A Good Scribe, or A Good Jake

Mixing film & firefighting backgrounds on "World Trade Center" movie set. I'm the small mustache...

Part II - The Screenwriter As Firefighter

(This was published on my other blog, but thought it appropriate here as well.)

I have been both Scribe and "Jake."

Well, not really a Jake. That term is almost exclusively a reference to a firefighter from the Greater Boston & New England area.

Since I did most of my Fire/Ems work in Alaska (with a brief foray into Antarctica) I guess a better term would be "Ake."

Drop the J and you have AK for Alaska, E for emergency responder ... No?

Lost Friends & Writing Credits

Before I became an Ake I was working towards becoming a professional writer, though I didn't know it.

I enjoyed writing, and had some good response from friends, but never got around to submitting it to places that could pay me wages to write. When I finished my first full-length play, and shortly after that, my first full-length screenplay, I had no idea what to do with them. I was vaguely aware of contests, writing agents, publishers etc, but my lacking self-esteem at that time kept my pages in a drawer...

Until a filmmaker friend asked me to help her work on her story and script for a feature film she had an offer to direct.

Today, I'm still not sure what my position really was on the project. Was I a co-writer? Script doctor? Story editor?

In the end I realized she did all the typing, so I wasn't a co-writer. And it WAS her idea that she came to me with and started bouncing off me as a friend -- something we've all done as writers, I'm sure.

But then the day came where we walked all the way from uptown to downtown Manhattan discussing and developing the story together. Sure, she had final say in everything, but I was there, wasn't I?

And then the work sessions began. She would write some pages, give them to me to read, and we'd meet and discuss them at her apartment, over coffee at a diner, walking around a park. Often these sessions would go on for hours, and we'd have to block out time for them so she could still spend time with her family. I spent hours, then weeks, then months discussing the story, reviewing pages, giving notes...

The film got made. I got paid some money and one of those "special thanks" credits, which at the time I thought was all I could hope for.

I mean, it wasn't my project or original idea. I was lucky just to be asked to the dance.

A few years later when I was making my own indie feature I had done a brief Q&A for an independent film magazine and mentioned I had helped work on the screenplay and story for my friend's movie, which was receiving attention in the indie scene. My friend read my statement in the magazine and called me up. I was excited to hear from her as it had been awhile since we had last spoken (Facebook did not exist then,) but quickly realized she was upset. I defended myself and we haven't spoken since.

Most of us will have been taken advantage of at some point in our life, often to our detriment. Just as we will take advantage of others, whether it be personally or in business. Thus I strive for two things:

To limit my advantage-taking when I recognize it, and to better my ability to stand up for myself.

If my self-esteem had been more fully realized, and I had understood how to stand up for myself those many years ago, I would have fought for credit -- as story editor, script doctor, anything that would have helped legitimize myself in a profession where your name on a project, good or bad, is often more important than the short-end money.

In fairness I realize there are multiple sides to every story. The friend I've lost undoubtedly has her take on things -- but this is my side to the story and since time has long marched on and I've yet to have a real "career" as a screenwriter, I'd like to get it off my chest and officially claim my credit before I pass into the ether.

I am far from alone.

Unfairness Abounds

There is a fantastic and sobering documentary about the professional frustrations of screenwriting called "Tales From The Script."

If you are a writer who has been at it for some time, whether you've had a project sold, produced, awarded, or you've worked for years on spec in between flipping burgers, you'll recognize yourself in this documentary.

I own it and pop it in whenever I begin to believe that I am kidding myself with this screenwriting thing.

Actually, before I pop it in I usually think--

Give it up. Another screenwriting blog, DVD, book, seminar... They're all the same, say the same things. All they do is bring attention to and make money for the person who's putting it on.

Not with "Tales From The Script." At least I don't think so.

I popped it in again this week and (perhaps unfortunately for me) it rejuiced me. Even the most successful of us experience the same frustrations and battles.

Unfairness abounds.

We take advantage of each other because we are survivors, or competitive, or greedy, or insecure, or there are just too many of us.

Build your self esteem and fight. Cream can't always find its way to the top.

Careful about celebrating contracts early. I certainly enjoyed the Dom, but it's safe to say I was "out of pocket" on this unproduced spec work...

You're Not Invited To The War

With that said, be smart...

I had a small one-line role in my first professional play. The play was a hit and we were extended for a few months and so I thought I could now ask for the minimum Equity (stage actors union) wages along with the rest of the cast.

I was turned down and began to get vocal about it until a friend in the cast pulled me aside and said, "Matt, you might win this battle, but you're going to get kicked out of the war if you're not careful."

It was sage advice. You don't know how long your life is going to go on for, but the longer you are here the more you find yourself wanting to keep off the streets, pay your rent with some left over for coffee and a movie.

Screenwriting is not iron work, or nursing, or firefighting. Where once you're in, you've got a pretty decent chance at job longevity. Relatively speaking.

Screenwriting belongs to that part of the entertainment business where you're in and then you're out within the same 24 hours.

If you want back in the war, choose your battles with care.

The "Ake"

Ninety-odd percent of you are making ends meet through other work as you write your scripts. I am no different. Many of my jobs have been film-industry related, but there was a period when I fell into other work and before I knew it I was a firefighter and EMT.

It's good work -- No, it's great work.

In addition to the job, where every day held the potential for something totally unexpected and exciting, I felt like I was holding my own weight in our over-populated world. I was a positive contributor.

And I found success in a way I hadn't found success in the movie world. A regular paycheck, recognition by my peers, pushing personal boundaries, travel to exotic locales (I landed one gig working as a firefighter for the U.S. Antarctic program. Cold, but still exotic.)

Now, before I continue, if any of you screenwriters find this happens for you -- that you fall into other work that feeds your spirit, fills your wallet, puts you in rooms filled with supportive peers -- throw out your typewriter, or iPad, or pen and paper immediately and don't move. Keep that job!

I didn't take this advice.

I took a break from emergency services to return to writing screenplays because I find peace in trying to create other worlds. But it's the only part of the process I do enjoy. Trying to network myself and sell my work, I find I trip over myself. I either fight the wrong battles, or the right battles too late.

Like trying to get a long ago/galaxy far away credit to help build upon my argument I belong in the game.

It's not only about writing a great script.

And if you learn this lesson late but still feel you must keep writing, then suck it up and keep going, knowing you're the old guy at the club, or become something useful, meaningful, fulfilling, and truly awe-inspiring to the rest of us.

Cold, wet, tired, and happy.  My friend Kurt post fire in winter.

Hollywood's Gatekeepers

Last ride with the Transalp, Turnagain Arm

You're an amateur screenwriter and you believe your screenplay is finally ready for the real world -- or you've simply grown tired of the actual work it takes to write and re-write -- but either way, you've long suffered the crap Hollywood puts out week after week until that fateful day it struck you, "My God! I can write better than this!"

And now here you are, script in hand. Ready to cash in.

Maybe create some art on the side.

Maybe even... Nah, it ain't that good, is it? Well, that final scene did make my mom cry... Oscar nom?

You weren't born into the industry. Your Kevin Bacon number is in the hundreds, so no connections you can work there.

You have to get it to a big-time producer. Or, even a middle-time producer...

Does the porn industry buy scripts? The soft-core kind, though -- you are a storyteller after all.

OK, OK, you're not that guy. You're serious. Even took a class.

But, your Kevin Bacon number is in the hundreds, and in order to get your sweat, blood, and tears into the hands of someone who can turn them into gold, you have to get past the gatekeepers.

Aka Readers.

Aka "Bitter."

Why bitter?

Because of the slush-pile.

This All Began When

I became engaged in a discussion over on screenwriter John August's site (Charlie's Angels, Big Fish, Corpse Bride) with another of the site's readers.

Turned out this reader, was a "reader."

I brought up the, "What do readers have to be bitter about?" question.

Hitting him with, "In my old job I was bled and vomited upon," before ending with, "How cool it would be to get paid while still in my robe with a pot of coffee nearby."

Really, reader-dude, what's there to complain about?

The Slush Pile

"That's because you're not thinking of scripts as weapons ... That just comes with understanding what the slush-pile really is. If you think you can take it because of your samurai training, you are sadly fucking mistaken and shall fall like the rest of us. For it is an unearthly Hell Mouth, and the very physical manifestation of the bottomless pits of hell. If you’re laughing right now, then it is simply because you have mistaken my warnings for frivolity. Warn your village, dude."

I was laughing, but I also had to concede I have never sifted through a slush pile.

Remember how, you, the hopeful screenwriter, suffered through all those bad movies week after week? Until that fateful day you realized, "I can write better than this," and sat down to give it a shot?

You weren't alone.

Numbers I've found show anywhere from 17,000 to 50,000 scripts are registered with the Writer's Guild every year. And those numbers don't include the thousands of scripts that aren't being registered, but still make it into "readers" slush-piles.

And slush-piles can take their toll.

As the reader alluded to in one response, there is more than one way to be vomited upon:

"Try to envision taking your old day job, only imagine that what they're throwing up on is your soul ... An endless row of strangers, throwing up on your soul."

"They're Just That Rare"

Whether it's a submission to a production company, or an entry to a screenwriting competition, your script will more than likely pass into the hands of one of these bitter strangers whose soul is drenched with vomit.

And, if they perceive they are about to be wretched upon again, they may just stop reading long before they get to that really good scene that made your mom cry.

So, take your time. Read some more. Write some more.

Once it is submitted, one of three words will be stamped somewhere on your script's coverage: Pass, Consider, or Recommend

You don't want "Pass," so, you re-write.

You don't really even want "Consider," so, another re-write.

"Recommend" is the key to the kingdom. One more re-write should do it.

Now that you've put in the really tough, extra hours, the hours you know the other guy didn't put in, you're sure to get that "Recommend."

How hard can it be?

"I now share with you, the most glorious fact of my experience as a reader: I never wrote a Recommend. – It never happened. – And while you might think with my attitude that’s because I quite obviously hate everything and couldn’t tell when a great script was in my hand to begin with, (a fear that very slowly occurred to me as well)… I then took a short break to go and see if screenplays were what I remembered. And guess what? Good writing was still good writing and I could still see it plain as day. 'Back To The Future' is a perfect script. – 'The Postman' is a perfect script. – 'Schindler’s List' is a perfect script. Which is the single most searing and irreplaceable lesson of the slush pile, and the cattle-branding realization you go there to get: They’re just… that… rare."

Don't Fret Yet

Oh ye with no "uncle in the business." There may still be a place for you at (or, at least under) the dinner table.

To help with your (and my) journey, a Q&A with three Hollywood gatekeepers will be posted here in the coming week. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, stop watching anything on TV that involves a ball or puck, and get back to work on your script.

[Quoted conversation taken from this dialogue on John August site]

Another Draft (Or Twelve)

Bridge over Twenty-Mile river

We held a reading last night of my Nicholl semi-finalist screenplay 'War During Lifetime'. It took place in Anchorage with a good mix of local actors

Reading was private so the screenwriter (in this case, me) could hear his work read aloud. It was also cold (no rehearsal). To my relief, it accomplished what I hoped it would and did not send me running for the hills.

Below are a few points about this reading and readings in general.

Script History

War During Lifetime placed as a semi-finalist during the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences' Nicholl screenwriting competition. That's a mouthful, I know, but I mention the entire title for the benefit of other screenwriters.

As far as screenwriting competitions go, the Nicholl (pronounced 'nickle') is one of the best, if not the best.

The winners (up to ten each year) not only field multiple meetings with agents, managers, and production companies, they are also given $30,000 to complete another screenplay over the course of a year. But what I think is one of the best perks of entering this competition is that it is taken seriously by the film industry. Finalists, semi-finalists, and even quarter-finalists receive inquiries by established industry folks.

War During Lifetime was the first submission I've had reach the semi-finals (I've submitted eight times). It made the top 110 scripts out of over 6,000 entries, and I received a decent number of inquiries to read it based on its placement.

Did I sell it, or gain representation...?

No. Like I told the actors at the reading last night:

It might have made the semi-finals of one of the world's most esteemed screenwriting competitions, but it still didn't make the finals.

A diamond in the rough. Hence, more work, another draft (or twelve), and the reading...

Reading Notes

Best part of the night were the other participants. A solid group of local Alaskan actors showed up to participate and brought very good energy to the reading.

Because of their efforts I was able to close my eyes and listen to the script for everything from plot points to dialogue.

In our discussion afterward, the actors also all seemed to be in agreement over a few character moments and plot points, which meant something was working well enough that when something felt out of character it was obvious.

The re-writes were beginning to yield results.

How Many Drafts Does It Take?

Who knows... Forty?

That's the number a script reader once mentioned. I've heard of it done in as few as one draft with a polish, and as many as 'It never ends. This is the millionth draft and they want more!'

For myself I've had to learn patience. My first three or four drafts may yield a story and some characters, but in the mountainous slush-pile of scripts submitted to producers every year it needs to be perfect.

War During Lifetime has been written, passed to friends for notes, re-written, passed among different friends, re-written, forgotten about for a year, re-written, passed to new friends, re-written, and read aloud.

The first few readings by friends are usually disastrous. The notes are either so politely generic as to be useless, or so brutally honest (you asked for them to be honest, remember) that you wonder why the hell you ever tried to write in the first place.

But here's a secret -- You knew what the results were going to be all along.

How? Because if you spend enough time writing you will begin to develop a voice inside that tells you whether your work is ready to show or not. You just didn't pay the voice any heed because you need to get past the first rough hurdle of realizing (again) how difficult it is to write.

Both Good And Suck

Now is decision time: Do I move forward and really dive in, or do I let this one go? Do I love it enough to stick with it through both good and suck?

Ok, your heart is in the story and you've jumped back in.

Now you need to pay close attention to that voice inside. If it says 'Come on man, you know deep down it ain't ready' - listen to it.

Exercise some patience and settle in for the long haul, knowing that there will be light at the end of the tunnel.

Another draft has gone by and you're ready to send it out... Wait. Are you sure?

Just because you've locked yourself in a motel room for twenty straight days without sunlight, writing your ass off, doesn't mean it's ready. It just means you put a lot of work into it.

And so have the other 50,000 writers who have registered scripts with the Writer's Guild this year.

Walk away from it awhile. Quit. Start something new. Get a job in Antarctica (the route I took).

Then, if that story still needs to be told, sit down with it again and again until you can't hear that voice saying 'It ain't ready' anymore.

Show it to someone (not your mother). Hire a professional script-analyst to give you notes. Gather a bunch of actors, feed them pizza, and have a reading.

It won't be perfect, but it might be good enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel and realize you're on to something.

And having your work validated won't always fill the fridge, but it does feed the soul.

And the soul feeds the work.

Until maybe one day both soul and labor meet in a culmination of awesome perfection that no script-reader can ignore and your screenplay is stamped:

CONSIDER