Why I Write: To Share

I’ve realised that one reason I write is to share.

As a concept, sharing goes a long way towards explaining why I write. (I’m not sure I need to explain why I write, but long-term readers of this blog will know that’s one of my interests!)

Sharing to me suggests that my script/film is an act of approaching the audience and saying:

“Take a look at this. I think it’s interesting. If you think it’s interesting too, let’s explore it together.”

Sharing implies a mutual process. As a writer, I need to be able to show why I am interested in my script. And I'm asking, not telling, an audience member to engage with the work.

Sharing starts with the writer and an act of offering something up. But it’s not a solitary act.

I’ve often heard writers say they write to communicate. I’ve said this myself, but never been entirely happy with the concept. ‘Writing to communicate’ strikes a chord with me, but the chord doesn’t sound quite right – like there’s one note out of place.

The thing is - writing to communicate sounds a little one way to me. Like I’m the only one with something to say, and everyone needs to shut up and listen to me.

I’m naturally uncomfortable holding the floor like that. I don't want to hold a megaphone and force the audience to listen to me. I don’t want that responsibility for starters!

I prefer the idea of sharing. Offer something to the audience. See if they’re as interested as you are. And if they are, let them do some of the work as well…

How I Write: In The Flow

On Sunday, I found my writing flow. I thought I'd write down how I found it and what it is, partly as a reminder for myself for when I don't have it!

First thing Sunday, I was working on The Gap but finding the process hard going. I wanted to be doing anything else, and found myself continually procrastinating.

More than that - I realised I was stressed.

I was stressed in exactly the same way I would be if I was at a dinner party where I wasn't enjoying myself, but was making an effort to look like I was having a great time.

That realisation woke me up. Instead of being in touch with the writing, I was at a distance. And I was finding working like that was a draining experience. It was tiring me out!

So I did something totally different. I wrote a dialogue between my two main characters.

I let them talk about their issues, but in a very unreal way - something I'd never use in the finished script. I let them be my mouthpieces and just let them talk about what they were concerned about. Or rather, what I was interested in.

What I was looking for was not to get to the heart of them, but to get to the heart of my interest in the script. The nugget, to throw back to an old idea.

And I got into the flow. The writing wasn't hard anymore. It was rejuvenating actually. I wrote the first scenes for The Gap that I thought were actually good.

I haven't been able to totally hold on to Sunday's flow experience. It hasn't taken permanently. However I have been able to get back to feelings similar to it. And I'm continuing to write stuff which I think is better. So I think Sunday has made a lasting impact on me.

How I Write: Maturing My Scripter Self

I've realised that I have at least two writing 'selves'.

The first, which I'll call the Planner, is my more familiar self.

In my Planner self, I'm figuring the script out from a distance - I don't want to get too close. I'm considering the questions of theme, of structure, of the purpose of a script. I come up with plot, characters, and situations, and can write a million and one notes (for the current script, 'The Gap', Hix and I have put together a Foolscap File Box full of notes...) I can stay in this Planner self long enough to kill a script - to have written it to death in my head without actually having written it at all.

The second self, which I've been experiencing again as I start to write 'The Gap', is my Scripter self. In this self, I'm actually writing, but in many ways I'm running scared. I'm usually just trying to blat it out. Thinking? Consideration? Who needs it? I just want to get the scene written as fast as possible and get it done.

The Scripter self picks up directly from the point I left him, which happens to have been the moment I finished working on my previous script 'Run' last year. I use the same style, the same tone, the same voice for the characters... And I can sense my Planner frustration (what's happened to all that good work we were doing!!) with the results the Scripter self is firing out.

I'm not suggesting that this differentiation of writing 'selves' is utterly unique to me - in fact I hope that other writers reading this post may be able to relate. But I am very conscious that in my case, I've spent a lot of time in my Planning self for the last ten years, and far less time in my Scripter self.

Consequently I'm feeling that my Scripter self has a lot of maturing to do. I need to be able to loosen up and consider options while I'm actually writing. I want to be able to calmly think about the best ways to express character and the heart of the scene, rather than always going for the easiest course, just because I want to be done with it as fast as possible. If I want to be a professional writer, then I need to be a lot more comfortable in my Scripter self.

I'm hoping that my Planner self can help my Scripter self, so that this maturing process doesn't take years! But it seems to me that getting more comfortable with my Scripter self is the most important thing I can be doing right now as a writer. So if it takes years, it takes years!

Finally, I'm sure there's some things my Planner self can learn from my Scripter self too - like when to let go and just do it!

How I Write: By Ambush

Yesterday I started writing 'The Gap'.

I wasn't expecting to. Well, I knew I was heading in that general direction, but I knew that I wanted to write a step-by-step outline for the project first, and knowing me that would have taken at least a month...

So I knew I wasn't ready. But then, all of a sudden, I was.

I picked up my pen, grabbed the back of an old script (which is what I use for scrap-paper), and worked my way through my first scene. (Not a good first scene, but it'll get better). And past that first scene I can feel a whole reservoir of words.

So, I've officially started writing 'The Gap'.

Thinking about it today, I've realised that starting to write my last script 'Run' was exactly the same. I don't see the actual writing coming.

I dawdle around the edge of the pool, afraid to dive in. And eventually there's a moment when I realise 'Hey, I could just leap in now'. So I dive in, swim around, and think 'There, that's not so bad'. And then I feel ashamed about the dawdling before taking the dive, and all that thinking work feels like procrastination...

So either I have to sneak up on the script or the script has to sneak up on me.

How about you? Does the writing take you by surprise?

The Good, the Bad, and the Untruthfully Ugly

I’ve been interested in polarities lately – the key idea being that apparent opposite sides of an argument can each have a good case to make, hence the fact there’s a clash in the first place. I think polarities are rich for storytelling and expect I’ll talk more about my fascination with them in later posts.

For this post, I want to focus on an element of storytelling that isn’t quite this type of polarity but is still based around opposites. My focus is this – that as a storyteller, I can tell a story about the ‘Good life’ through portraying the good, or through the total inverse, portraying the bad.

I’m working on a science fiction movie called The Gap. A key aspect of this project is portraying the ‘Good life’ – as in a better way to live, which I admire – through the struggles of the two main characters. I want both of them to be heroes, by struggling their way through adversity and embodying virtues that I think are admirable.

Pretty standard, right? But not the only way to talk about the ‘Good life’.

Think about ‘Requiem for a Dream’ (spoiler alert for anyone who hasn’t seen it). The characters in that story are terribly damaged by the end – perhaps not irrevocably – but still, as a friend of mine put it recently, in a state of suffering. It’s a traumatic movie, but I believe for good purpose. I believe the story is all about showing how bad life can get, and giving me (the viewer) a warning – this what life can be like. Avoid the abyss. Appreciate what I’ve got. In other words, value the Good life.

I’m fascinated that both approaches are effective. How can a writer do two opposite things and yet achieve the same overall effect?

I sense that a key concept at the heart of all this is authenticity. If a story is convincingly told, and rings with the truth, then I am encouraged to consider the relation of that story to my own life through the force of my engagement with it. Basically, if I care about the characters and believe in them, then I’ll compare their life to mine, and make my own moral judgements accordingly.

If, on the other hand, the depiction is shallow or cliched (a Goody-Goody-Two-Shoes character who I neither like or believe in), then that work can turn me away in horror. I’ll recoil from the depiction, but hopefully not from my own moral values.

Thinking about this has helped me articulate a problem I have with censorship. If a storyteller uses their work to challenge something repugnant by its truthful depiction (the rationalisations of Humbert Humbert in Lolita spring to mind), then the work should be celebrated for its moral effect rather than condemned or held up for censorship. Whereas a work that more falsely glamourised the actions of Humbert Humbert (simply by not ‘nailing’ the truth of the character) could be a nasty piece of work.

It’s a risk we run as storytellers. We’d better get it right, or it can get ugly.

Albion - the 'Chekhov' version

INT. ERIC’S DINING ROOM - DAY

ERIC finishes a letter at the table. There’s an untouched plate of toast beside him. His mood is morose, gloomy. He wears a dressing gown and tiger slippers.

His wife GWEN runs in, adjusting her police uniform.

ERIC
Gwen.

Gwen kisses him quickly, dons her police cap.

GWEN
Writing?

ERIC
A little.

GWEN
Read it later, honest.

Gwen points at the toast next to Eric. Eric shrugs, passes her the toast. Gwen stuffs it in her mouth and bolts for the door.

ERIC
I love you.

Gwen turns, gives him a smile, goes.

Eric signs the letter. He places it in an envelope, leaves the envelope propped up on the table. The envelope is titled “For Gwen”.

EXT. ERIC’S HOUSE - DAY

Eric wanders outside, still in his dressing gown and slippers. He stops by the letterbox, breathes in the fresh air and sunlight. A flicker of enjoyment.

Eric notices the front door is still wide open. He glares at it. He reaches for it listlessly, he’s nowhere near.

Eric shrugs, giving up. He strolls past the letterbox.

EXT. MAIN STREET - DAY

The shopping district of Stafford. Eric wanders along, attracting surprised looks from fellow pedestrians.

A young mother JULIE drags her four year old son MAX across the street, away from Eric. Max stares at Eric in amazement. Eric waves at both of them.

LANCE pulls up beside Eric in a beaten-up truck, which takes up most of the street. Lance hops out. Eric walks on, Lance beside him. There’s a honking noise.

LANCE
Eric.

ERIC
Lance.

LANCE
How are you?

ERIC
Fine.

Lance doubts this. There’s another honk.

LANCE
Haven’t seen you in a while -

ERIC
(firmly)
I’m good.

LANCE
(relieved)
Okay then. Later!

Lance waves, rushes back to his truck. Eric smiles, shakes his head, walks on.

EXT. BRIDGE - DAY

Eric stands on the narrow railing of the town bridge.

The river rushes below.

Eric closes his eyes, prepares to jump.

PETE (O.S)
Mind if I watch?

Eric opens his eyes. An elderly man, PETE, leans against the railing beside him.

ERIC
What?

PETE
I’ve never seen anyone commit suicide before. (beat) That is what you’re doing, right?

ERIC
Yes.

PETE
Good.

ERIC
Why is that good?

PETE
I’m sure you’ve got your reasons.

Pete waits. Eric hovers on the edge.

Eric prepares to jump, but he’s too conscious of Pete.

ERIC
(gesturing at Pete)
Do you mind?

PETE
No, of course not.

Pete takes a few steps back, continues staring intently.

Eric tries again, gives up.

Eric steps back off the railing. Pete’s disappointed.

ERIC
I can’t.(beat) Not yet.

PETE
Take your time.

Pete passes Eric a bottle of bourbon.

PETE
Help you get your courage up.

Eric tries it, screws up his face.

PETE
Now, leaping off a bridge has got to be better than that.

Eric nods.

PETE
So what is it? Cancer?

ERIC
No.

PETE
Incest? Adultery?

ERIC
I’m holding my wife back.

PETE
You hate her.

ERIC
I love her. But I’m a loser. I haven’t had a job for a year. I do nothing all day. I used to dream about writing, but I can’t. I’m useless.

PETE
Alright then.

ERIC
I can’t even kill myself.

Eric is in despair. Pete puts his arm around him.

PETE
Nonsense. You’re putting yourself down. You don’t believe in yourself.

ERIC
I don’t. You’re right.

PETE
And there’s your problem. The man I saw standing on top of that bridge knew the meaning of action. He was willing to look life in the eye and say stuff it.

ERIC
True.

PETE
Every decision you make is in your hands. You make the difference. Don’t worry about me or anyone else. Just do it.

ERIC
Absolutely.

Eric picks himself up.

ERIC
What was I thinking? Thank you.

Eric walks off. Pete watches him go, disappointed.

PETE
Damn.

EXT. ERIC’S HOUSE - DAY

Eric whistles as he passes the letterbox.

He pauses to enjoy the sunlight on his face.

Eric strolls through the still-open front door.

INT. ERIC’S DINING ROOM - DAY

Eric ruefully observes the letter he left for Gwen. He reaches out to pick it up.

There’s a SQUEAKING sound. Eric looks up.

A heavy-set man, GRAYSON, watches Eric from the doorway to the lounge. Grayson hefts a mostly full rubbish bag in one hand, and carries a video under the other arm.

Grayson drops the rubbish bag and places the video aside.

Eric steps back, puts his arms out. He doesn’t want trouble.

Grayson impassively walks toward Eric, slides by him. Eric cries out in pain. Grayson vanishes out the front door, pulling it shut behind him.

Eric finds a knife protruding from his abdomen. He stares in it in disbelief.

Eric stumbles for the phone, misses it. He falls to the ground.

Silence. Beat. Beat. Beat.

The sound of the front door being unlocked.

Gwen saunters into the room, oblivious.

She spots the letter on the table, opens it, begins to read. Her calm expression turns to horror.

GWEN
Oh God!

Gwen stumbles away from the table. She sees Eric lying on the ground with the knife sticking out of him.

GWEN
(even more horrified)
Oh God!

EXT. MAIN STREET - DAY

An ambulance zooms through the busy street. Max stares at it in amazement.

INT. SURGERY - DAY

The hospital doctors rush to save Eric’s life.

A nurse bustles Gwen out of the surgery room.

GWEN
How is he?

The nurse grimaces, shuts the door on Gwen’s face.

EXT. GARDEN - DAY

Eric walks out of darkness into a beautiful garden. In the centre of the garden is a pond. Gwen stands in this pond, dressed in flowing white lace.

Gwen smiles, welcoming. Eric walks towards her.

INT. SURGERY - DAY

Eric’s heart monitor stops. The doctors struggle to resuscitate him.

EXT. GARDEN - DAY

Eric crosses the pond to reach Gwen. The water barely covers the tops of his shoes.

As he reaches her, Gwen stretches out her arms and offers him a sparkling sword.

Eric takes it from her hands, examines the blade.

Abrupt cut to black.

INT. SURGERY - DAY

Eric’s heart monitor reveals life signs. The doctors congratulate each other.

Fade out.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY

Gwen marches along the corridor in civilian clothes. She looks expectant, and carries a large book.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Gwen enters Eric’s hospital room. Eric is propped up in bed, and looks much recovered. He smiles at her.

ERIC
Hi.

GWEN
Hey.

She kisses him. He returns the kiss with interest.

ERIC
(spies the book)
You brought it.

Gwen passes him the book, an illustrated tome on the adventures of King Arthur.

GWEN
Yeah. Mind telling me why?

Eric flicks through the book. He settles on a page.

ERIC
(triumphant)
Ah. There it is.

GWEN
What’s going on, Eric? You said you’d tell me once you got the book.

Gwen sits beside him, takes his hand.

GWEN
It’s like you’re hiding something.

ERIC
Alright then.

He shows her a picture in the book. The sword Excalibur being held aloft, sparkling.

ERIC
It’s the one I saw.

GWEN
Near death experiences produce -

ERIC
It’s the same one, Gwen. That shows I was brought back for a reason.

GWEN
Sure, for us.

ERIC
Definitely. But more than that.
(reads from the book)
“The once and future king will return when the people need him.”

GWEN
Who?

ERIC
Your name’s Gwen. My best friend’s name is Lance. Lancelot.
(leans in)
I am King Arthur.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY

Gwen sits with her head in her hands.

She’s tapped on the shoulder.

Gwen looks up to see two plainclothes CIB cops, JARROD and MORGAN.

GWEN
Oh. You.

Jarrod and Morgan smirk at each other. Gwen stands.

GWEN
Eric’s indisposed right now.

JARROD
We’ll need to start on his case as soon as possible.

MORGAN
Someone has to get some work done.

GWEN
Well, let me know if it’s you.

JARROD
Don’t get us wrong. It’s good that you’re here for Eric. Best place for a woman really.

GWEN
What was that?

JARROD
I said -

Gwen cleanly punches him in the throat.

INT. POLICE DISTRICT COMMANDER’S OFFICE - DAY

WARREN, the older district commander watches Gwen play with a pen.

Warren waits for her to speak. Gwen looks up at him. He smiles. She continues playing with the pen. Warren’s disappointed, is about to speak.

GWEN
Yes?

WARREN
(blurting it out)
I’m just worried things are getting on top of you in Stafford.

GWEN
We’re fine.

WARREN
Tell me what I can do to help.

GWEN
How about another three sworn officers?

WARREN
Yes, that’d be nice. But -

GWEN
Alright, an admin assist?

WARREN
That’d be nice too -

GWEN
Can I keep the pen?

WARREN
No.

Gwen stands, prepares to leave.

GWEN
Thanks for your help.

WARREN
(frustrated)
Just keep that temper under control.

GWEN
Is that an official reprimand?

WARREN
Of course not -

Gwen leaves, shuts the door. Warren fumes. He throws the pen against the closed door. The pen breaks. He fumes some more.

.....

(Sorry folks, that's as far as I got...)

Albion - The ‘Meet the Parents’ version

Tash and her girlfriend live in the big city together. The girlfriend (I can’t remember her name – let’s call her Megan) wants the two of them to get serious. The problem is, Tash has never introduced Megan to her family. In fact, she never talks about them. From where Megan is standing, this is a serious case of someone not wanting to come out of the closet.

Megan lays an ultimatum on Tash – if they’re going to have a future together, Tash has to introduce Megan to the family. This is the day Tash has always dreaded, but not for the reasons Megan imagines.

Tash is actually the daughter of the ‘famous’ King Arthur, a nut who has been causing a real stir in the small town of Savage. Tash is terribly embarrassed by her family, and just wants to disassociate herself as much as possible. Relieved that she was wrong, but recognising that there's still some stuff here to sort out, Megan persuades Tash to take her to meet the parents.

Upon arrival, it’s very clear that the town of Savage is going weird. People are polarised between supporting ‘King Arthur’ and opposing him. All of them take him seriously, which is the weirdest thing of all as far as Tash and Megan are concerned.

Tash introduces Megan to 'King Arthur' and 'Queen Guinevere'. She doesn’t introduce Megan as her girlfriend, re-igniting Megan’s annoyance at Tash’s avoidance. Megan also meets Sir Jeremy, a member of the inner circle of the Round Table and Tash’s old boyfriend from Savage College. All of Tash’s secrets are coming out…

Where does it go from there? I’m not too sure, having to re-create this version from my memory. (It never got any further than the outlining stage…)

The King approves of a union between Tash and Sir Jeremy, and he and Queen Guinevere are working to make that happen. Tash isn’t willing to tell her parents where she really stands, when leads to Tash and Megan fighting, which drives Tash towards Sir Jeremy – who is a pretty good guy.

The main question of the script was whether the spell of King Arthur and Albion would fall on our two main characters, and whether Tash would get honest with her family, with Megan, and herself. It was really pitting honesty and modern day values against cultural expectations.

Why did I abandon it and move on?

I felt this version wasn’t quite right and there was something better out there for the idea. I also suspect I felt it was moving too far away from the original idea, and not focused enough on Arthur.

Ironically, I was probably drawn towards this version because I felt it was difficult to draw Arthur’s psychology, and there was an appeal in keeping him at a distance. I think I’ll blog more about that tension about the distance at which to view Arthur in a later post.