Category: Writer Support Articles

What beginning writers often forget, blinded by their insecure craft, is that “being bad” is a legitimate part of that process. Even first drafts from famous authors like Faulkner, Steinbeck, and Hemingway were ‘bad’. It’s liberating to know that the best writers in the land wrote drafts that needed tons of rewriting.

by Charles Deemer
Edited bt Stavros C. Stavrides

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• Read with a fixed eye on flow & character
• The chainsaw is your friend
• Crank it up

Reading with a Fixed Eye

The rewriting process begins with careful re-readings of your draft. I suggest a quick read first, just to see how the story flows, and then a series of more careful readings, each focusing on a particular aspect of the draft.

Begin the careful readings with a focus on the main character. Is, in fact, the protagonist ALWAYS the focus of the story?

Often in beginning scripts the main character “disappears” in Act Two. The character simply may be absent for pages at a time – I get nervous when my protagonist is not in a scene for five consecutive pages.

Other times the protagonist is around but too passive, others are doing everything. At still other times some other character proves to be far more interesting than the main character (evil characters often steal the stage this way).

Make sure your script follows the main character on “a journey” through the story: that the protagonist is always front and central, that the journey moves into situations of increasing jeopardy, that the pace quickens into a rush through Act Three, and that the protagonist grows from the journey.

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This is a free support article for Cyber Film School’s Multi-Touch Filmmaking Textbook

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The Chainsaw is Your Friend

The next thing to look at is script economy.

First, look at your scene design: when do scenes begin? when do scenes end? Typically, in a first draft, there will be scenes that begin too early, using a setup that is not necessary and only slows down the story.

Also, there will be scenes that end too late, dragging on with meaningless chat after the point of the scene has been made.

Look at the dialogue. Most six-line speeches can be trimmed to two or three lines without losing anything. Look for idle chat — nothing slows down a story narrative more than chatter. Look for expository dialogue (talk that is primarily informational) and find visual ways to present the same information.

Sometimes a beginner will improve the economy so much that the pagination of a script slips below minimum standards (about 90 pages today). If this happens to you, then you need to find ways to beef up your story and make it more complex, requiring new scenes to bring the pagination up.

This is a conceptual change, not an exercise in padding! If you don’t add story elements, you will be padding, which is the opposite of your rewriting charge to make the script tighter.

I tell my students that “the chainsaw is your friend.” Therefore, use it! This becomes a mantra in my screenwriting classes.

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Make sure to read our related article for a deeper look into streamlining your draft:
Minimalist Screenplay Tips for Maximum Punch

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Crank It Up

Look for ways to crank up your story, making everything matter more.

For example, a student of mine wrote a scene in which a husband moves out after believing (wrongly, it turns out) that his wife is having an affair. The wife, who is the protagonist, has been flirting with her old high school boyfriend, who has appeared out of nowhere. The story is about how the wife comes to appreciate, after a marital crisis, how good her marriage really is.

On rewrite, the student “cranked up” the scene above by having the husband take the children with him when he left. Suddenly the stakes are much higher! This is one way to crank up a scene to make it matter more.

Take your time during the rewriting process. Now is the time to let things spin around in your head; there’s no hurry. If you strengthen the focus on the protagonist, make the script tighter and more efficient, and raise the stakes in the story, you’ll be on your way toward a much improved second draft.

<<<BACK TO
‘LEARN SCREENWRITING‘

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When I’m talking about scene design, I’m not referring to the furniture in a room or what’s hanging on the wall. I’m talking about how a writer, and later a film editor, structures each scene in a screenplay.

In particular, I’m talking about the length of those scenes, which is determined by when a scene begins and when a scene ends.

By Charles Deemer, Edited by Stavros C. Stavrides

UPDATED DECEMBER 7 2022

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This article gets to the screenwriting application of “Exit Late, Start Early”. We further cover this concept for film editors in our article Three Pitfalls of the Editor. You’ll find this link at the end below.

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Typically, a beginning screenwriter will write scenes that are too long, and that are too inefficient. This error is pandemic because screenwriting is the most efficient narrative form we have.

Every word, every moment, has to matter in a screenplay. Beginners almost always begin their scenes earlier than they should and then carry them on longer than they should. So…

When Should a Scene Begin?

A screenplay is built in modules, scene by scene. For this reason, it is difficult to talk about any single scene out of the context of the whole. All the same, basic principles of efficient scene design are part of the screenwriting craft.

A scene in a screenplay should begin as late as possible. What does this mean? Let’s take an example.

A husband and wife have been separated. The husband is the protagonist in the story. He and his wife are meeting for lunch to talk about their future. The wife is going to tell him she wants a divorce.

Most beginners would spend a lot of time getting the husband to this lunch meeting. He might take some time to decide what he is going to wear. He might dawdle on the way, so as not to be early and appear to be anxious. He might fortify himself with a drink or two. Finally, he’ll be met at the restaurant by a hostess and led to the booth where his wife waits.

There will be small talk. A waiter will take an order for drinks. More small talk. A waiter will take their lunch orders. More small talk. Eventually, they’ll get around to talking about their marriage, at which time the wife will say she wants a divorce.

Although there are dramatic contexts in which this slow development can work (see below), in most cases this scene will be too slow. It has too much fat. What is the point of the scene? The news of divorce. A more skilled screenwriter, therefore, would open the scene just before this moment. The couple is already seated at lunch. They are eating silently. Suddenly the wife pops the news.

But there is a context in which the slow version is stronger than the more efficient version. Let’s say that while getting ready, the husband fetches a handgun, loads it, and hides it on his person.

Now where there was slow development and fat before, there is tension because we are on the edge of our seats, wondering what he is going to do with the gun. And the longer we have to wait, the tenser the story becomes.

In other words, for slowly developing scenes to work, there must be an element to justify their pacing; in general, the crisper the scene, the better.

So what about getting out of this scene?

When Should a Scene End?

In the first version, without the gun, beginners would have the wife pop the news and have this lead into an argument, probably the kind of argument we’ve heard many times before. This argument may take several pages, even though we learn nothing new from it.

A more skilled screenwriter might have the wife’s news be the last line in the scene. A quick look at the husband’s reaction and cut: maybe to the husband having a drink in a bar, talking with a friend, or sleeping with his mistress.

Once again, the gun changes everything because it adds a dynamic new element to the dramatic mix. The wife gives the news. A beginning writer might have the husband take out the gun and shoot her. Chaos results. The husband is wrestled to the ground by customers. He barely gets away.

A more skilled screenwriter would surprise us. The husband takes out the gun and points it at his temple. Would he really? The wife looks like she’s about to have a heart attack. He pulls the trigger. Nothing. “I was going to shoot you but I chickened out,” he says. “I took out the bullets. Have a nice life.” He leaves.

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This post is a support article for the “Screenwriting” chapter in Cyber Film School’s 
Multi-Touch Filmmaking Textbook

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Effective Scene Design: ‘The Birdcage‘

Hollywood has mastered good scene design and even otherwise poorly crafted movies are likely to have efficient scenes. But good movies, of course, use good scene design to better dramatic effect. In my University screenwriting class, I use The Birdcage as an especially good example of film storytelling with efficient scene design.

Let’s look at two scene transitions from The Birdcage.

In the first, Armand has been trying to teach Albert how to walk like a man. When Albert accidentally bumps into a customer on the patio, Armand rushes to his defense like a macho hero. The customer stands up. Here is what follows:

Study this transition carefully because it reveals the key to efficient scene design. What is left out is as important, maybe more important, than what is left in. Notice that what is missing is the physical confrontation itself. In a comedy like this, physical violence would be inappropriate and Albert’s subsequent description of the fight is far funnier than seeing the fight.

A beginning screenwriter would take a page or more to make this transition. We’d see the fight, and we’d see Albert helping Armand get home, and we’d see Albert helping Armand to the couch and running off to prepare cold compresses. But in the context of the story, all those details are irrelevant.

The story itself always determines what details you need to show because they support the story and move it forward, and which details are “fat” because they do not move the story forward.

Another example. Armand has come up with the idea that Val’s mother might help them in their charade as a straight family. Here is what follows:

Again, this transition has great efficiency, leaving out all the unnecessary details that a beginner would put in: Armand’s going to the phone to make the call, a secretary at Katharine’s office answering the phone, and so on.

Tips

Although it is always the particular context that determines scene design, there are some principles that will help you make tighter scenes.

Think of ending a scene with a kind of “punch line” or a moment that raises or asks a question. Each naturally leads to something new, the next scene.

Think of scene beginnings as starting in the middle of an action at the point where new story information begins to be revealed.

In other words, cut all the “set up” material of the scene and let the context itself set the scene. Get to the point of the scene from the beginning

Admittedly, there are other factors that justify more leisurely scene development, such as pacing and suspense. If we see a serial killer hide in the closet as a woman comes into her apartment, that knowledge will keep us on edge for a much longer scene than we’d accept otherwise, if the apartment were empty. We are constantly thinking, “Is he coming out?”

But in general, the problem beginners have is putting too much detail into a scene, starting it too early, and ending it too late.

If you concentrate on scene openings and endings when you rewrite, cutting from the top and from the bottom, you should learn to write tight, focused scenes that have no fat and no dull moments.

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Be sure to read further applications of “Exit Late, Start Early” in film editing in:
Three Pitfalls of the Editor.

<<BACK TO: Learn Screenwriting

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In Writing Action – Part One, we showed “What To Write“, the first of three decisions involved in how to write the action portions of a screenplay. Here in Part Two, we show how top screenwriters format action in filmic beats without insulting the director.

By Charles Deemer
Edited by Stavros C. Stavrides

UPDATED December 7, 2022

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Show, Don’t Tell

In Part One, What to Write, I showed how the screenwriter’s task is to write what is seen on the screen, not in the extraordinary detail of literary fiction as many beginners do, but simply and directly for the screen.

But there’s another common beginner mistake when writing action. Like fiction novelists, they get inside a character’s mind.

Further down, we reveal how to use ‘white space’ to subtly ‘direct’ the film’s action.

Consider a scene that starts like this:

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

Joe opens the door and turns on the light. He steps into the room. He senses that someone has been here. He wonders if he’s been robbed or what. He rushes to the bedroom.

Although we write the action literally as if we are watching the movie unfold before us, notice some flexibility here. When we say “He wonders if he’s been robbed,” it’s not direct action, but the subtle difference is important. It allows room for the actor to show it. There is some flexibility here, to be sure.

For example, one might write: “He looks puzzled and disturbed. Has someone been in his apartment? He rushes to the bedroom.” Such a subtle question clarifies the motivation, in the present time, for the previous description and serves as a clue for the actor.

What we try to avoid is expository information in the action element that is not communicated on the screen through either action or dialogue. For example:

Sam sinks into the couch and opens the divorce papers. He’s been married to Helen for fifteen years. He reaches for the phone to call his lawyer

Sam sinks into the couch and opens the divorce papers. He’s been married to Helen for fifteen years. He reaches for the phone to call his lawyer.

The audience cannot know how long Sam has been married, nor can we yet see that he’s calling his lawyer. These are not said in dialogue nor demonstrated in the action or visual cues. Your audience is not the reader in this sense, but the person WATCHING THE MOVIE.

Always be aware that you are writing a blueprint for a movie, not a literary document. You therefore must accept many more writing restrictions than those found in other forms of writing such as novels.

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This post is a support article for the “Screenwriting” chapter in Cyber Film School’s
Multi-Touch Filmmaking Textbook

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Break Up Action Into Visual Beats

In the old days, writers used technical jargon like shot sizes, angles, and camera moves in their scripts. As we reveal in “Making Sense of the Screenplay Format” this practice has long been verboten.

Yet the screenwriter has a very powerful tool in the way he or she places action on the page. It’s simply called ‘White Space.’

Few beginners write as if they are aware of this – even many experienced screenwriters fail to apply this element of screenplay craft.

White Space

We consciously use “white space” to direct the movement and include the visual cues of your story.

The way you define your paragraphs in your action element determines how white space appears on the page, and this has subtle but important consequences.

Again, let’s look at an example. Here’s an extended action sequence as many beginners would write it.

Many beginners would write the following sequence as one paragraph:

Sally comes outside onto the porch, closing the door behind her. She tests it to make sure it’s locked. She looks in the mailbox and takes out the mail, putting it in her purse. She walks down the steps and to her car in the driveway. She unlocks the door and gets in. She gets out again and goes back up the steps and puts the mail back in the mailbox. Back to the car, where she starts the engine and backs out of the driveway.

Although the exposition is technically direct, experienced screenwriters use white space to break down the action into several beats, as if each action is one visual setup. We are in a sense “directing without directing.”

Here is the above paragraph again, but now broken into beats for every distinct action.

Sally comes onto the porch and closes the door. She checks that it’s locked.

She takes the mail out of the mailbox. She puts it in her purse.

She walks to her car in the driveway. She unlocks it and slides in behind the wheel.

She sits. Then she gets out of the car.

She goes back to the mailbox and returns the mail.

She returns to the car and gets in. She starts the engine.

The car backs out of the driveway.

Clever, huh? Notice several things:

By breaking up the paragraph into seven short paragraphs like cuts in a movie, we’ve isolated each of the visual beats of the sequence.

By no means are we ‘directing’ this film in shot sizes, angles, and camera moves. We do in fact suggest in a very subtle way, the individual action beats.

We break up the action by ‘cutting’ from beat to beat with considerable white space on the page, making it more inviting with a much easier grasp on the pacing of the scene.

Shane Black (‘The Predator’, ‘Iron Man 3’) has noted that action in a screenplay needs to have a sense of being read vertically as if the film is running down the page, rather than horizontally across the page in the usual fashion of reading.

“Pearl Harbor” Example

The key to good action writing is clarity and simplicity with strong visual elements that define a scene in distinct beats.

Let’s close with this stellar example, from Randall Wallace’s celebrated action sequence in “Pearl Harbor”:

EXT. PEARL HARBOR – DAY

The harbor lies quiet. It’s a sleepy Sunday morning. Children are playing, officers are stepping from their houses in their shorts to get the morning paper…

EXT. MOUNTAINSIDE – OAHU – DAY

Hawaiian Boy Scouts are hiking on a side of one of the mountains overlooking Pearl. Suddenly booming over the mountain, barely ten feet above the summit, comes a stream of planes.

The boys are awed. What is this?

EXT. PEARL HARBOR – DAY

QUICK INTERCUTS Between the approach of the Japanese planes, and sleepy Pearl Harbor…

— The planes, in formation, their propellers spinning, their engines throbbing…

— Pearl Harbor, with the ships silent, their engines cold, their anchors steady on the harbor bottom.

— The Japanese submarines heading in.

— The American destroyers docking, instead of going out to search for them.

— Another formation of Japanese bombers climbing high, into attack position.

— The Japanese torpedo planes drop down to the level of the ocean, their engines beginning to scream.

— The American planes bunched on the airfields.

— ON THE JAPANESE CARRIERS, Yamamoto and his staff huddle tensely, over their battle maps.

— ON THE JAPANESE CARRIER DECKS, the second wave of planes is being brought up and loaded with munitions…the Japanese flag snaps tautly in the wind…

— ON THE GOLF COURSE NEAR PEARL HARBOR, American officers are laughing on the putting green near the clubhouse, where the American flag droops from the flag pole, limply at peace.

— The Japanese planes roar down just over the wave tops of Pearl Harbor itself.

— Children playing in the early morning sun, looking up as they see the planes flash by. The children look.

— they’ve never seen this many, flying this low…but they are not alarmed, only curious.

The images come faster and faster, the collision of Japan’s determination and America’s innocence

See the distinct beats? They read like a movie: Action. Cut. Action. Cut.

It’s subtle, but it serves up a visual story while not interfering with the director’s interpretation of every beat.

This is action writing at its best!

Making Sense of the Screenplay Format

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“Writing Action — Part Two” Copyright © Charles Deemer. All Rights Reserved.