NYC Midnight - Flash Screenwriting Challenge

I’ve done this once before, several years ago, but for my birthday this year I’m going to give it another shot just for fun. It’s the only competition of its kind, far as I can tell: the NYC Midnight Screenwriting Challenge.

To me, it’s like flash fiction meets screenwriting — the first round gives you 8 days to write a screenplay no longer than 12 pages. Second round, if you advance, gives you 4 days to write up to 8 pages. Third and final round gives you two days to write up 5 pages. 5 pages is almost too short to be a short film, and with that little time it’s a total sprint. Which I love because isn’t that how flash fiction is supposed to feel when you read it anyways?

So, we’ll see how I do. I’ll share whatever I end up writing here. First one starts this weekend…

New Craft Reading List

I’ve never been one to subscribe to self-help or teach-yourself books on writing - but I’ve been recommended a few so consistently again and again that I’ve decided to take the plunge and see what effects they have… so here’s what I got (and hopefully I’ll get to them soon):

of course, we start with… Robert McKee’s Story (subtitle: “Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting”)

John Truby’s The Anatomy of Story (subtitle: “22 Steps to Becoming a Mastery Storyteller”)

Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat! (subtitle: “The Last Book On Screenwriting That You’ll Ever Need”)

Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces (not even a teach-yourself-to-write book, just a seminal work I really should know fully - beyond conversationally and a Wikipedia glance)

I’ll check back here once I’m through some of them to report on whether or not they’re really worth their salt.

(Last) Meandering Thought (of the Day): Speeds of Writing - Speeds of Thinking

I’ve written here before about Hemingway’s theory in regards to the vehicle for the writing affecting the result. Specifically, how he’d used a typewriter for dialogue (fast, staccato) and hand write his setting description (slow, considered).

These days, I walk a lot. I walk thirty minutes one way to the cafe where I write. I walk to the gym. Sometimes, when I can, I walk to the bar to meet friends. It’s a rare gift of a situation, in Los Angeles, that I plan to utilize as long as my schedule permits. And the walking is at a good clip, purposeful and all that - but really it allows me time to think. It gives me long interrupted blocks to follow trains of thought, whether writing-related or meditative or reflecting on my relationships.

Now, for my birthday I’m about to buy a bike — my first time owning a bike in a while. I can’t help but wonder if, like the pen vs. the typewriter - my feet vs. the wheels — will my thought processes be the same? Will I be thinking at all on the bike or will I be all reflexes and route-planning? We’ll have to see. But if it does prevent me from considered thought, I might have to allot some walk-time on top of everything else, no matter. It’s starting to feel like a necessity!

Meandering Thought: Exemplars vs. Colleagues

Today is a day for meandering thoughts, apparently. I realized that over the past few years I’ve adapted this sort of cycle between reading great/professional/successful scripts floating around the industry and then reading lots of my friends’ scripts. Sometimes there’s a stark difference, sometimes not. It’s hard to make any sweeping generalizations. Usually there’s a certain level of polish to the sold scripts, but a lot of my friends are getting to the point where they’re selling scripts so the lines are blurring altogether anyways. Meandering thoughts I’m having in regards to this though. Which scripts are more useful to read? The ones that aren’t perfect but are more comparable to your own? (Does this give you an idea of your own weaknesses) Or the “successful” ones that may teach you to do certain things (whether they’re inherently good writing things, or just industry-facing-success things - trends and whatnot)? Which is more instructive? I imagine it depends on the reader (aka the writer). For me, I’m inclined to think reading my friends’ stories is more helpful. Especially because of the involved notes process I implement when giving them my thoughts, it also helps me organize the lessons I learn from them just as well.

On Titles

I recently read an article from an online writers collective all about how to write your perfect title. Now, personally I’ve always found this a completely torturous process racked by insecurity and mostly concluded with luck or great help from loved ones (at this point, I think I’ve lost track of how many titles my wife has ultimately come up with that stuck). The article suggested not obsessing over perfection, and starting with a fill-in title that acts as a sort of reminder and thesis statement to yourself about what the story is truly about. And then, they suggest going back to your inspiration - your guiding influences as it were, to model after them. Not to be curt, but I think I’ve always done all of this and it never helped. There’s some truly ephemeral about a title that both surprises the audience and draws them in, that grows with meaning and resonance as you experience the story behind it for the first time. This isn’t just something you plunk together based on core story facets and influences. That might make for an apt title, but not a great title. I need to continue marinating on this especially because it always holds up my process. Now, perhaps this article was centering on certain types of fiction titles. And a novel’s title behaves differently than a TV show’s title to be sure. But I think my criteria applies to both just the same. A TV title perhaps is more of a compass for the show. Every single episode expands on its meaning, gives it further resonance - reminding the audience why they keep returning to this particular world. Whereas a novel’s title can sometimes be like a key, that unlocks the book as a one-off effect. More on this later…

Meandering Thought: the Most Famous Minds

Why does it seem like many of the greatest modern minds in history come attached with massive personality issues - and why do they fail to confront their own issues? Is it just because their egos inflate beyond reconciliation?

One stray thought I had is that, I think, it is because these minds are so sharp with their knowledge and incisions of the world (whether in politics, creativity, science, etc.) that they know that if they turn it on themselves it will hurt more than they can imagine. Because their fear is proportional to their ability to tear things down with truth. This lack of self examination combined with a outsize pressure to self examine makes them act more extremely?

(As per usual, since this is a sort of minimal and dry post - I’m including the NatGeo photo of the day for entertainment)


The Art of (Writing) the Con

Great little video snippet from the producers of BETTER CALL SAUL at the NYT.

I love the idea that the most important aspect of a good con is making the mark feel smart, like they’ve seen past it - when really they’re diving farther into the illusion. And that this is, at its essence, what makes good TV viewing. The audience is the mark, and you want to dupe them into wanting to figure it all out - only to walk farther into being misled and happily surprised.

A Shadow of Film History

I’ve recently stumbled onto some Ennio Morricone scores that I hadn’t heard before, which may be an experience I’ll have again and again for the rest of my life (the man has 521 listed credits on IMDB alone). And it came to me, who the hell was the Whistler? The man who actually did the whistling for The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.

Turns out it was a childhood friend of Morricone’s, Alessandro Alessandroni, a fellow composer and the guitar player as well as whistler on most of Morricone’s immortal songs. Here’s a link and another - the man’s ability and tunes are haunting, beautiful, a truly unique skill set.

Meandering Thoughts: Emotional Connection Disruption

Having finally finished the Lone Wolf & Cub project, and submitted it, I found myself shocked by the emotional effects of the process. It almost was like I had an angry writer’s block throughout, and then a solid layer of stress through the editing process, and experienced some weird variant of sadness after I submitted it. Sad that it was over, difficult as it was? As my wife pointed out, it’s probably because Lone Wolf & Cub is so important to me — more emotionally resonant with me than any previous story I’d written about on assignment. I’ve read the nearly 9000 pages across 28 volumes three times in my life so far, and re-read certain stories countless times. It's an incredible, sweeping, emotional epic that’s taught me a lot about how to write and how to think about ethics in my own life and also how to be inspired to create something ambitious and new. Perhaps I just felt I wasn’t going to be able to do it justice. But I think more than that, it was confronting something that’s accrued such importance to me, on a unconcious level, over the years. To pick it apart or make definitive statements about it didn’t feel right, like it might disrupt the relationship or diminish the relationship I have with it in some abstract way. I had to really become self-aware and examine my process in order to get through it. Well, now that it’s over I’m starting to realize I can just look at this as a positive start — one can tackle their favorite stories (or histories/people/topics/etc.) and just know that even if they fail or betray themselves in some slight way, they’re still adding to the dialogue about the thing, still marching towards a better understanding of the thing, and training oneself. I wonder if this will make other projects of similar emotional resonance easier, or if it’ll be difficult in its own unique way each and every time.