Day 14: Roadmap into the industry

For several years I worked in a college PR office. Our office published a four-page ad sheet, and each ad represented a story--a diamond wedding ring for sale, never worn; a moving sale 7:30 a.m. Sunday, everything must go; lost pets; houses for lease. Sometimes when the receptionist was away from his desk I'd help customers who were dropping off ads.

One day a physician rang the bell. He was wearing a lab coat embroidered with his name and his specialty. I felt a subtle disconnect; his appearance didn't match his uniform; he didn't have the physique or the affect of many doctors I'd met.

I could tell by his build that he was someone used to physical labor. He wanted to rent a room; his wife was a physician working in a hospital about an hour away until he finished his residency. He was studying for state boards and needed a room to sleep in, two to three nights per week.

I took his ad and payment, and answered his questions. His personality was down-to-earth. I wondered what his story was.

After the ad was printed, I ran into him once in awhile on campus. One day I asked why he had chosen to study medicine. "I was working on a construction crew," he said, "when one day I watched an older worker put some spackle on a trowel and then onto a wall. He did it expertly and so quickly and for a split second I admired his skill. Then I was horrified--I'd admired him. Was that all I wanted to be able to accomplish in 30 years?"

He applied to medical school. "My dad," he said, "is a tough guy; in high school and college he always insisted that I take the most challenging science courses."

During his med school interview, a faculty member asked why he wanted to become a physician. "So I don't have to work outside in the summer," he replied. The faculty member laughed. "That's valid," he said.

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When I began taking screenwriting courses, no matter how hard I tried each character's dialogue sounded alike. I struggled with this for a long time; I knew they were no more interesting than people in computer generated crowd scenes.

I once attended a Ducks game with a friend who provided commentary about the crowd. Describing the row in front of us: "Season ticket holders usually sit in those seats but they're not here tonight. Those people shouldn't be there. Look how guilty they look." Across the ice, a several girls were sitting on the front row. "They're season ticket holders, too. They come to all the games and dress as sexy as they can, and flirt with the players. See the one wearing blue? she got pregnant; never stopped coming to the games, and then had the baby." I knew their stories and yet my friend had never met them.

In computer generated audience or crowd scenes small details, their stories, are missing. That's the disconnect; what appears on screen remains unsatisfying.

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.