The SCREENWORKS blog is about what works on screen!  Join Trai Cartwright on a through-the-looking-glass exploration of the wonderful world of cinema.  Part craft, part cinema studies, part fan-girl ravings and part Hollywood Insider, plus the occassional book or film review.

(originally appeared on The Writing Bug Blogspot.)

Your Life’s Trigger Incident
In all films, there is a moment about ten or fifteen minutes into the film that kicks off the story.  Before that, it was all character introductions, world building, maybe a sneak peak at the villain.  It’s called the Trigger Incident, or the Inciting Incident, or, sometimes, The Call To Adventure (but really that’s something different). 
It occurred to me that there’s a reason why stories start here – it’s because there’s a direct correlation between a movie Trigger Incident and the ones we experience in real life. On a psychological level, we recognize and perhaps even crave our own Trigger Incidents.
A Trigger Incident is the moment the hero (because in movies we believe in heroes, not protagonists) has absolutely no choice but to act.  It’s a visceral moment, something that we as filmmakers have been trained to identify in our guts – it’s when things get real, and the hero is going to have to start figuring out how to be a hero.
So, for example, in Avatar (because everyone’s seen Avatar, right?), paralyzed Sam is offered a deal:  take on his dead twin brother’s mission to invade Pandora and the military will give him back the ability to walk.  Or, in Inception, after we get through all the rigamorel of the Teaser (also different than the First Act) where Leo and Joe try to impress Ken Watanabe and fail miserably, Ken offers Leo, our hero (because for all his foibles, he is a hero), a deal:  hack his business rival’s dreams and he’ll make the murder charges hanging over Leo’s head go away so he can rejoin his family.
Now we all know lots of things go wrong after that trigger is pulled, because a movie would be pretty boring without dramatic complications, but that too reflects real life.  Since when do we accept the Call to Adventure and not suffer on some level for it?  Since when do any of us come to a situation a hero – don’t we all have to figure out, painfully, how to master the mission?
When was the last time you got a Call to Adventure?  Did you resist, only to be dragged in kicking and screaming?  And what happened?  Did you grow into a hero?  There may not have been a happy ending (in real life there is no such thing), but was there a reward anyway? 
As I’ve always said, movies are the most relevant cultural language we have these days, a divining rod for how we see ourselves as a society.  They are our best selves, if only we had the chance.  If it’s been a while since you’ve heard the Call, maybe it’s time to engineer one for yourself.

Live the Writer's Life this New Year
Happy New Year, writers!  There is no doubt in my mind that you each are making resolutions to become the amazing, prodiginous writers you each are capable of, and I’m right there with you. 

So for 2011, here’s a list of the Top 11 Writer’s Resolutions you can choose from, or tailor to your own devices:

11.  Stop procrastinating.  This ranges from checking email and Facebook compulsively to never even sitting down at the computer because there’s always something else that needs doing.  My advice in stopping: don’t aim to try to quit cold turkey.  Just one day at a time:  surprise yourself, just plop down and get a little work done.  It’ll feel so good, it might just be your new addiction.  

10.  Meet a word count.  The trick to this is not to make the word count too intimidating.  I did NaNoWriMo this year, but do I think I could do hit 50K every month?  No way.  But I sure can hit 5,000 words in a month.  In fact, I might sit down to jam out 500 words one day, and surprise myself with pounding out 3000.

9.  Finish that book.  Finishing A Book is a tall order for anyone, even the pros.  So how about looking harder at #10, be diligent and before you know it, you’ll have gotten much further than you could have guessed, and won’t carry the quilt of not Finishing A Book.

8.  Hire an editor.  Everyone should have a pro read their stuff before they take their shot at the market; it could be the best money you ever spend to help you in your writerly goals.

7.  Write something totally outside of your comfort zone.  I wrote a romance short story the other day.  It sucked.  But this is what I learned:  my sensibilities tend toward the intellectual, and I could use more emotional connections between my characters.  A great lesson to learn, one that will translate to all my writing.  Writing outside of your comfort zone will teach you surprising things about your writing.

6.  Take classes.  Classes can offer many “ah ha” moments, but they also serve the purpose of keeping your mind turned to your mission.  It might also help you expand that all important writer’s community.

5.  Find a writer’s group.  Some writer’s groups are so great, they take the place of an editor.  They are great ways to enforce a deadline and help you develop your work, and learning to critique other’s work is a vital part of being a writer.   

4.  Take your work to market.  There’s nothing like a publication, or even just professional feedback, to make you feel more like a writer. 

2.  Find an agent.  If you’ve got a completed book of poetry or fiction, or a nonfiction proposal, it is imperative you go look for an agent.  However, you don’t have to make it intimidating.  Like your word count, just sneak out a letter or two while your critical internal editor isn’t looking. 
   
   
3.  Figure out what it is you want to write.  Seems obvious, doesn’t it?  But for many writers, we get stuck writing in genres that don’t excite us, or in mediums that don’t show our skills to their best advantage.  What story has you thinking about it when you go to bed and when you get up in the morning?  Follow the heat, no matter what it is.   

1. Live the writer’s life.  Even if you do just two or three of the above, you’ll already be living the writer’s life.  This is it, friends – this is what writers do.  So use 2011 to really embrace the joys and master the frustrations of our chosen field.  Facebook can wait.

Have a wonderful, productive, successful 2011, and be sure to tell us at NCW all about your successes and your resolutions – we want to hear!

The Worst Job in Hollywood I Ever Had, Part 1.
Someone who reads my blogs met me at a party and asked that if Hollywood was such a great time, why did I leave? 

It occurred to me that I was slanting the view a bit for my readers – only showing the shiny, glossy, glamorous parts.  Going on the assumption that you wouldn’t at all mind hearing some of the worst parts, here’s the story of one of the Worst Jobs I Ever Had in Hollywood.

I was 24 and a friend of mine, Dawn Wildsmith, the cult B-movie goddess from movies like “Surf Nazis Must Die,” hooked me up with my first real movie job:  production assistant for her ex-husband, famous B-movie director Fred Ray.  There was no budget on this straight-to-DVD hot mess, but it did have a big, if fading star:  Marc Singer, known to most as the “Beastmaster” and the hero of TV’s original “V.” 

On my first day I arrived maybe third (PA’s are always first in and last out) at our location:  a beautiful Japanese garden in the Valley.  I was given a Motorola walkie talkie and sent to the entrance, about a half mile away, to guide people to the set.  “You there yet?” asked the Assistant Director over the speaker.  “Yes,” I said, teeth chattering, perched on a big rock by a deserted road. 

It was 7AM, I was sleepy and cold and seriously grumpy. 

But I clutched that walkie talkie and my sign diligently, consoling myself with one of my oldest habits:  talking to myself.  I talk to myself constantly; some folks say it’s a stress reliever, and that morning I was stressed out.  I kept telling myself how crazy this was – “I was a graduate of the NYU film school; what was I doing out here, earning $7 an hour flagging B-movie crew down in the freezing cold?  My next job wasn’t going to suck nearly as bad as this one.  Guess I was paying my dues…”

And on and on. 

Then a car drove up from the direction of the set and the AD got out.  He took the walkie talkie away from me and clicked a button. 

“You have to release the talk button, or we just keep hearing what you’re saying,” he said and I about fell through the ground with horror.  They’d heard all my whining and moaning and supercilious bitchery.

From that day on, I was more dedicated than ever to my job – never complained, always smiled, always did what was asked and I stopped talking to myself. 
But it was too late.  Their impression of my bad attitude was already cemented.  If I hadn’t been Dawn’s friend, I’m sure they would have fired me.

Was I happy to be on that set?  Sometimes.  When I was working 18 hour days with bronchitis, so delirious driving home, I was a danger to myself and everyone around me, not at all. When we were staging the big shoot-out on the same set “Cagney and Lacey” used to shoot on, and I got to yell out “Fire in the hole!” all day to warn everyone guns were about to go off – you bet!

But I learned two important lessons that day:  one, no one wants to hear you complain, especially if they’re the ones giving you a break, no matter who shabby or back-breaking that break is; and two, production work wasn’t for me.  I got an office job after we wrapped.

Nothing like immature self-embarrassment to help you learn how to be a better worker, and I carried that lesson with me to every job thereafter, including my most important ones – the ones when producers and agents were telling me they weren’t sold on my writing.  I never complained; I just got to work.  There’s a lesson for us all to be had on that craptastic B-movie set, one of the worst Hollywood jobs I ever had.

Did you ever learn a lesson at work that has helped you learn to be a better professional writer?

The 2011 Golden Globe Awards
I suck at guessing the winners at the big awards, always have.  I go with my heart, voting for whoever moved me the most.  But rarely does that align with the politics that genuinely determine the winners.  There are dozens of prognosticators on this issue, and kudos to them for their in-depth analysis, but here are my picks, based on what moved, excited or thrilled me in 2010.
BEST MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA :  THE SOCIAL NETWORK
“Black Swan” was a real honest-to-goodness movie – a story that couldn’t be told in any other medium but film, but give me razor-sharp social commentary and filmmaking any day of the week, in any medium. 
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA:”  NATALIE PORTMAN, Black Swan
I don’t like Natalie in general, but she blew me away with this film.  An astonishing achievement, both in her preparation and her skilled delivery of what artistic madness looks like and feels like. 
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE – DRAMA:  JESSE EISENBERG, The Social Network
Hard to love this absolute jerk, but there was no other performance for me this year that was so smart, so seamless, so determinedly self-possessed.  And Zombieland was fun, too.  A great year for Jesse.
BEST MOTION PICTURE – COMEDY OR MUSICAL:  THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT
An easy choice, despite the quibbles I had with the contrived, dishonest plot complications.
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE – COMEDY OR MUSICAL:   EMMA STONE, Easy A
Yes, Annette will win, and deservedly so, but Emma Stone to me was a revelation, a true break out in this great, smart teen comedy.  If you haven’t seen it, got get you some Emma.  She’s the next big female comedy star.
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE – COMEDY OR MUSICAL:  None of those Nominated.  Really?  That’s the best list they could come up with this year??
Even two nominations for Johnny Depp feels knee-jerk and doesn’t make this year anything but a bunch of scene chomping from one of my favorite actors.
BEST ANIMATED FEATURE FILM:  TOY STORY 3
In any other year, it might well have been “Despicable Me” or “How to Train Your Dragon,” but this year, Toy Story 3 raised the bar even higher in an already great field.
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE IN A MOTION PICTURE:  Mila Kunis, Black Swan.
The other women in this category really broke out all the stops – accents, playing different classes, making the leap across the other pond, but Mila brought life and levity to a film that otherwise could have drowned in pretentiousness.
BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE IN A MOTION PICTURE:  Jeremy Renner, The Town
Except for Michael Douglas, this is an impossible category to call, but I have a terrible crush on Jeremy Renner, have since “28 Weeks Later,” so there you go. 
BEST DIRECTOR – MOTION PICTURE:  Christopher Nolan,  Inception
That “Inception” wasn’t included in the Best Film category tells me that nasty attitude about science fiction is stilling steering the judging in Hollywood, so they’ll give it to Christopher Nolan here in an attempt to beg forgiveness for their lame prejudice against a master filmmaker, a deep thinker and a big moneymaker.  
BEST SCREENPLAY – MOTION PICTURE: Aaron Sorkin, The Social Network
If they give Nolan the director’s award, this will go to Aaron Sorkin for “The Social Network.”  Nolan can’t get both (the Academy doesn’t feel that bad about their disdain for sci-fi) whether he deserves them or not, and who’s to say Sorkin’s riveting dramatization of some intense research doesn’t deserve the prize?

Hollywood for the Holidays
Let me tell you a little about the holidays in Hollywood:  they rock.  It may be LA, but the weather is no obstacle to our over-the-top celebration of the season. 
First off, we say Happy Holidays, not Merry Christmas.  I hope I don’t have to explain why.

Plans for the holiday begin mid-November.  The boss is getting ready to disappear for three weeks to some trendy all-inclusive resort (no one but assistants and salary workers are in the office from Dec. 20 to Jan. 3rd.  Period.).  Holiday cards must be ordered and address lists updated, an astonishingly time-consuming process when you’ve got 400 (or 1,200) cards to send out.  And don’t talk to me about the ordering of gift baskets.  The gift basket industry goes supernova in LA for the holidays.  Who you are on the ladder of Hollywood is determined by the size of the gift basket you receive, sure, but also the ones you give. And for the serious players, we’re talking Tiffany and live trees.

Does anyone eat the peanut brittle, the exotic Scandanavian caviar spreads, the black pepper crackers from England?  You bet – the assistants do.  Just like all the other perks in the film industry, the longer you’ve been around, the less enamored you are by the trappings.  The trickle-down theory goes into effect, and the low man on the totem pole is suddenly the richest person in town – oh, if chocolate-covered espresso beans and robust red wines from Australia were currency.

And that’s just the stuff that gets passed from office to office.  Let me tell you about the parties. 

Of course there’s the private parties, and those are great, those are fun, those are sometimes illegal, but it was the studio parties that I always looked forward to.  Every studio shuts down their “back lot” (where the building facades that look like NYC / ancient Greece / The OK Corral live), decorates it like a huge festival and then welcomes their hundreds of employees +1s for a night of welcome (and free) celebration. 

Of course there’s food and drink every three feet, but there’s more, more more. 

I’ve been on the Universal back lot when strolling choirs, each with a different theme, sang on every corner.  The best was the 50-person gospel choir who assembled on the very stairs where Marty McFly sparked up his time-machine off the City Hall clock. We all gathered on the astro-turf town square and let the soulful sounds melt away our jaded, hipster attitudes.

I’ve been on the Fox lot when they had bands in four different tents, a sushi and a stir-fry and a pasta bar.  Not to mention the faux casino gaming; it was the only time the executives found themselves laying down their big Fox “bucks” next to the maintenance engineers. Guess who usually won?   Turns out janitors can play 21 like nobody’s business.

And forget about Disney:  they just shut down Disneyland for their employees.  Sweet were the holidays when I’d ride the Indiana Jones ride over and over and over again --no line to wait in.  Just me and my Disney pals, eating free churros and waiting for the fireworks to explode over the snow they trucked in just for Main Street.

It’s the land of fantasy, folks, and we carried on at the holidays like you’d expect us to.  We gave incredibly because, yes, it gave us joy, but also because it didn’t hurt (most of the gifts were expensed).  We accepted with glee, too.  Because who doesn’t love free pasta bars and peanut brittle, the sound of funk-ified holiday songs cranking out of a live band’s amplifiers on 11, the feel of fake snow under your stilettos, and raising a glass with all my magic-making movie friends, each of us aglow with genuine holiday cheer?

My Shameful Secret Holiday Tradition
Just like many of you, the holidays are my favorite time of the year.  But it’s probably not for the same reasons you all love and cherish them.  I love December because it gives me permission to watch the absolute cheesiest MOWs of all time:  The Christmas Movie. 

You’ve seen them advertised ad nausea:  fallen celebrities making a buck by appearing as Santa’s son or daughter, or Mrs. Clause, or Santa’s doppelganger, or the Scrooge who gets his world tipped when three ghosts show him the errors of his corporate / greeting card writer / department store bahumbugery. 

Or how about the ones where a woman (always a woman) gets dumped by her husband and she must find a new life before the holidays so her kids will get to celebrate Christmas?  Or, the ones where someone is duty-bound to go home for the holidays and in order to make it bearable, they kidnap someone to present as their fiancé, or they reunite with an old sweetheart, or they mix in with their big, boisterous family in an attempt to dodge Mom and Dad’s scrutiny. 

Or how about the ones in which Something Must Be Saved:  a town hall, a school show, the owners of a car that’s gone off the road. Or the ones where neighbors compete for the best light display or pageant choir or must-have toy. 

There’s even a new rash of these MOWs staring puppies who save Christmas, but I remember when it was Rudolph, played by, alternatively, a mechanical and an actual, if hostile reindeer. 

But my all time favorites are the ones in which a giant cast of people I’m so pleased to see again, and in one place, all get together to have themselves a hoot (the actors, not the characters, who are gently tortured in the spirit of the season), earn a little spending money for the holidays, and manage, time and again, to bring a tear to my eye.  It’s always right around the time the hero / heroine receives a Christmas miracle and actually knows to appreciate it – the music swells and I tear up right on cue. 

In December, the nights belong to me and Hallmark (or Lifetime.  Or ABC family).  I get my Christmas cheer on, indulging in these tinfoil holiday sentiments and tell John Corbett, or Randy Travis, or Tom Everett Scott he’s lookin’ good.

There’s too many favorites to recommend, so here’s my short list: 

• Favorite Christmas Hollywood movie:  “Love Actually.” 
• Favorite movie with the family:  “The Muppet’s Christmas Carol” (light the lamp, not the rat!). 
• Favorite cheesy network MOW:  “Ebbie,” a gem from the 1980’s starring Susan Lucci.  Check it out.  Bet you’ll cry when she reunites with her niece.

Now I Understand Why I Signed Up for an MFA
Several years ago, I had the strange idea that getting a graduate degree would be the road to a new future as a writer.  That was as detailed as that thought got. 

I applied to MFA programs, was accepted, moved to Colorado and attended what’s considered a “traditional” MFA program – a real old school bricks-and-mortar deal, complete with teachers who’d been tenured before the first Bush was president, standing firm for the Ivory Tower standard of Literary writing. 

It was, for me, an unproductive, unsatisfactory experience.  Like a child, my explanation of why it was a bad fit came down to this:  it made me feel bad. 

So I transferred to something called a Low-Residency MFA – 14 weeks of online course work, tons of independent, self-directed study and writing, and two weeks at a Residency that could be likened to the most advanced, comprehensive, and exhausting writer’s conference of all time. 

My new MFA has been a brilliant experience.  In the words of my inner child, it makes me feel good.  Really good.  It makes me feel like a writer, like I have a shot at being really good one day.

Each day looked like this:  breakfast, followed by a two high-level craft lectures, one general and one genre-specific (i.e., fiction, nonfiction, poetry, screenwriting).  Lunch was served, followed by a three-hour intensive workshop with my fellow classmates who’d submitted, alternately, chunks of a book or screenplay.  Each student was embraced for whatever it was they wrote (there was a range of genres presented, fantasy and Literary peacefully cohabitating), and each student was given thoughtful, detailed, and appropriate craft and story notes. 

I learned more about my own writing in that three-hour workshop than I had for years.  It’s one thing to take generalized classes and adapt them for one’s own work, but it’s entirely another to have radically advanced minds have a go at it, without institutional agenda or ego-driven intrigue.  It was like having ten mentors, all eager for me to succeed. 

The afternoon workshop was followed by another craft lesson, then a break for dinner (which usually entailed gangs of writers going to ethnic restaurants and ordering too much beer), then a Reading and Interview with some fantastically amazing writer, each deeply published and deeply awarded and deeply invested in passing on their knowledge. 

Then, if that weren’t enough, there were late night student readings around the poolside firepit, ideal for practice and community building. We laughed, we cried, we were in awe of our fatigue.  

I had thought I only intended to earn a degree to qualify to teach at the university level, but this residency made me finally understand why I’m dedicating three years of my life to the intensive study of the craft of writing.  I’ve always known that we each have unlimited potential but now I was learning many of the tools I’d need to maximize that potential.  More than that, I learned that a writer’s community is everything – without other writers to be my champions, my heroes and my cohorts, this gig might not be worth it. 

Turns out the real reason I wanted an MFA was to gather more tools, more capacity and more compassion so that I could join more writers around the fire.  Who’s got a match?

 

Hammy Actors, or How I Learned to Love John Malkovich Again
When the production company I worked for made “Lost In Space,” one of my favorite things was having lunch with my producer-boss and watching the dailies that had been over-nighted from the London set.  New Line Cinema had hired two of amazing actors, William Hurt and Gary Oldman; despite the fact that the script was a hot mess, how could we go wrong with that talent? 

While Bill didn’t deviate much from his curious scientist posturing, watching Gary was like watching a master acting class.  Every single take (and there were many, thanks to an inexperienced director) had something radically different going on.  The range of emotions, the “colors,” as actors call it, was astonishing.  There were dozens of different “Dr. Smith” performances to choose from.

But when the movie came out (we had no say in the editing), we were shocked to see that Gary, to put it politely, chewed the scenery.  Horrifying!  Over the top, plastic and slapstick, eradicated of any of the brilliance and nuance and masterful thespian skill we saw in the dailies.

I never understood what happened until I read this Movieline.com interview with John Malkovich, another actor who in recent years has become like nails on a hammy chalkboard, and who is flat-out bizarre in the new movie “Red.”

JOHN:  [I] give the director and editor some choices. And on a scene-by-scene basis, they will be the deciders of the tonality of the performance. It’s not theater; you’re not your own editor.
…Now, all that does is presuppose that the person in charge has the requisite vision and taste and mastery of the tonality that you can trust them. Sometimes that’s the case, sometimes it isn’t. But that’s part of being a professional actor. I suppose 90 percent of my film performances I would never have edited that way.
…My business is to give them — as best I can and successfully as I can achieve it (and often I don’t) — enough options that all those decisions are in their hands, and they have a catholicity, a plethora of options.

Now we know who to blame for turning great actors into odoriferous cheeseballs.  Mickey Rourke, are you listening?  Don’t let your comeback be derailed by lousy directors!  Maybe Mr. Hurt had it right from the start:  establish a tone and don’t deviate, lest they choose your worst work for you.

What’s in your rider?   
While working in Hollywood, I spent more time as a development executive than on movie sets, so I primarily dealt with pre-production.  I was all about the development process, working with the writers, and assisting with casting, location hunting and of course, contract administration. 

At one point, we were very determined to get Sylvester Stallone into one of our movies.  We didn’t have a big budget, and we were even shooting overseas to keep costs down.  He did us a huge favor by agreeing to cut his salary by something like 80%.  Score!  We were in luck!  And then we got his rider. 

A rider is an adjunct to the contract that includes all the perks, staff and extras a star requires to be on the movie.  His included three assistants, a personal chef, two trainers, his own wardrobe, hair and make-up person, plus the largest trailer made on the planet as well as a portable gym flown in from the US. The expenses on his rider were five times as much as his reduced salary, and one-third as much as the entire budget.

I was privy to plenty of riders, and could track a star’s cache depending on their list of demands (and it did feel like a hostage negotiation).  I remember when Jim Carrey didn’t even have a rider, and I remember when his $20 million salary was augmented with a three page list that added another $10 to his asking price.  Movie stars aren’t the only ones cashing in:  www.thesmokinggun.com has a whole, equally astonishing section devoted to musician tour riders (JLo’s is not to be missed). 

In reviewing some of these lists of hubris and luxury, I’ve decided that’s what my life is missing: a rider.  So here’s a list of my requirements to guarantee my performance:

• A private bathroom attached to my office, each to be cleaned daily before my arrival; garbage is unsightly and can be a hazard (thank you, Elton John).
• One (1) case of Coke, Diet Coke and Sprite Zero on hand at all times.
• One (1) meat and cheese lunch platter, but NO ROAST BEEF and only Honey Smoked Ham, and no yellow cheeses.
• A laptop that won’t crash, with enough memory to game as well as hold my entire iTunes library.
• An iTunes Account, funded through the year 2020 or until the planet runs out of music.
• A Kimble pre-loaded with every book featuring a Victoria heiress, a psychic or a detective ever written.  NO VAMPIRES.
• One (1) package of thick winter socks, M, any color except yellow.
• Three lamps, each with 1000 watt bulbs to make my office bright enough to resemble a sunny day, or a day on the sun.  
• A window through which only squirrels, cats and birds can be seen; no humans are to be within eyeline, and especially no screaming children.
• A check in the mail every day, followed by a rotating delivery schedule of Asian food.
• An unlimited supply of ideas, all original (NOT generic) to write about.
• An unlimited supply of distractions ranging from Netflix, Facebook, TiVo and magazines, which I will later assign blame for my lack of production.

These rudimentary items are required for my comfort and continued creativity.  Did I mention the socks?  Very important they aren’t yellow.  Assistants have been fired for buying yellow socks. 
 

The Value of Information
It was our last Advanced Screenwriting class last night, and as always when a class wraps, I get a little misty-eyed.  Students know that the teacher gets emotionally engaged with them, don’t they?  We all made plans to see each other again real soon, and that softened the blow.

What also softens the blow is looking at the distance they’d come since I first met them for January’s Screenwriting class at Laramie County Community College.  I think one of them had seen a screenplay before; none had written in the format.  They dove in with relish, setting impossible tasks for themselves:  to exceed the 60 pages required and write an entire 110 screenplay.  Some even did it. 

When we finished the 16-week class, they were exhausted (as was I) and exhilarated.  They wanted more.  As did I.  A handful decided to follow me to an Advanced class. “Advanced” didn’t refer to the level of lecture, as there was little of that; advanced referred to their own progress.  And boy, did they progress.  By the end of the class, not only had their screenwriting skills risen to competitive levels, they were even giving notes on unproduced scripts.  They were ruthless (there is no one less patient with bad writing than a writer who’s had a breakthrough in their own abilities) and as viable as any I’d seen come out of a development executive’s office.

When asked about the value of the experience, I was fishing for the targeted bits that I would want to include in future classes, but what they had to say was so simple (and sort of ruthless), it stopped me cold.  The workshop structure of the Advanced class taught them far more than the detailed lectures in the Screenwriting 101 class. 

I found this a bit odd.  Couldn’t they see their own progress?  That they hadn’t even seen a screenplay when we first met, and they were now doing final polishes to enter contests and look for representation?  Without all that discussion about the art and craft of the medium, the “101,” they’d never have reached this level of proficiency.

My husband, as usual, set me straight.  He said, “A lecture is just a list of information, and sure, it might be interesting, but it doesn’t mean anything until there’s practical application.  That’s the best way to learn anything – put it in action.”

I’ve a new regard for teaching, thanks to my students:  the information is only as valuable as the use it gets put to.  How did I miss that before? 

So I’ve a challenge for all of us writers:  take those classes, read those books and blogs, get that info – but whatever you do, don’t forget to activate it.  If you see a workshop class, grab it.  If you don’t have a writer’s group, start looking.  If these aren’t feasible, then challenge yourself to take a principle you’ve read about and create a writing exercise around it.  Expand your base of knowledge, get out of your comfort zone, surprise yourself with what you don’t know – your writing will thank you for it.           

I’ll be teaching Screenwriting 101 again in the spring, both at Front Range and back at Laramie County Community Colleges.  You might want to come check it out.  I’ll be applying a half-lecture / half-workshop structure.  Maybe we can capture the best of both worlds.
www.frcc.edu  Writing for Film (ENG 236 / 65160)
www.lccc.cc.wy.us   Literary Genre:  Screenwriting (ENGL 2450)

Tales from the Script Documentary
One of my Advanced Screenwriting students pointed me in the direction of a documentary called “Tales of the Script.”  It really inspired her, she said, and made facing the third act of her screenplay easier.  Excited to hear of a new wellspring of inspiration, I Netflixed and watched.  And proceeded to be horrified and traumatized, left dazed and damaged on the couch.

The twenty or so screenwriters interviewed related exactly my own experience while in Tinseltown – the frustration of getting to a marketable draft, the weekend reads, the hurry-up-and-wait, the thrill of big news, the grinding terror of deadlines, incomprehensible notes, wrong casting -- all of it.  Worse, those experiences were compounded by the advanced level at which they played.  I had only been optioned a number of times; these were screenwriters who were bought, produced and in some cases even awarded. 

They spoke at length about the astonishing amount of work it takes to get a script into producible shape, and it’s often done by writers who are up against executives who aren’t expert storytellers and directors determined to get an action sequence on the Eiffel Tower shoe-horned in and movie stars who demand more tortured-hero scenes so they can show off their chops for that Oscar-bait role they want to land. 

And that’s when you’ve actually gotten to the pre-production stage.  How about all the work that went into first learning your craft?  One screenwriter broke down the screenplays he’d written into three columns:  made (3), bought (7) and written and not bought (12).  He shrugged and said, not too good.  Me, I thought, Wow, this guy’s got a 50% success rate!  That’s terrific!  (Success for a screenwriter isn’t always a made film – it’s also those that have been optioned or purchased, because those deals help us get the next deal). 

Another screenwriter gave his stats:  2 films made; 35 written.  Thirty-five, people!!  Can you imagine writing 35 books before you made a sale??

This lead me to think of Kevin Williamson (“Scream;” “Vampire Diaries”), who spoke to a writer’s group I belonged to.  Someone asked how many drafts he usually writes before he sends it to his agent.  He said about fifteen to twenty.  There was an audible gasp in the room – that many??  That’s crazy!  But me and a few others were nodding our heads; that sounded about right. 

But somehow, for some reason, the work gets done.  We tuck ourselves into our small little offices where no one can hear us scream and pound away at the keys.  

The question any sane person would ask is, why?  Why would anyone work this hard to get so little payback.  (Trust me, the $85,000 WGA minimum they pay you for that first script breaks down to about $12,500 for each year it took you to get to that point; the $250,000 paydays are few and far between.  Even Shane Black doesn’t make $1 million anymore.)   

So why do we do it? 

One writer on the documentary had this to say:  “It’s like sending only young people off to war – they simply don’t believe they’ll be hurt.  If any of us had any idea what was involved in attempting this for a living, we wouldn’t do it.  The secret, I guess, is to never doubt for a second that you won’t succeed.”

And that’s just the attitude required to be any kind of writer.  Never doubt for a minute that you won’t succeed.  And never watch documentaries that are too true to life about your chosen field.   

Manitou Springs AuthorFest & Douglas County Writers Conference
There are millions of blogs out there about the value of writer’s conferences, and they are all correct:  they are inspiring, educational, a boon to both professional and personal networking, and can supercharge your relationship with your writing. 

I pulled double-duty this weekend, and with pleasure.  I was invited to teach by both the Manitou Springs AuthorFest and the Douglas County Public Libraries Writers Conference last weekend.  I said yes to both and had three great days of roadtripping, workshopping and communing with my excellent Colorado writing community.

The boon of teaching at these conferences works much the same way it does for the attendees: presenters get to attend the conference, too, and while I love getting my craft refreshed and new bits of publishing world info, I think it’s the keynotes that were my favorite this time. 

At Manitou Springs, we heard Mark Obmascik, who climbed all 54 14’ers and wrote a best-selling humor book about it.  Someone asked if Kilimanjaro was next, and his very rational response:  he’d prefer to be with my family.  Climbing is very selfish, as is writing, and if either wanted to take him away from my family for three months, he’d say no.

So often the message writers get is that if they aren’t completely dedicated to, perhaps even obsessed with this path, we’re undercutting our potential for success.  He reminded us that there are bigger things in life than writing. 

At lunch in the same room, Carleen Brice compared her writer’s journey to the esteemed Hollywood “hero’s journey”.  She regaled us with the “we hate it / we love it” fight for her first publication, her struggle to write (and rewrite.  And rewrite) her second book, followed by her first book’s adaptation into a TV movie starring Jill Scott and shortly thereafter getting dropped by her publisher because of her under-performing second book.  She stood before us, facing the exact same challenge we all were:  would anyone ever want to publish her book? 

She reminded us that the magical times this business can deliver arrive in big and small packages, and our job was to recognize and appreciate those wonderful moments – they would help during the lean times on our long journey.

And finally, the legendary, most-awarded-scifi-writer-alive Connie Willis spoke to the crowd gathered at the Douglas County event.  She related to us of the conceit that successful writers are writers who toil at it every single day.  Then she related a day in her last week:  her garbage disposal broke, she was in the middle of planning a book tour and writing three speeches, she went to change out laundry to find the basement flooded, her mother-in-law was arriving the next week – and she’d just learned her mentor of many years had just passed away.  Did she write that day?  She did.  Because, in her words, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” 

If you wait for the perfect time to start writing, you’ll never do it.  If you wait for the big sale to validate you as a writer, you’ll never realize the importance of your work.  So do it for love, and do it now.

I’m signing off to go write.  I hope you all do the same.

 

Mystery Movie Jobs
I sat with Kerrie Flanagan for the TriMedia Film Festival’s opening night film, we tipped back the margaritas, enjoying the good tale on screen.  The credits began rolling, and she leaned over and asked, “What’s a gaffer?” 

Ding!  Another blog to write for the NCW website.

The three most consistently baffling credits on a film are the Gaffer, the Grip and the Best Boy. So here’s what these strange creatures do:

Gaffer:  the gaffer is the head electrician, and generally focuses on the lighting equipment.  They work in conjunction with the Director of Photography (cameraman) regarding placement of lights, and more importantly make sure the electric circuits aren’t blown by overuse.  The general joke is that when an actress has been photographed beautifully, she’s sleeping with the DP, but when an actress is lit so beautifully, she looks fifteen years younger, she’s bringing donuts to the gaffers every morning.  Gaffers don’t require much in the way of attention or rewards.  

Here’s a rumor of how the gaffer got his name:  gaffer predates the sound era in a time when electricity was used to a lesser degree than today. The early stages had canvas roofs that were opened and closed to emit varying degrees of light. This canvas was moved with large gaffing hooks which had been traditionally used to land large fish.  (http://www.twyman-whitney.com/film)

The Best Boy is the gaffer’s assistant. 

Grips are just what their name states:  they grab hold of things and move them.  Specific grips are assigned to the props department, the DP, the gaffer, the sound technician and they are not interchangeable – each has a specialty, and is generally working in that department because that’s the job they want in the future.   

Key Grip: The key grip is the person in charge of all the people in their department who move anything.  So there can be multiple Key Grips.
Mystery solved!

 

Meeting Your Heroes
One of the fab things about living in LA was the constant exposure to your heroes.  They were everywhere, giving away the secrets to success, providing insight into their choices as filmmakers, revealing spoilers for upcoming films – and letting us know that once upon a time, they were couch-surfing desk jockeys chasing their dreams, too. 

Our filmmaking heroes spoke at writers groups and conferences, populated panels at the Directors Guild or Writers Guild, and attended Q&As for special showings of their films.  Every week an aspiring filmmaker could be exposed to and get inspiration from someone they looked up to –someone who was doing what they themselves hoped to achieve.   
Here’s some of the Q&A’s I attended at the famous ArcLight Cinema:  Kevin Smith interviewing Stan Lee for “Spiderman 3;” Bryan Singer and the entire production design team for “X-Men II;” Guillermo del Toro for “HellBoy” and “Pan’s Labyrinth;” Kevin Williamson for “Scream III,” Doug Atchison for “Akeelah and the Bee,” and many, many others.

What’s the value in these events?

Anyone who’s been to a great presentation by a creative person knows the value:  they are living, breathing representatives of the successful achievement of the dream.  You know what dream I’m talking about – you’ve been harboring it for years, too.  These people did it – they broke through, they found their champions, they reached their audience, and they were received with glee and accolades and the promise of the chance to do it again.

I’m a fangirl, I admit it – more than the average forty-year-old woman but not quite in-costume at-ComicCon – I follow my heroes’ every move.  To meet in person those whose work I admire revs me up like a top, and I can’t wait to get home to get to writing so I can be just like them one day.  I’ve learned invaluable tricks of the trade from their casual conversation, and sincere, practical advice of the kind your grandmother gives you.

Why does Hollywood come out on a Tuesday night to talk to their fans and sit through a movie they’ve seen nine hundred times?  Because someone did the same thing for them.  They were inspired by their heroes, and no doubt access to them helped them see just how to find the footholds, climb the ladder and launch themselves. 

If we only see our heroes from afar, their impact is tangible but considerably less than the impact of a hero up close. 

So go find those events where your heroes are speaking; ask your questions and listen to their wisdom.  Make the connection and you’ll see that they’re people, too – people just like you, who managed to do what you have set out for yourself to achieve. 

And moreover, think of yourself as someone’s future hero.  Live the dream, even if, for now, it’s just in your mind.  One day it’ll be you up on that podium.  Better be prepared to pass on the torch. 

Why don’t all companies have Craft Services?

There’s a nifty table that exists on every set – every commercial, music video, film, tv show, or infomercial, they’ve all got this table.  This table is the entertainment industry’s equivalent of a watering hole.  You know, the place where the whole community comes for refreshment and in doing so, runs into everyone else they know. Then, inevitably, they start to trade town news, maybe overhear a little gossip, plan a bit of match-making or grieve some loss.  It’s the place they commune.

On a set, this place is called Craft Services.  It’s run by staff referred to as Craft Services.  They don’t have names; they are not people.  They are providers.  Their table, stationed at the back of the hubbub, out of the way of gaffers and 2K lights and dolly tracks, out of range of the sound engineer’s microphones, is an oasis.  It’s where the crew – everyone from the grunts (PA’s) to the above-the-line staff (the movie stars) all congregate when they are bored, when they are feeling social, when they want the inside scoop, and yes, sometimes when they are hungry. 

Every Craft Service table tends to stock the same stuff, with new “menus” four times a day:  in the morning, it’s danishes, doughnuts and yogurts and licorice; in the afternoon and evening, it’s twenty kinds of candy (including licorice –always, always licorice) plus energy bars and drinks, granola and other hand-held carbs (think cookies, bagels, and brownies).  Late at night (as most sets run for 14 hours), it’s taken over Willy Wonka, providing sugar in every form known to man.  Coffee is always freshly brewed and ready, or, on the big-budgeted films, barristas are on hand to make made-to-order caffeinated drinks.  There’s tea, but no one drinks it except the actress with a cold, trying to keep her voice from going out.  There’s also cold remedies and pain relievers, which is a life-saver because everyone gets each others’ colds, and sometimes each other’s hangovers. 

It’s hard to underestimate the power of a great craft services table.  A new kind of pastry will be talked about for hours, brightening everyone’s day.  Instant and constant caffeine makes those 14-hour schedules possible to manage.  It’s the actresses’ lament, as they struggle to stay away from the free calories, complain bitterly at the unfairness of it all as they suck their licorice whips, and then finally give in to the temptation of an onion bagel, but only because it was flown in from New York. 

Craft Services is the great equalizer on set; everyone needs it, everyone wants it, and it’s the only place to get that sugary nourishment and community vibe.  It provides a place to hover, and thus to belong.  It’s the grandmother’s kitchen where we all gathered to play games, make cookies, watch the grown-ups do their grown-up business, and take a rest from our busy, busy lives.  I think every company on the planet should take a page from the Hollywood handbook and provide Craft Services.  Ten bucks says productivity and morale would go sky high – until, of course, you run out of licorice.

 

TriMedia Film Festival is This Weekend

This weekend marks the 5th Annual TriMedia Film Festival, held right here in Fort Collins at three locations:  the Lyric Cinema Café, the Lory Student Center and at Bas Bleu Theatre.  Just what is the TriMedia Film Festival?  Its mission is to be an annual event of national stature that celebrates film, television, and theatre arts, and integrates emerging and established artists in all categories. The festival has an innovative "tri-media" focus featuring film, TV pilots & specials, and live theatre.

That’s what the website says, but as someone who participated last year and is doing even more for the festival this year, it’s a unique opportunity to celebrate and support local talent.  Anyone who’s been to a film festival knows it generally breaks down into two categories:  the established and the hometown.  They have decidedly different ambitions: the established (Sundance, Toronto, LAIFF, etc.) wants to be the place talent is discovered and deals are made; the hometown focuses on recognizing the hard work of local filmmakers who are developing their craft. 

The established fest attracts established Hollywood players and films that often already have so many of the key ingredients required to find a wide audience:  stars, agents and connections.  And not to mention press agents.  The hometown festival stresses the importance of supporting the arts, and in particular this esoteric craft of non-Hollywood filmmaking, and looks to lend a hand as the novices make that tough climb from one film to the next. 

I could give you a long, boring lesson on how film distribution works, but you’ll just have to take my word for it that film festivals play a crucial part in making sure independent movies remain a part of the cinema conversation.  I took two of the indy films I produced on the festival circuit and found distribution for them both directly due these showings.  I also got to meet lots of other burgeoning filmmakers, young stars learning their chops, and plenty of the non-studio folks who make independent cinema’s wheels go round.  It was a dog-eat-dog experience – a game of who can monopolize the top dogs, standing in unmoving lines for a hot ticket, paying $20 for a drink at a networking party that does little but line the pockets of the hosts.

Last year at TriMedia, I had just the opposite experience.  I staged two screenplays written by teens and acted by teens for the theater portion of the festival, and I moderated “Class C” a documentary about girl’s high school basketball produced by – no fooling – Wally Kurth.  The Wally Kurth – the deeply-dimpled, pompadour-sporting Wally Kurth who starred in “Days of Our Lives” when I was a kid.  He’s since moved on to “General Hospital” but I forgive him – especially because he made brought such a touching, interesting film to our town and was so cool during the Q&A.
It was personal, entertaining and inspiring.

I’ll be there again this year, staging more screenplays for the Youth Talent portion, and producing the Great American Songbook Sing-along honoring Kai-Ho Mah.  He’s a local senior who conducts Standards sing-along’s at his retirement center, and is the star of one of the documentaries being shown at TriMedia (“Fulfillment”), made by local filmmaker Aaron Burns.  More importantly, he’s a really good egg – the kind of guy who really brings the joint to its feet with his sparkling charm.  I’ll be moderating a film or two, too, maybe rubbing elbows with some playas, but it’s these other events I’m really excited about – they’re about our town, and our hometown talent getting their shot at a spot-lit stage or screen.  I don’t know about you, but in my book, that’s something to celebrate.  And I won’t have to pay $20 for a drink. 

www.trimediafestival.org

 

Leo’s Theme
I’m worried about Leonardo DiCaprio.  Aren’t you? 

See, I have a theory about actors.  I think that they are just like writers and every other artist in that they have a theme they constantly return to in their work.  They have an unanswered question that drives their subconscious and sometimes even conscious minds, and are drawn to roles that deal with that question.

Let’s have a look at our boy Leo (who holds a special place in my heart as a former employer of mine).  His last film was “Inception” in which he plays a man who really really can not discern reality from fantasy.  The film before that:  “Shutter Island,” in which he plays a man who cannot discern reality from fantasy.  “Revolutionary Road” was about a man who desperately wanted his fantasy to be his reality and couldn’t accept that it wasn’t.  “The Aviator” was about a man who eventually could not tell between real life and his mind’s dark falsities. 

Then there’s his twist on this theme:  his masked characters.  “Departed” was about an undercover cop whose alter ego makes distinguishing between reality and fantasy a problem.   “Catch Me If You Can” is about a young conman who uses identity theft to commit crimes.  “The Man in The Iron Mask” – well, that one needs no clarification; “Total Eclipse” and “The Basketball Diaries” wherein his characters tale such copious amounts of drugs, they no longer can discern reality; “The Quick and the Dead” stars Leo as a young man who constructs a celebrity persona for himself “The Kid” to hide behind …

Are you following me?  Even in “Titanic” he was a kid from one reality (the lower decks of the poor) who finds himself in a different reality:  the upper decks of the wealthy.  Or how about “Romeo and Juliet” in which he spends a good bit of time at a masked costume ball, so that he might clock some time with his fantasy girl.

Now I’m not saying Leo’s disturbed; in my experience, he’s far from it.  But what I will say is that he’s perhaps a bit obsessed by that thin line between what’s real and what’s not and how people fall into identity crises when that line turns into a chasm.  Not a bad theme to play with, don’t you think?

Best In Show:  Screenwriting Contests
[Excerpted from an article I wrote for Writer’s Digest “Writing Contests” magazine:]

Screenwriting contests, they are a-changin’. Used to be, there were only a handful, and winning one scored you a small title and a smaller check, but little else for your trouble. Used to be, only story editors and junior executives or their assistants judged most contests, bringing with them limited expertise or interest in the outcome. Used to be, only dramatic or indie screenplays had any chance of winning.

But times, they have a-changed.

While there are still a suspiciously high number of contests that are at best unhelpful to a writer and at worst shameless scams—in the past decade a dynamic range of industry-minded and increasingly powerful contests have emerged. It’s the Golden Era of Screenwriting Competitions and there’s never been a better time to submit your scripts to (carefully researched) contests, and reap the rewards.

One indicator that things have changed in the contest world: the iron-fisted rulership of the coming-of-age/historical biography/family drama has ended. Now, any and every genre has a shot at taking the top slot. Why? Because contest-winning screenplays are no longer just calling cards to the industry. They are commercial enterprises that get attention and sometimes even get made.

This million-dollar cottage industry’s mission is now about providing real assistance for new writers hacking their way into Hollywood, often by sending out the best contest scripts all over Hollywood for consideration. You don’t even have to win—placing in the quarter or semifinals of any of the top contests can be a springboard to getting your script read. These competitions now attract brand name players as their upper strata judges, and they facilitate launching the careers of new writers, sometimes by taking on those scripts themselves. 

Once the best-kept secret in town, screenwriting contests are now fertile ground for high-stakes competition, with future power-scribes duking it out for real-money prizes and that crucial all-access industry pass.

As a competitor, it’s more important than ever to submit only your best work. What does it take to win or place in a contest? What exactly do contest judges look for? What excites them? What turns them off? What’s a guaranteed pass?

I lined up a panel of contest judge superstars to find out, and sent the article off to Writer’s Digest.  They’ve published it twice, once in their Screenwriters and Playwright’s Market and now in this month’s one-off magazine, Writing Contests.

A friend of Northern Colorado Writers is the editor, Mr. Chuck Sambuchino, and he’s put together a terrific bunch of articles plus over 300 real-deal contests for all kinds of writers looking to score in the contest world. 

 

Why don’t all companies have Craft Services?
There’s a nifty table that exists on every set – every commercial, music video, film, tv show, or infomercial, they’ve all got this table.  This table is the entertainment industry’s equivalent of a watering hole.  You know, the place where the whole community comes for refreshment and in doing so, runs into everyone else they know. Then, inevitably, they start to trade town news, maybe overhear a little gossip, plan a bit of match-making or grieve some loss.  It’s the place they commune.

On a set, this place is called Craft Services.  It’s run by staff referred to as Craft Services.  They don’t have names; they are not people.  They are providers.  Their table, stationed at the back of the hubbub, out of the way of gaffers and 2K lights and dolly tracks, out of range of the sound engineer’s microphones, is an oasis.  It’s where the crew – everyone from the grunts (PA’s) to the above-the-line staff (the movie stars) all congregate when they are bored, when they are feeling social, when they want the inside scoop, and yes, sometimes when they are hungry. 

Every Craft Service table tends to stock the same stuff, with new “menus” four times a day:  in the morning, it’s danishes, doughnuts and yogurts and licorice; in the afternoon and evening, it’s twenty kinds of candy (including licorice –always, always licorice) plus energy bars and drinks, granola and other hand-held carbs (think cookies, bagels, and brownies).  Late at night (as most sets run for 14 hours), it’s taken over Willy Wonka, providing sugar in every form known to man.  Coffee is always freshly brewed and ready, or, on the big-budgeted films, barristas are on hand to make made-to-order caffeinated drinks.  There’s tea, but no one drinks it except the actress with a cold, trying to keep her voice from going out.  There’s also cold remedies and pain relievers, which is a life-saver because everyone gets each others’ colds, and sometimes each other’s hangovers. 

It’s hard to underestimate the power of a great craft services table.  A new kind of pastry will be talked about for hours, brightening everyone’s day.  Instant and constant caffeine makes those 14-hour schedules possible to manage.  It’s the actresses’ lament, as they struggle to stay away from the free calories, complain bitterly at the unfairness of it all as they suck their licorice whips, and then finally give in to the temptation of an onion bagel, but only because it was flown in from New York. 

Craft Services is the great equalizer on set; everyone needs it, everyone wants it, and it’s the only place to get that sugary nourishment and community vibe.  It provides a place to hover, and thus to belong.  It’s the grandmother’s kitchen where we all gathered to play games, make cookies, watch the grown-ups do their grown-up business, and take a rest from our busy, busy lives.  I think every company on the planet should take a page from the Hollywood handbook and provide Craft Services.  Ten bucks says productivity and morale would go sky high – until, of course, you run out of licorice.

AMAZON REVIEW for: The Secret to Lying by Todd Mitchell
James is Destructo-boy, a self-created character with his own version of superpowers: his fake life of fight leagues and car theft is way cooler than his real one. He's got a wicked dream life that tests him on even deeper, more physical levels, and his one true friend, Ghost44, is only known via IMs. Sound cool? "Secret to Lying" is -- but it's also pretty tragic. It's one thing to have a prank war with your arch-nemeses, the Steve Squared, but it's another thing to drink too much cough syrup and sleepwalk out a window. James's fate could have gone either way, but Mitchell obviously believes in the power within every kid to save themselves.

James is always relatable, always our hero, and always trying to pull all the threads of his life together into something he feels is true. He does some crazy stuff, but Mitchell makes sure we understand the circumstances that led him to the crazy.

"Secret" is funny, sure, but never veers into sensationalism or drama-for-drama's sake. There's sex and violence and "social issues" a-plenty, but it's never gratuitous. It's a boy's book that's got a lot to say to everyone. Teens, come meet your secret self; adults, come meet the secret lives of teens.

Movie Magic:  The Apple Box
Ever wonder why everyone’s so tiny in Hollywood but looks so heroically sized on screen?  Me, too.  How can icons like Al Pacino be only 5’2” – in heels?  And those girls in the tabloids who look the epitome of what a woman ought to look like, and in real life they’re barely topping 5’0”, so tiny they’d be placed in the front row of the 4th Grade Class photo.    Did you know that Arnold Schwarzenegger, one of the biggest (literally) action heroes ever, is only 5’9”?  And Tom Cruise?  Forget it – he’s 5’6”.   

The rumor in Hollywood was that Tom Cruise wrote a clause into his prenuptial with Nicole Kidman (5’9”):  she wasn’t allowed to wear heels when in public with him.  She didn’t.  When they separated, she famously, snidely commented that now she could finally wear heels.  Tom’s gotten over his height inadequacies with “Kate,” but moviegoers will never accept a short leading man with a tall leading lady.  We’re just heightists that way.

A game I find myself playing at the movies is How’d They Rig the Apple Box.  An apple box is the device they used in the ancient days of movie-making to even out the heights of their actors (especially anyone who had to be in a scene with John Wayne, who was 6’3”).  It was a wooden box originally used to tote apples to market, flipped over.  Modern apple boxes are far more sophisticated:  they’re wooden boxes specially built in a range of heights to compensate for our petite leading men.  They live on the grip truck and kept handy for emergencies.  Ah, movie magic!

Anyway, I’ll watch a movie like “Knight and Day” and try to figure out all the ways they made Tom Cruise seem anywhere near as tall as Cameron Diaz (5’10”).  Keep her sitting, keep him standing, for one; keep them both sitting, but with Tom on a booster, for another.  Heels for Tom, flats for Cameron, etc.  But there’s lots of action, lots of running around, so the standard apple box just isn’t adequate.  They’d have to block the scenes in such a way that the camera doesn’t pick up on how they had to build the sets on a slant.

More fun was “Julie and Julia,” the movie where Meryl Streep played 6’2” Julia Child.  I loved watching how they made her seem like a giant compared to everyone around her.  They must have broken out all the old sleight of hand, tricks not used since the forced-perspective antics of down-sizing Elijah Wood’s Frodo in “Lord of the Rings.”  The sets must have been built smaller, they must have placed her closer to the camera then shoot the scene with a long lens, they must have had actors squatting discreetly, they must have tilted the floor.  Acres of apple boxes must have been employed.  

But there’s a shot where she’s standing with a row of men and women, head to foot, and not only is she taller, she’s wider.  Bigger, a giant of a woman. I have no idea how they did it.  Meryl’s talent makes her a giant of a woman, but in real life she’s only 5’7”. 
It must have been CGI.

The Lost Art of Sitting Through the Credits
When we go to the movies, my husband always wants to sit through the credits.  He sees it as a sign of respect.  I respect his respect, but for me, it’s all about the bladder.  Have you seen the length of movies these days?  Between the commercials, the 27 trailers, the 2.5 hour opus itself, staying for the five minutes of credits at the end is too much to ask.

So I generally leave him in the theater to pay homage and I run for the ladies’ room.  But lately, he hasn’t remained behind to watch the credits.  When I asked him why, it became a rather involved conversation.

David:  Do you remember the credits in movies from the 1940’s?  They’d put everyone on title cards at the beginning, and it’d be about 30 people total.  The costumers were up front with the stars, the set designers with the directors. 
Me:  Yes, everyone was equal, with Elizabeth Taylor being more equal because her name came even before the movie’s title.  Why do you suppose that changed?
David:  When the movie studios stopped being the power holders, budgets changed, and then stars and agents started looking for more ways to be viewed as powerful.
Me:  In other words, the above-the-liners got the prime real estate at the front of the movie credits, and all the lowly crewmen who did their hair or stocked the craft table got bumped to the back of the line.
David:  Exactly.
Me:  I used to stay to see our friends’ names in the credits.  It was cool to see Josh as Assistant Editor or Shanice in the stunt department.
David:  Why’d you stop?
Me:  Because the credits got ridiculously long!  I mean, with all the CGI that goes into movies, the credits have hundreds, if not thousands of names. 
David:  I remember when they first start compensating for these epic credit rolls -- first they reduced the font.  Then they created multiple columns. 
Me:  And then they speeded it up so you can barely read the names as they go blazing by.
David:  Hollywood wants to know why it’s not making any money?  Because it takes a small city to make a single movie. 
Me:  So let’s make a statement.  Let’s only go see movies made by 100 people or less.   
David:  I’m in.  Except for the new Leo DiCaprio movie.  And the Harry Potter movies. 
Me:  Okay.  And that new Angelina Jolie movie looks good.  I heard she did her own stunts.
David:  We’ll have to watch the credits to find out. 

The Perks of Being a Hollywood +1
One of the perks of working in Hollywood as a young person was, well, the perks.  By which I mean, all the ancillary goodies that come with being a member of that wildly underpaid, highly ambitious brat pack, Young Hollywood.  I could barely make rent when I first got started, but boy howdy, did I have a great lifestyle.  House parties, wrap parties, premiere parties, tickets to free movies, charity concerts, Academy screeners (essentially free DVDs of award contenders), director’s panels, writers’ presentations, books based on the movie based on the book, holiday gift baskets because your boss likes white wine and it only had red wine… we had access to the glamorous life, and we got it all for free.

Most bosses in Hollywood were already bored to tears with the perks, but darn it, those party invites just keep coming.  Especially when you had a development deal with a studio; they expect all their producers to come to all their premieres.  A good boss passed on those invites and went home to hang out with his kids.  Or, when a movie threw its wrap party, every single person who worked on it received an invite. 

Of course the only people who were important were the “above the line” personnel (the director, producers and biggest stars), but the folks who did clearances for legal or location scouted were invited to.  And those folks got a +1.

I was forever a +1, and I was never without a +1.  It was better for a young development executive to not have a significant other (as I didn’t at the time).  That’s because you could barter your +1’s. 

For example, a friend of mine at Disney took me to the “Armageddon” wrap party where I got to see Bruce Willis and Jerry Bruckheimer sit on roped-off couches in the middle of the dance floor, creating a sort of VIP section that only the prettiest, youngest girls could access.  And there seemed to be an inordinate amount of them for a wrap party.

Then the clock struck midnight and the stream of “talent” headed for the door.  It was a mass exodus, a migration of the hottest starlets in Hollywood.  The power players pleaded, but these girls were gone.  Where?  Why?  My friend and I had to ask a junior studio executive for answers:  the girls had been hired for three hours to make sure the stars didn’t have to spend their evening looking at the very average, very un-PYT crew.  Now that the girls had been paid, they were off to their own parties. 

In exchange for that very fun night, I made my Disney friend my +1 for the “Star Trek: Next Generation: First Contact” premiere.  We both got weak in the knees when Jean Luc walked by at the after-party.  They’d taken some space down the road from Grauman’s Chinese Theater and decked it out like a Borg ship.  You read that right:  the entire party was on a Borg ship.  Even the wait staff was dressed as Borgs.

There were two highlights of that night:  I got to stand right next to Alfre Woodard, who is a personal hero of mine.  She’s almost unfathomably short, and just as gorgeous.  The second was running in to a young man I’d gone on a single date with.  He had turned out to be the kind of guy Hollywood is full of:  only interested if you could help get their script read.  When I told him I couldn’t (I was just the assistant to a talent agent at that time – not even a literary agent), he left after drinks.

By the time I attended that Star Trek party years later, I’d worked my way up to Director of Development.   He’d worked his way up to serving me a drink at the bar. 

Cheers! 

One Way to Writing Inspiration – Teaching!
I’m very excited to be teaching an advanced screenwriting class starting next week.  Writers are always looking for inspiration when our own internal wellspring falls short, and working with other writers is one of my favorite ways to get the juices flowing.

I taught my first community college Beginning Screenwriting class last winter up in Cheyenne.  I’d taught plenty of workshops and worked one-on-one with hundreds of writers, both professionally and as a volunteer, but this was the first time I got to be a “regular” teacher – 16 weeks, complete with syllabuses, paperwork, and grades.

Nerves were an issue – would I pace myself properly?  Would I be able to hold their attention?  Would they actually learn anything?  Would it drain me creatively, intellectually, so that I couldn’t do my own writing?

I needn’t have worried.  Not only were these fourteen students ready to learn, they soaked it up like sponges.  They were so sharp, so fired up about the subject, so into what we were doing that I was able to move as fast as I wanted to.  They could keep up, and better yet, they presented me with some wonderful learning challenges. 

In June, my Explorati Teen Writers Boot Camp brought together 48 young people for four days.  The instructors packed as much info into their heads as we could and sent them home reeling.  Just like the year before, we got one strong message back: more!  Is there anything more gratifying than seeing others do well?  And isn’t that what teaching is all about?  Giving people the tools to do well, and the opportunity to develop, expand, blossom?

To see them and their imaginations on fire pours gas on my own. I always come out of a class or workshop that much more excited to sit down at my laptop.  Sharing what I know reminds me of what I know – and that I have everything I need to be successful. I bet you do, too.
If you’re looking for ways to supercharge your writing, and reading the how-to’s and going to the seminars and spas aren’t working their usual magic, consider what you have to give back.  Everyone’s got something they know better than anyone, and there is always someone out there interested in knowing what it is you know. 

Go teach.  And then just watch what it does for your writing.

The Measure of Success

A student asked me the other day, in a sort of hushed voice, why I’d left Hollywood.  There seemed to be some sense that it would be a sensitive subject, and she needed to take care not to dig at old wounds.  I think there is an idea that when people walk away from the site of a dream, there is attached to it a sense of failure or incompletion, and therefore a need to grieve.

I assured her there was no reason to whisper about my defection.  I’d needed a change of pace; I wanted to get back to novel-writing and could get more support elsewhere.  It didn’t mean I’d stopped screenwriting, or stopped loving screenwriting, or would ever stop someone else from falling deeply, madly in love with it. 

My entire goal as a writer, a producer, a development executive, and as a teacher is to facilitate others’ storytelling.  I love writing.  I love it to bits and bits and next to that, I love nothing more than when another writer has a breakthrough and throws down something so sensational it makes the hair on my arms stand to attention.

LA has plenty of people to teach screenwriting, and we all teach each other.  Northern Colorado doesn’t have the same support structure, the same resources.  Living here has given me the unique opportunity to bring what I love to a whole new audience -- the next round of screenwriters.  There was a time when the old wife’s tale was that screenwriting could only be done successfully in LA.  Now everyone has access to the tools to break in from anywhere in the world.  Anywhere.  Even Ft. Collins, Colorado.

I told my student that the only thing any of us need ever grieve is giving up or, just the opposite -- setting impossible expectations.  Telling ourselves that if we’re not on the NY Times Bestsellers List, then we aren’t successful is just as damaging as quitting.  I mean, that’s some measure of success!  There are only 100 spots up there, and Stephanie Myer has six of them. 
There are all levels of success in this world.   Take, for example, a baseball player who played in the minors but never made it to the majors.  He might have that ping of sadness every once and again, but more importantly is this:  he got to do what he loved.  Or, take a filmmaker who’s made his movie, but never gets distribution.  Is he a failure for not having made $150 million on opening weekend?  Or did he win because he accomplished the creative feat he set out to do?

I love what I do, whether I ever get to see my own work on the big screen, or “only” have the pleasure of helping one of my friends, students or clients secure an agent, get a deal, go to Sundance, premiere at Grauman’s Chinese Theater or… make it to the NY Times Bestsellers List.  

The point is this:  we’re all hoping for that flash of success that tells us we’re really, truly writers and that we shouldn’t just give up and walk away. 

And my answer is this:  if you’re writing, you’re already successful.

AMAZON REVIEW FOR Violet Wings by Victoria Hanley
Zaria isn't like the other fairies, and with that one realization, she's off on a coming-of-age adventure that made my head spin! Yes, she's Earth-struck (it IS where her family disappeared to five years ago), but it's when she's revealed to be a Violet fairy -- the top of the top in this magical realm -- that the trouble begins.

This is a page-turner, a blazing combo of imagination, fun and nail-biting. Zaria's is a unique world filled with complicated characters each struggling with their "place," and none more so than Zaria.

Hanley expertly sets up the series in this book; I for one can't wait to see what happens next -- or to share this with all the young readers I know!

 

Zeitgeist Inspiration
The single most-asked question I get as a screenwriting teacher is How do I protect my idea from theft?

As writers, we all want that big idea, the sure fire ride to the big time.  And we’re afraid that once we hit on that golden ticket, someone is going to take it from us.  In Hollywood, there are thousands of screenwriters breaking a sweat to break in, and over the years we’ve developed a superstitious behavior:  we tell no one what we’re working on.  In the novel-writing world, that tendency seems to be about “retaining the writerly energy” so we can finish our marathon run to the final page. 

In Hollywood, it’s about not launching our million dollar idea into the zeitgeist to be poached by another.

Here’s what I mean:  a fun experiment was tried by some bored MIT students.  They got several thousand NY Times crossword puzzlers to agree to work on a puzzle at a specific time that day and track the results.  Those in the morning took as long as they always seemed to; those working at lunch completed it faster than usual, and so on and so forth until those in the late evening zoomed through the puzzle – with almost all right answers.

According to the MIT students, the late-night puzzlers were able to solve it the faster and easier because they were tapping into the psychic energy already generated by the previous puzzlers.  The answers were “out there” … these folks merely plugged in to that mental dimension and plucked them out.

Hokum?  Maybe.  But go ask a Buddhist what “om” is about on a global scale, and they’ll give you an answer that might rock your boat. 

After reading scripts for HBO for eight years, I noticed some patterns.  For example, one person would submit a screenplay about, say, the very first computer hacker to be put to work by the FBI.  Within six months, four or five more scripts about that topic would cross my desk.  The very same topic! 

Had that first writer flapped his lips at the wrong cocktail party and got his brilliant idea passed around town like news of Paris Hilton’s latest boytoy? 

No way.  It was in the zeitgeist, man.  One writer starts thinking about it, and somehow, some way, some of the 25,000 other writers constantly reaching out for ideas, thinking really hard about ideas, arrived at the same concept. 

It’s pretty cool, actually, and it happens all the time.

It doesn’t seem to happen in the novel-writing world unless everyone’s just chasing a trend (and good on trends – they keep the lights on at the publishing houses).  I think it happens in LA so much because we all live in the same physical space, generating all that creative force. 
Even if we never spoke to a soul about our ideas… they are still out there. 

But here’s the good news:  every one of those scripts about the very first computer hacker working for the FBI were completely different.  Different sensibilities, different voices, different genres.  Which is what I tell my students:  don’t sweat getting ripped off; get your copyright registration and that’s that.  If a mystery thief should take your idea, he’s going to come up with a take completely different from yours; all you have to do is write yours better.  And secondly, if that other script ends up getting made and yours doesn’t – well, that’s a free paycheck.  Hollywood is wildly creative and apparently somewhat psychic (we have to be – have you seen us drive??).  But we are above all else litigious. 
And that’s the real reason no one steals in LA. 

The View From the Bottom
When I got my start in Hollywood, I did it the way almost everyone else did:  as a temp.  Once upon a time, the entire town was almost entirely manned by temporary workers, the magical creatures who knew the infrastructure of every studio and could be plugged into any department, any desk, anywhere and keep things rolling. 

From this vantage, I was able to soak up an astonishing amount of how-to without being stuck in the job for more than a few weeks.  All of this immersive work did two things for me:  it made me a pro before I’d gotten my first “real” job and created a vast network of contacts that would serve me well in years to come. 

Temping led me to at least three great jobs, including my all-time favorite as the assistant to five producers at a company called Prelude Pictures.  Peter Saphier, the president of the company, took me under his wing.  Anyone’s who’s had great mentoring knows what this can do for a person.  Here was the man who’d made “Scarface” and “The Deerhunter,” who’d brought the book “Jaws” to Universal, giving me the keys to the store.  I flew up the ladder, helped make two movies, produced one of my own, run hundreds of movies looking for “the one,” and helped take over three dozen films through development. 

Why do I tell you about my experience at the bottom?  Because without it, I would never have gotten nowhere at all.  The bottom is where the real work is done.  No matter what our dream – including all of us who dream of success as a writer – it has to be stated somewhere, a place where we know nothing and can’t begin to fathom what it’s going to take to get to where we’re going.

The view from the bottom isn’t so bad.  The pay is terrible, we sleep poorly, we are underemployed and underappreciated, but the education is astonishing.  Pay attention.  Do work.  And when you get your shot at the big time, you’ll be ready. 

AMAZON REVIEW: V for Victory by Teresa Funke
In a field that could really use more boy-centric books, this is a great find! Young readers, boys and girls, will love Miguel Montoya -- he's a natural leader, looking out for his family, friends and community while World War II rages on.

Teresa Funke just keeps growing as a writer, and this a great addition to her series of historical young adult books. Miguel's too young to do the grown-up things his family could really use now that his brother is off at war, but he's determined to help any way he can. This includes taking care of his nephew, gathering metal for a scrap drive, and even looking out for the local disabled veteran.

All of Teresa's "Do Your Part" books have family- and community-oriented themes, as well as empowering messages for kids about being able to make a real impact on their world.

Film Affects
ScreenWorks is a blog about what works on screen – and yes, sometimes about what doesn’t work on screen.  Part of our modern communal pop culture experience is sitting in a darkened theater (even if it’s your living room) with high expectations for the latest film by your favorite star or favorite director.  All across the world, people love the movies. 

Why?  There are a million theories.  It’s escapism from a high stress world, we’re born storytellers, it’s comfort “food” we remember from our youths, it’s how we learn about ourselves or pretend to be someone else entirely.  My personal favorite is Roger Ebert’s posit that the speed of the film strip through the projector is at just the right cycles-per-second to trigger our brain’s pleasure zones.  Literally – the flickering creates a meditative state.  We’re being biologically manipulated to love movies. 

Do you suppose the first filmmakers knew any of that when they started making films?  No way.  And yet, from the first moment a train came tearing across the screen, the audience bought in.  In fact, half of them were so certain the train was real and about to leap into their laps, they fled the theater. 

Film affects us.  It’s a language everyone understands – we don’t require subtitles, summaries or reviewers to induce a love of a really great film.  Across the world, we as a race are united through a love of visual storytelling:  massive displays of emotional power, impossible action and unifying themes.  That and Will Smith.  

ScreenWorks is my tribute to the good times I’ve had watching, writing and making films.  Because for me, there’s no better time to be had.