We ask ourselves: what is the emotion we want to evoke? What information do we want to impart, or what visual do we want to reveal? Put simply, what is the intention?

I didn’t write much during the strike, so it feels good to be back at it full-time.

My focus is on MOST WANTED right now, writing another draft for the director that will go out to cast.

This rewrite has been an absolute joy, and so far, my favorite director to work with at this early stage. This is mostly because we approach rewrites the same way (which, of course, I believe is the right way!)

There are production concerns, like shooting day and night, and budget stuff, stunts, and do we get enough bang for that buck?

That is all fine and good, and it is always interesting to see the real-world shooting concerns of a spec script as it becomes a shooting script.

But the real joy has been focusing on:

What is the intention of the scene?

This has been how we have approached each change in the script. Changes have a way of creating unintended consequences in a well-constructed script. So when I get notes to make changes, we’ve been able to discuss the intention behind the note.

“I want to get everything started that much quicker. What is your concern with the change?”

“We need more time with the kids, so we empathize with them as people rather than as flashbacks.”

Notice that no one here is arguing their way is better. We are talking about what emotional effect we both are looking for.

Never be the writer arguing over words on the page when everyone else is trying to make a movie.

So once we know the intentions, we throw around ideas that let us spend more time with the kids in the script AND get everything started that much quicker.

We’re smart people, so we find it.

This went on, always focusing on the intention that we’re trying to execute.

The process is to put the intention first. And then we throw out ideas, often just one idea building off the other.

It takes two people to do it this easily. Sometimes, people like to fight for their ideas rather than their intent, and then someone has to “lose,” and not everyone likes that.

If you are the only one focusing on intent, it will take a little more skill to lead the team there without them knowing that’s what you’re doing.

This is what I call “leading development from behind,” and I wish I had known how to do it earlier in my career.

I don’t need to do that here. I get to be a loyal hard-working writer, which I like.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on December 12, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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What is the intention of the paragraph?

We can take this same process and apply it to each line and each paragraph in our spec scripts.

We ask ourselves: what is the emotion we want to evoke? What information do we want to impart, or what visual do we want to reveal?

Put simply, what is the intention?

Last week, I read a writer’s first 10 pages. The screenplay opens with a woman studying her passion for acting early in the morning. She reads a book while watching an interview on her laptop.

On page 2, is this line:

I read this as “she packs her stuff and leaves.” That’s what she’s doing, right?

So just write that, I say! Trim it down and get to the point. Phrases like “her copy of Stanislavsky’s Toolkit” are a waste of words. No one thinks it’s Stanislavsky’s original manuscript, so why say “her copy?”

Even if you wanted to keep some of the detail, you could write as much as:

Maybe you add a cute bit like, “And tops it off with a box of cookies?” Is that worth the space? Maybe.

Either way, simpler is better.

So great, I get to be an awesome teacher who knows everything and move on.

One problem.

“But the whole point of that paragraph is the reveal that she is an English teacher,” she says.

Well, darn. I did not realize that.

That makes a huge difference.

So, what she wants out of this paragraph is that up until now, we have only seen Katherine as an actor. When she packs her bag, we see the grades and we realize… Oh! She’s an English teacher!

This is a solid move. We turn an easy bit of data like “she is an English teacher” into something that we have a slight emotional response to.

It’s a reveal.

The writer is doing exactly what she should. She is guiding the emotional journey of the reader and, in effect, directing on the page.

Excellent!

But does the paragraph she wrote do this?

I don’t think so. Why do I think that? Because I read it and didn’t see it.

This is why I emphasize:

For dialogue, trust the reader. For action lines, take zero chances. Clarity is key.

Never sacrifice clarity of intent.

If the reader doesn’t absorb our intent, we may as well not have had it. We don’t get points for slipping important points by them. As Billy Wilder once said, “It can be subtle, as long as it’s obvious.”

So, if the intent is the reveal that she is an English teacher in contrast to what we first thought, we want to build the entire paragraph around that.

That is, we focus on the intent of the paragraph.

And since I am a big believer that if something is important, it should get its own paragraph, we might be better off with something like this:

This rewrite is actually longer, but now it serves its purpose much better. Most readers will see 1) a medium shot, then 2) an insert, and 3) back to the medium shot.

The line spelling out “Katherine is a high school English Teacher” duplicates the extra second we would linger on the graded papers to tell the audience it’s important.

Once that linger registers, the audience would know to add 2+2 and draw the conclusion.

Better to skip all that lingering stuff in the screenplay and draw the conclusion for them: Katherine is an English teacher.

Go through every line, every paragraph.

What is its purpose in your screenplay? Why is it there? Again, what emotion, information or image?

And ask yourself, does it do what you want it to do? Does it achieve its purpose?

If it doesn’t, rewrite it until it does. Or cut it altogether if it’s not worth the space.

No matter what you do, the unbending rule stands:

We never, ever sacrifice clarity of intent.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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This is a concept-driven industry now. For better or for worse. The concept should be unique but just as important: the unique thing should be what generates conceptually unified scenes.

I talk a lot about the importance of the logline, and the most important part of the logline is the concept behind it.

This is a concept-driven industry now. For better or for worse.

The concept should be unique and feel like something we haven’t quite seen before.

Just as important:

The unique thing should be what generates conceptually unified scenes.

That is, what is the unique fun you are offering your audience?

Fun is metaphorical, of course. It doesn’t mean literal fun.

SILENCE OF THE LAMBS is a thriller and it’s dark and it’s a masterpiece, but it’s not “fun.”

But the tension of a genius psychopath playing mental and emotional cat-and-mouse games with a rookie FBI agent as she tries to find another psychopath is compelling. And that’s the “fun” the story trades on.

That’s the concept.

The concept cannot be incidental. It is a pattern you rinse, repeat and heighten through the whole movie.

This is closely related to the term improvisers use, which is GAME.

Loosely defined in this context:

Game: The unusual thing that is repeated in action inspired by the idea of, if this is true, what else is true?

Commercial genres tend to have more easily identifiable concepts but it’s mostly genre-agnostic.

Here are examples of concepts (not loglines).

TOOTSIE (comedy) The film’s fun is all generated by Michael Dorsey working as an actor while disguised as a woman.

OLD SCHOOL (comedy) Middle-aged men open a fraternity house on a college campus. If this stupid idea is true, “What else is true?” generates most of the fun.

JURRASSIC PARK (Adventure/horror) Dinosaurs, man. Dinosaurs.

BARBIE (Comedy) Barbie in the real world.

MANCHESTER BY THE SEA (Drama) A man who wishes to remain dead inside is forced to be the sole guardian of his nephew. His discomfort, emotional numbness, and desire to get out of it generate the drama (i.e. the fun).

CODA (Drama) The drama is generated by a young girl who wants to leave the family business, but she’s the hearing child of deaf parents.

NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET (horror) Dude kills teenagers in their dreams.

A QUIET PLACE (horror) They can’t make a sound or the monsters will come kill them. Scenes that riff off that idea generate tension and great scenes.

IRONMAN 3 (action) My favorite of the 3. The fun and great scenes are generated by taking away Tony’s suit. He has to do the heroics mostly without it (until Act 3).

You get it. I could go on.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on December 5, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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Your scene engine.

Define your concept, and you have an engine for great scenes and even trailer moments.

In each concept above, scenes explore forms of the question, if this central idea is true, what else is true?

Variations include, “How would that happen?”, “What if…?” and “What else…?”

Take THE TERMINATOR (action/sci-fi horror). The concept is a time-travel assassin robot that can’t be killed.

How would he dress? That’s a scene. How would he find her? That’s a scene. Where would he get his weapons? Another scene.

What are all the ways you would try to kill him? Multiple scenes. What if you went to the police for help? Big, huge set-piece. What if you blew him up? Another set-piece.

How would you really, ultimately finally kill him? Big, final set-piece.

Like all movies, what makes the story work are the characters, emotions and the relationships, but these fun, unique scenes are how we get to care about those things.

All from the question, if it is true that a time-travel assassin robot came to kill someone, what else is true?

Your promise.

This is a business and marketing concern, but a crucial one. At this early stage, you are marketing to buyers.

The concept in the logline makes a certain promise of what you’re going to explore and where the fun is going to come from.

When you added a protagonist and a conflict to the concept, you offered up what this film would look like. The reader of the logline could see it. They could visualize it. Maybe not the details, but the potential.

They instinctively knew there were countless opportunities to explore that conceit, play that game, and all the ways to ask, “What if…?”

“That sounds hilarious”

“That sounds heartbreaking.”

“That sounds terrifying”

Because the concept made them see all the possibilities.

Plots don’t do that. Situations don’t do that.

Concepts do.

And those possibilities are what they want. And it’s your job to deliver.

I’ve tried to surprise the reader by turning away from the concept inside the screenplay. “Surprise! Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

But it has never worked. They always felt disappointed. “But I wanted to see this.”

I made a promise, and I reneged.

You need to surprise and delight the audience with the concept that got them excited to begin with.

Do you really need a concept?

No. Of course, not. As you have no doubt heard, “There are no rules.”

But what you do have are your intentions. Those matter. And how you try to best execute your intentions matter.

I have a couple of small character pieces that I always knew would be difficult, and they have been. Every story has it’s own integrity and you must stay faithful to it.

But a logline with a clear, unique, fun concept is much stronger.

And a strong logline makes your life as a screenwriter so much easier.

And as long as they’re faithful to my intentions, I try to make the decisions that make my job easier.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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If we can get the reader to see the images and feel the emotions, we can transmit our enthusiasm and excitement for the project to them.

Write with the reader in mind.

The days of screenplays being written for production are mostly over. Today, the screenplay is written to be read. Production (hopefully) will come later.

There are countless ways to do this, many of which I’ve covered in previous emails and will cover more in future ones.

This week, however, I want to focus on a particular philosophy rather than the nuts and bolts execution.

I want to discuss a very specific angle of attack.

The action lines.

You will spend more time rewriting your action lines than you will your dialogue. Accept that ahead of time. Embrace it.

Why?

Because action lines are the greatest area of friction for the reader.

That’s where they will likely get bored. It’s where the reader will lose trust in you, and it will be the first thing they start skipping.

But you’re going to need those action lines.

Because the action lines are how you get them to see your movie.

Keep the main thing the main thing

As with everything I teach, we keep our objective front and center.

What is our goal here?

Our goal is to get the reader to love our screenplay and say yes.

Yes to recommending it. Yes to passing it on. Yes to buying it, directing it, starring in it, or financing it.

Whatever it is, we are looking for YES.

But how do we do it?

We do this by evoking the emotional experience of seeing the movie on screen.

That is our primary goal for this version of the movie (the script). It is the criterion by which we decide what to put on the page.

If we can get the reader to see those images and feel those emotions, we can transmit our enthusiasm and excitement for the project to them.

And get them to say yes.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on November 28, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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You need to envision your movie first.

Sure, you can conceive and explore the scenes in a three-dimensional space. Do whatever your process requires.

But when it comes to putting it on the page… You need to see a movie in your mind.

And share that.

Shot by shot if you have to. Envision this completed film.

Because you can’t get anyone to see a movie, you haven’t envisioned yourself first.

You are watching the movie.

Imagine yourself alone in the theatre. The lights are down. And it’s your movie up there.

It’s completed. It’s finished. Music, stars, big budget. Whatever was needed. It’s all up there.

You’re watching it.

Your job now is to explain what is happening in real-time to someone who cannot see or hear it themselves.

And you want them to have the exact emotional experience you’re having as you watch it for the very first time.

The visuals. The sounds. The emotion. The tension. Who we’re rooting for. Who we’re rooting against.

How do you do it? How do you convey this movie to them?

How do you get them to feel they’re right there with you, feeling the exact same thing you are?

Listen to sports play-by-play.

Just get on the radio one day and listen to a sporting event. It doesn’t matter what it is. Football, basketball, baseball.

Listen to them describe the game in real-time as it’s happening.

Listen to the emotion and energy they bring as they try to transmit the experience of being there to the listener.

Just like the radio:

1. You know who the hero is. The radio pairing is hired by the local team, and they know who you’re rooting for.

• They don’t pretend to be objective.
• When good things happen, it’s awesome.
• When bad things happen, it sucks.

1. Different play-by-play guys have different personalities, just like different writers do.

• And this personality is part of your voice as much as the confidence and specifics of what you write.
• Whether you’re confident, enthusiastic, desperate, or insecure, that emotion has a way of seeping onto the page. Which trait do you want to show the world?

You must be brief.

If you describe these events as they are happening, then you must be brief.

Nothing should take longer to read than it takes to happen on screen.

You will almost always evoke images (shots, locations, clothing) rather than describe them.

How we feel about a house, an outfit, a haircut, a car, a friend, a shadow in the dark is almost always more important than the details of how you would describe it.

You are after the emotion.

Movies are an emotional delivery system. Everything you do is designed to make the audience (in this case, the reader) FEEL something.

And you want the collection of all these emotions throughout the movie to be greater than the sum of its parts.

So, as you write each line, each paragraph, and each scene, it’s important to ask yourself what emotion you are trying to evoke.

Fear? Dread? Joy? Relief? Arousal? Hope?

What do you want the audience to feel in that moment?

Make that decision. Be decisive and be specific. Non-choices are poison.

Then ask yourself, is that emotion you’re going for on the page?

If it isn’t, go back and rewrite it until it is.

Your primary challenge.

You will always be searching for ways to express more with less.

The concept of minimum effective dose is important in screenwriting. What is the minimum amount of words required to achieve the desired result?

But this “minimum” is for the reader, not for you. For you, that minimum requires maximum effort.

Current Projects

MOST WANTED — We kept our director. We thought we might lose him because of the strikes, but we did not. This is a top director that gets the movie made.

I am staying on board as the writer, which is a huge, huge win for me, and the plan is to shoot this summer. These things often fall apart, so we’re not carrying each other on our shoulders yet, but so far, so good.

I was sick for a week and lost a lot of work, and I am in catch-up mode here.

I’m excited to share with you more details when I can.

DADDY’S GIRL — Not much communication on this one. I’m not sure what is going on with this project. This option was exercised during the strike, so they must have intentions, but… I don’t know. I have been off the project, and there is no legal obligation to share much info with me.

KILIMANJARO — My next spec script. Fixing the first act is my priority after the Most Wanted rewrites. The plan is that once Most Wanted is announced in the trades with the cast, we will take this screenplay out to buyers soon after.

THE GOOD TEACHER — This is a new one on the list. It’s not a new screenplay. I wrote it two years ago, and it didn’t sell. It’s one of my favorite projects, and we found a director for it that I am delighted about.

Unlike Most Wanted, this director’s involvement doesn’t get the film financed, so there is still much work to do. I will be in producer mode here and will try to keep you updated throughout as I learn this new role.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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Stories where the protagonist remains steadfast in their beliefs and, in doing so, changes everyone around them. This is called in some circles… “The flat-arc protagonist.”

Much of my teaching focuses on the transformation of the protagonist. While this covers most stories, there are other types of transformation.

As a reminder, I define story in my courses (and how I write myself) as:

The transformational journey of a human being.

There are three types of stories.

1. Those where the protagonist changes for the better.

2. Those where the protagonist remains steadfast in their beliefs and, in doing so, changes everyone around them.

3. Those where the protagonist fails to change or changes for the worse. We call this a tragedy.

Today, we are going to focus on #2. Or, how it is called in some circles… “The flat-arc protagonist.”

Never mind the contradiction in terms. This is what we’re going with.

Why the flat-arc protagonist is challenging.

First, they can be really boring. They tend to know what the right thing to do is so their choices don’t surprise you.

Second, you need to juggle a lot of transformations around them. But these aren’t the protagonists, so you don’t have as much time to explore those characters. You only get a few story beats to make that transformation satisfying. Often it’s just 1) set-up, 2) repeat to establish the pattern, and 3) pay-off.

Third, by not having the character’s transformation as your anchor, you have fewer criteria to judge what goes into the story and what stays out.

The good news? All these things can be addressed.

Some Examples.

I am generally less attracted to flat-arc protagonists as a writer but not so as a viewer. I love these characters in movies.

Some quick examples off the top of my head:

• Argo
• Ratatouille
• Prey (2022)
• Hoosiers

These stories have shared qualities that can be duplicated and structured around your own screenwriting.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on November 21, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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The protagonist has a core belief.

If the transformation is our spine in stories where the protagonist changes, the protagonist’s core belief is the spine in stories where they don’t.

In Argo, Affleck’s character believed his plan to fake a Canadian movie production was the one and only hope for those trapped in Iran. Eventually, everyone else believed this, too.

In Ratatouille, Remy believed a great chef could come from anywhere, namely him. Others finally agreed.

In Prey, Naru believes she is just as capable as the others, and there is a force out there much stronger than anyone knows. In the end, the others realize this is true.

In Hoosiers, Coach Dale only knows his way to coach basketball. That is, fundamentals, discipline, and defense. By the end, the whole town is on board.

When the protagonist changes for the better, you want to challenge, push, pull, and tempt them away from who they will ultimately be.

In the case of a flat-arc protagonist, you will want to push, pull, and tempt them from their core belief.

Needless to say, you need to have a clear idea of what this core belief is.

That belief comes from somewhere.

We want to motivate this core belief. This can be done by:

The protagonist’s community not recognizing their talent or true purpose (Ratatouille, Prey) or by giving the protagonist a back story (Argo, Hoosiers) that shows transformation happened before the movie even started (a redemption story.)

There is also the option of characters that are not technically flat-arc but operate as such after the first act.

Braveheart and Gladiator both come to mind. Both characters suffer an unbearable tragedy that shapes them in the first act but sears them into a flat-arc mode afterward.

Something similar happens with Steve Rogers (my favorite Marvel character) in Captain America: The First Avenger as well. A lifetime forms his belief; he is given extraordinary power in Act 1 and remains true to that core throughout the movie (He will transform in later films.)

The key here is to know where this core belief comes from and/or why they are determined to see it through.

The belief must be challenged.

This is where the internal struggle comes from. If they never blink from this core belief, it’s hard to keep their journey compelling. Challenge it; question it.

In Prey, Naru believes herself to be capable and decides that if no one else will take this threat seriously she will. But when she actually sees the Predator at the midpoint, she quite wisely determines that she is in WAY over her head and retreats.

In Ratatouille, Remy is kicked out of the restaurant by Linguini, who says terrible things to him. He wonders if his father was right about humans all along.

Doubts and challenges do not violate the flat-arc trajectory. It’s the opposite. They are crucial to the ultimate triumph of the core belief.

As we say in ​Mastering Structure​, the characters don’t own anything until they pay for it. And it is your job to make them pay for their core belief by testing it.

This belief will have early believers.

The flat-arc protagonist is rarely alone. They need someone to initially believe in them.

In Ratatouille, it’s Linguini. In Argo, it’s his supervisor. In Hoosiers, the principle. And in Prey, while Naru’s brother believes in her more than anyone else, let’s face it, the most unconditional support seems to come from the damn dog.

We will often see another key conversion to the protagonist’s core belief around the midpoint as well.

The third act is when everyone believes.

There will be transformations because of the core belief.

Along with conversions to the protagonist’s way of thinking, you will also see transformations as a result of the protagonist’s beliefs.

In Ratatouille, Remy’s father learns to support his son. Does he really care if rats and humans get along and whether a great chef can come from anywhere? Probably not. But he learns to support and believe in his son.

Coach Dale offers a man a second chance, knowing he needed one himself. It pays off. It appears as if a family starts to heal.

In Argo, Alan Arkin’s Lester Siegel finds career satisfaction in a completely fictional film.

These transformations are adjacent to the core belief, but they happen because of it.

Have faith in the story.

Every story has its own integrity. Know what that story is and stay loyal to it.

Do not undermine the type of story you are writing by trying to insert an arc when it’s not needed.

We can see some change, sure.

At the end of Hoosiers, Coach Dale takes a play call from a player, something he would have never done in Act 1.

But it feels more like a growth in his relationship with his players than a transformation. After all, his way of thinking has won. We’re just wondering now if they’ll win the state championship or not.

I’m talking about inserting a character transformation because you think you’re supposed to.

Argo’s last scene is guilty of this. Affleck’s Mendez character returns home, realizing he has spent too much time away from his family.

It falls completely flat because it wants to display a character arc that transpired outside of the story’s main path.

It robs the audience of a moment of triumph when he is reunited with his wife and son, and instead gives us… contrition. All for the sake of an arc we didn’t want and we didn’t need.

I love this movie. But I hate this moment.

Do not let the flat-arc protagonist make it plot-driven.

The flat-arc protagonist still needs to make the choices that drive the narrative. The story is still about transformation, just not the protagonist’s. Characters still make the decisions that drive the story.

The fundamentals of emotion and relationships still hold

Want to know how much emotion and relationships play a part?

Look at each film’s ending:

• Argo | He returns to his family.
• Ratatouille | Enjoying new restaurant with family and friends.
• Prey | Returns home to her family and village.
• Hoosiers | A picture of the championship team and we hear Gene Hackman say, “I love you guys.”

Listen to Coach Dale:

You can’t do anything without fundamentals.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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This week is a different kind of development challenge. What to do with notes from friends, family, other writers, coverage, contests, and any other input you get from the various sources.

FRIENDLY FIRE

Last week I discussed how to ​navigate development​ when working for others.

This week is a different kind of development challenge because you will be the final arbiter of what notes you will or will not implement.

These are notes from friends and family, other writers, coverage, contests, and any other input you get from the various sources.

The goal, of course, is to create the best experience possible for future readers.

So what to do with the notes that will inevitably come your way?

Let’s start with the most important thing:

You must know what you’re trying to achieve.

This sounds obvious, yet I spend most of my time in consultations getting writers to articulate what story they’re trying to tell.

If you don’t know what story you are telling, you will have no criteria on which to base any decision.

If you don’t know why a scene is in the screenplay, you will have no criteria to know whether it’s working or not, let alone how to execute the intention better.

There is a reason we spend so much time in both ​Mastering Structure​ and ​Idea To Outline​ teaching how to determine our story.

(Within the courses, we define story as “The transformational journey of a human being.” While we obviously go into much greater detail there, this should suffice for now.)

I don’t even start outlining until I have clearly defined my story. What would be the point?

So this part — the most crucial part — is solely up to you.

These two questions should pop up regularly as you develop material because the answers will guide you out of most trouble:

1. What story are you telling?

2. What emotion are you trying to evoke?

Know this for the screenplay itself, for each sequence, each scene, and for every moment.

You cannot rely on anyone else for this. Why? Because —

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on November 14, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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Most people do not know how to develop material.

Do not assume they are any wiser than you. They most likely are not.

They certainly don’t know your screenplay better than you do.

Most reader’s idea of development is simply offering what they like or don’t like about what they read.

This is a pretty miserable way to improve a screenplay. You will be all over the place and soon chasing your tail.

Treat any note you receive about your screenplay as data, not as directions or even recommendations.

It’s data. And at first, all you want to do is collect it.

The more you collect, the better.

You are mainly looking for what is not working.

This is the most hopeful note at this stage. Does a scene have the emotional impact you want?

Does the reader understand what you want them to understand when you want them to understand it?

Is the reader invested in the journey?

Keep track of all of these things.

If you get a consensus on an intention that doesn’t work the way you want, you’ll know that you need to fix it.

If you are asking friends or other writers to read, feel free to ask one or two of them to simply focus on the following:

1. What emotion (if any) they’re feeling at any given moment, and…
2. Any spot where they start to lose interest.

This is somewhat of an extra ask, but it’s worth it.

Many notes will (unfortunately) come in the form of “I (the reader) would like to see this…”

or “This should happen…”

This is often the “what I would have done if I wrote this” note.

This is usually a low-quality note, but obviously, not always. There is a process to confirm either way.

Does the change help you better tell the story you’re trying to tell?

Everything you do should be in support of this story.

Does this recommended change do any of the following?

1. Does it better push back against the character’s journey?
2. Does it propel them further along the journey?
3. Does it tempt them to take another direction?
4. Does it deepen the experience of this specific story?
5. Does it make a moment more emotional, fun or exciting in a way that doesn’t contradict the story itself?

If so, great! The note in question may be a good note!

If it doesn’t do any of these things, you will want to investigate —

The legendary note behind the note.

You have heard this before. The idea that no matter how bad the note, it came from somewhere. And while the note itself isn’t very good, the thing it is trying to address originated from something valid.

My experience is this: maybe it did come from something valid, and maybe it didn’t.

It’s very possible the note was an unskilled way of saying, “This didn’t work for me.”

In that case, it’s up to you to figure out what that is that didn’t work and determine if it’s universal or not.

But the other possibility is that it’s just a bad note that is more about the reader than your screenplay. This happens all the time.

Just like you have personality quirks that get in the way of your writing and rewriting, the reader has personality quirks that get in the way of giving 100% great notes.

Everyone thinks they get story because they think it’s linked to their taste. Everyone thinks they have great taste. So everyone thinks they give great notes.

This is not nearly true. Far from it.

This is why you must have a process.

You cannot be at the mercy of a hundred notes coming at you at once. If you do not know what you’re trying to achieve, this is exactly what will happen.

The note should feel right in your gut.

You know your story better than anyone. Never take a note that doesn’t feel right just because someone told you to do it.

You will do plenty of that when you’re getting paid. Now is not the time for that.

I am very clear about this with my students. A note should feel right in your gut. My notes, anyone’s notes. It should feel like a step forward in telling the story. A lightbulb moment.

Do not chase notes trying to make anyone happy. You are not looking to please a specific reader.

You are looking to tell your story to the best of your abilities.

In doing that, you are looking to get people who would be prone to like your story, and get them to love it.

You will never make all the readers happy. So don’t try.

The mental battle.

Like everything in screenwriting, there is the mental battle when getting notes.

One side of the problem is that we haven’t gained enough confidence, so we tend to believe everyone knows more than us. This is not always true. And even when it is, that doesn’t mean they’re giving good notes.

The other side of it is fear, insecurity, and laziness disguised as integrity, and we refuse to change anything at all.

I was terrible with this for many years and it cost me. You must be honest with yourself.

You will do yourself no favors by falling into either extreme.

Knowing when to move on.

The world will never run out of notes for your screenplay. Ask someone for notes, and the one thing you are guaranteed to get is notes. You can send it out 1000 times, and you will get a 1000 sets of notes.

1) Early on, you will take the biggest leaps between screenplays, and

2) The law of diminishing returns will eventually apply. You will get far more out of your effort with a new project.

Review or TL:DR

The key to writing your screenplay, and therefore in taking notes as well is:

• Know what story you are trying to tell.

• Know what emotion you are trying to evoke.

You must know your intention in each sequence, scene, and moment and how it supports the two points above.

You will need to compare this intention to what you learn is the actual effect on the reader.

If the implementation falls short of the intention, you know to change it. This is where you need to improve.

You will also discover new and better ways to achieve the same thing, or perhaps an even different intention that better serves the story and emotion you identified above.

You will gain more and more confidence as you apply this process to your material.

But you absolutely must make these decisions.

These are the keys to establishing criteria beyond “someone gave you a note.”

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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Early in my screenwriting career, I was insecure, combative, and a pain to work with. Here is how I turned that around.

I was horrible to work with

Early in my screenwriting career, I argued, didn’t take notes well, and was essentially what the ancient mystics called, “a massive pain in the ass.”

It was mostly fear and insecurity, with a heavy dash of laziness.

Yes, sometimes the notes were bad, but sometimes they weren’t, and I handled them the same way, so the notes were not the issue.

I was the issue.

I gained a well-earned reputation and this was a big reason my career went away.

Not the only reason, but a significant one.

Eventually, I sobered up and was fortunate to get another chance in this business. I wanted to change my reputation, but I didn’t know how.

Then Craig Mazin gave a talk at the WGA on thriving in development.

This was a huge influence. I also started keeping careful track of the choices I made in development and what worked and what didn’t.

But I also leaned more into what I taught and how it could help me communicate with the team and help get us on the same page quicker.

Once again, teaching made me a better professional writer.

Here are some of the things I’ve learned over this stretch.

First and foremost:

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on November 7, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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1) Your biggest enemy is your emotional pain.

This is from Mazin, and understanding this is crucial. Your emotional pain is what will drive you to make poor decisions and act unwisely.

Do not lead with your emotional pain.

If you let your pain dictate your behavior, they will find someone else. Every time. No one likes the person making everyone uncomfortable or making everything harder than it already is.

When I have a note session on the phone or a Zoom, I put an index card right on my desk that says, “Your Emotional Pain.”

It is there to remind me not to give in to it.

This does not mean the pain is not real.

It sucks to see something you love get mangled. It sucks to hear others act without curiosity, as if you didn’t battle over every single word.

So the pain is real, and it is legitimate.

It just doesn’t help you in the slightest. It does nothing for you.

In fact, it is your primary obstacle to your goal: to stay on the project and influence how it gets made.

Keep the pain at bay. Feel it later, if you want. But do not allow it to influence one moment of behavior.

2) Everyone is on the same team.

Do not treat different views, opinions, etc., as the enemy. If you go into the meeting with that attitude, it emerges, no matter how you try to hide it.

Everyone in the meeting is your ally.

Everyone has the same goal: to make the movie.

Most people do not know how to develop material. They know it, and they’re nervous about it. They’re insecure, too.

Position yourself as the rock of stability in the room. Be the most reliable on the team.

Be positive when things are going well, be calm and assuring when things are going poorly.

If you remain the calm, steady rock, that will eventually be your role on the team.

Embrace it.

3) Whatever you do, do not engage in what Mazin calls the 3 Ds.

Do not Defend, Deny, or Debate.

It does no good. Being “right” is not the goal here. People want to feel heard.

The best way to make someone feel heard is to actually hear them.

So, practice active listening.

Hear what they say. Acknowledge it by sincerely repeating it back to them. Make the connection.

Then, figure out later what is to be done.

But do not argue. Do not explain why the note is wrong or doesn’t make sense.

Don’t even point out they gave you the opposite note the last round. And that will happen.

Just listen to what the note is. Feel free to ask legitimate questions. Get them to clarify. Ask them what they mean.

But do not defend, deny, or debate.

Remember the goal. The goal is to make a movie.

4) What is important is your intention in the script, not the execution of it.

There are other ways to execute your intention.

Don’t be the person worried about what’s on the page when everyone else is worried about making a movie.

The intention is what you need to protect. If they want something else, so be it, but carefully and elegantly look to get in agreement on what the intention is.

Because at least then you can figure out how to do it.

But keep it positive; your questions are always about understanding what they want better, not expressing your disdain.

Often, when you ask them to clarify and nudge them to make clear their intention, you’ll end up right where you started or even find a better way to execute your initial intention.

At every opportunity, look for a win-win.

There will occasionally be loose cannons that like to destroy everything.

There just isn’t much you can do about that. It sucks, but it will happen.

But your goal remains the same: be onboard to influence how this gets made.

Write the best screenplay you can. Be the calming force. It won’t always be enough. But you can sleep at night knowing you did the best you could.

— — — — — — —

I went from no one wanting to work with me twice to producers looking for our next project as soon as the last one was done.

I am the trusted member of the team that gets the job done.

All because I changed how I handle development.

I am proud of that.

So start now. Don’t wait.

Be the type of writer people want to work with twice.

And give your career a chance to thrive.

Not everyone gets a second shot like I did.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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The early challenges of sloppy exposition are due mainly to a lack of confidence and trust. Which is also kind of the bad news. It takes time to develop those two things.

The good news: exposition is easy.

The early challenges of sloppy exposition are due mainly to a lack of confidence and trust.

Which is also kind of the bad news.

It takes time to develop those two things. Confidence that you’ve shared enough information and trust that the audience can absorb what they need to.

As always, the goal here is to shrink that learning curve.

When I think of exposition, I break it down into two types:

The information dump

“So let me get this straight…’

When most people think about exposition, they think about the information dump.

This is the scene when we learn the necessary information for the plot.

This is obviously more common in plot-focused storylines. It’s usually in the first act, too often in a meeting room of some sort, and someone is given their “mission.”

The challenge, of course, is how to make this compelling for the audience.

We could just do what the CBS procedural shows do and have people talking around some computer screens while characters share the dialogue load for variety, and the camera moves like it’s a Michael Bay movie.

But we should always demand more from ourselves.

The most common strategy is just to have something more interesting going on.

THE BIG SHORT is a famous example where they have celebrities explain the more complicated details. It’s a fun twist on an old problem. JURASSIC PARK has the amusement park ride breakdown of DNA.

But I also want to offer up another option: have characters care.

When in doubt, lean into the emotion. When characters care deeply, we care deeply.

All three of the following examples could have easily been a scene from CSI: ANOTHER ONE. After all, each one illustrates people just sittin’ around talkin’, yet there is so much more going on.

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK — When Army Intelligence asks Indy about the city of Tannis.

What pushes this scene is the enthusiasm of Indy and Marcus.

It’s not our hero who is given information. He’s the one giving information to the Army.

Indie and Marcus know a secret we don’t, and they’re excited about it. This is their world. Throw in the stakes of Hitler, and we barely notice that they’ve just laid down the path for the movie’s first half.

ARMAGEDDON — The entire first act.

Speaking of Michael Bay. The first act of ARMAGEDDON is maxed out in information. So much information. Much like Raiders, they don’t just lay out the problem but the plan for how they’re going to deal with it as well.

The movie focuses on the emotions of the stakes. This is certainly easier when the world is going to end, but it’s a lesson in making it personal. Why does it matter to the hero? How deeply do they care?

Which brings us to AVENGERS: END GAME. After Stark returns.

How does the story get through its recap and information update? Through the emotional weight of failure.

The Avengers failed in the last film, and the consequences were devastating. Each character handles it differently. Somehow, a scene of “Where is Thanos?” is watched through a lens of empathy rather than plot.

This brings to mind one of the key fundamentals of my courses:

It’s not about the plot. It’s about the emotional reaction to the plot.

Which is the only thing the plot is good for.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on October 31, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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Character history and background

“Let me tell you about Susan…”

This kind of exposition is always a structural question. This is information that informs a character or a relationship. Early in our writing, we tend to want to give it to the audience as given circumstances as soon as possible.

This week’s topic was inspired by just such a decision. A student was writing a scene about a woman coming home to her three kids after being asked out for the first time since her husband passed.

The first thing we learned about this woman? She was a widow. Giving information away as given circumstances is exposition.

Which brings to mind another fundamental I teach.:

Never give away as exposition what would be more effective later as a reveal.

The difference between exposition and a reveal is that one is information, and the other evokes emotion.

It’s possible we can create more interest from the audience by asking the question why is this woman so awkward? Why is she so reluctant to tell her kids? (Perhaps even the opposite; why is she so delighted to be asked out?)

When we hold off something to later give it as a reveal, it puts all that happened before it into context. It answers questions about behavior the audience was quietly asking.

To get answers to questions they were silently asking is satisfying for the audience. They love you when you do that.

MANCHESTER BY THE SEA is a great example. We know this guy is lost; he seems like a destructive person. It’s not until 55 minutes into the film that we learn why. His children are dead. And it’s his fault. And it’s not until 5 minutes after that, when he grabs a police officer’s weapon, that we fully appreciate the personal hell he’s in.

This is a structural choice. What the audience knows and when they know it.

If the author gives that information out of the gate, we still feel his pain, but the mystery and the questions stop. We have too many answers, and the experience is different.

You are not obligated to give information about a character or a relationship upfront. This is always a structural question. That is:

When will you get the most value out of it? And that’s when you share it with the audience.

Trust the audience

The audience picks up plenty. When characters behave as if something is true, the audience will figure it out.

Emotional truth is paramount.

We don’t need to mangle a scene just to let the audience know the nature of a relationship.

HANK
Hey, sis. Just because we’re related…

We see the puppet strings. And we check out.

All we need to do is ensure the characters behave as if it is true, and the audience will figure it out.

Are they best friends? Cousins? They’re not married.

HANK
Did you call mom?

Oh, they’re siblings! That’s it.

You don’t have to answer questions before they’re asked. You just have to win the reader’s confidence so they know you will.

~
That’s a wrap for this week! Hope this helped.

-Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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Put simply, writing vertically refers to making choices that push the reader’s eyes DOWN the page more often than they go ACROSS the page.

Write Vertically

You’ve heard the advice. It sounds cool, right? Write vertically!

But the English language reads left to right, so what exactly does it mean to write vertically?

Put simply, writing vertically refers to making choices that push the reader’s eyes DOWN the page more often than they go ACROSS the page.

On the left is page 2 from The Goonies, and on the right is a student script.

The Goonies is almost certainly a better movie, but which one would you rather read?

For me, the one on the right. Every time. But how cool would it be if The Goonies was written like that instead?

This is important because if I know screenwriters, many of you are asking, “What does it matter how it is written on the page if the script is good? Isn’t The Goonies a great movie?”

In a perfect world, you’re right. What goes on screen is what counts. But we’re not in a perfect world, and we are not writing a screenplay commissioned by Steven Spielberg.

And it’s true: writing vertically can’t make a bad story good.

But it can make a great story easier to identify.

And that’s the goal.

This story was originally published in the Story and Plot Weekly Email on October 23rd, 2023.

While this blog is bi-weekly and consists of older posts from The Weekly Email, The Story and Plot Weekly Email publishes new lessons every Tuesday morning. Don’t miss another one.

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Why does writing vertically make a great story easy to identify?

Mostly because it makes it easier for the screenwriter to direct the reader’s experience.

Writing vertically helps by:

1. Making the pages visually more inviting to read.
2. Giving you better control of the rhythm.
3. Making it easier to create imagery.
4. Making it easier to control the reader’s focus.
5. Allowing the reader to turn pages faster.

The primary tool to do this is shorter paragraphs.

That’s it. That’s all it really takes.

The trick is how we use those shorter paragraphs to tell our story.

We are taught in school how to write “proper” paragraphs with introductory, supporting, and conclusion sentences. If you were like me, you would find it satisfying to write a thick, five-sentence paragraph. That dopamine rush is hard to kick!

But I encourage you to unlearn this. I want you to try to get the same feeling by writing a supremely effective paragraph that is short and compact.

And then hit <return> and write another one.

Remember our goal for the read: to evoke the emotional experience of seeing the movie.

We are trying to create the visual, auditory, and emotional experience of seeing this movie for the first time for the reader.

That’s tough to do with just text. We don’t want them reading a novel.

We want them to see the movie.

In real time.

Nothing should take longer to read than it takes to happen on the screen.

There are 53 lines down an average screenplay page.

53 opportunities to go across all six inches of text (8.5 inches minus the margins.) You can reduce that to 26 times if no paragraph is longer than one line.

And even fewer than that if you write less than a couple inches across.

Like this.

Or this.

It hardly feels like you’re writing left to right at all.

I rarely have paragraphs longer than three lines.

That’s not sentences. That’s lines. The vast majority of my paragraphs are one or two lines.

This is an example page of mine. The content is not so important in this example, but rather the look, feel, and flow.

Paragraphs do three things very well.

1. Encapsulate a single visual shot.
2. Extend time.
3. Create emphasis.

All are quite necessary for the emotional experience we’re trying to evoke.

Encapsulate a single visual shot.

A guideline I use: I can have a single shot go over many paragraphs, but I rarely will have a single paragraph describe multiple shots (as always, rarely, not never).

I tackled this in more detail back in May in the email ​Evoking A Shot List​.

Extend Time.

This often maximizes the vertical flow because you are using a new paragraph to speed up the read by making us flow down the page quicker, but creating the illusion of more time passing.

Create Emphasis

This one is obvious. This is a way to emphasize a sentence by giving it its own paragraph rather than burying it behind one or two other sentences. This sentence gets a little lost.

This sentence does not.

Here are some more examples of writing vertically.

Remember, there are as many styles as there are writers.

Okay, maybe Tár is not the best example of writing vertically.

In fact, it’s the opposite.

See if you like it.

Nightcrawler won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay and I encourage you to read and let it influence you, but do not try to emulate it.

As a rule, never go full Gilroy.

Only Gilroy should do that.

Page count is even more of a challenge.

The irony is not lost on me that as movies get longer and longer in the movie theatres, our screenplays seem to get shorter and shorter.

But remember, we once targeted 120-page scripts because that was considered the average run time of a film. 120 minutes.

Now, we target 100 pages because readers seem to resent reading more than that.

Today’s reader looks at the page count, and if it’s over 110 pages, they sigh like you let them down.

Yes, more white space but fewer pages is annoying, but that’s where we are at.

The mental battle continues.

You will find plenty of examples out in the wild of writers utilizing big, thick paragraphs. See Tár above as an example.

Some of our best writers have no interest in writing vertically.

Don’t use that as an excuse. Put forth the effort to write better and make your screenplays more reader-friendly.

If, for some reason, you believe you can offer up a better emotional experience by neglecting these tactics, by all means, neglect them.

But that should be the only reason to do so.

Do not let laziness and stubbornness sneak in, as they often do, under the cover of integrity. I know this all too well from personal experience.

– Tom

While Medium is a bi-monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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There’s nothing magical about the rewrite.

It’s the same as writing. Your ultimate goal is the same as it was with the first draft.

All you are trying to do in the rewrite is determine where you fell short and to fix it.

So don’t overcomplicate it, and don’t let it intimidate you.

While Medium is a monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

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The trepidation some feel going into a rewrite comes from a lingering doubt, “Is this the best I can do?”

The answer is yes! At that moment, it was.

But now, it’s not.

If you can write a first draft of a screenplay, you can rewrite a screenplay.

It’s just another bite at the apple.

So relax. Nothing has changed. Except you.

You have changed since the first draft.

This is the key to the rewrite.

Story principles have not changed since the first draft. The fundamentals of story structure haven’t changed.

What the world finds scary, funny, dramatic, or heartbreaking hasn’t changed.

But you have.

You now have significantly more data than you had before.

You’ve grown as a writer since that first page. You’ve spent time with these characters. You know what interests you more about this collection of scenes, and what interests you less.

And now that there’s a first draft, there’s also a baseline to judge what’s working and what isn’t.

All this added knowledge and perspective is your greatest ammunition going into the rewrite, so you’ll want more of it.

But first, the best thing to do is reconfirm what it is you are trying to do:

Know what story you are telling.

You should have done this before you started writing. Some people write to figure out the story, and that’s one way to do it. But it’s the scenic route. I think that’s just writing a detailed brainstorm/outline and calling it a first draft.

Because, in reality, you can’t tell a story, without knowing what story you’re telling.

So you need to make this decision if you haven’t already.

What story are you telling?

Know this. Reconfirm it. This is the criterion by which you judge everything.

As every thought, note, or idea comes in, you ask yourself, “Does this, or does this not help me better tell this story?”

Know your intention.

You cannot rewrite without intention. Intention for the screenplay, intention for the scene, for the character, for the moment, for the emotion you are trying to evoke.

Everything you learn in ​Mastering Structure​ still applies in the rewrite.

1. What is your intention for this scene/moment?

2. Did you accomplish it?

3. Is there a better intention that could be more rewarding for the story and the audience?

You might be asking, “HOW? If I was capable of doing all this, I would have done it in the first draft!”

Well, no.

Remember how I said the one thing that has changed is you?

You wrote that first draft with one perspective, and one of the most productive tactics of a rewrite is to expand that perspective as much as possible.

How to expand your perspective.

Your goal here is to find ways to see the screenplay differently.

You are the golfer on the green bending low to a new angle, trying to get a better view of where the ball will break.

You’re the driver looking down on the map from that 30,000 foot view, trying to figure out a better route home.

You want a different angle to see what you missed the first time.

Here are some ways to do that.

1. Put it away for a while.

Step away from the script. Not for a day, but for a week. Maybe two. Three weeks, if you can stand it (I don’t think I could.)

This exercise aims for you to come back with fresh eyes and read what you wrote rather than what you thought you wrote.

2. Read it out loud to yourself.

This is particularly helpful to hear the rhythm of your action lines and dialogue or, more precisely, the lack of it.

You will hear and envision things you did not before. You will realize how boring some stretches are and how some moments don’t land.

Having the computer read it out loud is not as effective. It’s too easy for your mind to drift off (itself not a great sign.)

3. Outline the screenplay that’s written

Get that 30,000-foot view by outlining your screenplay in a table.

I do this for every rewrite. It allows me to see the flow of the piece, and if I have a lot of subplots, I can color-code them to keep track of each structure.

It also helps identify the rhythm of set pieces and may confirm whether acts or sequences are too long (note: confirm, not dictate. If an act works, its page count is irrelevant.)

Here are a couple of examples:

​Most Wanted Breakdown.pdf​.

Don’t ask about the color coding. I don’t remember what I was trying to highlight there!

And an early draft of Winchester:

​Winchester Breakdown Producers Draft.pdf​

The following steps are for later drafts. You don’t want to move to these until you feel the screenplay is in pretty good shape and you’ve done what you can.

4. Coverage is good for knowing what is clear and what isn’t.

I am not against outside coverage if you know what to expect and it’s in your budget. Coverage is not development. Be very clear about that.

If the reader is not reading for a boss who will promote them, their job is to read just enough of the screenplay to be convincing that they read the whole thing.

As a result, coverage is good for discovering what is clear and what isn’t clear through an inattentive read.

This may sound like unnecessary knowledge, but it is not. Most reads are inattentive reads.

Not all inattentive reads are equal, so if you choose this route, get three or four different readers and not all from the same service.

If funds are limited, skip this. It is a small data point and not worth the money if it’s money you’ll miss.

5. Friends and Writer Groups

Writer friends and writer’s groups are invaluable. They’re crucial for your journey. But don’t let them develop your material.

The primary thing you want from them here is a new perspective. A new set of eyes, as they say.

It is your responsibility to stay focused on your story. If you do, group brainstorms and a “writers room” atmosphere can be wonderful and extremely productive.

A deeper ask:

For those you don’t mind asking a little more effort from, ask them to mark down:

a. Where they got bored.

Any place their mind drifted off, took a break, or in any way disengaged from the read. Examine that section accordingly.

b. Mark down the emotions they were feeling throughout the piece.

Do they coincide with your intentions? Did things fall flat? Evoke something other than what you wanted?

This is all good info as you go into the rewrite.

The rewrite is about assessment and re-assessment

The more time you spend on a project, the more you will discover. You will find more depth. Thoughts will come up, you will know characters better, themes will clarify, and you will think of things you never considered before.

Embrace all of this.

But you must be decisive about what story you’re telling and what your intentions are for each moment.

That’s how you make decisions.

If you do both of these things, the rewrite is just finding additional perspectives to see what fits best and what you missed.

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I left my last agents at Paradigm over a disagreement about two spec scripts.

I liked them. They didn’t.

I followed their lead on the first one because I was less confident about where I was in my career.

But I loved that second spec and knew it was some of my best work. When they weren’t willing to get behind it, it was clear the relationship had run its course.

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It was scary. I didn’t have other reps lined up. I fired my manager a year earlier, meaning I would have no reps!

But soon after, a manager contacted me, and I showed her the two specs. We decided to work together, and she slipped the projects to agents and soon I was repped by Gersh (my sixth agency in 27 years).

We later sold both those spec scripts outright.

But this is not an “agents are always wrong” story.

Earlier in my career, I left CAA and ICM over similar circumstances, and in both cases, my agents were correct about those projects. But they were also wrong about other projects!

So, the real point is that people will disagree, and no one always makes the right call.

But it was emotionally grueling each time I shelved a script or decided to leave my agent. I hated it. I credit laziness and insecurity for why it took nearly two decades to devise a process to avoid that pain, but I finally did.

The Process Now

While I use this process with my agents, you can quickly adapt it for your own needs if you’re unrepped.

Use a writer’s group, online friends, or creative allies. The more they know about the business, the better, but don’t discount civilians in the logline phase. They can be pretty revealing there.

The process goes something like this:

1. Logline/Pre-Outline
2. Outline
3. Treatment
4. Screenplay
5. Rewrites

The Logline Phase

I send my reps five or six loglines. You undoubtedly know by now how much emphasis I put on the logline. I didn’t always, and I kick myself for it. So dumb. A great logline makes everything easier. Embrace the power of the logline!

This logline phase is crucial on many fronts. The reps are looking at what they can sell, and we discuss why or why not. This helps with misunderstandings about the hook or the storyline. If a logline lacks clarity, it also should pop up here.

I had one time where they didn’t like any of the loglines I sent them, but we can usually find one we all agree on.

The Outline Phase

Getting to the logline is unpredictable. It can come instantly or take years before the idea becomes a story. But once it’s done, I have a system refined over decades to push this project forward.

I outline for myself. I am the only one who is going to look at it.

This is where I figure out the story’s structure, identify the great scenes and sequences, and ensure it has a landing that sticks. I will do a lot of brainstorming here, do any necessary research, and make the big decisions up front that make all the later decisions so much easier.

(This whole process is taught in the ​Idea To Outline​ course, which shows you how to take the most raw idea, develop a logline out of it, and then turn that into a scene-by-scene treatment.)

I still use index cards on a corkboard so I can sit back and look at the whole. For some reason, I think better that way. Maybe it just operates as a trigger for me.

The scene description of the index cards would mean nothing to anyone else. For example, it might say “Cutter and Hollis show up at house” on the card. I know I want a high-tension scene, but no one else would know that.

I might have a few dark spots that I haven’t quite figured out yet, but for the most part, this is where the construction happens.

The Treatment

I then translate that outline into a readable narrative for an audience (in this case, my manager and agents.)

This is an incredibly powerful step. Like so much of what I have learned over the years, I wish I had embraced it earlier.

The treatment is writing. You are problem-solving. You may be punting on how to execute a few things, but you are definitely mapping out and selling the emotion.

I am in storytelling mode here, so I am inevitably discovering more about the characters, the story, the tension, and the emotion. This is where I put the narrative together and have a movie.

Because the treatment is meant for a reader, I am now selling the emotion of a feature film. That index card that reads “Cutter and Hollis show up at house”, will read in the treatment as…

The next morning. Sara sees a man through the backyard window. His name is HOLLIS. He’s tall, powerful. Physically intimidating. He knows it, and he enjoys it. Sara watches him outside and follows from window to window. All the way to the front door. But the doorbell never rings. She waits and waits. The longest silence. But still no knock. She doesn’t realize there is now a man behind her. His name is CUTTER. He’s not as physically imposing as Hollis, but there’s something in those eyes. There’s not an evil in this world that he would lose sleep over. Cutter and Hollis are now in Sara’s house. Cutter does most of the talking. They are looking for Colin. They have a business arrangement with him. He owes them money. They want it. If he has skipped town they will get it from her and there is no doubt these men could do whatever they wanted to Sara and nothing could stop them.

All that from an index card that said, “Cutter and Hollis show up at house.”

When I finish the treatment, I polish it and send it to the reps.

The first round of notes!

My reps are good at giving me a unified response. Traditionally, managers have more notes than agents, but because my process is pretty polished, I usually only get a few notes from either.

Writing The Screenplay

Now I go to script. Regarding my interaction with my team, this is not terribly different from a studio, producer, or any development team — pitch, outline, commencement.

There is still plenty of discovery when writing the screenplay. I’ll find scenes that need to be more compelling, characters that don’t necessarily pop, and areas that need to deliver more emotion. You’ve got to figure all of that out.

I will also have entirely new ideas that I did not expect. What’s terrific about knowing the story and having an outline is that you’ll be able to ascertain whether these new ideas help you or not. Years ago, I would get caught up with shiny new things that would lead me down rabbit holes. That doesn’t happen anymore.

The outline to screenplay phase allows me to be flexible in discovery and keeps me on story and productive. This has made a huge difference in my writing.

If you want to see how the “Cutter and Hollis show up at house” index card finally turned out in the screenplay, ​CLICK HERE​.

The Rewrite

Again, this whole process is pretty refined, so I am not just doing all that many rewrites. Someone would have caught any major flaws much earlier, and because I am disciplined about what story I am telling, there isn’t that, “Maybe it should be this…” kind of debate.

When I turn this in, everyone is pretty happy.

Why jump through the hoops?

Most reps want you to check in with them about the logline before writing a spec screenplay. That’s normal. They don’t want you wasting your time any more than you do. But I like to go the extra mile with this process for three reasons:

1. I want my representation to feel like this is their project, too. I want their buy-in. They’ve been with me every step of the way. If we hit speed bumps or get early passes, they are far more likely to stay committed if they feel connected to the project.
2. I substantially lower the chances of me having to decide to shelve the project or, in the absolutely worst-case scenario, shelve my reps. I am really happy with my team now! I want those days behind me.
3. I have found this to be the most consistent process for creating polished screenplays. The prep work is heavier, but it dramatically shrinks the time between the idea and the distributable first draft. I will never go back, and I strongly encourage you to adopt something similar that works for you.

While Medium is a monthly blog for me, I publish a FREE screenwriting lesson every Tuesday morning at storyandplot.com.

Click here to subscribe.