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I read alot of screenplays. My clients write in every conceivable genre. One of the biggest problems I see from the screenwriters I work with, is the complete LACK OF RISK TAKING. This is what separates good writing from great writing. It’s also how you stand out from the crowd. And that crowd is large. Put yourself in the reader’s chair, or the agent’s, or the producer’s, or the actor’s. Everybody that could possibly read your script spends way too much of their time reading, looking for something special, something that makes them go WOW! These people don’t go, “This formatting is outstanding”, or “Man, they sure know how to use their parentheticals. I’m buying this script!” Nope. They hope they read a screenplay that makes them feel something. A laugh, a good cry, scared shitless, their heart racing, something. How do you make that happen? RISK. There is nothing to lose. If you aren’t selling your work, or making fans, getting an agent or manager, you need to think different. Look, these people read scripts every day, week, or month, and most the time it’s the same old thing. How is yours going to get their attention? RISK. One more thought on this subject. When you inch up in your work, nervous to go too far, or possibly look crazy, they think that’s all you got, as far as you can go. When you aren’t afraid to take risk, and you lay it all out there, they know you have that extra gear, that creative fearlessness. You can always take it back a notch, that’s easy. A writer that won’t take a risk is a dead end. Finial note: When you finish writing your script, you should be nervous to let anyone read it. Not because they might not like it or think it’s their cup of tea. You should be nervous because they might think your crazy or out of control. Remember, great writers run the red lights. And when the voice in your head says stop, your’e going too far, that’s a clue that you’re on the right track, so put your foot on the gas and floor it! I’m a writing coach. I can help.
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As a writing coach and teacher, the #1 question I get asked is HOW DO I SELL MY SCREENPLAY? Or its companion question HOW DO I GET AN AGENT?
It’s a crapshoot. Networking works, that’s how I got my first agent. Sending query letters to agents, managers, and production companies, which has never worked for me, not once, but still worth a try. Writing contests, which lacking any other options, might work if you enter the right ones and win them. I even once tried the mythical throw it over a movie star’s fence idea, which led a big Hollywood agent to call and scold me for stalking her client. The agent did eventually read my script. I got two different managers from waiting tables at restaurants in West Hollywood. Sold three scripts to studios from that method, believe it or not, and got in the WGA. The best way to sell a screenplay or get an agent is to write something amazing. Still no guarantee, but that’s your best bet. That and timing. The right project in front of the right person at the right time. And alot of hustle and follow through. I have a new agent as of the last couple months, a really good one. How? I wrote a great project, turned it into a really great podcast, which led to attaching an Oscar winning producer and A-list movie star, and a big three agency repping it. Not bragging, it was a 12 year journey for that particular project. And it’s not sold yet. WRITE SOMETHING AMAZING! I can help.  Okay, what I’m about to say sounds obvious. But this is a note I have to give all the time to my coaching clients and students. YOU ARE WRITING A MOVIE (OR A TELEVISION SHOW). Not a novel, short story, essay, poem, theme paper, Haiku…you get the idea. And when you are writing for film or TV, you are always writing what is actually on the screen. What you see or hear on the damn screen. Not the unheard voice in a character’s head, or her secret thoughts. Or what happened ten years ago or what might happen next week. Or some running commentary by you the writer. Just what’s happening in this scene, this moment, right now. That is the medium you are working with. Sound, music, picture, dialogue, subtext, action, tone, pace, style, your personal voice, those are the colors in your pallet. All those elements tell the reader, or the audience, what people are thinking or feeling.
What your characters do, reveal who they are and what they want. So, I repeat, with emphasis, you are writing what can be seen or heard on the screen. That’s the craft, that’s what we do. Break this rule at your own peril, and if you do…nail it. There are no rules in screenwriting, or for any art form, if the art in question is freaking amazing. That means it is so good that it is undeniable, no matter if the work is riddled with mistakes, poor spelling, bad grammar, weird formatting, and all the various things screenwriters argue about in Facebook groups, seminars, and coffee shops.
In 1994, my agent at ICM sent me an early draft of Pulp Fiction. It was unreadable. Tarantino broke all the rules: Improper formatting, hand scrawled notes, large blocks of description, endless monologues and exposition, I could go on and on. I thought to myself, this shit is going nowhere. I attended the premiere at the Chinese Theater in Hollywood. It was fantastic! A bonafide hit. What the man had was vision, his own personal style, and the ability to communicate what he wanted to do with his story. In short, he had an original voice. If he was just starting today and he put his script up on one of his favorite Facebook screenwriting group pages, he would have been destroyed, trolled by arm chair experts and probably run out of the business before he even started. He’d still be working at that video store in Manhattan Beach making $200 a week. Somebody saw his talent through all the bad formatting and the broken rules. A year earlier I had written the first draft of my first script, KISSED ON THE LIPS, about life and love at an AIDS hospice, based on my experience making a documentary about a facility about a very special place in Santa Barbara. I had no clue what I was doing, other than reading a few unsold screenplays my friends had written, and breezing over a copy of Syd Field’s how-to book, SCREENPLAY. What I did have was an amazing true story to tell, and alot of heart. I gave it to a friend to read, who then gave it a friend of his. That friend was a top agent at ICM. That 1st draft got me signed to a major agency who sent it out to every major studio and most top production companies. I got dozens of meetings with almost every studio and many top producers, even met Spielberg at Amblin on the Universal lot. The Los Angeles Times did a Sunday Calendar story on me and my script. E News Daily came and interviewed me at my shitty Hollywood apartment for a segment on their network. You could call it a frenzy. I thought to myself, this shit is happening. I was huge. I was on a roll. But nobody bought it. It was heartbreaking. The first of many heartbreaks in this business. That said, it led to getting my first paid screenwriting gig, which led to directing my first feature film. Sometimes the things that don’t sell can lead to opportunities unimagined. What rules did I break? Alot of experts says your first script should be put in a drawer and never see the light of day, like it’s some sort of practice piece that is inherently bad because it’s your first. The same people who say first drafts are vomit, garbage, unreadable, etc. My script had long thick chunks of scene description and exposition, death to proper pacing and good storytelling. It had long monologues, which of course are a terrible idea. It even started with a seventeen page flashback, a huge no-no. Too many exclamation marks!!! Ellipses… and (parentheticals), dozens of words inadvertently left ___ in haste (a habit I have to this day), grammatical errors; and bad sprelling. It was 124 pages long, but read like 150. My vomit draft got me a major agent, meetings all over town, and a writing job. The same people say agents are just heat seeking missiles who don’t give a shit about you and your passion project. My agent worked his ass off for a small little indie script that he believed in. My first screenplay became my calling card in many ways, and I’m now developing it as a limited series. Now don’t get me wrong, I read alot of shitty scripts that need alot of work. Rewriting is everything. It might be the most important thing. My personal record is 23 drafts. That script went out on a Friday and was sold Monday morning at 10am. Not bragging, that was alot of work, and in that case it paid off. Sometimes it doesn’t. It’s important to note that more times than not great scripts don’t sell or even get the time of day. It’s a numbers game, but doing the work is all you can really control. I mention Tarantino and myself in the same rant for a reason. He’s a legend and a household name. I’m an unknown working screenwriter and filmmaker. I’m also a teacher and coach, with hundreds of students and clients. Breaking rules are a big part of being in this business, no matter where you are on the food chain. The rules of screenwriting exist for a reason, and for the most part, are very useful. They are accepted norms, what readers and producers are accustomed to, and create a baseline expectation of what screenplays should look like. Honoring these rules show you’ve done your homework. This book is about those rules, why they exist, how they help you as a writer, where they go too far, and when to break them. What is far more important is finding your voice, using the rules where they work, and destroying them when it serves your story. I know this won’t settle all of the raging arguments about the rules I see on the many screenwriting groups I follow online, but it might make it simpler for those who just want to write a script that’s a good read. My advice: Write something amazing. A classic article from The Village Voice. Click here.
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October 2022
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