I love it when I think of titles to these WIPs (I have many... many many many...) and the book may or may not even ever be read by anyone but me.
Oh well.
The WIP that I'm with right now is called "Like Father". It's about a hero (Sara) who takes over her dead father's business. The antagonist is a competitor in town who's been deliberately sabotaging the business for the last few years, all in an effort to get it for dirt cheap from Sara's father. Her father knew what the business meant to the town and to the people, so despite the hardships, he never sold. Once a sickness forces him out of the shop and into the hospital, the future of the company is left to Sara.
Sara is a kick ass executive from (insert big city here) who has been hardened by a loss of idealism. She's got a head for business and her sights set at partner in the company she's working in. She steps on whoever is in her way in order to get what she wants. She learned long ago that nice guys always finish last, and she will always make sure she takes care of Number 1 first.
When her father dies, Sara has to come "home"... though home is not the feeling the small town brings. It feels like quicksand, a prison made from a series of bad choices and mistakes. Old memories threaten to drag her back into the town's familiar pull, but back "home" is the last place Sara wants to be. Especially when she meets Dave, the editor of the local newspaper.
The way the story is going to work is this: Sara's "identity" is one of a selfish go-getter who is uncompromising in the things she wants because she knows that if she asks permission for anything someone can say no.
Sara's essence is that she is really a loving and generous woman who's been so fixated on taking care of herself that she forgets there are really good and decent people out there who are not "out to get her".
THEME: Trust does not have to be "black or white". Sara will go back and forth between letting herself care for/trust the romantic character and shutting him out. We know she has got to let herself be vulnerable in the end, because you can't be an island if you want to know what true love really feels like.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Michael Hague ...and why you should listen to him
I bought one of Michael Hauge's DVDs.... only because Jenny Crusie told me to. And when someone who's published tells you-- an aspiring writer-- to do something, you're stupid if you don't. I know why she said to listen to him, and I'm going to now tell you: the guy knows what he's talking about. And not just is he relevant for screenwriters, but for all story tellers.
We all know that our character has to undergo a significant transformation from the beginning of our story to the end. But do you know why? Because he is going from living in his identity to living in his essence... living in a protective shell he gave himself to living as he longs to live.
Identity is the persona we give ourselves after enduring a life-altering "wound". For some, that wound could be that we're unlovable because no one ever loved us in the past. As a result, our identity is that we don't need to have people in our lives; we're loners, isolated from the world because "we choose" to be. That's the lie. The essence is that we're really in need of love, in need of human connection, and given the chance we would be the best husband/wife/father/mother you've ever seen.
The way this is brought about it through the conflict of the story. The Longing/Need is revealed and throughout the story is achieved by a reflection character and (in my case) a romance character.
Let's use an example that MH gave in the DVD.
In the movie "Shrek", our hero is an ogre who is isolated from the world. His identity is a mean, scary ogre who does not like people. In reality, his essence is nothing of the sort. His essence is revealed when Donkey (the reflection character) points out that Shrek has a problem. Shrek says- it's not ME who has the problem... it's every one else. They all have a problem with me. When they see me, they're scared. They say oh, here comes that big scary ogre.
This is the wound.
Shrek has been scarred from others' reactions to him, so in order to protect himself from this rejection, he isolates himself and shuts the world out.
In reality, we learn that Shrek is actually a pretty nice, compassionate guy. He goes out of way to rescue Princess Fiona, and takes on all of these obstacles in order to keep her safe.
Princess Fiona is, of course, our romance character.
Fiona sees the essence of Shrek-- she doesn't see the big scary ogre-- she sees the kind and compassionate "man" beneath. Fiona connects to him on the level of his essence, as he connects to her on hers. With her, he is able to be himself instead of the identity he pretends to be.
It is this "tug of war" between identity and essence throughout the movie that keeps us hooked. Will Shrek let go of his identity-- the isolated ogre-- in order to reach the GOAL of what he really needs-- the love of Princess Fiona? He can't do both, so he has to choose.
And, of course, since this is a romantic comedy, we know he will choose to pursue Princess Fiona. In so doing, Shrek will shed his identity and fully live in his essence.
I've heard this same concept a thousand times, but never has it made as much sense to me as it did after listening to MH's lecture on the romantic comedy. Like, DUH... I wanted to hit myself over the head!! I always knew the character went through a transformation, but I could never define it-- and so, never create it myself. Now that I know it's a fight between who the character thinks they are (identity) and the longing/need that they have on that subconscious level (essence)... it makes so much more sense.
I recommend Michael Hague to all of you... I am eager to watch the DVD again. Sometimes some things get lost the first time and this is not something I ever want to forget!
We all know that our character has to undergo a significant transformation from the beginning of our story to the end. But do you know why? Because he is going from living in his identity to living in his essence... living in a protective shell he gave himself to living as he longs to live.
Identity is the persona we give ourselves after enduring a life-altering "wound". For some, that wound could be that we're unlovable because no one ever loved us in the past. As a result, our identity is that we don't need to have people in our lives; we're loners, isolated from the world because "we choose" to be. That's the lie. The essence is that we're really in need of love, in need of human connection, and given the chance we would be the best husband/wife/father/mother you've ever seen.
The way this is brought about it through the conflict of the story. The Longing/Need is revealed and throughout the story is achieved by a reflection character and (in my case) a romance character.
Let's use an example that MH gave in the DVD.
In the movie "Shrek", our hero is an ogre who is isolated from the world. His identity is a mean, scary ogre who does not like people. In reality, his essence is nothing of the sort. His essence is revealed when Donkey (the reflection character) points out that Shrek has a problem. Shrek says- it's not ME who has the problem... it's every one else. They all have a problem with me. When they see me, they're scared. They say oh, here comes that big scary ogre.
This is the wound.
Shrek has been scarred from others' reactions to him, so in order to protect himself from this rejection, he isolates himself and shuts the world out.
In reality, we learn that Shrek is actually a pretty nice, compassionate guy. He goes out of way to rescue Princess Fiona, and takes on all of these obstacles in order to keep her safe.
Princess Fiona is, of course, our romance character.
Fiona sees the essence of Shrek-- she doesn't see the big scary ogre-- she sees the kind and compassionate "man" beneath. Fiona connects to him on the level of his essence, as he connects to her on hers. With her, he is able to be himself instead of the identity he pretends to be.
It is this "tug of war" between identity and essence throughout the movie that keeps us hooked. Will Shrek let go of his identity-- the isolated ogre-- in order to reach the GOAL of what he really needs-- the love of Princess Fiona? He can't do both, so he has to choose.
And, of course, since this is a romantic comedy, we know he will choose to pursue Princess Fiona. In so doing, Shrek will shed his identity and fully live in his essence.
I've heard this same concept a thousand times, but never has it made as much sense to me as it did after listening to MH's lecture on the romantic comedy. Like, DUH... I wanted to hit myself over the head!! I always knew the character went through a transformation, but I could never define it-- and so, never create it myself. Now that I know it's a fight between who the character thinks they are (identity) and the longing/need that they have on that subconscious level (essence)... it makes so much more sense.
I recommend Michael Hague to all of you... I am eager to watch the DVD again. Sometimes some things get lost the first time and this is not something I ever want to forget!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Dig a wider hole
An essay by Jennifer Crusie
A Writer Without A Publisher Is Like A Fish Without a Bicycle: Writer’s Liberation and You
By the time you read this, National will be over and we’ll all be back home with indecipherable notes, indelible memories, and the vague but nonetheless pervasive feeling that somehow we should have done better. I think it’s because National is such an easy deadline: by National, I will have finished my book; by National, I will have a career plan; by National, I will be published. It’s a lot like my high school graduation: by graduation, I knew I had to have finished my education; by graduation, I had to have a life plan; by graduation, I had to be engaged to be married.
As you can probably tell from that last one, I graduated from high school in the sixties. Today it seems absurd that marriage would be a life goal for a woman, but anyone who was around for the pre-Lib days can tell you that the worst thing anyone could say about a woman back then was that she was an Old Maid. It was one step down from Whore because at least whores had men asking to spend time with them. When I got married six weeks before I turned twenty-two, my entire family heaved a sigh of relief. Close call.
The madness that defined women’s lives back then was based on four Big Lies:
1. A woman wasn’t a real woman until she was married.
2. A woman had to distort herself and deny her own identity in order to catch a man to marry. (Remember girdles, spike heels, inane laughter, playing dumb, and flunking math?)
3. Any husband was better than no husband.
4. Staying in a bad marriage was better than divorce because God forbid a woman should be unmarried again once she’d finally achieved the goal.
Dumb, wasn’t it? Thank God for Women’s Liberation. You know the Women’s Libbers, the ones who said “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle,” and we all went, “Oh.” And thank God for Gloria Steinem, who said, “Marriage is a fine institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet.” She’s the one (among others) who pointed out that waiting for somebody else to grant validation meant giving up control over our lives. She’s the one (among others) who clued us all in and made us stronger and helped guarantee our daughters didn’t fall for the same old lies.
Unfortunately, Gloria didn’t go far enough, probably because she didn’t belong to RWA. She didn’t see the same insidious forces at work in publishing, the same unconscious assumptions, the same frustration and depression. She didn’t see that just as women had to give up being married as a life goal before they could lead full lives as women, so writers must give up being published as a career goal before we can lead full lives as writers.
She didn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t, so let’s look at the Big Lies we tell ourselves:
1. A writer isn’t a real writer until she’s published.
2. A writer has to distort herself and deny her own stories in order to write to the trends and catch an editor to publish her. (Can you write babies, cowboys, daddies, secrets, or amnesiac brides?)
3. Any publication is better than no publication.
4. Staying in a bad publishing situation is better than leaving because God forbid a writer should be unpublished again once she’s finally achieved the goal.
Those four Big Lies are as dumb as the ones we told ourselves about marriage thirty years ago, and they’re just as dangerous to our writing careers today as the old lies were to our emotional lives then for exactly the same reasons. Waiting for somebody else to come along and validate us means giving up all control over our lives. Publication, like marriage, is indeed a fine institution, but anyone who says, “My goal in writing is to be published” is making the same mistake as the woman who said, “My goal in living is to be married.” Writing and living are about us, about who we are and what we want, about satisfying our needs as individuals, about listening to our hearts. . Please note, I am not saying give up publication (or marriage) entirely; I’m saying give it up as a goal.
We have to give it up because when we allow our needs to go unmet by pursuing a goal that is out of our control, we become desperate and frustrated, and desperation and frustration are not turn-ons for editors any more than they are for men. This was beautifully illustrated in a Gail Parent novel from the seventies called Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York. As Parent chronicles her heroine’s increasingly manic attempts to attract a husband, whiny Sheila becomes more and more unattractive to both men and the reader. Then something wonderful happens: Sheila decides to kill herself. In exactly one year, she vows, she’s going to commit suicide. In the meantime, she’s going to live life her way. She’s going to stop dressing uncomfortably and laughing inanely and just be herself. In fact, since she’s going to die anyway, she’s even going to stop dieting: the hell with it, Sheila says, “Let them dig a wider hole.” And ironically and inevitably, men flock to her. I can’t promise that publishers will flock to us if we stop trying to get published, but I can testify that making “Let them dig a wider hole” my mantra has paid off well for me.
It pays off in writing for the same reason that it paid off for Sheila in dating: when Sheila was trying to please men in order to get married, she was like every other woman out there who was trying to please men in order to get married. When she said, “Dig a wider hole,” she became different, interesting, rare. When we deny our voices and our visions to write what is popular and publishable, we’re making ourselves into lemmings, indistinguishable from the crowd. When we write the stories that only we can write, those stories become different, interesting, and rare, and editors become more inclined to dig a wider hole. Even more important, when we write the stories we need to write, we take back control of our lives because we’re meeting our own needs, not looking for validation elsewhere. We’re the ones determining success, and it’s based on our pleasure in writing and our passion for craft, not on whether somebody in New York thinks what we write is marketable.
There’s one other good deal about giving up being published as a goal: we’ll set each other free. The worst thing I remember about all those misconceptions about being a real woman is that we did it to ourselves. It made sense that men would go for the idea; it put them in control. But we bought into it and we sold it to each other. We all got together and agreed we were nothing without marriage. We were stupid and shortsighted and we got over it and we made sure our daughters didn’t make the same mistake. Well, we can do that again. We can stop agreeing that the goal of writing is to be published, we can stop agreeing that any contract is better than no contract, we can in short, liberate ourselves and each other and all the writers who come after us.
At this point, I can hear the muttering in the back: somebody out there is saying. “Easy for you to talk, you’re published.” That makes as much sense as saying “Easy for you to talk about holding out for the right man, you’re married.” Just as a bad marriage is worse than no marriage at all, bad publication is much worse than no publication at all. And just as making a bad marriage can keep a woman from getting the right partner when he or she finally comes along, so bad publication can shut a writer off from finding the right editor. The truth is, none of us will be truly in control of our careers until we recognize that, just as marriage is benefit of living fully and loving wisely, so publication is a benefit of letting our imaginations go where they must and then writing well. A benefit, not a goal.
I therefore propose that, in the spirit of the Women’s Libbers we became to set ourselves and other free in the seventies, we now become Writer’s Libbers for the same reasons, based on the following four undeniable truths:
1. A writer is a writer because she writes, not because somebody in New York said, “I think I can sell this.” (A woman is a woman because she’s a woman, not because some man said, “I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”)
2. A writer must write the stories in her heart, the stories she believes in. Nobody else gets to define her art or limit her creativity. (A woman gets to be the kind of person she really is and to continue discovering new things about herself. No husband or partner gets to define her or keep her from growing.)
3. A writer deserves a good publisher and should never be thought less of because she prefers to be unpublished rather than inadequately published. (A woman deserves a good marriage and should never be thought less of because she prefers her independence to an unsatisfying partner.)
4. A writer deserves to be treated as a creative force, the indispensible partner in publishing, and not as someone who should be grateful to be published at all. (A woman deserves to be an equal partner in her marriage, not a grateful slave.)
So let’s stop listing “to be published by National” as our goal. Let’s go back to the stories and the characters that drew us into this genre in the first place, to that mad rush and flow of creativity that has nothing to do with contracts and sell-throughs and bestseller lists. Let’s be the writers we’re dying (and living) to be, not the writers somebody else thinks we should be. Let’s stop looking for the bicycle and concentrate on the swim; let’s resist the institution because we’re not ready to be locked up.
Let’s make them dig a wider hole.
Written by Jennifer Crusie, this essay was originally published in Romance Writer’s Report. PAN Column, Mar. 2002.
A Writer Without A Publisher Is Like A Fish Without a Bicycle: Writer’s Liberation and You
By the time you read this, National will be over and we’ll all be back home with indecipherable notes, indelible memories, and the vague but nonetheless pervasive feeling that somehow we should have done better. I think it’s because National is such an easy deadline: by National, I will have finished my book; by National, I will have a career plan; by National, I will be published. It’s a lot like my high school graduation: by graduation, I knew I had to have finished my education; by graduation, I had to have a life plan; by graduation, I had to be engaged to be married.
As you can probably tell from that last one, I graduated from high school in the sixties. Today it seems absurd that marriage would be a life goal for a woman, but anyone who was around for the pre-Lib days can tell you that the worst thing anyone could say about a woman back then was that she was an Old Maid. It was one step down from Whore because at least whores had men asking to spend time with them. When I got married six weeks before I turned twenty-two, my entire family heaved a sigh of relief. Close call.
The madness that defined women’s lives back then was based on four Big Lies:
1. A woman wasn’t a real woman until she was married.
2. A woman had to distort herself and deny her own identity in order to catch a man to marry. (Remember girdles, spike heels, inane laughter, playing dumb, and flunking math?)
3. Any husband was better than no husband.
4. Staying in a bad marriage was better than divorce because God forbid a woman should be unmarried again once she’d finally achieved the goal.
Dumb, wasn’t it? Thank God for Women’s Liberation. You know the Women’s Libbers, the ones who said “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle,” and we all went, “Oh.” And thank God for Gloria Steinem, who said, “Marriage is a fine institution, but I’m not ready for an institution yet.” She’s the one (among others) who pointed out that waiting for somebody else to grant validation meant giving up control over our lives. She’s the one (among others) who clued us all in and made us stronger and helped guarantee our daughters didn’t fall for the same old lies.
Unfortunately, Gloria didn’t go far enough, probably because she didn’t belong to RWA. She didn’t see the same insidious forces at work in publishing, the same unconscious assumptions, the same frustration and depression. She didn’t see that just as women had to give up being married as a life goal before they could lead full lives as women, so writers must give up being published as a career goal before we can lead full lives as writers.
She didn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t, so let’s look at the Big Lies we tell ourselves:
1. A writer isn’t a real writer until she’s published.
2. A writer has to distort herself and deny her own stories in order to write to the trends and catch an editor to publish her. (Can you write babies, cowboys, daddies, secrets, or amnesiac brides?)
3. Any publication is better than no publication.
4. Staying in a bad publishing situation is better than leaving because God forbid a writer should be unpublished again once she’s finally achieved the goal.
Those four Big Lies are as dumb as the ones we told ourselves about marriage thirty years ago, and they’re just as dangerous to our writing careers today as the old lies were to our emotional lives then for exactly the same reasons. Waiting for somebody else to come along and validate us means giving up all control over our lives. Publication, like marriage, is indeed a fine institution, but anyone who says, “My goal in writing is to be published” is making the same mistake as the woman who said, “My goal in living is to be married.” Writing and living are about us, about who we are and what we want, about satisfying our needs as individuals, about listening to our hearts. . Please note, I am not saying give up publication (or marriage) entirely; I’m saying give it up as a goal.
We have to give it up because when we allow our needs to go unmet by pursuing a goal that is out of our control, we become desperate and frustrated, and desperation and frustration are not turn-ons for editors any more than they are for men. This was beautifully illustrated in a Gail Parent novel from the seventies called Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York. As Parent chronicles her heroine’s increasingly manic attempts to attract a husband, whiny Sheila becomes more and more unattractive to both men and the reader. Then something wonderful happens: Sheila decides to kill herself. In exactly one year, she vows, she’s going to commit suicide. In the meantime, she’s going to live life her way. She’s going to stop dressing uncomfortably and laughing inanely and just be herself. In fact, since she’s going to die anyway, she’s even going to stop dieting: the hell with it, Sheila says, “Let them dig a wider hole.” And ironically and inevitably, men flock to her. I can’t promise that publishers will flock to us if we stop trying to get published, but I can testify that making “Let them dig a wider hole” my mantra has paid off well for me.
It pays off in writing for the same reason that it paid off for Sheila in dating: when Sheila was trying to please men in order to get married, she was like every other woman out there who was trying to please men in order to get married. When she said, “Dig a wider hole,” she became different, interesting, rare. When we deny our voices and our visions to write what is popular and publishable, we’re making ourselves into lemmings, indistinguishable from the crowd. When we write the stories that only we can write, those stories become different, interesting, and rare, and editors become more inclined to dig a wider hole. Even more important, when we write the stories we need to write, we take back control of our lives because we’re meeting our own needs, not looking for validation elsewhere. We’re the ones determining success, and it’s based on our pleasure in writing and our passion for craft, not on whether somebody in New York thinks what we write is marketable.
There’s one other good deal about giving up being published as a goal: we’ll set each other free. The worst thing I remember about all those misconceptions about being a real woman is that we did it to ourselves. It made sense that men would go for the idea; it put them in control. But we bought into it and we sold it to each other. We all got together and agreed we were nothing without marriage. We were stupid and shortsighted and we got over it and we made sure our daughters didn’t make the same mistake. Well, we can do that again. We can stop agreeing that the goal of writing is to be published, we can stop agreeing that any contract is better than no contract, we can in short, liberate ourselves and each other and all the writers who come after us.
At this point, I can hear the muttering in the back: somebody out there is saying. “Easy for you to talk, you’re published.” That makes as much sense as saying “Easy for you to talk about holding out for the right man, you’re married.” Just as a bad marriage is worse than no marriage at all, bad publication is much worse than no publication at all. And just as making a bad marriage can keep a woman from getting the right partner when he or she finally comes along, so bad publication can shut a writer off from finding the right editor. The truth is, none of us will be truly in control of our careers until we recognize that, just as marriage is benefit of living fully and loving wisely, so publication is a benefit of letting our imaginations go where they must and then writing well. A benefit, not a goal.
I therefore propose that, in the spirit of the Women’s Libbers we became to set ourselves and other free in the seventies, we now become Writer’s Libbers for the same reasons, based on the following four undeniable truths:
1. A writer is a writer because she writes, not because somebody in New York said, “I think I can sell this.” (A woman is a woman because she’s a woman, not because some man said, “I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”)
2. A writer must write the stories in her heart, the stories she believes in. Nobody else gets to define her art or limit her creativity. (A woman gets to be the kind of person she really is and to continue discovering new things about herself. No husband or partner gets to define her or keep her from growing.)
3. A writer deserves a good publisher and should never be thought less of because she prefers to be unpublished rather than inadequately published. (A woman deserves a good marriage and should never be thought less of because she prefers her independence to an unsatisfying partner.)
4. A writer deserves to be treated as a creative force, the indispensible partner in publishing, and not as someone who should be grateful to be published at all. (A woman deserves to be an equal partner in her marriage, not a grateful slave.)
So let’s stop listing “to be published by National” as our goal. Let’s go back to the stories and the characters that drew us into this genre in the first place, to that mad rush and flow of creativity that has nothing to do with contracts and sell-throughs and bestseller lists. Let’s be the writers we’re dying (and living) to be, not the writers somebody else thinks we should be. Let’s stop looking for the bicycle and concentrate on the swim; let’s resist the institution because we’re not ready to be locked up.
Let’s make them dig a wider hole.
Written by Jennifer Crusie, this essay was originally published in Romance Writer’s Report. PAN Column, Mar. 2002.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Writing Act One
Writing Act I of Your Screenplay
Every act in the three-act structure has a set of tasks to accomplish. The first act serves as your audience's introduction to the entire world of the script — people, places, time frame, and all. Remember that your audience members begin in a neutral darkness. In their advance toward some new awareness, they're not unlike visitors in a foreign country. You need to orient them fairly quickly to the story that's about to unfold. So, the first act is all about setup.
Your opening moments
Begin with an image. Stories that begin with anything else, voices in darkness or immediate dialogue, for instance, are often difficult to absorb. A strong opening image can convey backdrop, character, and pervading mood in seconds. That image might also convey a theme for your piece. The Untouchables opens with the planting of a bomb in a local establishment and its inevitable explosion. An innocent girl dies in that explosion, which quickly suggests the depth of corruption responsible for such an action. It visually pits good against evil from the start.
The eye picks up details much more quickly than the ear, and nothing's more disconcerting than staring at talking heads. In a way, you haven't earned the right to open verbally. Your audience doesn't yet know the people speaking; they haven't decided whether the characters are interesting enough to pursue. Let your audience watch your characters for a bit, assess their actions, and make some initial assumptions. Doing so keeps your audience actively involved in guessing what your story will be.
Also, everything that happens in the first moments of a film is important. If you provide vital information verbally, your audience is likely to miss it in their quest to appraise the environment visually. People come to the movies to see pictures in motion. Why begin with anything else?
The first ten pages
If your opening image grabs the audience's attention, you have roughly ten pages after that opening to convince them that your film is worth watching. Don't believe that? The next time you go to a movie, ask yourself how you feel about it after the first ten minutes. If you're bored or confused, you'll likely deem it a failure. If you're riveted, odds are that you'll consider it a success.
The first ten pages provide an initial criterion on which to judge the ensuing story. They should provide just enough information to establish a clear world without giving too much of the eventual plot away, and they should create enough mystery to keep the audience wondering what's in store. Your first ten pages should accomplish the following tasks:
•Introduce the main characters
•Establish the primary environments
•Convey a distinct mood or atmosphere
•Establish the time period
•Illustrate a routine or way of life
•Provide any relevant backstory (events that transpired before the story began)
•Introduce the antagonist
If you haven't already settled on an ending to your script, now is the time to do it. If you don't know where the script is going, how will you determine which pieces of information to highlight at the beginning?
Everything that happens now is a setup for what comes next. So you have to know what comes next.
Some films reveal the antagonist as the villain right away. The opening text of The Untouchables delineates Al Capone as the film's key scoundrel. The shark in Jawsconsumes its first victim in the first five minutes. By contrast, the true murderer in Ghost seems to be a nice guy until well after the protagonist is killed. When you reveal the villain is up to you; you certainly don't have to do so in the first ten pages. However, make the conflict clear shortly thereafter. If you wait much longer, you risk having a restless audience that's impatient for the action to begin.
The inciting incident
The inciting incident, also known as the catalyst, marks the film's first turning point. It tilts the story from order to chaos, from complacency to combat. It's the point of no return. In this moment, you answer two questions:
•What do your characters want?
•What might prevent them from getting it?
Together, these queries make up the film's premise, or what it's ultimately about. In Lord of the Rings, one hobbit wants to rid Middle Earth of an evil force. The Dark Lord and human greed stand in his way. In both Ordinary People and Good Will Hunting, young men struggle to forgive and forget their tortuous past. Personal demons and unsympathetic adults stand in their way. A strong premise clearly defines a need and an impediment. As soon as an audience senses these details, you can pose the central question:
Will your protagonist(s) succeed?
If the answer is yes, you may have a happy ending; if it's no, a tragedy is in the works. Your inciting incident isn't complete until you pose this question. Until then, audiences wait. They wait for action; they wait for intent; they wait to be told what they're waiting for.
An inciting incident generally occurs in one of the following ways:
•An action plunges the characters into conflict.
•A piece of critical information arrives.
•A sequence of small events prepares an audience for the story.
In Jaws, a shark attacks a young woman, an action that begins the hunt. In American Beauty, Lester Burnham receives word that his job is in jeopardy, a piece of information that sends him over the edge. In the final method, the inciting incident takes the form of several events and is, therefore, the most subtle of the three. The film Zorro is a clear example of this technique. Two brothers witness Zorro attempting to thwart an execution. They save his life in the process, and he rewards them with a silver medallion. Government troops then invade his house, kill his wife, abduct his child, and throw him in jail. Years pass before he escapes. Meanwhile, the brothers, now grown up, also flee government soldiers. When one of them is killed, the other falls into a great depression and would risk his life avenging the death, if he wasn't first intercepted by (who else?) Zorro. All these events prepare an audience for the real story, which involves the training of a new masked hero. This preparation obviously takes longer than ten pages, but the result is the same.
Plot point one
Plot point one is the first big turning point in your script. It occurs at the end of the first act, approximately 30 pages into the action, and propels an audience into Act II. It must do the following things:
•Push the action in a new direction
•Force the protagonist to make a choice and take a risk
•Raise the central question for the first or second time
•Raise the stakes
Pivotal events, like plot point one, are usually surprises. Audiences know that something grand will happen eventually. They might even know what the result of that event will be. But don't allow them to guess the details of the event itself or you'll spoil the surprise. Star Wars audiences know that Luke Skywalker will eventually be called away from the safety of his family and into training. They may also guess that, as a result, he will have to fight Darth Vader, but they don't know exactly how these proceedings will transpire. Stories that hint too thoroughly at upcoming events become overly predictable and less exciting to watch.
In Zorro, the young brother meets his future mentor. He must choose to fight the villain now or follow this instructor and heed his advice to wait. His decision tilts the plot toward the true story — the training of a legend. In The Untouchables, Malone joins Ness's force, and together, they enlist a team of crusaders. From that point on, it's them against Capone's small army. The first plot point may be as shocking as the death of a loved one or as gentle as the touch of a hand. Both actions have the power to launch a great story.
Read more: http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/writing-act-i-of-your-screenplay.html#ixzz0x4jDx6ak
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
How to write a synopsis
Because the synopsis has to cover a lot of ground in a very short number of pages, it must be concise and free of unimportant details. For this reason you want to avoid long paragraphs of description. No one is interested in what your characters look like at this point unless the character has a certain physical feature or flaw that's integral to the story. Avoid inserting dialogue or passages from the manuscript to elaborate on the synopsis elements.
The synopsis is meant to convey a finite set of elements -- the ones you've already drafted in your previous assignments. It should state where and when your story takes place, but not the genre and word count. That information is for your cover letter and on the title page of your manuscript.
A synopsis is always written in present tense, usually in third person. However, if you've written a first person book, you may choose to write your synopsis in first person. That's perfectly acceptable.
A synopsis should not be a dry read. The best synopsis is one in which the author has been able to instill the voice used in her manuscript into the synopsis.
So now you need to take all the information you've created about your characters and plot and put them together into what will become your synopsis. This will involve a little shuffling of the various elements you've created and also include some of the information from your query letter.
1. Start with the High Concept or Log Line you developed for your book and the central question of your story.
2. Introduce your major characters, giving their goals, motivations, and conflicts. Tell where and when your story takes place. Avoid detailed descriptions.
3. Add your plot points from what you created in your 3-act structure.
4. Go back and develop each element into tight, compelling sentences and paragraphs that capture the tone and voice of your manuscript and flow from one element to the next in a logical order. This may mean shuffling the elements around, as well as combining some within the same sentence or paragraph.
5. Rewrite each sentence and keep rewriting until your synopsis is as tight and polished as possible. Make every word choice and every sentence count. Use specific adjectives and verbs rather than general ones. Avoid unnecessary descriptions, minor details, and rambling sentence structure. In other words, write your synopsis in a style and voice that compliments the writing in your manuscript.
Once you've written your synopsis, it's time to format it properly. The synopsis is formatted exactly like your manuscript pages with the following exceptions:
-- There is no need to start 1/3 - 1/2 down the page.
-- Include the title of the book, "synopsis", and the author's name centered at the beginning of the synopsis.
-- Include "synopsis" in the header with the author's name and title of manuscript.
-- The first time a character is named, type the name all in caps.
Length of the synopsis varies. Some editors and agents prefer 3-5 pages. Some prefer more detailed synopses of around 10 pages. Some like a page for approximately every 10,000 words of your ms. If the editor or agent doesn't specify a length, you're usually safe with something around 3-10 pages. Don't pad the synopsis. Include everything that's important but leave out everything that incidental. If your ms. has a strong secondary plot, include it. If the subplots are minor, don't include them. Also, to avoid confusion, if you find it necessary to mention secondary characters, refer to them by their relationships to the protagonist (sister, cousin, teacher, etc.) and not by their proper names.
-Lois Winston
The synopsis is meant to convey a finite set of elements -- the ones you've already drafted in your previous assignments. It should state where and when your story takes place, but not the genre and word count. That information is for your cover letter and on the title page of your manuscript.
A synopsis is always written in present tense, usually in third person. However, if you've written a first person book, you may choose to write your synopsis in first person. That's perfectly acceptable.
A synopsis should not be a dry read. The best synopsis is one in which the author has been able to instill the voice used in her manuscript into the synopsis.
So now you need to take all the information you've created about your characters and plot and put them together into what will become your synopsis. This will involve a little shuffling of the various elements you've created and also include some of the information from your query letter.
1. Start with the High Concept or Log Line you developed for your book and the central question of your story.
2. Introduce your major characters, giving their goals, motivations, and conflicts. Tell where and when your story takes place. Avoid detailed descriptions.
3. Add your plot points from what you created in your 3-act structure.
4. Go back and develop each element into tight, compelling sentences and paragraphs that capture the tone and voice of your manuscript and flow from one element to the next in a logical order. This may mean shuffling the elements around, as well as combining some within the same sentence or paragraph.
5. Rewrite each sentence and keep rewriting until your synopsis is as tight and polished as possible. Make every word choice and every sentence count. Use specific adjectives and verbs rather than general ones. Avoid unnecessary descriptions, minor details, and rambling sentence structure. In other words, write your synopsis in a style and voice that compliments the writing in your manuscript.
Once you've written your synopsis, it's time to format it properly. The synopsis is formatted exactly like your manuscript pages with the following exceptions:
-- There is no need to start 1/3 - 1/2 down the page.
-- Include the title of the book, "synopsis", and the author's name centered at the beginning of the synopsis.
-- Include "synopsis" in the header with the author's name and title of manuscript.
-- The first time a character is named, type the name all in caps.
Length of the synopsis varies. Some editors and agents prefer 3-5 pages. Some prefer more detailed synopses of around 10 pages. Some like a page for approximately every 10,000 words of your ms. If the editor or agent doesn't specify a length, you're usually safe with something around 3-10 pages. Don't pad the synopsis. Include everything that's important but leave out everything that incidental. If your ms. has a strong secondary plot, include it. If the subplots are minor, don't include them. Also, to avoid confusion, if you find it necessary to mention secondary characters, refer to them by their relationships to the protagonist (sister, cousin, teacher, etc.) and not by their proper names.
-Lois Winston
Goals Motivation Conflict (GMC)
Today we're going to move on to the synopsis. However, before we begin to talk about the synopsis, we need to talk about one of the major components of a synopsis -- character goals, motivations, and conflicts, otherwise known as GMC. This is because a synopsis is NOT a chapter by chapter outline of what happens in your book. You can't think in terms of what you learned in grade school when you were required to write book reports. A synopsis is not a book report explaining the adventures of the main character. Along with detailing the plot arc and story resolution, the synopsis needs to convey character growth, both internal and external.
GMC stands for Goals (What does the character want?), Motivation (Why does he want it?), and Conflict (What's keeping him from getting it?). Another way to look at it is Goal is the WHAT of your story, Motivation is the WHY of your story, and Conflict is the BUT or BECAUSE of your story.
I'm not going to go into detail about GMC because that would be an entirely different roundtable discussion. If you're not sure about the subject, take a workshop or get a copy of Debra Dixon's book. It's the best on the subject.
All characters in a novel must have both internal and external goals, motivation, and conflict, and you must show these in your synopsis. Without GMC you have melodrama, not drama, and melodramatic books are books that don't sell.
So take the time to map out the internal and external GMC of all your protagonists and antagonists. A story may have one or more protagonists (the character or characters the story is about.) In a romance, the protagonists would be the hero and heroine. In a mystery there may only be one protagonist, the person who solves the crime, but there will certainly be an antagonist, the person who commits the crime. So the first thing you have to determine is who the main characters are in your story. You need to establish GMC for each of these characters. Every one of your main characters needs to have both internal and external goals, motivations, and conflicts, and these need to be spelled out in your synopsis. Characters who are missing goals, motivations, or conflict are a reason for a swift rejection by an agent or editor.
-From Lois Winston
GMC stands for Goals (What does the character want?), Motivation (Why does he want it?), and Conflict (What's keeping him from getting it?). Another way to look at it is Goal is the WHAT of your story, Motivation is the WHY of your story, and Conflict is the BUT or BECAUSE of your story.
I'm not going to go into detail about GMC because that would be an entirely different roundtable discussion. If you're not sure about the subject, take a workshop or get a copy of Debra Dixon's book. It's the best on the subject.
All characters in a novel must have both internal and external goals, motivation, and conflict, and you must show these in your synopsis. Without GMC you have melodrama, not drama, and melodramatic books are books that don't sell.
So take the time to map out the internal and external GMC of all your protagonists and antagonists. A story may have one or more protagonists (the character or characters the story is about.) In a romance, the protagonists would be the hero and heroine. In a mystery there may only be one protagonist, the person who solves the crime, but there will certainly be an antagonist, the person who commits the crime. So the first thing you have to determine is who the main characters are in your story. You need to establish GMC for each of these characters. Every one of your main characters needs to have both internal and external goals, motivations, and conflicts, and these need to be spelled out in your synopsis. Characters who are missing goals, motivations, or conflict are a reason for a swift rejection by an agent or editor.
-From Lois Winston
Monday, August 16, 2010
3 Act Structure
Act I: Introduction: Pages 1-50: In the first act we make sure all the major characters are introduced, the major elements of the story are mentioned, and we begin go explore the conflicts between characters. Not all of the characters need to be introduced, but the main characters should be. In Star Wars, for example, you will see that Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, and Darth Vader are introduced in the first Act. Whereas Han Solo is not. This Act ends with the first major crisis, or plot point, of the story. In Star Wars, Luke’s isolated, agrarian lifestyle is smashed forever when his aunt and uncle are murdered by the Storm Troopers.
Act II (first half): Pages 51-100: This is where the plot really starts to take off. The roles of each major character are explained, and the characters interact with each other, building tension towards the mid point of the story. The mid point is where there is usually a twist in the plot. The hero is betrayed by his best friend, or an engagement is called-off, causing the protagonist to change his or her plans for the second half of the story.
Act II (second half): Pages 101-150 This is the part of the story where the new twists in the plot are explored, and is generally where we will flesh out missing details and backstory, fleshing out all the remaining details that are going to be important for the climax. This Act will end with a plot point or crisis as well, often foreshadowing the final climax of the story. The villain’s henchman is captured, or the estranged lover finds a long-lost love letter that makes her realize she is about to marry the wrong man.
Act III: Conclusion: Pages 151-200: With all the characters fully understood, missing artifacts discovered, all the back story filled in, this is where the plot usually takes off, and the action will be fast. For novel writing, this is usually where the writer has the most fun, and the reader starts to turn the pages furiously. Heros and villains are all racing towards the hidden treasure, building to the climax of the story, where the villain is killed, the hero vindicated, the wedding is stopped at the very last moment, and the dragon is slayed. After the climax, a chapter or two of denouement closes any remaining loose ends and the story comes to a close.
From David Weedmark
http://www.davidweedmark.com/2010/novel-writing/
Act II (first half): Pages 51-100: This is where the plot really starts to take off. The roles of each major character are explained, and the characters interact with each other, building tension towards the mid point of the story. The mid point is where there is usually a twist in the plot. The hero is betrayed by his best friend, or an engagement is called-off, causing the protagonist to change his or her plans for the second half of the story.
Act II (second half): Pages 101-150 This is the part of the story where the new twists in the plot are explored, and is generally where we will flesh out missing details and backstory, fleshing out all the remaining details that are going to be important for the climax. This Act will end with a plot point or crisis as well, often foreshadowing the final climax of the story. The villain’s henchman is captured, or the estranged lover finds a long-lost love letter that makes her realize she is about to marry the wrong man.
Act III: Conclusion: Pages 151-200: With all the characters fully understood, missing artifacts discovered, all the back story filled in, this is where the plot usually takes off, and the action will be fast. For novel writing, this is usually where the writer has the most fun, and the reader starts to turn the pages furiously. Heros and villains are all racing towards the hidden treasure, building to the climax of the story, where the villain is killed, the hero vindicated, the wedding is stopped at the very last moment, and the dragon is slayed. After the climax, a chapter or two of denouement closes any remaining loose ends and the story comes to a close.
From David Weedmark
http://www.davidweedmark.com/2010/novel-writing/
Why a blog?
I'm in the midst of writing my first novel (of publishable quality) and I want to share my process with those who-- like me-- were just looking for a little direction in how to go about it.
I don't know much, but I am going to learn as I go along. I think the only way to really be an author is to actually sit your butt in the chair and get to work. Hence, here I am: sitting, in the chair, getting to work.
First tidbit to share is that you always have to have ONE protagonist and ONE antagonist. Sounds like an obvious thing, right? I can't tell you how many things I've read (and written) with no bad guy. Don't make my mistake! According to Jennifer Cruise, writing inspiration of the day:
"The big thing is having ONE antagonist and ONE protagonist. It’s the protagonist’s story—her fight, her big battle. When someone, a hero or other, comes in and destroys HER antagonist, you get mad. That’s HER story—you stayed with her, until the bitter end, to see HER defeat him. When someone else swoops down and saves her right in the “nick of time”, it’s almost as if your audience has been cheated of the ending they deserved. One protagonist, one antagonist, and a big pay-off at the end."
I don't know much, but I am going to learn as I go along. I think the only way to really be an author is to actually sit your butt in the chair and get to work. Hence, here I am: sitting, in the chair, getting to work.
First tidbit to share is that you always have to have ONE protagonist and ONE antagonist. Sounds like an obvious thing, right? I can't tell you how many things I've read (and written) with no bad guy. Don't make my mistake! According to Jennifer Cruise, writing inspiration of the day:
"The big thing is having ONE antagonist and ONE protagonist. It’s the protagonist’s story—her fight, her big battle. When someone, a hero or other, comes in and destroys HER antagonist, you get mad. That’s HER story—you stayed with her, until the bitter end, to see HER defeat him. When someone else swoops down and saves her right in the “nick of time”, it’s almost as if your audience has been cheated of the ending they deserved. One protagonist, one antagonist, and a big pay-off at the end."
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