Screenwriting: discovering answers to basic questions

December 25, 2011

What makes a good screenplay? What are the differences between a well-made television program and a movie that's shown in a theater? And what makes a film award-worthy?

Before I took my first class in screenwriting (beginning screenwriting) from Sandi Berg at USC, I read about 14 or so books about the subject. I wrote with enthusiasm but the skill of a beginner (think the first scrapings a child's bow makes as it is drawn across a violin's strings) Sandi's class, part of the School of Cinema's Summer Production Workshop, was one of the major reasons I was accepted into the Master of Professional Writing Program (MPW), also at USC.

The MPW program was once offered by the School of Cinematic Arts; while its early alumni are still invited to SCA events, the MPW program is now completely disassociated with SCA.

Dr. Jim Ragan was chair for much of the time I was in the MPW program. He often said that he wanted MPW graduates to be successful in more than one genre; our guest speakers had written plays and screenplays; they had written novels and short stories and some were poets.

My mentors included novelist Gina Nahai, who told me that a story I was working on was a "hell of a story," and introduced me to her agent, Barbara Lowenstein; I was thrilled to have been selected by the faculty to receive a scholarship from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to work with my mentor, Irvin Kershner, one semester.

I'd work full-time as a director of marketing and then commute to L.A.; attend class from 7:00 to 10:00 one or two evenings a week, and return home after 11:00. Just walking onto the USC campus energized me; every class I attended I'd hear something or learn something that I knew would be helpful to me or my colleagues. Every class this happened, without fail. I'm writing about some of those pearls and diamonds and emeralds in this blog.

After I graduated, I felt a let-down. One of my top five personality strengths in the Clifton Strengthsfinder test is "learner," but it wasn't learning for learning's sake that I was grieving; I still didn't have answers to some basic questions about screenwriting.

USC allows alumni, with permission from the department, to continue to take classes. At first, the School of Cinematic Arts' writing division didn't let me take the classes I wanted to take. I was told that everyone must take beginning screenwriting first; so I treated Ron Friedman's beginning screenwriting course like a master class in screenwriting. I learned about the elements that are included in films that must be present for each scene to work. Our class explored tying storylines to deep psychological needs every human being feels. I've written a bit about my experiences that semester on this blog already.

Next, I asked for permission to take classes I was hungering for--business of screenwriting, and screenplay structure--I took them with master's level writing and directing students. It's funny, in those required classes I found more answers to questions I was hungering for--what are the differences between the best prime time cable/TV show (well-made and well-written, slick, polished), and feature films? What makes movie audiences lose track of time so that two-and-a-half hours seem like 15 minutes? Why are some movies so bad that the first 20 minutes seem like 10 hours?

Often, required courses aren't the courses that students are most excited to take. A friend who, while in dental school once mentioned his experience in a required "business of dentistry" class. Many of the students didn't listen; didn't participate. They wanted to be doing what they loved--dentistry. But later, after graduation, when their practices were not doing well, they would wish they hadn't been so creative about doing everything a student can do in class, except learning.

I didn't miss a class and in these SCA classes I began to tie new information with things I'd learned in the past.

Gems: Audiences are hungry for inventive, good stories that are told visually, using what Ron Friedman calls the screenwriter's palette of tools: dialogue; costume; supporting characters; psychology; knowledge of history and architecture, music. After reviewing a scene a student had written, he described how the screenwriter can write so skillfully that he can control and pinpoint the exact spot on the screen where the audience's eyes will be fixed. A huge wow moment for me.

From Don Bohlinger I learned structure (it was the first class I thought I might not pass; I spent hours on the take-home final, reviewing class notes, and using everything I'd studied previously. He later said that I'd scored 100 on the final and that he was using it as a template for grading the rest of the finals).

For the first time I understood that, like skillfully written symphonies, award-winning screenplays and films rely on structure and a knowledge of and use of basic screenwriting elements to tell the story.

In contrast, many blockbusters are like the charismatic but unpolished guy in the party; random people crowded around to hear him tell a funny story. There is energy there and some of the best, like this year's raunchy "Bridesmaids," make the audience laugh at the story and also make them feel something.

To write a screenplay that later creates an experience for audiences where the lights dim and within minutes there's electricity in the air; indescribable yet real energy as the audience anticipates, laughs together, cares about the characters, cries together...that's up to us as screenwriters.

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.

35: Roadmap into the industry (That's not sad, that's beautiful)

Dealing with failure

A few months ago I was chatting with a patient and his wife in front of my office. They had agreed for their story to be featured in an annual report; we were waiting for the photographer to arrive.

We were startled as a painter burst energetically from behind the corner of the building and headed toward us. He had on a worn canvas jumpsuit with splashes of paint on it, and he held a paint roller in his hand. He stopped next to me. "What you said just now, about smoking and Top Ramen," he said chuckling. "I was listening. Smoking and Top Ramen. I'm going to remember that the rest of my life."

He was a blue collar worker, a behind-the-scenes type of person. Thousands of strangers had walked by his various work sites over the years and he passed the hours being entertained by them. He must've spent 20 or 30 years enjoying snippets of conversation overheard during the few seconds they were a part of his world.

I hadn't noticed that our building was being painted and the painter bounded into our group suddenly. I hadn't yet processed any of this.

Just as quickly as he had appeared he left, energetically walking back to his workstation, chuckling to himself. "What she said, Top Ramen and smoking. Gonna remember that the rest of my life."

That was an incredible moment; it's what I dream about, writing stories and later having an actor say a line, creating a moment that is so surprising, new or revealing to someone that they can't let it go. Magic.

Professor Frank Wuliger wanted the screenwriters in his Business of Writing class to succeed. He wants his clients to be successful. He spoke about being so strongly moved by a story that he will set up hundreds of meetings so that the screenplay may eventually be presented to someone who will love it so much that one day it will appear on screen.

Frank has worked with and has known writers who are at all stages of their careers--writers selling their first screenplay, others who are successful, a few who are tragically burned out and who are unable to produce.

But how to be successful? Frank made us think about that. It's so important that it was included in our final test--the "Five-year roadmap into the industry" that inspired this blog. It was woven into the assignment: How will you prepare for, plan for, and deal with failure at the various stages of your career?

The concept of failure came up dozens of times during his lectures. Sometimes failure was the best thing.

"If you're in 'the room,'" Frank said (and I'm summarizing), "and you find yourself working harder and harder to make the person like your screenplay, and if you do ultimately sell the screenplay to that person, then there's a good chance that the entire project will not go well."

A much better scenario, he said, is when a writer enters the room and from the beginning, the people in the room are excited about the project; the writer can feel this good energy; it's a much better fit.

So the first meeting wasn't a failure; people who love the project will eventually discover it, championing it from the beginning instead of needing to be talked into it, never really having been convinced.

Another time the concept of failure came up in class was when we were discussing a paper about the TV business that we'd been assigned to write. I commented that it had disturbed me when I read that Lloyd Braun (chair, ABC 2002 to 2004) had been let go after greenlighting the show Lost, only to have the show (and others that he and a colleague had discovered) become very successful after his departure. His decision to greenlight Lost had been a good one; the whole thing was horrible, life shouldn't be that way; Lloyd Braun shouldn't have lost his job.

"That's not terrible," said Frank. "That's beautiful."

I still didn't get it. If you work hard and do a good job, getting fired shouldn't happen.

Frank continued, "What is he doing now? What has he gone on to do? What is he accomplishing with his life?"

Lloyd Braun hadn't let his lost :) job destroy him or stop his career; and realizing this was one of the highlights of the class for me. I learned that it's not what happens at any one point in our lives, but what we do over our lifetime that matters. And that is beautiful.

I thought about failure when I didn't make it into the Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting quarter finals. It was interesting to see what writers who had entered the NFS were posting on the Nicholl Facebook page. Someone who hadn't advanced said that they were going to give up. I guess that is the ultimate failure.

If I am honest with myself and as I look at my own journey, I know that I now feel confident as a screenwriter (slightly after teachers began telling me it was time to 'go for it,' but I needed to feel ready).

I learned that to keep an agent, a screenwriter must produce, giving the agent more ammunition that he or she can sell. I will be ready for that early next year; being selected for the quarter finals would have taken the opportunity away from someone who is ready now.

I am grateful:

• for work that lets me tell stories every day
• an incredible opportunity, an invitation to write a children's book
• for great preparation at USC (mentors who provided tools that I'm sharing here).

And I am grateful for this blog, which is making me a better writer; and am surprised and happy that it has been read by people from more than 12 countries.

Thank you for joining me on this journey; I hope to learn from you, too.

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.

Day 34: Roadmap into the industry

The 'Actor's business'

In Ron Friedman's introductory screenwriting class, a student work shopped a scene that took place during a party. As the scene begins, two friends enter a house where the party is in full swing.

The student struggled to show the relationship between the main character and his friend, but the scene fell flat. We discussed the scene, and suggested various ways the dialogue could be modified, but nothing worked.

Then Ron suggested that the writer give the protagonist's friend something to do. He called this the "actors' business." I had never heard the term, and it doesn't appear in the top several pages of a Google search.

In Directing Actors course, we learned that a director should not ask an actor to become sad, or angry. The emotion must come from the story itself.

If the screenwriter includes something for an actor to do, it can provide a powerful outlet to reveal what they are feeling, and can even reveal the relationship between two characters.

An example is a cooking segment that Martha Stewart did on The Early Show in 2002. At the time allegations that she'd engaged in insider trading were surfacing; if her cooking segment had been part of a screenplay and if she were an actor, the knife she was holding and a simple head of cabbage provided the perfect "actor's business."

Martha chopped that cabbage with such fury that the story made headlines, including this one from New York Daily News: "Martha can't hack questions on TV: Knives out as Stewart minces words, Cabbage."

Though it doesn't make sense to use this or any other storytelling technique in every scene, giving the actor something to do is an interesting way to emphasize meaning and emotion that cannot come from words or from silence. It's one more magical storytelling tool that helps capture the audience's attention as they're experiencing rising tension and the movie's forward momentum. Real time stops as they take in visual and auditory (dialogue, music, sound effects) clues that are so strong that they begin to live the story with the characters.

On Facebook, a friend recently posted a link to a posting on Gawker. It's titled, "Read a disgruntled Whole Foods resignation letter."

The ex-employee's letter is posted after these comments:

"Late Friday afternoon, an employee of the Whole Foods Market in Toronto sent this epic resignation letter to the entire company. It's an alternatingly amusing, enlightening, and occasionally infuriating read—but a good read, nonetheless.

[In the letter] the employee gets deeply personal, calling out individual co-workers by name, and devotes a paragraph to each in which he details exactly what he thinks their problem is. It's all utterly uncalled for, but also pretty hilarious..."

I'm glad my friend posted the link. I imagine that if asked, letter's author could immediately name a dozen idiosyncrasies unique to each co-worker; alone mundane but taken together they are fascinating and entertaining.

For storytellers, including "actors business" into a scene can help breathe life into fictional characters (both major and minor), showing their relationship to each other and identifying each as unique from anyone who has lived, or who will ever live (Irvin Kershner quote). This is magical.

Here is the link:

http://gaw.kr/qMOiup

If I write as passionately as the letter's author, and can describe each of the characters as clearly as the Whole Foods ex-employee describes his impression of his or her co-workers, the story cannot help but come alive.

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.

Day 33: Roadmap into the industry

Collaboration: wisdom at the water cooler

An administrator once commented during an interview, "Forget about scheduling multiple meetings to complete a project. Just place a water cooler or or coffeepot in a central location, as people meet casually, the most complex problems will be solved." Interesting that during a tour of Facebook offices we were told that the decision has been made to create fewer kitchen/snack areas even though it might seem less convenient.

While taking classes at USC, I discovered that during a lecture or meeting a professor or trusted mentor might share a tip or story that would forever change my life, never to repeat it.

Irvin Kershner watched his screenwriting students struggle to find stories to tell. As we worked on our projects he shared his observations.

Kersh's hearing had been damaged while he was on military duty, so he often spoke loudly. About halfway through one semester he asked, "How many of you have ever been on a battlefield? Has anyone here seen someone die? Have your ever felt what it's like not to have enough food? Not having had experiences like this makes your work harder; telling good stories comes from having lived."

As finals week approached, Kersh said: "Writing screenplays is hard today; it's much harder than it used to be. Years ago, writers were under contract with the studios. Their offices were along a hallway. When a writer was having problem with a script he would stop by another writer's office or talk with them at the water cooler. One writer understood screenplay structure; another was gifted at comedy. Another knew how to increase tension and suspense. Classic screenplays benefited from input from multiple writers."

This was done unofficially but as the writers helped each other the stories they were crafting became stronger.

That's why I kept taking classes even after completing my degree. I knew how to read the musical score that is a screenplay but I wanted to be able to feel comfortable creating the score. I needed to better understand screenplay structure. How to make scenes come alive. I'm hoping to share some of those moments here, and look forward to continuing to learn from other writers, too.

Next time: A few fine details that help make scenes come alive that I learned after graduation.

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. This post is day 33.

Day 32: Roadmap into the industry

Topics & links - 1st 31 days

Day 31 • http://bit.ly/nF06Sk • Put. The. Remote. Down.

Day 30 • http://bit.ly/nJuFBr • Writing visually, with precision

Day 29 • http://bit.ly/qE7LnS • Using real people to create fictional characters

Day 28 • http://bit.ly/nS1DQ7 • Kiss her, you fool (when the audience just wants t0 have fun)

Day 27 • http://bit.ly/pQwYrK • Changing in place

Day 26 • http://bit.ly/pd7xok • Breathing life into your antagonist

Day 25 • http://bit.ly/l7xrEw • Controversial topics, an opportunity for great storytelling

Day 24 • --

Day 23 • http://bit.ly/mDCgRj • Story ideas: Monsters to Shakespeare to Oscar

Day 22 • http://bit.ly/mGwW0Z • What I learned from Jackie Chan

Day 21 • http://bit.ly/jQGShO • The War Room

Day 20 • http://bit.ly/lt1WiG • Who's the director?

Day 19 • http://bit.ly/lVryP0 • Creating unforgettable moments

Day 18 • http://bit.ly/lgxqqy • Naming characters

Day 17 • http://bit.ly/lQLh5Z • Notes/Directing Actors course, SWP Workshop Part II

Day 16 • http://bit.ly/maD7G3 • Notes/Directing Actors Course, SWP Workshop Part I

(..."The bigger the lie, the better the line).

Day 15 • http://bit.ly/iWNJqi • Why is this day different?

Day 14 • http://bit.ly/lj5Uzj

Day 13 • http://bit.ly/mIrUay •

Day 12 • http://bit.ly/kiCJIT • Creating unforgettable characters

Day 11 • http://bit.ly/kFr1XJ • What to write?

Day 10 • http://bit.ly/kD2ftA • Irvin Kershner - memories

Day 9 • http://bit.ly/jL1yCO • Frank Wuliger, acting courses

Day 8 • --

Day 7 • http://bit.ly/kln6iZ • Ron Friedman

Day 6 • http://bit.ly/mNAGqQ • Join me on my journey

Day 5 • http://bit.ly/lJUYzd • Stick with one genre

Day 4 • http://bit.ly/mHxVC7 • I miss my friend, part II

Day 3 • http://bit.ly/kVV8rj • I miss my friend, part I

Day 2 • http://bit.ly/lsSU8w • Getting started

Day 1 • http://bit.ly/mO9J9c • Intro (the beginning)

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.

Day 31: Roadmap into the industry

Put. The. Remote. Down.

Why Planting and payoff is such a powerful storytelling tool

I'll never forget the way a friend watched a DVD she had rented--it was a movie she'd never seen before.

She kept the TV remote in her hand the whole time. She fast forwarded if the pace slowed, she fast forwarded during predictable sections. She only stopped to watch the movie in real time if something interesting were happening or if something unusual appeared onscreen. She didn't care about the days the screenwriter had struggled over character development and rewrites, she didn't care about the work the director and actors had done or the hours spent editing. When the movie ended she felt satisfied about her experience; she had succeeded in not being bored.

I've sometimes felt the same way while watching a movie. The experience would be much more enjoyable if I could fast forward during all of the boring parts.

Bad movies are worth studying--how are they different from the amazing ones?

In Advanced Screenplay Analysis class, as we learned about the structure of movies, we studied planting and payoff. It's one of the most powerful techniques to keep the audience engaged and entertained.

Planting and payoff is when the audience sees and/or hears an image, a sound, dialogue that may not have meaning the first time it appears, but when it reappears and is tied into the story it has deep meaning.

An example we studied appears in the movie Jerry Maguire. The planting happens when Jerry has been fired and as he leaves his workplace with Dorothy. A couple in an elevator are very much in love; they're communicating using sign language. Dorothy translates what the boyfriend is saying for Jerry: he's telling the girl, "You complete me." The payoff happens at the end of the story; after Jerry has learned to love, he repeats the same words to Dorothy to prove to her that he has changed.

A quick Google search will reveal many more examples of planting and payoff.

Using planting and payoff is powerful because a sound, an image, a musical phrase, can make people feel something before the characters say anything and even when they don't say a word:

• Humor.
• Fear/terror.
• Longing
• Sadness

When an entire audience experiences the same emotion, there is electricity in the room.

In storytelling, when used creatively, planting and payoff is something that will make my friend put down the remote and enjoy every second of the story.

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. This post is day 31.

Day 30: Roadmap into the industry • Writing visually, with precision

Writing visually, with precision

I mentioned recently that sometimes a when a movie I'm watching ends it seems like five minutes have passed, while after watching another movie for a few minutes it seems like 10 hours have passed. Ten miserable hours.

Screenwriting teachers and mentors had begun telling me that I didn't need to take more classes, that I was ready--that it was time for me to "go for it." I didn't lack confidence but I knew something was missing, and I needed to figure it out.

Answers have came from not only screenwriting professors, but directors, other students, and interestingly, from Dr. Jeanine Turner, a professor in Georgetown University's department of communication, culture and technology.

A friend invited me to the university's George Carroll Weekend this year, and I attended a seminar presented by Drs. Turner and Philip Boroughs: "Real Presence: Challenges to Relationships and Spirituality in a Technological World." I still have notes I took during the presentation on my iPhone.

Dr. Turner told us that research has shown that people think four to five faster than others speak. This impacts every conversation and every interaction we have. And it also impacts every word that goes into crafting a screenplay.

As I begin to experience the first few moments of a movie I wonder: who is the hero? Who is the villain? I'm picky and so the buy-in isn't easy.

As the characters are introduced, they begin to reveal who they are and what they want; supporting characters words and actions show the relationships they have with the main characters and with each other. This is where time stops and I disappear into the story, or where I begin to want to check Twitter or email.

Within a few minutes I begin to see where the characters' conversations are going (when there is dialogue, the entire audience is thinking four to five times faster than the characters are speaking).

So much of the enjoyment, the magic comes from watching the other things that appear on the screen (the set, costumes), from planting and payoff (which I will write about next time), and from sound.

Though I'd completed the master of professional writing degree/emphasis screenwriting, the first class I was allowed to take from the School of Cinematic Arts' writing division was beginning screenwriting. Ron Friedman was the teacher, and at the end of the semester I told Ron that I'm convinced that more working screenwriters will come out of his classes than from any others I've taken. Ron can take a mediocre or just plain bad scene that doesn't work and make it sing faster than anyone I've met, and explain how he did it. I treated his class as a master course in screenwriting, and learned about things that were new to me: pacing and writing with precision.

A student wrote an introductory scene where all that's shown is a tree-covered mountain in the fall. I think the colors may have been changing (spectacular, yes), but Ron wasn't satisfied. "The audience," he told us, "will be confused. You will lose them. They will see an entire movie screen with thousands of trees, every one the same. They won't know where to look and this is disorienting. Make something stand out." He then suggested adding a small cabin to the hillside, with smoke drifting from its chimney. What is happening inside of that cabin?

In the past, I'd concentrated on the story itself: concerned only about what was going to happen next. What obstacles were going to get into the protagonist's way? The fact that the screenwriter can write with such intricate precision that they can control, can pinpoint the very place on the screen where everyone in the audience will look, continues to be a revelation.

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. This post is day 30.

Day 29: Roadmap into the industry

Using real people to create fictional characters

A few days ago I opened Facebook and read this post: "My boyfriend's dad puts cornflakes in his hot coffee and wears two pairs of reading glasses at a time. His wife has made 50 different costumes for their toy dog."

Those brief sentences help answer a challenge I've struggled with: how to create memorable fictional characters. Just a few descriptive words in that Facebook post capture strong, unforgettable characters, people who are unlike anyone who has lived, or who will ever live.*

In fiction writing workshops at USC, we discussed using real people as inspiration while creating fictional characters. Is it ethical? What should a writer consider as we began to write?

A guest speaker shared that she had included a much-despised agent as the antagonist in one of her projects. A mentor revealed that a crazy lady who lives in her neighborhood and who owns dozens of cats, has appeared in several of her books.

And during the "Academy Series" class, Nia Vardalos told us that some of the most memorable lines in her movie, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," are from conversations she'd had with family members. One of my favorite examples (paraphrased): "The man is the head of the family. But the woman is the neck. She can turn the head any way she wants." Professors and guest lecturers agreed: the people who have inspired a character do not recognize themselves. They may insist to the author, however, that they're certain a character is someone else whom they both know.

Here is an article by my mentor, Gina Nahai: http://bit.ly/n4hicx

Gina recalls several stories about memorable people she has known. The words below, excerpted from her article, describe why experiencing stories (many with characters inspired by real people), is something people around the world thirst for.

Gina writes:

..."Now I don’t know if it’s just me, or if most people revel in the notion of such extraordinary creatures existing within the folds and wrinkles of our ordinary lives. I realize, of course, that what we hear or remember of them — the surprise wedding, the serendipitous arsenic, the red dress and red hat and the fork stuck in the raw chicken — is a sliver of an otherwise epic, multifaceted tale. It’s not fair, not something any of us would wish for ourselves — for everything we have ever done or felt or wished to be reduced to a single story, and for that story to become our legacy. And yet, it’s also true that without those odd, perhaps even misperceived, traits, without those radical deviations from the customary, there wouldn’t be much to remember any of us by."

This is what I live and breathe for; this is why I write.

*"If you can't show in your story why this child, his father, his grandmother, are unlike anyone who has lived or who will ever live, you don't have anything." ~Irvin Kershner

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. This post is day 29.

Day 28: Roadmap into the industry

Kiss her, you fool

Forget about screenplay structure, sometimes the audience stays engaged just by having fun.

While I was in college I spent a weekend with a friend and her family. We enjoyed a perfect Sunday--while still wearing PJs we made popcorn on the stove, mixed up a batch of brownies, and then watched a classic romance movie.

The characters' onscreen chemistry developed and just as he was going to kiss her for the first time, there was an epic misunderstanding between them. He changed his mind.

That's when the entertainment in the room took off. In unison, my friends' family exclaimed: "Kiss her, you fool!" As the story unfolded, they must've shouted "Kiss her, you fool," 15 times during the movie.

It was as obvious that the characters would eventually be together but if they had hooked up immediately, with no drama, my friend's family wouldn't have had nearly as much fun.

A few years later a roommate would often talk about a guy she had met at the hospital where they both worked. They were attracted to each other and everyone around them could feel the tension and sparks. Finally a mutual friend took them out to breakfast. The waitress hadn't even brought their coffee before she said, "I brought you both here because you know you like each other and you're driving everyone at work crazy."

She was telling him, "Kiss her, you fool," and she was telling my roommate--"You know you want him to kiss you, you fool!"

I learned about what had happened during their breakfast when my roommie came home, slammed the door, and immediately called the girl who had invited them to breakfast and began screaming at her.

Things were awkward but within a few weeks the guy took her advice; I was in their wedding about a year later.

Nothing in life is simple and we probably wouldn't value or cherish the people in our lives as much if it were.

Movies do mirror real life, and that's part of the magic.

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.

This post is day 28.

Roadmap into the industry: "Changing in Place"

Day 27: Roadmap into the industry

Screenplay structure: "Changing in Place"

Professor Ron Friedman tells his introductory screenwriting students that movies filmed in the U.S. have a global audience. In order for a play, or movie to resonate, from the country's earliest days Americans had learned to tell stories so that people from many cultures who had settled in the United States could understand and enjoy the storytelling.

While watching some movies I squirm and never feel comfortable. After 15 minutes I feel as if I've been sitting for 10 hours. Ten miserable hours. When other movies are over, the hour-and-a-half has passed in what seems like only a few seconds.

For years I tried to figure out why. What has been included that makes me lose track of time and become lost in the story?

Last year I was thrilled when the USC School of Cinematic Arts' Writing Division gave me permission to attend Don Bohlinger's Screenplay Structure class.

I had never tried harder or studied more. I'd never worried about grades while studying writing, but just before the midterm I was afraid that I wouldn't earn a "C."

I'd study the assigned films more than once before class and would watch them again as Don showed them in class and narrated. The class discussions were amazing; Don patiently explained the various elements to the class (most were directing students), and he even asked if he could add some of my thoughts to future lectures.

He also invited our class to sit in on any of his future lectures, especially if we were working on a screenplay similar to a film his class was studying.

Slowly, I began to understand the subtle elements the audience anticipates and expects as part of masterful storytelling. The Screenplay Structure final test was open book; that may sound easy but it wasn't. I searched through detailed outlines Don had spent hours preparing, scribbled with notes I'd taken during class. And I learned about screenplay structure until the moment I completed the final, attached the file to an email and pressed "send."

While taking the final test I learned about a storytelling technique used in American Beauty. It's called "Changing in Place.

Near the beginning of the movie the Lester Burnham character (Kevin Spacey) is in the kitchen. He returns to the kitchen at the end of the story. He is surrounded by the same objects and decor; but at the beginning of the story he is unaware of a family picture in front of him. His family means nothing to him; and as the story begins he tries to relive his teen years.

Lester changes during the story, and the audience understands how much he has changed when, at the end of the film he's once again in the kitchen. He notices at the family portrait that he had been so blind to when the story began. He picks up the photo and gazes at the picture of his family; the image has new meaning for him. He's standing in the very same place as he was at the beginning of the movie, but now he is a changed man.

I used this storytelling technique recently as I wrote about a child who needed surgery to correct a cleft palate. As a newborn, she would begin to choke on her tongue when she slept. She needed to wait until she turned one to have corrective surgery, and though her parents were given a special monitor, they never left her side. Every night they took turns staying by her side as she slept, so they would know immediately if she began to struggle to breathe.

At the end of the story, the little girl has recovered from corrective surgery. Her mom tucks her in and says goodnight, then turns off the light and closes the door. The imagery is powerful; the same little bed, but the child now sleeps soundly and her mother can relax, assured she is OK.

Finally the magician's techniques began to be revealed. I learned how to use screenplay structure to create a better screenplay. And Screenplay Structure class provided dozens of future topics to review and to write about here.

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. This post is "Day 27."

Day 26: Roadmap into the industry (Breathing life into your antagonist)

"What writers do, taking a blank piece of paper and telling a story: that is something to cherish and respect." ~Frank Wuliger

Last night I struggled to write about breathing life into characters. After several attempts, I decided that that's a fun topic to explore over years, not in one brief post.

When I began writing fiction I had a hard time with my antagonists. "You're too nice!" Irvin Kershner would bellow after reading new pages of a story or screenplay I was working on. "She's too nice," were the first words he'd tell a student worker or colleague I'd bring with me to his home during my visits.

No matter how hard I tried, I knew I was creating characters, both good and bad characters, that were as fulfilling as the emotionless people filling the stands in a computer generated crowd scene.

I'd often heard and read the advice: "No antagonist is fully evil and no protagonist is perfect." This didn't help; so a man pauses to pet a cat before committing a murder and that makes him human? That makes him a more fascinating character? It didn't make sense to me.

Irvin Kershner thought that being nice was hampering my writing. He told me he wanted to make me into a top documentary filmmaker, a place where he knew I could explore truth to my heart's content. I would love to meet with him again and debate this; for I now know that there is truth to the best characters, no matter in which genre they reside.

Last year at work I wrote about kids who cut or self injure. The therapists I interviewed talked about using Dialectic Therapy as they work with the kids, and how their lives are changed as they learn to become self-aware and present. During intense therapy, a child goes back in time, discovering the exact moment when they made the decision to self-injure.

So as I'm working with a new character whose actions I despise I can make them a better opponent. Maybe the antagonist has been given more than he can handle in life; a tragedy. However, the good guy must survive and live his life, and the antagonist must be defeated.

Being too nice; being understanding? Maybe that will help me create a really, really great antagonist.

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.

Day 25: Roadmap into the industry (Controversial topics; opportunities for great storytelling)

Entering a writing program at a well-known university after having attended a small Christian liberal arts college was intimidating. The director of the Master of Professional Writing (MPW) program at the time was Dr. James Ragan. Dr. Ragan was well-read, and I never stopped by his office to chat as many of the students in the program did; I was afraid I'd say the wrong thing.

Then one day during a lecture he told a story about an incident that had happened shortly after he moved to Los Angeles. One night, following a performance of one of his plays he was approached by a small group of people. One of them stated, "We want to buy your property." Dr. Ragan said that his first thought was, "I don't want to sell my house, I just moved in." But what they really wanted to acquire were the rights to his play. After Dr. Ragan shared that story, he seemed less intimidating to me.


Dr. Ragan taught a course that was so popular that as soon as a new semester began, there would be a waiting list for his class for the next time it would be taught.

A couple of years ago Marilyn Thomsen, vice president of La Sierra University, invited Dr. Ragan to speak to communications students at her college; he had chaired the MPW program when she was in the program. She invited me to the presentation, and that evening he shared a few of the gems that had made his class so popular.


After Dr. Ragan read his poetry he told the audience to be unafraid; he said even early in their careers, they should never turn an offer down. They should try new challenges even before they thought they were ready.

During the Q&A, Marilyn asked Dr. Ragan to discuss a theory about how to approach telling a story that he'd presented the semester she took his class at USC. It truly isbrilliant.

Dr. Ragan said that some of the most interesting and award-winning movies focus on a controversial topic. As the story evolves the various characters reveal their views and thoughts about the topic.

As examples he used the movies Juno (the story of a pregnant teen and the choices she makes) and As Good As it Gets (a single mother's friendship with an artist who is gay). There are disagreements as the characters voice their opinions; there may be heated conversations, disagreements; characters may be pressured to change their actions or viewpoints.

It's fascinating for the audience to predict what the outcome will be. And outside of the theater heated conversations about the story, the characters, and the controversial topic will take place in talk shows and around water coolers for weeks. That's drama!

Brilliant.

Day 23: Roadmap into the industry (Story ideas: Monsters to Shakespeare to Oscar)

Before looking for representation, managers and agents say it's vital to have one project, polished and as perfect as the writer can make it.

"If you've written in your letter to a prospective agent that you have four, or five screenplays, backspace," advises Mark Ross of Paradigm. Just one amazing screenplay is needed.

Agents, writers, producers--they all love stories. As guest panelists spoke to us each week in Frank Wuliger's course we learned that there are many pathways into the industry. Very few are predictable. Many of the panelists had taken risks and had worked hard and for low pay. But each found their way into the industry led by their passion for stories.

A number of our guest speakers had started their careers hoping to write screenplays. While they didn't end up creating original material themselves, they found fulfilling careers working with writers as agents, producers, and agents.

While in the Master of Professional Writing program, I took a class titled the Academy series. Guests included Academy Award winning directors and actors.

One week during the Academy lectures series, we watched "Shakespeare in Love," with Marc Norman as the guest speaker.

"My son," he told us, "even while he was very young, knew that dad didn't have a constant paycheck. He tried to help me think up ideas for stories."

These sessions often happened over the family's dinnertime. "Dad, what if there's this monster and it comes into the city..." was one idea Marc's son pitched to him.

Then his son grew up and went away to college. He was studying literature when one day he called home. "Dad," he said, "What if you write a screenplay about the young Wil Shakespeare."

After Shakespeare in Love went on to win seven Oscars, Marc told us that had a replica of a giant check made, and presented it to his son.

Marc's parting words to our class were revealing. He said that it had proven challenging for him to come up with original story ideas, that that's why he spent much of his career working for others.

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.

Day 22: Roadmap into the industry (What I learned from Jackie Chan)

When I started this blog, I posted notes taken during hours of screenwriting courses, and lists of information. The content was good but the posts were as boring to read as a how-to manual.

For me, the fun of learning doesn't come from reading an Avid editing book; it happens when someone familiar with the program sits beside me and shows how to adjust the audio; explains how to corrects the mistakes I've made, showing me the many ways to place the various clips together. It's a shared experience and it's exciting as the story becomes more powerful.

While sitting in class for three or four hours, I'd hear or see something that would change my writing forever. That's what I've been writing about recently. Remembering and sharing those moments has made creating these posts much more fun.

Last year, when I was taking Ron Friedman's beginning screenwriting course in the School of Cinematic Arts, a student wrote: "The camera pauses on the scene for 15 seconds." Though including camera directions in a screenplay is a no-no, Ron didn't leave it at that. "You need to understand what time in screenwriting really means," he said. "During 15 seconds onscreen, Jackie Chan could defeat 28 opponents and play a game of chess with his toes."

It was the first time I'd thought about the importance of pacing in a story, and what time feels like as the story unfolds. It was something I hadn't thought about until a student's writing created a teachable moment for the entire class.

In an introductory playwrighting course taught by Lee Wochner, I wrote a play inspired by a sandwich shop in the Napa Valley. I wrote that one of the characters takes a pickle jar out of the refrigerator and places it on a counter. Lee was all over that--"...deli-style pickles, think about the container. How could one person carry a jar that size?" In playwrighting, physical distance (how far a character must walk across the stage as their action takes place) is important; how big objects are. The writing must be precise as the actors physically must be able to accomplish what the play asks them to do.

These are some of the details that are essential to remember while writing. Yet because there are so many other rules to keep in mind, details like these might not make sense if I read them in a writing textbook. They're the gems that came alive for me with a gifted mentor in the room patiently observing, using the students' works-in-progress that they shared in class, to teach.

I crave these moments...an opportunity to form a writing group, perhaps?

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.

Day 21: Roadmap into the industry (The war room)

The conference room in a top law firm where a friend used to work was nicknamed the "war room." The walls were decorated with paintings of ships in the midst of epic battles; the furniture was solid wood with brass accents. As soon as a new client enters the war room, before any words are spoken or strategy is discussed, they sense that their attorneys will fight the best battle they can to protect their interests.

More recently, a friend who is a physical therapist mentioned that she was often mistaken for a nurse. "I'm sorry, I don't have access to medication," she'd explain several times every day as patients and patient families stopped her to ask her for pain pills.

At her workplace, scrubs are considered professional attire for physical therapists, but when she began wearing office attire (or when she wears a lab coat), she works all day with patients, and no one mistakes her for a nurse.

Clothing and objects create strong impressions, and are powerful elements in every story.

Day 20: Roadmap into the industry (Who's the Director?)

My project for a 2007 documentary filmmaking course I took was titled "Mission to Nicaragua." The picture above was taken in the Acahualinca city dump (I'm holding the video camera). Acahualinca is a place where entire families make a living by collecting anything they can sell, including glass and scrap metal. It is grueling, dangerous work, and children join their parents searching through the mountains of refuse many hours each day.

After I returned from the trip, Irvin Kershner reviewed some of the videotape I'd captured, and he was disappointed. To help me prepare, he had lent me a book he had used to learn how to direct but he hadn't had time to go over what images I would need before I left for Nicaragua.

Many of the interviews I'd videotaped were indoors, in medical offices. "Those shots could've been taken anywhere, here in California, down the street," he said. I was devastated as he told me how to take the viewer into a location, how to film establishing shots, and how to structure better onscreen interviews. The Nicaragua project was over and I had returned home. The meager video clips our medical team and I had worked so hard to complete were all I had. That night I called Wendy Apple, who was teaching the course, and I've never cried more bitterly. I determined never to make the same mistakes again.

Over the next few weeks, the students showed their rough cuts in class and many of them made excuses. There were dozens of reasons their projects weren't better--there had been problems with locations, their equipment, the time of day, lighting, sound. Finally Wendy had had enough. "I don't want to hear any more excuses," she said. "Who's the director? You're the director."

From that moment on we listened as Wendy and the directing/MA student who was assisting her, critiqued our work. Who was the director? We were the director and we began to use what we had captured, imperfect as it was, to tell our stories.

Earlier this year, a colleague told me stories about one of his friends who works in one of the most highly paid professions. He wanted to try something new, and decided to become a director. He was convinced that he could make it happen using his own willpower, intelligence, and resources.

This year he completed two projects which he was certain would launch his directing career. No one works harder than he does, and few have the resources (both money and contacts) that he does. When I heard that he was planning to submit one of his shorts to a major film festival, I waited to see what would happen.

A few weeks ago I heard the most recent update. It was as if I were sitting in Wendy Apple's documentary filmmaking course again--neither project had turned out very well. Next came the reasons (excuses). I couldn't help it, I repeated Wendy's line. "Who's the director?"

Screenwriting is the most challenging writing I've attempted. But even while working full-time and being determined to live a balanced life (family, relaxation and fun, too), I can't get enough of it. And what makes me feel the most comfortable about it? "Who's the director" (of each story; each new project). There's no time for excuses. I will make it work, and that's what makes it worth it.

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.

Day 19: Roadmap into the industry (Creating unforgettable moments)

In 2007, I took a documentary filmmaking course from Wendy Apple. Several of my classmates were working in the industry, and had traveled to California from several countries to take the course.

I'd invited a colleague to take the class, and when she showed a rough cut of her project the professor suggested that she edit it, making it several minutes shorter.

After spending hours gathering and sorting through information, spending time with very real characters, capturing thoughts, words, and/or images on computer or videotape, discarding anything can be heart wrenching. It's such an impossibility and is so difficult to do, that film students that summer likened it to drowning puppies.

My friend called me at about 10:00 p.m. the night before our projects were due. Her documentary would've been fine for our workplace; she had traveled out of state with the person whose story was captured in her documentary. Every moment seemed important; she was exhausted. Wasn't it OK? Should she make the cuts? I told her to drown the puppies.

Later that week, when the documentary was shown in a theater at USC, the audience was comprised of faculty and hundreds of summer program students. Something pretty incredible happened during the screening. Within seconds there was an electricity in the air that hadn't been there during previous screenings; the audience roared with laughter at the same spots, was quiet as they experienced compelling parts of the story; applauded, cheered. And the documentary went on to win a regional EMMY Award.

When she edited out details that didn't create unforgettable moments my colleague had accomplished something that Professor Uno highlighted during the first night of the Directing Actors course last week. He quoted Ron Howard (words taken from a seminar the director presented at USC):

"[Moviemaking is all about] moments, highlights. So many Directors talk about the fact that a great movie is a culmination of--some Directors say three; some will say five; some say seven, but it's all about really great, memorable moments in a movie that you can build a narrative around."

So here's to keeping it simple; to creating great moments.

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.

Day 18: Roadmap into the industry (naming characters)

When I took an introductory course in playwrighting, the play "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom," by August Wilson, helped me understand the structure and descriptions needed to write a play better than any of the others we studied.

The website enotes.com provides this description of the story: ..."Set in a Chicago recording studio in 1927, the two-act drama tells the story of a recording session with blues legend Ma Rainey, her band members, and the white producer and agent who made themselves wealthy through Rainey’s recordings. The play explores race relations between blacks and whites in 1920s America and the African-American search for identity. The title comes from the song of the same name, which is at the heart of a major conflict in the play. Of particular note is Wilson’s character, Levee, who literally embodies the aspirations and disappointments of black males during this era and, arguably, today. Wilson pits Levee against Rainey, the band members, and the whites, examining various stripes of inter- and intra-racial conflict."

The play was entertaining to read, and the playwright's descriptions of the stage and set made it possible for me to adapt a short story I'd written into a play.

One of my favorite courses in the School of Cinema, "Screenplay Structure," was taught by Don Bohlinger. Though I'd read books about screenwriting and had taken courses from a producer, directors, and screenwriters, Don's course helped me become comfortable while writing. The semester I took the class, the majority of the students were in production/directing programs. Directors think visually, and listening to production students analyze a movie was a different experience from courses I'd taken with writers. Directors think visually.

During Don's course, the movie I learned the most from was "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." I wasn't looking forward to watching it twice (at home and later in class), but it has become one of my favorite films.

I learned how the audience joins the story, experiencing momentum as the story unfolds in sequences. The audience becomes more deeply involved in the story through planting and payoff (revealing a prop, a sound, or any element in a film which appears more than one time and has deep meaning or significance). The pens in the characters' pockets (the psychiatrist; the charge nurse; and two of the patients: show who is keeping records, who is in charge and who are the followers; who is keeping score. This from a note I wrote to the teacher:

One planted image [in the movie] are containers of pens and pencils on the psychiatrist's desk. The antagonist, Nurse Ratched, also had a pen. The only other two characters who had pens and/or pads of paper (displayed in their uniform pockets) were [patients] McMurphy and Harding. They were keeping score, records, self-proclaimed leaders in the mental hospital. It was fascinating to watch Harding and McMurphy battle to control the tone of the ward (easy to see who was creating the rules during the card and board games through the imagery/pens...it was McMurphy or Harding, the other patients were followers).

I also saw the importance of naming characters.

The antagonist, Nurse Ratched (her name sounds like wretched or wrench)

Martini ( a happy-go-lucky patient)

Billy (a childish name and character)

RP McMurphy ("Mac" everyman; RP/"rest in peace" he finally leaves a world where he never really fit in)

In storytelling, the characters' names can provide powerful payoffs, revealing, reinforcing the characters' roles and personality when the names are spoken, even when the character is not in the room.

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.