character truly is "unlike anyone who has lived, or who will ever live."*

The class was the first time I considered television drama to be literature. As the weeks went by we were exposed to increasingly complex themes. One of the final dramas we studied was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In the episode we screened, vampires had descended upon the town, stealing the characters' voices and leaving them mute; that was one story that was woven into the episode. We also saw Buffy's attraction to one of her classmates and his to her; their experience mirrors the other story; on a deeper level both he and Buffy are struggling to be able to use their voices so that they can talk about their feelings for each other. It's just as frightening and almost impossible for them as battling the vampires to regain their ability to speak. A couple of weeks ago, I made a presentation about storytelling to a group of writers and mentioned this episode; a friend who recently earned her degree in literature mentioned that there are college courses where many episodes in the Buffy series are studied. Another person in the group mentioned an episode that tells the story of Buffy's mother's death; after watching it a hospital chaplain told him that it's the best study of grief that she has ever seen.

Many if not all of the clips and series of clips, and full episodes we screened in class had won awards. As I rode the train home after the final day of class, I wondered if the students' expectations had been raised too high. Not every episode of every show is close to the quality of the episodes we had studied.

On the final day of class, Professor Douglas told us that she was going to give us one of her top pieces of advice for beginning writers.

She said that beginning writers can often find work writing for shows that aren't the top shows. She said that at the beginning of her career she decided that no matter what project she had been hired to work on that she would honor her craft, and always give it her best.

For some of the early shows she had worked on she told us, episodes where she had done this received the only awards those shows ever received. She said she'd had a friend long ago who refused to do this; he said he would give his best someday, when the project merited it. Tragically he passed away at a young age, before he had the opportunity.

We covered so much this past semester including an entire lecture on working with composers and music in film. I've saved my notes and will write more about the class as it impacts what I'm working on or struggling with (these are the most fun posts for me to write).

Bringing life to a scene: The actor's business

After finishing the master of professional writing/screenwriting program, I asked for permission to take classes in the USC School of Cinematic Arts. I learned that USC alumni may sign up for any class at USC, with permission from the school that offers the class.

While I eventually attended classes with graduate students (production/directing & screenwriting students), the first class I took as an alumni was Ron Friedman's beginning screenwriting. I approached the class as a master class, and I wasn't disappointed.

Like other great screenwriting teachers I've taken classes from, Mr. Friedman was more interested in the story than if the scenes he assigned were in perfect screenwriting format. In the project's early stages, what matters is if the content is as powerful as it can be, and if it can be captured on screen.

Mr. Friedman thinks more quickly than anyone I've ever met; in fact I once turned in a project that wasn't the best and he read it aloud to the class. Instead of tearing it apart, he created dialogue and storyline as he read, showing me what the scene could become. Brilliant and motivating!

One week, we were workshopping a nighttime scene a student had written. The characters enter a house where a party is taking place. After we had read the scene Mr. Friedman paused and suggested that the student give the actor something to do. Suggestions: take off a coat, fiddle with his keys, use a prop. He called this the "actor's business."

I've searched for "Actor's business" online, and can only find links to the business of acting. The actor's business must be a secret technique that actors learn about from the best teachers, directors, or mentors. Giving the actor something to do gives the actor another tool to shed light into what the character is thinking.

How powerful can the most subtle direction the writer includes in the scene be?

A few years ago a friend told me about an experience she'd while she was a resident. Staff taking care of a tiny infant were terrified when they examined the baby and monitoring alarms would sound. They would immediately put the baby back into the incubator and the alarms would stop. Finally someone realized that the preemie was controlling the situation. This wasn't mom or dad; he didn't want to be examined or prodded, or have a needlestick. He could control the situation; he had learned that when he held his breath the exam would stop and he would placed back into his warm, cozy incubator. NOTE: Another example would be how Martha Stewart chopped cabbage as she answered questions during the CBS news Early Show while answering questions about her sale of stock in 2009.

Just how does the character fiddle with his keys? How does she take off her coat? Giving the actor something to do with their hands is part of the artistry of film; it makes us not want to take our eyes off the screen for it can help deepen the audience's understanding of the character.

NOTE: These entries are inspired by the final assignment for "The Business of Writing for Screen and Television," a School of Cinematic Arts' course taught by Frank Wuliger. Hoping to help his students become working screenwriters, he asked us to create a personal, five-year road map into the industry.

Dramatic storytelling: 'That's an incredible thing for a human being to do'

This week, I will submit a draft of an outline for a children's book. I'm excited about this project because it will be used by child life therapists and hospital staff to help kids understand their hospital stay.

While it's a children's book, not a screenplay, storytelling techniques I've learned while studying screenwriting and while writing screenplays are shaping how the story is told.

One of the most important things I learned while taking classes in USC's Master of Professional Writing (MPW) program is that it's all about the story. Dr. James Ragan, the MPW director at the time, invited guest speakers who had written plays and screenplays and novels. Dr. Ragan wanted his students to realize that they could succeed in more than one genre, and he introduced us to writers who had.

"An original screenplay has no value," we learned. But if a play has created buzz with sold-out performances; if a short story creates interest and controversy, then the content begins to have value and there's a better chance that the screenplay that tells the story will be sold and made into a movie.

I was pretty scared of Dr. Ragan at first, until I heard him tell a story. He had just moved to California when, after a performance of a play he had written, he was approached by people from the movie industry. "We want to purchase your property," they said. "I don't want to sell my house," he replied. "I just moved here." They then explained that they were interested in having him adapt his play into a screenplay. After telling the story, Dr. Ragan encouraged the class to say yes to unexpected offers and opportunities, even if we didn't feel ready.

It's interesting to me where inspiration, life-changing inspiration, can take place. It was at the end of my time in the Master of Professional Writing program when I went into the student lounge during a break to see if I had any mail.

One of my favorite professors was meeting with a student about his thesis, a full-length publishable novel. The student had mentioned to me that he had spent more than a year researching his topic, and was nowhere near being finished (this is a challenge for many writers; there's so much information out there, when is it OK to stop?). He didn't feel ready to begin writing, and had started because he needed to meet the deadline in order to graduation.

The professor, his thesis advisor, was discussing a passage in his manuscript with him. "That's a pretty amazing thing for a human being to do," she said.

I never did find out what the passage described. But in those 30 seconds I discovered one of the top things that has impacted my writing. Good dramatic writing is not about listing facts and data; facts and data make good Wikipedia entries. As writers, our heroes and antagonists want something. They make choices, and when these choices are "pretty incredible things for a human being to do," making them rise beyond what they thought or dreamed they could do, those are the moments that create dramatic storytelling.

In the car a couple of days ago I heard a critic's closing remarks as he reviewed a documentary on the radio. "The director," he said, "is very good at understanding the dramatic points of the story." Within a documentary about a person's life, a time period that spans decades, thousands of facts are available. The magic happens when the storyteller understands the points when the person made choices that changed the course of his life.

For the writer, capturing and revealing these moments is the art of storytelling. As he worked with me, Irvin Kershner spent many hours trying to make me realize this; I know he would be pleased to see that I finally understand.

NOTE: These entries are inspired by the final assignment for "The Business of Writing for Screen and Television," a School of Cinematic Arts' course taught by Frank Wuliger. Hoping to help his students become working screenwriters, he asked us to create a personal, five-year road map into the industry.