- Losing My Religion, Prologue: General Misconceptions About Writing
- Losing My Religion, Part 1: Misconceptions About Concept
- Losing My Religion, Part 2: Misconceptions About Character
- Losing My Religion, Part 3: Misconceptions About Structure
- Losing My Religion, Part 4: Misconceptions About Scenework
- Losing My Religion, Part 5: Misconceptions About Dialogue
- Losing My Religion, Part 6: Misconceptions About Theme
- Losing My Religion, Part 7: Misconceptions About Tone
- Losing My Religion, Part 8: Misconceptions About Rewriting
- Losing My Religion, Part 9: Misconceptions About Writing Careers
Podcast
Showing posts with label Losing My Religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Losing My Religion. Show all posts
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Losing My Religion (aka Writing Misconceptions): The Archive
Did you know that books take a long time to write, and even longer to make it into the hands of readers? This series is from late 2012, and it came about because I had gotten serious about writing the book (after spending two years generating the material). The book finally came out almost exactly four years later, and now six months after that, I’m proud to say that it’s a success. (I forgot to tell you guys that the audiobook was the Deal of the Day on Audible a few days ago, sorry!)
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 7: Misconceptions About Tone
See, I didn’t
forget about it!
Tone is the most misunderstood aspect of writing...
What I Used to Think: A writer should write to please him or herself.
Tone is the most misunderstood aspect of writing...
What I Used to Think: A writer should write to please him or herself.
- What I Now Realize: A writer should write to please an audience. (Hopefully, this will make the writer happy, too!)
What I Used to Think: The audience
wants to be shocked.
- What I Now Realize: The audience wants to be astonished.
- What I Now Realize: The opposite is true: First and foremost, the audience wants the writer to create expectations. Once those expectations have been created, the audience wants to the writer fulfill most of them and then upset a few of them.
What I Used to Think: An audience will
recommend your story to their friends based on what they think of the plot, the
characters, the structure, the dialogue, the scenework, or the theme.
- What I Now Realize: The audience recommends the story based on what urges it satisfies.
What I Used to Think: “Genre” refers primarily
to a setting, or a subject matter, or the feeling of the story.
- What I Now Realize: Genre is, first and foremost, a set of pre-established audience expectations.
What I Used to Think: A genre story
should be primarily concerned with the details of that genre.
- What I Now Realize: Great genre stories are metaphors for universal emotional experiences. A great vampire story isn’t about fangs and blood, it’s about our internal struggle between lust and self-control. Great Westerns aren’t about horses, they’re about the struggle between our craving for individualism and our need for community. Even the most unrealistic genre stories should be metaphors for how things really feel.
What I Used to Think: A genre-switch in
the middle of the story makes for an exciting twist.
- What I Now Realize: A genre-switch almost always alienates the audience. You’ve created expectations and now you need to fulfill them (or at least most of them). TV shows like “Lost” that switch genres abruptly infuriate fans.
What I Used to Think: Once you’ve
chosen a genre, you can freely mix and match every sub-genre within that genre.
- What I Now Realize: Within a genre, some sub-genres can be combined, but others cannot. Mixed-sub-genres often result in mixed metaphors. Genre is a form of abstraction, and mixing genres or sub-genres can often leave you with an abstraction of an abstraction in which genre elements become disconnected from the real life emotions that they once represented.
What I Used to Think: The audience is
tired of genre clichés.
- What I Now Realize: Most clichés exist for good reasons, and audiences don’t mind them as long as they’re executed in a somewhat fresh way. Every time you shed one, you must do so carefully, and accept that the audience is likely to complain that it’s missing. Don’t just assume that they’re going to say, “Finally, a movie without that old cliché!”
What I Used to Think: Each genre
implies a certain mood.
- What I Now Realize: The mood, such as light or dark, emotional or intellectual, funny or serious, is established independently of the genre such as in the title card of Star Wars (which subtly implies a “fairy tale” mood).
What I Used to Think: Each audience
member will bring a unique and unpredictable set of expectation and assumptions
to your story. You can’t help it
if it turns out that they wanted your story to be something that it wasn’t.
- What I Now Realize: It’s possible to manage your audience’s expectations and reset their assumptions. When re-writing your story, it’s very important to find out from your early readers about any assumptions they brought to your story, and which false expectations they formed as they read it, then re-write the beginning of your story accordingly.
What I Used to Think: Foreshadowing is
the author’s way of teasing the audience.
- What I Now Realize: Foreshadowing teases the audience, yes, but its primary purpose is to subtly reset the audience’s expectations. It consciously prepares them for what might happen, and subconsciously steers them away from what won’t happen.
Monday, December 03, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 9: Misconceptions About Writing Careers

What I Used to Think: Writing is a ticket to fame and fortune.
- What I Now Realize: Most graduates from my MFA program never sell anything at all, ever. Most of those who do sell some of their work nevertheless remain below poverty-level. Even the most successful writers in this industry have no job security and no reliable benefits. It’s an extremely risky career choice.
- What I Now Realize: Almost every success story begins very slowly, and the first few sales provide little financial security or professional satisfaction.
- What I Now Realize: Most programs, even the “prestigious” ones, are scams. They exist to make money off your dreams, not to teach you anything. They reinforce your misconceptions, encourage your worst instincts, protect you from any real criticism, saddle you with a lifetime of crushing debt, and dump you unceremoniously back out into the real world without any more writing skills than you came in with. And don’t think that…
- What I Now Realize: Nobody ever got hired for a writing job because of an MFA. In fact, it’s far more likely to hurt your chances. Buyers know that MFA grads have a false sense of privilege, snide condescension towards audiences, and a totally naïve set of expectations. They would much rather hear about your time in the army, or on a shrimp boat, or, best of all, prison, because those experiences grant a writer authenticity. An MFA is the opposite of authenticity. The best training is to get a job that forces you to listen to people and get constant audience feedback, such as journalism or stand-up comedy.
- What I Now Realize: They’re in the job of making money for themselves by maintaining a monopoly on access to those who purchase writing. They wait until a writer has already attracted the attention of a buyer, then they insert themselves into that process to intercept some of that money, knowing that both parties have no choice but to deal with them. If you are not one of their huge clients, they will expect you to find your own work, then demand their cut once you’ve almost closed the deal yourself.
- What I Now Realize: The difference is that managers are unregulated, which means that they can insist on co-owning what you write as a condition of selling it. In reality, managers don’t do much more to help their clients than agents do.
- What I Now Realize: Writing today is a cut-throat, high-stakes business, and those who succeed tend to have hard-edged, ambitious, type-A personalities. The days when a sheltering editor, producer, or agent might protect an artsy writer from the harsh details of the business end are long over. In fact, you’ll have to fight those people over every business detail if you want to be paid anything at all. You have to have all those traits you dread hearing about in high-stakes job interviews: you have to be a self-starter, detail-oriented, and constantly focused on where you’ll be in five years.
- What I Now Realize: You have that opportunity right now. If you don’t have representation, then use this valuable time to write and re-write several ambitious projects every year without distraction. The work you produce now will be your ticket to the top, and it will also be your meal ticket once you’re there, because you’ll be too diverted by the hubbub to begin any meaningful new projects for a while. Right now is the prime of your career.
Sunday, December 02, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 8: Misconceptions About Rewriting
Okay, folks, you may notice that I’m skipping “Part 7: Tone” and going right to our two-part wrap-up. I decided that I didn’t want to summarize my upcoming “tone” series until after it runs, partly because you guys always do a great job honing my ideas. Part 7 of this series will run at the end of that series.

In my MFA program, they taught us that notes were rude, and that we should protect our vision zealously. They should be arrested for criminal malpractice.
What I Used to Think: You should revise your first draft.

In my MFA program, they taught us that notes were rude, and that we should protect our vision zealously. They should be arrested for criminal malpractice.
What I Used to Think: You should revise your first draft.
- What I Now Realize: You should re-write your first draft. Rather than merely refining scenes or dialogue, you should be focused on changing the character’s personalities (which will make you change everything else) and/or re-structuring the whole story. You should not attempt line-by-line revisions until you’ve totally reshaped your script according to the overarching notes you’ve gotten.
- What I Now Realize: You do want to mess it up. If any part of your story is fragile or delicate, then it won’t survive the shipping process. Shake it up and pick it apart until everything that’s left is rock solid. If something comes right out, then take it out. Simplify it, or the buyers will simplify it for you, and with good reason.
- What I Now Realize: It’s not up to you to decide what’s perfect. Your peers, your early readers, your representatives, your editors and/or producers will all hopefully do a better job than you of determining what the story needs, so listen to them. If you strongly disagree with a note, set it aside for now…but don’t forget the Back to the Future rule: if one person give you that note, then maybe only one person feels that way, but as soon as two unrelated people give you the same note, then you can assume that millions of people will feel that way.
- What I Now Realize: There are lots of great versions of every scene and sequence. If you keep trying out radically different versions you’ll find surprising new angles that serve your story better. Even after you sell it, the buyers will demand that you spend years re-writing and revising your story. Do so happily and heartily. Make them tear it out of your typewriter when they think it’s ready to go before an audience.
- What I Now Realize: A note is a big-hearted gift. The only reason anyone will ever give you notes is because they want to improve your story.
- What I Now Realize: Early readers are always willing to point out plot holes and tone problems, but they’re reluctant to point out problems they had with the characters or the structure. You have to push them to get those notes out of them.
- What I Now Realize: At first, only people who care about you will be willing to read your writing, and they will try to give you good notes, but (a) they are probably not trained writers who can identify the real problem, and (b) they will not want to hurt your feelings about the over all quality of your work. If you can somehow get notes from peers that are not friends or family, those notes will be much more reliable. But wait, you may still think that…
- What I Now Realize: Your instructors may seem tough, but they aren’t tough enough, because (a) their income depends on your tuition, so they have a strong financial incentive to overpraise you to keep you enrolled and (b) they are evaluating your work against a platonic ideal that exists only in their head, not on how successful your work will be with an audience. (In fact, they often have open disdain for audiences, because of their own career setbacks.)
- What I Now Realize: If they didn’t like it, they would ignore it. Notes prove that they have engaged with your story, and they now feel invested in making it better.
- What I Now Realize: Buyers expect you to re-write everything they had a problem with and much more. Regardless of any assurances to the contrary, they do not regard their notes as optional requests or debatable opinions. Rather, they regard each of their notes as sacrosanct and symptoms of even larger problems. And don’t think that…
- What I Now Realize: Everybody hates reading a re-write in which very little has changed. You still have the older version, and you can revert to it at any time, but for now you should keep trying new things throughout your story, improving everything, not just the things they gave you notes about.
- What I Now Realize: If someone tells you that you have “third act problems” or that you need “a new first chapter”, don’t believe them. Treat each problem like a polyp of an endemic cancer. Notegivers almost always misidentify what the source of a problem is. They may be upset that your ending didn’t pay off an expectation that they had formed, but, perhaps, instead of adding a pay-off to the ending, you should instead go back to the earlier sections and remove the expectations.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 6: Misconceptions About Theme
Many writers avoid discussing theme for fear of being moralistic, but this is a fundamental misunderstanding...
What I Used to Think: Your theme is a statement of the moral of your story.
What I Used to Think: Your theme is a statement of the moral of your story.
- What I Now Realize: The theme of your story is derived from the irreconcilable ethical or moral dilemma that underlies the dramatic question.
- What I Now Realize: A choice between good and evil is a no brainer, so it will be dramatically inert. The hero should be forced to choose between good vs. good, or evil vs. evil.
- What I Now Realize: Your story should make a statement about this dilemma without entirely resolving it. The hero should be forced to choose between those two goods or two evils, and that choice should have consequences, but the dilemma should live on in the audience’s heads.
- What I Now Realize: Sarcasm is the least interesting type of irony. Irony refers to any meaningful gap between expectation and outcome, and it is what gives stories their emotional heft. Every aspect of every story should be ironic in multiple ways. There are at least seven different types of irony that are essential tools for a writer to use.
- What I Now Realize: It is extremely difficult to write a story that reliably entertains large numbers of people. Both great literature and great entertainment are badly needed, very worthwhile, and highly useful to society as a whole.
- What I Now Realize: Just because a particular episode of “Mad Men” may be funny or have a happy ending doesn’t mean that it’s pure entertainment without any literary qualities. Likewise, just because a “Burn Notice” episode ends with that week’s bad guy getting away doesn’t mean it was intended to be literary. The primary distinction is that literary stories tend to be about the unintended consequences of the characters’ actions, while purely entertaining stories tend to be about the intended consequences of their actions.
- What I Now Realize: If you want your theme to resonate with an audience, your story must ring true-- it must reflect human nature and the way the world works.
- What I Now Realize: Human nature dictates that people only want what they want. All characters must be motivated by their own self-interest, as they see it. Heroes and villains should never pursue good or evil as abstract goals. No character should ever ask a co-worker, “What’s wrong?”, or selflessly say, “Do you know what your problem is?” All of these ring phony. Ironically, audiences admire most those characters that care about themselves.
- What I Now Realize: Audiences expect every story to conform to their expectations about human nature, even if none of the characters are human. We expect even elves and robots to be ruled by the iron laws of human nature. This means that every writer must be a student of human nature, and constantly observe the way in which the world works and doesn’t work. All writing must ring true.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 5: Misconceptions About Dialogue
Let’s talk about talk.
What I Used to Think: Good dialogue sounds like real life.
- What I Now Realize: In order to write a story, life must be dramatized. Dialogue should be more succinct, more proactive and filled with more personality than it would be in real life. Even passive characters should be aggressively passive. Nevertheless, don’t think that…
- What I Now Realize: Dialogue cannot sound exactly as it would be in real life, but it must mirror the structure, language, and cadence of how people actually talk, to a startling degree. In bold, fresh ways, their speech should reflect the internal logic and odd tactics that people use in real life conversations.
- What I Now Realize: MFA programs are bad dialogue echo-chambers. Instead, you have to get out in the world and listen carefully to how real people talk. You have to listen to what they’re saying and what they’re not saying, to ways in which their feelings are universal and ways in which their jargon is unique.
- What I Now Realize: No matter how much they have in common, characters must each have unique metaphor families that determine their slang, their points of comparison, their exclamations, etc. These might be determined by their home region, developmental state, or the specifics of their individual job category.
- What I Now Realize: In order to remain believable, your characters’ language should reveal at least one default personality trait that always tinges their dialogue, no matter how much everything changes. (Even when he’s happy, a depressive character will say, “I’m actually happy for once.”)
- What I Now Realize: They can try new strategies when necessary, but each character should have a default argument strategy, such as evidence-based, passive aggressive, faux naïve, etc.
- What I Now Realize: Polarized, extreme characters are often create more dramatic and interesting dialogue than well-rounded, three-dimensional characters. The most common way to polarize three characters is to one who is “all-heart”, another who is “all-head”, and the third who is “all-gut”. Dialogue between three-dimensional characters reminds us of our external debates, but dialogue between polarized characters reminds us of our internal thought process, which is equally valid.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 4: Misconceptions About Scenework
Why are some scenes so much more compelling than others?
What I Used to Think: A scene is primarily an exchange of dialogue.
What I Used to Think: A scene is primarily an exchange of dialogue.
- What I Now Realize: Great scenes get just as much meaning from physical interaction or the exchange of an important object than they do from the exchange of dialogue. The main scene partners should touch each (often just once) in every scene.
- What I Now Realize: Usually only one person wants to have a conversation. The other should already be doing something important, and that other activity should continue to distract them both as the conversation continues. This is why you have to know what every minor character does all day. No one should ever be sitting around waiting to have a conversation when the hero arrives.
- What I Now Realize: Couples hate that. This is why the love interest should have another role in the story, so that the couple can talk about the plot on one level while talking about their relationship in the subtext.
- What I Now Realize: Rather than simply disputing each other, both scene partners should try, one way or another, to get the other to do something that he or she does not want to do, and one or both of them should succeed.
- What I Now Realize: It is human nature to avoid direct conflict, both because it is unpleasant and because it is usually ineffective. Everybody, even nice folks, gets they want through subtle verbal tricks and traps, including seduction, flirtation, passive aggression, blackmail, outwitting, and many more.
- What I Now Realize: As the writer, it’s your job to show the plot to the audience, not have the audience explain it through dialogue. The characters should not be thinking about or talking about the plot. They should be talking about their own wants and needs, openly, surreptitiously, or unconsciously.
- What I Now Realize: Exposition is necessary for every story, and there is no reason that exposition scenes can’t be great, if you’re careful to ensure these three things:
- Exposition should be withheld until both the hero and the audience are demanding to know it. Let the questions start to burn before you answer them.
- Ideally, one should trick or trap the other into revealing the exposition.
- The scene partner who reluctantly reveals the exposition should nevertheless do so in a way that advances his or her own goals, whether openly, surreptitiously, or unconsciously.
- What I Now Realize: Scenes are equally about what the characters are not talking about. This is either because they are intentionally avoiding the main topic, or because they’re unintentionally bringing up a topic that they’re trying to ignore.
- What I Now Realize: You must allow your characters’ volatile personalities, their emotional baggage from previous scenes, and the inherent obstacles of the setting to create friction, even if that friction slows down your scene.
- What I Now Realize: We should know before the scene begins what the characters’ false expectations are, and we should share their shock and disappointment (or happiness and relief) as the reversal of expectations occurs.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 3: Misconceptions About Structure
Many writers are dubious about learning structure, but these fears, like most, tend to be based on false assumptions...
What I Used to Think: Your story is about your hero’s life.
What I Used to Think: Your story is about your hero’s life.
- What I Now Realize: Your story is about your hero’s problem. Charles Dickens could spin out big sprawling epics in serialized installments, telling the whole life story of a person, or even of an entire era, but our current conception of story tends to be far more focused. Not only do most great stories these days focus on one person, they focus more specifically on one big problem in that person’s life, and the various ways it manifests itself. This may also be a societal problem, but we are experiencing the way that this problem affects one person.
- What I Now Realize: To begin, ask yourself “At what point does my hero’s problem become acute?” Usually this is a longstanding problem (internal or external) that has only now become undeniable.
- What I Now Realize: It doesn’t matter where the hero goes next. After every scene, you should ask, “What is the next step in the escalation or resolution of this problem?” Feel free to jump ahead an hour, or a week or a year until the next moment that the problem progresses.
- What I Now Realize: Story structure was naturally discovered. Most stories are about the solving of a large problem. Because human nature is universal, we all tend to go through a similar series of steps in order to solve a large problem. Those steps provide the basis for classical story structure.
- What I Now Realize: That will only happen if you start with an artificial structure and work backwards, but if you start by afflicting your hero with a large problem and work forward from there, you will find yourself re-discovering classical structure from scratch.
- What I Now Realize: Your structure should not dictate what will happen on which page number, nor should it be used to force your hero to do anything that he or she doesn’t naturally want to do. Instead, it is there to remind you of what will probably happen next if you want to write a lean, powerful story that is focused on a person’s problem and true to human nature.
- What I Now Realize: Even the most iconoclastic creators usually begin their careers by creating traditionally-structured works. Even those rare exceptions, such as Richard Linklater (whose debut Slacker had a brilliantly original structure), those creators maintain their careers by making later works that conform to traditional structure. Every creator who desires a long-term career, even those who love to break the mold, has to master traditional structure.
- What I Now Realize: Stories should begin not with the arrival of a new problem, but with the arrival of a potential solution to a longstanding problem that has recently become acute. Stories are more compelling when heroes pursue opportunities that will make their lives better, rather than merely attempting to return to the starting point.
- What I Now Realize: It’s more believable and sympathetic if the hero has a limited perspective, and runs into unexpected conflict which keeps escalating. The hero should try to solve the entire problem throughout the story, and be constantly surprised that things only get worse as a result until he or she finally figures out the right way.
- What I Now Realize: If you’re being true to human nature, heroes should try the easy way until this leads to a midpoint disaster, then admit defeat and try to solve the problem the hard way for the rest of the story. When writers think of the middle of their story as an undifferentiated mass, they are likely to miss this important divide.
- What I Now Realize: In the best stories, no matter what the genre, the hero is first challenged socially (often in the form of a humiliation at the beginning), then challenged physically (often in the form of a midpoint disaster), then challenged spiritually, as the hero is forced to either change or accept who he or she really is (often around the ¾ mark).
- What I Now Realize: If anything, heroes should declare an ill-conceived philosophy early on. Only as a result of their spiritual crisis should they arrive at a better philosophy, which will allow them to finally resolve the problem in the climax. The makers of Chinatown smartly deleted the scene early on in which the hero gave a wise statement of philosophy (“You gotta be rich to kill somebody!”) so that it would be more powerful when the we saw him learn this later on.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 2: Misconceptions About Character
A massive post to get you through the holidays (Loosen a belt loop before reading...)
The most
important skill for a writer to have is character creation. Unfortunately, this is also the area
that is most misunderstood…

What I Used
to Think: Any sort of character can be the
hero of your story.
- What I Now Realize: “Heroes” can be good or evil, smart or dumb, triumphant or tragic, but every hero must have two essential qualities: They must be active and they must be resourceful. Active doesn’t mean running, jumping and shooting, it just meant that they pursue their goals. Likewise, resourceful just means that heroes must figure out novel ways to solve their problems. Even fools can be resourceful, which is why it’s impossible to invent anything that’s foolproof.
What I Used
to Think: The audience wants to like your
hero.
- What I Now Realize: Audiences must make themselves emotionally vulnerable in order to truly care about your hero. This is why your audience will look for any excuse to reject your hero, for fear of getting their feelings hurt if your hero turns out to be passive and uninteresting. You must win the audience over against their will.
What I Used
to Think: It’s easy and boring to create a
likable character, but it’s much harder and more ambitious to create an
ambiguous character.
- What I Now Realize: The opposite is true. It’s relatively easy to create an ambiguous character. Any conglomeration of likable and unlikeable traits, chosen at random, will result in an ambiguous character. Getting an audience to deeply identify with a character, on the other hand, is one of the hardest things in the world to do.
What I Used
to Think: In order to be likable, a hero
has to do sympathetic things, like saving cats.
- What I Now Realize: The audience doesn’t always need to sympathize with your hero’s actions, as long as they can empathize with your hero’s motivation. That’s where anti-heroes come from, but…
What I Used
to Think: There have been several recent
examples of successful stories about morally dubious anti-heroes, so that
proves that a main character does not have to be likable.
- What I Now Realize: It proves just the opposite, that a great writer can make a character likeable even though that character is morally dubious. In fact, the audience loves Tony Soprano, Don Draper, Michael Scott, et al., and we do so despite their unsympathetic behavior. The writers have used hundreds of clever little tricks to force us to fall in love with them, despite our initial revulsion.
What I Used
to Think: Some heroes are defined by the strengths, and other heroes by their flaws.
- What I Now Realize: Some heroes seem more bad-ass or loser-ish than others, but they all must have a mixture of strengths and flaws, and of confidence and insecurity. Only a careful balance of these traits will cause a dubious audience to identify with your hero.
What I Used
to Think: All flaws are good flaws
- What I Now Realize: All heroes need flaws, but some flaws are less alienating than others. If you want the audience to root for your heroes, it’s better to give them the kinds of flaws that you would admit to in a job interview, and those flaws should be the flip side of their strengths.
What I Used
to Think: The hero will be interesting
because of an interesting backstory.
- What I Now Realize: The audience cares much more about your hero’s goals and volatile reactions than they do about the hero’s backstory. You should only worry about your hero’s past to the degree if it affects his/her present (it might determine his/her metaphor family and/or special skills) or it forms an ironic counterpoint to their present situation.
What I Used
to Think: A hero is someone who would be
heroic in any situation.
- What I Now Realize: More often than not, the hero just happens to be the right person to solve this problem because his/her unique qualities are sorely lacking in this place at this time. The hero is the person who has the quality that everyone else lacks in this situation, even if it’s a quality that would make the hero seem villainous in other situations. Vin Diesel’s character in Pitch Black would be the villain in any other place or time, but on that planet, on that day, he’s the ideal hero.
What I Used
to Think: A hero should be an “everyman”
who reacts the way that anybody would.
- What I Now Realize: An “everyman” hero is too generic. Just like in real life, a person cannot become a hero by doing what anyone would do. Heroes should use pre-established special skills to solve their problems, and their peculiar psychology should be a volatile element that fuels the story.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Losing My Religion, Part 1: Misconceptions About Concept

What I Used
to Think: It’s easy and boring to write a simple story, but it’s much harder and more ambitious to write a big,
complicated story.
- What I Now Realize: The opposite is true: Every first draft is naturally going to be big and complicated. Streamlining those events down to a simple, meaningful story is one of the hardest things to do in the world.
What I Used
to Think: The more big ideas you pack into
your story, the more meaningful it will be to an audience.
- What I Now Realize: The audience will be far more affected if you develop one idea powerfully than if you toss in several ideas that have no thematic connection to each other.
What I Used
to Think: Don’t tell too many people about
your valuable concept.
- What I Now Realize: The gatekeepers have already heard every possible concept a million times. They’re looking for a unique voice and a unique vision that can reinvigorate classic stories. If you can sell them that, then they’ll have to hire you to write it, since you can’t steal somebody’s voice and vision.
What I Used
to Think: A good story idea is one that is
one that has never been done before.
- What I Now Realize: If you’ve never seen a certain concept done before, it’s not because they’ve never heard it, it’s because they’ve consistently rejected it. The story ideas that buyers buy over and over are those that resonate the most with audiences. A great writer is one that can take a classic idea, infuse it with new meaning, and make people care about it in a new way.
What I Used
to Think: In order to create a unique
story, you need to create a never-before-seen type of hero.
- What I Now Realize: It’s hard to create a character that is unlike any other and still have that character be recognizable and relatable. A better way to create a unique story is to write about a relationship that’s never been seen onscreen before. Before Silence of the Lambs, we had seen both brilliant psychopaths and and hard-charging FBI rookies, but we hadn’t seen a story in which these two were suddenly dependent on each other. It was the uniqueness of that relationship that sold the story, more than the uniqueness of the characters themselves.
What I Used
to Think: You can create a great story by
throwing lots of obstacles in your hero’s path.
- What I Now Realize: Obstacles are fine, but conflicts are better. An obstacle is anything that makes a task physically difficult to do. A conflict is anything that makes a character not want to do that task. Defeating a ninja is hard to do. Defeating your brother is hard to want to do.
What I Used
to Think: You should just develop and
perfect one concept at a time.
- What I Now Realize: You should always be developing more than one concept, for several reasons:
- You can compare and contrast the various concepts with each other, you’ll get a much better sense of each concept’s strengths and flaws.
- It reminds you that not all stories can be all things to all people. You don’t want to be tempted to shoehorn a dozen great unrelated characters into one story. Let each one find the right story for them.
- The holy grail of writing is to finish one script and start another the next day, so you always need to be preparing the next one so that it will be ready to go.
What I Used
to Think: “High concept” ideas are
complicated.
- What I Now Realize: The term “high concept” has changed in meaning over the years. It used to refer to complicated, “highly conceptual” ideas, but it now it refers to the opposite: a concept that is uniquely simple. Limitless was high concept because you instantly understand the appeal of the premise: what if a pill could make you rich and powerful? In the case of Wedding Crashers, you got the unique appeal of it as soon as you heard the title. “High concept” now refers to a simple one-sentence concept that makes everybody say, “Stop right there, I love it!”
What I Used
to Think: A movie should have two hours of
plot.
- What I Now Realize: A two-hour movie shouldn’t have more than an hour of plot. By the halfway point, most of the unexpected external events should cease, and the rest of the movie should be driven by your hero’s uniquely volatile reaction to the events of the first half. Your concept should allow some room for friction, which will occur as your characters develop minds of their own.
What I Used
to Think: When an audience watches a
movie, they care about the story.
- What I Now Realize: At first, concept is king: That’s what you’re selling in your pitch, and it’s what the studio is marketing to audiences. But as soon as the lights go down, the audience loses interest in all of that, and from now on they’re only able to care about the characters. They care about the story only to the degree that it affects the well-being of the characters.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Losing My Religion, Prologue: General Misconceptions About Writing
Writing is
really hard. Making a living as a
writer is even harder. The hardest part is overcoming all of the harmful misconceptions that have attached
themselves to writing. In this
series, I’ll summarize many of the misconceptions I started out with, and what I know now...
What I Used to Think: First and foremost, writers should listen to their inner muse.
What I Used to Think: First and foremost, writers should listen to their inner muse.
- What I Now Realize: There are two types of writers who work to please their inner muse, those with tons of clout and unserious beginners. If you’re anywhere in between then you have to work to please an audience. Your inner muse is way too self-satisfied. Only an audience will reliably tell you know if you’re on the right track and doing good work.
- What I Now Realize: Professional writing is more akin to alchemy than prospecting. You either have to create gold from scratch or from the hunks of lead that other people give you. And you have to be able to do it on cue, everyday, so you have no time to wait for inspiration to come flowing by. The only way to be a working writer is to be able to create new stories on a moment’s notice according to pre-determined specifications.
- What I Now Realize: You can write anything you want, if you only want to please yourself. But if you expect others to want to read it, you have to be willing to write what your audience is willing to read and you have to write it according to their standards of what makes a good story.
- What I Now Realize: At first, you should share your work with your peers and enter it into contests, if they aren’t too expensive. Only after outside peers (non-friend, non-family, non-paid-instructor) tell you that they are impressed with your work (or you win one of those contests), then you should try to get it seen. Even then, you should try to make sure that you get it into the hands of a specific gatekeeper who will be impressed by that specific story.
- What I Now Realize: The person judging your story will not want to read it at all, and will read it with a strong presumption that it will suck. This person has been forced to read twenty submissions in a row, and the first nineteen were all insultingly bad, so why should yours be any different? Picture a traveling salesman on an airplane, who desperately needs to take a nap, but the person next to him insists on telling him a long, rambling story instead. How good does that story have to be to make the salesman overcome his annoyance, forget all about his nap and listen with rapt attention? That’s how good you have to be.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Seven Skills of Screenwriting (and Almost Every Other Kind of Writing)
Hi gang, thanks so much for all the advice I got in the reader survey! Now let’s start looking at some of the work I’ve done on the book. My very first weeklong was called “Beyond Good Vs. Sucky”, but this is a total re-write of that, and sets up this week’s series. (Some of which will be re-contextualization of old stuff, but everyone is allowed some re-runs during Thanksgiving week)
The biggest misconception that anyone makes about writing is the idea that writing is “a talent”, and you either have it or you don’t. But it's more helpful to think of writing as a discipline, made up of seven separate skills. Most people who choose to become writers are pretty sure they have a natural talent for at least one of these skills. But once they begin, they belatedly realize that they still have to learn all the other skills that they don’t know.
This happens to everybody: we all have to learn how to write. At first we focus on learning whichever skill we totally lack: Maybe you’re great at structure but terrible at dialogue. Maybe you come up with exciting concepts but you have trouble attaching a meaning theme to those stories. So you teach yourself (or get taught by someone else) the skills you lack, one by one.
And then, once you’ve mastered all those unfamiliar skills, guess what happens? That one skill that you had a natural talent for is now your weakest area, because you’ve been doing it instinctively, rather than intentionally. Instinct isn’t reliable, but well-learned tools are. By the time you’re done, you jettison your “talents” altogether, and you learn every skill, even re-learning the stuff you already knew.
For this reason, it’s way too vague to say that any given manuscript is “well written” or “poorly written”. There’s nothing more painful for a beginning writer than to lovingly craft your first story, masterfully showing off your natural talent for dialogue, then be told “it sucks” because the person reading it thinks it’s a lousy concept. You mutter to yourself, “That jerk didn’t even say anything about the dialogue!”
The problem is that, all too often, writers and their early readers are totally mis-communicating, because they’re each referring to a different skill when they talk about “good writing”. In order to figure out how good or bad your work is, you have to move beyond “It’s great!” or “It sucks!” You have to separately examine the seven skills of writing, evaluate how good you are at each one, and develop them one by one.
I’ve found this breakdown to be very useful, both when improving my own work and when evaluating the work of others. Here are the seven separate skills:
The biggest misconception that anyone makes about writing is the idea that writing is “a talent”, and you either have it or you don’t. But it's more helpful to think of writing as a discipline, made up of seven separate skills. Most people who choose to become writers are pretty sure they have a natural talent for at least one of these skills. But once they begin, they belatedly realize that they still have to learn all the other skills that they don’t know.
This happens to everybody: we all have to learn how to write. At first we focus on learning whichever skill we totally lack: Maybe you’re great at structure but terrible at dialogue. Maybe you come up with exciting concepts but you have trouble attaching a meaning theme to those stories. So you teach yourself (or get taught by someone else) the skills you lack, one by one.
And then, once you’ve mastered all those unfamiliar skills, guess what happens? That one skill that you had a natural talent for is now your weakest area, because you’ve been doing it instinctively, rather than intentionally. Instinct isn’t reliable, but well-learned tools are. By the time you’re done, you jettison your “talents” altogether, and you learn every skill, even re-learning the stuff you already knew.
For this reason, it’s way too vague to say that any given manuscript is “well written” or “poorly written”. There’s nothing more painful for a beginning writer than to lovingly craft your first story, masterfully showing off your natural talent for dialogue, then be told “it sucks” because the person reading it thinks it’s a lousy concept. You mutter to yourself, “That jerk didn’t even say anything about the dialogue!”
The problem is that, all too often, writers and their early readers are totally mis-communicating, because they’re each referring to a different skill when they talk about “good writing”. In order to figure out how good or bad your work is, you have to move beyond “It’s great!” or “It sucks!” You have to separately examine the seven skills of writing, evaluate how good you are at each one, and develop them one by one.
I’ve found this breakdown to be very useful, both when improving my own work and when evaluating the work of others. Here are the seven separate skills:
- Concept
- Character
- Structure
- Scenework
- Dialogue
- Tone
- Theme
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