So, tomorrow night is the Wellington Writers Group meeting. I've passed on the role of co-ordinator of the group, but I have set the discussion topic for tomorrow night, which is:
“What have you learned about screenwriting lately?"
Short answer: a lot (I think).
I recently submitted an hour-long pilot episode into a NZWG screenwriting contest. For me, the simple act of completing this script in a straightforward manner within the set deadline was an accomplishment and a joy.
What I learnt about screenwriting from completing this:
I went into the writing process with three principles in descending order of importance. These three principles worked very well for me.
Principle #1: Deal with my emotions about writing as I go.
I have issues. Man, do I have issues. And I’ve found that feeling those issues while I’m writing doesn’t really help me write. It’s more likely to make me want to go hide in a dark cupboard.
However, if I face up to my emotions throughout the writing process, I’ve found that I can explore and address the negative feelings as I go. Then, once they’ve died down a bit, I can get on with the actual process of writing.
Principle #2: Feel positive about the direction I’m heading in.
What should I do when I realise I’m not happy with the script I’m working on?
People tell me: you should just keep writing a script to the end – you’ll learn things through the writing. Hmm, well maybe. But should I really spend weeks of my life writing something I don’t believe in when I know I need to rewrite it? Particularly if I have a deadline?
My way through this is to check in with myself about the script as I’m writing it. Outlines and other ‘higher-level’ documents can be great for this. The question is: am I feeling happy with where this is going? If not, what can I adjust about the script from here on in? I can come in and mop up the old stuff later.
Note I do not ask myself: is this script perfect? Because it won’t be. And that question can be a terrible trap of procrastination for us perfectionists.
Principle #3: Keep working solidly within the timeframes I’ve laid out
I stuck to my deadlines on this project. I worked solidly and didn’t procrastinate too much. That way I had time to deal with the problems that inevitably emerged.
Outside of these principles, I also learned how important it is for me to have an outside voice to provide feedback on a project: a reflector. I need someone to provide an independent mirror to my project, to give me that perspective that I just can’t see. I had two reflectors on this project, hix and Lyse. Thanks to them both.
Giving myself a fair bit of time is good. I do work well under pressure; but I work even better under pressure with enough time to turn out something good. And allowing some time to reflect between different iterations of a project; that’s important too.
How about you? What have you learnt about writing recently?
Monday, June 6, 2011
Monday, November 22, 2010
Lots of things a good writer needs
Picking up from my last post, I asked my writing group to come up with the things a good writer needs. Thanks to Jackie, Malcolm, Warren, Steven, Jade, Steve, Ben, and Matt for the suggestions below (hope I haven't forgotten anyone!)
In no particular order, a good writer needs:
Mentor(s)
Objectivity
A desire for continuous improvement
An audience
Rewards
Something to write on
Judgement
Professionalism
Resilience
The ability to adapt
Luck
Joy in Writing
Basic composition skills
Talent
Craftsmanship
Practice
Passion
Drive
Obsession/Inner necessity
Self-belief
Chutzpah
Honest and reliable feedback
An ability to listen to feedback
A comfortable emotional state for their writing
Lots of ideas
Open-mindedness
Access to the industry
Social skills
Routine/discipline
The ability to know when to quit.
Anything we missed out?
In no particular order, a good writer needs:
Mentor(s)
Objectivity
A desire for continuous improvement
An audience
Rewards
Something to write on
Judgement
Professionalism
Resilience
The ability to adapt
Luck
Joy in Writing
Basic composition skills
Talent
Craftsmanship
Practice
Passion
Drive
Obsession/Inner necessity
Self-belief
Chutzpah
Honest and reliable feedback
An ability to listen to feedback
A comfortable emotional state for their writing
Lots of ideas
Open-mindedness
Access to the industry
Social skills
Routine/discipline
The ability to know when to quit.
Anything we missed out?
Monday, November 1, 2010
Three things a good writer needs
It's writers group time again. The topic for tomorrow night's meeting is:
"What are three things you think a good screenwriter needs?"
A deliberately broad topic that allows people to take it as seriously or as lightly as they like. What I'm hoping is to get a wide spectrum of ideas by asking people not to repeat the previous ideas if possible. So if we get 10 people along to the meeting, we might even get 30 ideas.
I'll start it off with these three things that I think a good screenwriter needs:
1) Joy in what they're doing.
The first point I thought of was 'perseverance' (which was funnily enough the first response from someone else attending tomorrow's meeting).
Thinking about it further though, I revised this point to a writer's joy in the act of writing. I totally think a writer needs perseverance in order to stick out writing long enough to become a good writer. But I think enjoying what you're doing will help you stick with it and give you resilience for the bad times. And hey, if you're not enjoying something, you've got to really ask why you're doing it in the first place...
2) An audience
The audience doesn't need to be big, but I think every writer needs someone. Someone needs to read and appreciate your work. Sometimes I'm my only audience for a project, but even then, I'm acting the role of the audience!
3) A life
After all, what else is there to write about?
I've got quite a few other points, but I want to keep it to three for now. I'll be interested to hear what people bring up at the meeting, and I'll aim to post a list of them here on the blog.
How about you? What are your three points? No repeating!
"What are three things you think a good screenwriter needs?"
A deliberately broad topic that allows people to take it as seriously or as lightly as they like. What I'm hoping is to get a wide spectrum of ideas by asking people not to repeat the previous ideas if possible. So if we get 10 people along to the meeting, we might even get 30 ideas.
I'll start it off with these three things that I think a good screenwriter needs:
1) Joy in what they're doing.
The first point I thought of was 'perseverance' (which was funnily enough the first response from someone else attending tomorrow's meeting).
Thinking about it further though, I revised this point to a writer's joy in the act of writing. I totally think a writer needs perseverance in order to stick out writing long enough to become a good writer. But I think enjoying what you're doing will help you stick with it and give you resilience for the bad times. And hey, if you're not enjoying something, you've got to really ask why you're doing it in the first place...
2) An audience
The audience doesn't need to be big, but I think every writer needs someone. Someone needs to read and appreciate your work. Sometimes I'm my only audience for a project, but even then, I'm acting the role of the audience!
3) A life
After all, what else is there to write about?
I've got quite a few other points, but I want to keep it to three for now. I'll be interested to hear what people bring up at the meeting, and I'll aim to post a list of them here on the blog.
How about you? What are your three points? No repeating!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Who do I base my characters on?
So, writers group tomorrow night. The topic for this meeting (suggested by my lovely wife - thanks hon!) is:
"Who do you base your characters on?"
A deliberately provocative question I know, because maybe you don't base your characters on anyone. Well that's fine, but I sure do.
I've figured out four different approaches that I take to creating characters.
1. I base them on other people
I find other people to be an interesting and ready source of character traits and motivations. They're everywhere! The plus side of this approach is that I'll never run out of characters.
The down sides are that I tend to feel guilty about 'stealing' from real people; or otherwise I feel afraid of offending friends/acquaintances/enemies when they realise that a character is based on them. The latter issue is not something I should worry about too much... I know that Hix based characters in Hopeless on some mutual friends, but I co-wrote the script with him and even I didn't realise that. And those people who did see themselves in the characters in Hopeless tended to be wrong. People are complex, so really as a writer you're unlikely to nail anyone so neatly and completely as to cause a blow.
2. I base them on me
In some ways, I know myself better than I know anyone else. And taking my own concerns and injecting them into characters is a good way to ensure that I'll be interested in them, even if no one else is. It gives the characters and the script a bit more dynamism if they're working out my issues. So the plus side of this approach is that it's personal. The down side is that it's personal.
3. I base them on other characters
Ideas are often not as fresh as they first seem, and characters can suffer from this problem along with other ideas. I often find that my first iterations of a character are not that original, and that I've probably snatched the idea of the character from some other story. So the plus side of this approach is that it's easy. The down side is it's lazy.
4. A mixture of all of the above.
This is actually what I do in reality, until I can't remember where the character came from. Once you fall in love with them, it doesn't matter anymore. That's when they feel real and as if they didn't come out of you at all!
"Who do you base your characters on?"
A deliberately provocative question I know, because maybe you don't base your characters on anyone. Well that's fine, but I sure do.
I've figured out four different approaches that I take to creating characters.
1. I base them on other people
I find other people to be an interesting and ready source of character traits and motivations. They're everywhere! The plus side of this approach is that I'll never run out of characters.
The down sides are that I tend to feel guilty about 'stealing' from real people; or otherwise I feel afraid of offending friends/acquaintances/enemies when they realise that a character is based on them. The latter issue is not something I should worry about too much... I know that Hix based characters in Hopeless on some mutual friends, but I co-wrote the script with him and even I didn't realise that. And those people who did see themselves in the characters in Hopeless tended to be wrong. People are complex, so really as a writer you're unlikely to nail anyone so neatly and completely as to cause a blow.
2. I base them on me
In some ways, I know myself better than I know anyone else. And taking my own concerns and injecting them into characters is a good way to ensure that I'll be interested in them, even if no one else is. It gives the characters and the script a bit more dynamism if they're working out my issues. So the plus side of this approach is that it's personal. The down side is that it's personal.
3. I base them on other characters
Ideas are often not as fresh as they first seem, and characters can suffer from this problem along with other ideas. I often find that my first iterations of a character are not that original, and that I've probably snatched the idea of the character from some other story. So the plus side of this approach is that it's easy. The down side is it's lazy.
4. A mixture of all of the above.
This is actually what I do in reality, until I can't remember where the character came from. Once you fall in love with them, it doesn't matter anymore. That's when they feel real and as if they didn't come out of you at all!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Why do I write for film?
I co-ordinate a Wellington writers group, and tomorrow night the topic is:
"Why have you decided to be a screenwriter/playwright/whatever you are? What makes that particular medium special to you?"
Why this topic? Well, longer time readers of this blog will know that I am narcissistically fascinated in my own desire to write. This blog began as ‘Why I Write?’ and many of the older posts are explorations of answers to that question.
So getting a bit deeper than that, I think I’m interested in why we choose the mediums that we do. I see our choices as a complex mix of contemporary forces and personal expression. Screenwriting in particular is a modern phenomenon, and in that respect a desire to be a screenwriter strikes me as almost faddish. If we were in the 18th century, none of us would be screenwriters. Screenwriting appears to me to be the young popular medium that has overshadowed all others, at least in the circles I move in (novelists/playwrights/poets/comic book artists/graffiti artists/Hallmark card writers feel free to blow me out of the water...) So I look at my own embrace of screenwriting with a certain degree of distrust; do I do it just because it’s the popular choice, or for more intrinsic reasons?
Well, there’s certainly some things I enjoy about film as a medium (I’ll talk about film, rather than TV, which I have also written for, but I’ll try to keep this post under control by dealing just with film.)
Film is fast – stories tend to be less than two hours long. That encourages brevity, which actually plays to a key strength of mine; I’m too lazy to write long. And I admire brevity – I like condensing material to its essence. I’ve never forgotten Hix telling me about what he did with the earlier drafts of Hopeless before I came on board as a co-writer; he talked about how he combined multiple characters into single characters, giving the single characters the strengths of the multiple ones. I like that kind of work - boiling things down to create a headier brew. Film demands you do that because you don’t have time.
Film is a collaborative medium, and I like others to read my work and get behind it. Film requires that I get a team around me; and if I can get a team around me, that feels validating for the work I’ve created. One of the reasons I started writing screenplays was because others were doing it, and that meant that I could do it with them.
I do love watching films, though I don’t think a great film stands above reading a great novel for me in terms of enjoyment. There are plenty of films that are etched in my brain though; and so I do feel a debt of love for the medium. I want to excel within it because I know how great it can be.
And finally film is something I’ve had some success in, and I know something about how to write screenplays. That doesn’t answer why I started screenwriting, but it does go some way to answer why I continue in it.
There are downsides to screenwriting too: most commercially minded cinema no longer especially interests me so I have trouble picturing a place for myself in the industry; the collaborative nature of film-making has the downside (as well as advantage) of being dependent on others for success; film is expensive and the competition for funding is tough.
Other mediums interest me too: theatre and novel writing are both starting to whisper to me. But I’ll stick with screenwriting in the medium term at least; I know it and love it, and want to consolidate the lessons that I’ve learnt.
Plus I need to finish something – so it might as well be that screenplay I’m in the middle of (Run), and then that other screenplay I’m in the middle of (The Gap)… That should keep me going for a while.
"Why have you decided to be a screenwriter/playwright/whatever you are? What makes that particular medium special to you?"
Why this topic? Well, longer time readers of this blog will know that I am narcissistically fascinated in my own desire to write. This blog began as ‘Why I Write?’ and many of the older posts are explorations of answers to that question.
So getting a bit deeper than that, I think I’m interested in why we choose the mediums that we do. I see our choices as a complex mix of contemporary forces and personal expression. Screenwriting in particular is a modern phenomenon, and in that respect a desire to be a screenwriter strikes me as almost faddish. If we were in the 18th century, none of us would be screenwriters. Screenwriting appears to me to be the young popular medium that has overshadowed all others, at least in the circles I move in (novelists/playwrights/poets/comic book artists/graffiti artists/Hallmark card writers feel free to blow me out of the water...) So I look at my own embrace of screenwriting with a certain degree of distrust; do I do it just because it’s the popular choice, or for more intrinsic reasons?
Well, there’s certainly some things I enjoy about film as a medium (I’ll talk about film, rather than TV, which I have also written for, but I’ll try to keep this post under control by dealing just with film.)
Film is fast – stories tend to be less than two hours long. That encourages brevity, which actually plays to a key strength of mine; I’m too lazy to write long. And I admire brevity – I like condensing material to its essence. I’ve never forgotten Hix telling me about what he did with the earlier drafts of Hopeless before I came on board as a co-writer; he talked about how he combined multiple characters into single characters, giving the single characters the strengths of the multiple ones. I like that kind of work - boiling things down to create a headier brew. Film demands you do that because you don’t have time.
Film is a collaborative medium, and I like others to read my work and get behind it. Film requires that I get a team around me; and if I can get a team around me, that feels validating for the work I’ve created. One of the reasons I started writing screenplays was because others were doing it, and that meant that I could do it with them.
I do love watching films, though I don’t think a great film stands above reading a great novel for me in terms of enjoyment. There are plenty of films that are etched in my brain though; and so I do feel a debt of love for the medium. I want to excel within it because I know how great it can be.
And finally film is something I’ve had some success in, and I know something about how to write screenplays. That doesn’t answer why I started screenwriting, but it does go some way to answer why I continue in it.
There are downsides to screenwriting too: most commercially minded cinema no longer especially interests me so I have trouble picturing a place for myself in the industry; the collaborative nature of film-making has the downside (as well as advantage) of being dependent on others for success; film is expensive and the competition for funding is tough.
Other mediums interest me too: theatre and novel writing are both starting to whisper to me. But I’ll stick with screenwriting in the medium term at least; I know it and love it, and want to consolidate the lessons that I’ve learnt.
Plus I need to finish something – so it might as well be that screenplay I’m in the middle of (Run), and then that other screenplay I’m in the middle of (The Gap)… That should keep me going for a while.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Why I Write: To Surprise
This post is about what I learnt about myself after getting through my Dip yesterday.
But first I want to talk about what I used to do when I was nine*.
When I was nine*, I spent my breaks at school in the classroom constructing a maze, that eventually grew to six full scrapbook pages. My maze was so devious that I spent one entire scrapbook page drawing a dead end. My reasoning was this - no one would believe that they could possibly be in a dead end. Who would believe that I had spent all that time and effort to simply lead them down a false trail? It would be too big a surprise for any of my nine year-old classmates to even fathom.
(And so it proved - they all gave up on my maze. And having lost my audience, I gave up too.)
After getting through my Dip, I realised yesterday that the same devious urge to surprise and mislead my audience still exists today inside me.
I like writing because I like to surprise people. Writing for me is a way of presenting creative surprises, shocks, twists, and turns.
A script for me is a vehicle for delivering those surprises to an audience. I'm willing to go to ridiculous effort, years of my life, in order to present something different, something which surprises and astounds.
One of the reasons I struggle with scripts is because I often forget the surprises that are in them, given the huge amount of time it takes to finish. I have to apply this lesson to The Gap, and remember the surprises that someone should get approaching the story fresh. And I need to keep projects going until they're made so I get to deliver those surprises.
I can see now that this wish to surprise has been a key driver in my creative writing/paid work/humour/this blog/my approach to just about everything. And it's taken a Dip to see it...
* Approximate age only
But first I want to talk about what I used to do when I was nine*.
When I was nine*, I spent my breaks at school in the classroom constructing a maze, that eventually grew to six full scrapbook pages. My maze was so devious that I spent one entire scrapbook page drawing a dead end. My reasoning was this - no one would believe that they could possibly be in a dead end. Who would believe that I had spent all that time and effort to simply lead them down a false trail? It would be too big a surprise for any of my nine year-old classmates to even fathom.
(And so it proved - they all gave up on my maze. And having lost my audience, I gave up too.)
After getting through my Dip, I realised yesterday that the same devious urge to surprise and mislead my audience still exists today inside me.
I like writing because I like to surprise people. Writing for me is a way of presenting creative surprises, shocks, twists, and turns.
A script for me is a vehicle for delivering those surprises to an audience. I'm willing to go to ridiculous effort, years of my life, in order to present something different, something which surprises and astounds.
One of the reasons I struggle with scripts is because I often forget the surprises that are in them, given the huge amount of time it takes to finish. I have to apply this lesson to The Gap, and remember the surprises that someone should get approaching the story fresh. And I need to keep projects going until they're made so I get to deliver those surprises.
I can see now that this wish to surprise has been a key driver in my creative writing/paid work/humour/this blog/my approach to just about everything. And it's taken a Dip to see it...
* Approximate age only
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Why I Don't Write: The Dip
I got through a Dip today.
I was asking myself whether I should continue writing. Not whether I should quit writing The Gap and write something else, but whether I should quit writing altogether.
At the same time as I was going through the Dip, I knew that the Dip itself wasn't actually a bad thing. If I did decide to stop writing, then that would be the right decision for me. But if I didn't stop writing (which I have to admit in my heart of hearts seemed the far more likely scenario), then I would learn something important about myself.
I didn't quit. I did learn something important about myself.
My next post will be on what that was.
I was asking myself whether I should continue writing. Not whether I should quit writing The Gap and write something else, but whether I should quit writing altogether.
At the same time as I was going through the Dip, I knew that the Dip itself wasn't actually a bad thing. If I did decide to stop writing, then that would be the right decision for me. But if I didn't stop writing (which I have to admit in my heart of hearts seemed the far more likely scenario), then I would learn something important about myself.
I didn't quit. I did learn something important about myself.
My next post will be on what that was.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Looking Back
Given this blog has been around for a year now (Happy Birthday blog!), I thought it was time to look back and see if I’d learnt anything.
Looking back over my previous posts I can see that:
- I’m more interested in questions than answers. The posts I find most interesting are the ones that explore inner conflicts, live issues, and conflicting positions, rather than the posts that try to provide the definitive answer to a problem.
- I suffer from perfectionism. Just getting stuff done in a systematic and consistent fashion is helping to balance that out.
- Writing is getting easier for me. It no longer tends to put me in a bad mood. In fact, I’m more conscious of the ways it puts me in a good mood.
- Some of my projects have been put to bed (either permanently or temporarily). I’m now solely working on The Gap, and hope to work on The Kingdoms once that is done. I have no further plans, because I can sense how much time and effort I am going to put into The Gap. At the same time, I believe I will finish The Gap and get it made.
- I drink ginger beer now rather than Coke.
Monday, June 1, 2009
How I Write: In the Flow (2)
Today I've had one of the best days of writing I've ever had. Writing today was easy - a state of 'flow'.
What I particularly liked about today's flow state was it felt like a natural space for me to be in. I woke up this morning and I knew that I wanted to write. And that's what I've done, calmly and methodically for the majority of the day. I'd take breaks and then I'd come back to the writing again - not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I didn't feel driven. I felt right.
I've avoided the idea of writing as a full-time occupation for a number of years now, partly because I felt that I wouldn't be able to get the most out of my days, as I regularly find writing so hard that I couldn't spend most of the day doing it.
If I was able to write like today on an ongoing basis - even an occasional ongoing basis - then that reason no longer stacks up.
Because my flow state today was easy. It was effective. It was lasting. And it feels like it will be back.
Here's hoping.
What I particularly liked about today's flow state was it felt like a natural space for me to be in. I woke up this morning and I knew that I wanted to write. And that's what I've done, calmly and methodically for the majority of the day. I'd take breaks and then I'd come back to the writing again - not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I didn't feel driven. I felt right.
I've avoided the idea of writing as a full-time occupation for a number of years now, partly because I felt that I wouldn't be able to get the most out of my days, as I regularly find writing so hard that I couldn't spend most of the day doing it.
If I was able to write like today on an ongoing basis - even an occasional ongoing basis - then that reason no longer stacks up.
Because my flow state today was easy. It was effective. It was lasting. And it feels like it will be back.
Here's hoping.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Why I Write: To Grow Myself
I’ve been realising recently that I really love growing myself, or helping others to grow.
What do I mean by ‘growing myself’? I think it’s about deepening my understanding so I change the way I relate to others, my environment, and even myself.
I love this process of progressively understanding something at a deeper level. For instance, I’m really enjoying working on The Gap, the script I’m writing. As my understanding of the script develops, the way I relate to it changes. I become more and more capable of writing it!
(Plus The Gap is all about people who are growing themselves. So in the process of writing The Gap, I am growing myself by writing about people growing themselves...)
This is also something I find hugely rewarding about my day job. I am encouraged to grow in my job and develop my thinking, and I’m also asked to coach other people to help develop themselves.
I will not be tomorrow who I am today – though mostly it’s hard to tell any difference! I have trouble remembering how I’ve changed. Writing this blog is one way for me to remember who I used to be...
What do I mean by ‘growing myself’? I think it’s about deepening my understanding so I change the way I relate to others, my environment, and even myself.
I love this process of progressively understanding something at a deeper level. For instance, I’m really enjoying working on The Gap, the script I’m writing. As my understanding of the script develops, the way I relate to it changes. I become more and more capable of writing it!
(Plus The Gap is all about people who are growing themselves. So in the process of writing The Gap, I am growing myself by writing about people growing themselves...)
This is also something I find hugely rewarding about my day job. I am encouraged to grow in my job and develop my thinking, and I’m also asked to coach other people to help develop themselves.
I will not be tomorrow who I am today – though mostly it’s hard to tell any difference! I have trouble remembering how I’ve changed. Writing this blog is one way for me to remember who I used to be...
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Albion - Don Quixote
Warning: Contains spoilers from a 400 year-old book.
I’ve recently finished reading Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes. It’s amazing how a novel so old can seem so fresh. I guess that’s why they call it a classic.
Anyway, the purpose of this post is to explore the similarities and differences between Don Quixote and my (as yet unwritten) Albion project.
One of my concerns going into Don Quixote was that I’d find all the ground I wanted to cover in Albion had already been done. Luckily I’ve found these two are not covering the same ground at all. In fact, I think they’re from opposite sides of the planet.
Similarities
Both stories are comedies about mad characters who embrace a chivalric identity – Don Quixote de la Mancha in Don Quixote and King Arthur in Albion. Both characters are so strong in their convictions that they are able to draw others into their madness: Don Quixote has his faithful squire, Sancho Panza; King Arthur has an entire town (and even a country in one iteration).
Differences
Don Quixote is a sustained work of satire. The intention is always to lampoon notions of chivalry by exploding them against the real world. Don Quixote holds up our romantic notions and asks: do these hold up when you test them against the way the world really is? Or are we just making fools of ourselves?
By the end of the novel, the romantic ideal of the pastoral life (a common theme at the time Cervantes was writing) is skewered in precisely the same way as the romantic ideal of chivalry. In Don Quixote, illusions mislead us into folly. Those follies are amusing for the reader, but are a warning against taking our illusions literally. Don Quixote is a comic novel with deeply serious intent.
Albion is more forgiving of illusion – in fact, foolishness is more likely to arise from being unwilling to embrace illusion. Albion is dealing with a world in need of romanticism. The spreading madness of the King goes to the heart of that – chivalry in Albion is an idea whose time has come. Romanticism may not be enough, but it’s a needed step.
And Albion isn't a satire. A comedy, but not a satire.
So ultimately I feel Don Quixote and Albion are quite opposite in intent and approach. Which makes me feel better - I’m glad I’m not in competition with Cervantes!
I’ve recently finished reading Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes. It’s amazing how a novel so old can seem so fresh. I guess that’s why they call it a classic.
Anyway, the purpose of this post is to explore the similarities and differences between Don Quixote and my (as yet unwritten) Albion project.
One of my concerns going into Don Quixote was that I’d find all the ground I wanted to cover in Albion had already been done. Luckily I’ve found these two are not covering the same ground at all. In fact, I think they’re from opposite sides of the planet.
Similarities
Both stories are comedies about mad characters who embrace a chivalric identity – Don Quixote de la Mancha in Don Quixote and King Arthur in Albion. Both characters are so strong in their convictions that they are able to draw others into their madness: Don Quixote has his faithful squire, Sancho Panza; King Arthur has an entire town (and even a country in one iteration).
Differences
Don Quixote is a sustained work of satire. The intention is always to lampoon notions of chivalry by exploding them against the real world. Don Quixote holds up our romantic notions and asks: do these hold up when you test them against the way the world really is? Or are we just making fools of ourselves?
By the end of the novel, the romantic ideal of the pastoral life (a common theme at the time Cervantes was writing) is skewered in precisely the same way as the romantic ideal of chivalry. In Don Quixote, illusions mislead us into folly. Those follies are amusing for the reader, but are a warning against taking our illusions literally. Don Quixote is a comic novel with deeply serious intent.
Albion is more forgiving of illusion – in fact, foolishness is more likely to arise from being unwilling to embrace illusion. Albion is dealing with a world in need of romanticism. The spreading madness of the King goes to the heart of that – chivalry in Albion is an idea whose time has come. Romanticism may not be enough, but it’s a needed step.
And Albion isn't a satire. A comedy, but not a satire.
So ultimately I feel Don Quixote and Albion are quite opposite in intent and approach. Which makes me feel better - I’m glad I’m not in competition with Cervantes!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
What are my goals as a writer?
I came up with this question for discussion at our most recent NZWG Wellington Writer’s Group. Having set it, I then had to try and answer it!
I came up with these answers:
In one year
I want to have finished a first and second draft of The Gap (the script I’m working on), and started to assemble a project team that can actually get it made.
In five years
I want to have a slate of projects with some level of funding attached, so I can reduce the level of non-writing work I have to do.
In ten years
I want to be able to make a good living out of writing things that I want to write!
Now that I’ve defined my goals, I want to think further about how to achieve those goals, and what the obstacles are.
How about you? What are your goals? And do you find goal-setting useful?
I came up with these answers:
In one year
I want to have finished a first and second draft of The Gap (the script I’m working on), and started to assemble a project team that can actually get it made.
In five years
I want to have a slate of projects with some level of funding attached, so I can reduce the level of non-writing work I have to do.
In ten years
I want to be able to make a good living out of writing things that I want to write!
Now that I’ve defined my goals, I want to think further about how to achieve those goals, and what the obstacles are.
How about you? What are your goals? And do you find goal-setting useful?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Watchmen, The Room, and the Shared Experience
I’ve had the pleasure of seeing two films recently that I enjoyed very much, for wildly different reasons. What I want to focus on in this post is the audience response to these films: in one case, unusually divergent, in the other case, eerily similar.
Watchmen has led to a lot of debate amongst people I know and fellow bloggers. Opinion is definitely polarised – and in my opinion, more so than most films. People are responding to the same film in very different ways. I liked the sex scene set to 'Hallelujah' – for others, it’s the height of ludicrousness.
Which brings me to the other extreme.
On Monday, I had the pleasure of seeing The Room for the first time. If you enjoy 'bad movies', you have to see this film. Put simply, it’s the greatest 'bad movie' I have ever seen. The Room is so funny and particular that watching it was a sublime experience, and one I'm looking forward to repeating.
And something I found particularly fascinating was that The Room manages to create a very similar shared experience across viewers.
The four of us who saw it found it hilarious. We laughed at the same points – we made a number of ‘original’ wisecracks. Following up on the film the next day, we realised that most of our off-the-cuff observations were echoed across the Internet – sometimes down to nearly exactly the same line. What we found funny about the film was precisely the same stuff that the legion of Internet/LA fans find funny.
As a result of this, The Room has actually built up a ritualistic set of audience responses in the same way as the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Self-styled super-fans enjoy the shared experience of shouting lines (and spoons!) at the screen. It sounds like they get pretty much the same experience time and time again.
It got me thinking about authorial intention in cinema.
Is The Room a success for delivering such a consistent response, and Watchmen a failure because the audience responds so differently?
Is the aim of screenwriting to get the audience to feel a certain way about your work? And do you fail as a screenwriter if the audience doesn't respond as you expected?
Watchmen has led to a lot of debate amongst people I know and fellow bloggers. Opinion is definitely polarised – and in my opinion, more so than most films. People are responding to the same film in very different ways. I liked the sex scene set to 'Hallelujah' – for others, it’s the height of ludicrousness.
Which brings me to the other extreme.
On Monday, I had the pleasure of seeing The Room for the first time. If you enjoy 'bad movies', you have to see this film. Put simply, it’s the greatest 'bad movie' I have ever seen. The Room is so funny and particular that watching it was a sublime experience, and one I'm looking forward to repeating.
And something I found particularly fascinating was that The Room manages to create a very similar shared experience across viewers.
The four of us who saw it found it hilarious. We laughed at the same points – we made a number of ‘original’ wisecracks. Following up on the film the next day, we realised that most of our off-the-cuff observations were echoed across the Internet – sometimes down to nearly exactly the same line. What we found funny about the film was precisely the same stuff that the legion of Internet/LA fans find funny.
As a result of this, The Room has actually built up a ritualistic set of audience responses in the same way as the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Self-styled super-fans enjoy the shared experience of shouting lines (and spoons!) at the screen. It sounds like they get pretty much the same experience time and time again.
It got me thinking about authorial intention in cinema.
Is The Room a success for delivering such a consistent response, and Watchmen a failure because the audience responds so differently?
Is the aim of screenwriting to get the audience to feel a certain way about your work? And do you fail as a screenwriter if the audience doesn't respond as you expected?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Why I Write: For the Money (2)
It’s hard to argue with the idea that screenwriters should be properly recompensed for their hard work, and that they should insist on decent writing rates and conditions.
But equally it’s hard to argue with the screenwriter that is willing to work for free in order to ‘break into the industry’ or simply get their vision up on screen.
I can see the virtue in both sides of this argument. So this is a debate where polarity management comes in useful; polarity management being the idea that apparently opposite sides of an argument can each have a good case to make, and the aim is to acknowledge and manage the debate rather than claim one side as the winner.
Helen and I were talking about this yesterday, and we came up with a principle that I feel incorporates the two sides of the argument for me. It’s this:
If someone is going to make a profit out of your work, then you as the screenwriter should be making a profit as well.
As screenwriters we don’t want to get ripped off. So it’s up to us to protect the investment that we’ve put into our work. And therefore to insist on decent writing rates and conditions.
But the ‘if’ in the principle above is a big one. A lot of films aren’t really making money, so where is this profit we’re meant to be earning as a screenwriter going to come from? So even though we should protect ourselves, we should be realistic about the expected return.
And sometimes that return won't be money - there are different kinds of 'profit'. As a screenwriter, you want to make sure that your input into the finished film is properly recognised, and therefore you're rewarded in that way.
Something that further confuses the situation in the film industry is that it can often be hard to tell who’s making money and who isn’t. For those of you who haven’t seen it, Hix has linked to a very good post about Monkey Points. The key idea: make sure you sure you’re in line for a percentage of the gross profit rather than net profit. You’ll probably never see another cent if you wait for the net profit to come through.
Oh, and here’s a link to my earlier post on writing for the money as well.
But equally it’s hard to argue with the screenwriter that is willing to work for free in order to ‘break into the industry’ or simply get their vision up on screen.
I can see the virtue in both sides of this argument. So this is a debate where polarity management comes in useful; polarity management being the idea that apparently opposite sides of an argument can each have a good case to make, and the aim is to acknowledge and manage the debate rather than claim one side as the winner.
Helen and I were talking about this yesterday, and we came up with a principle that I feel incorporates the two sides of the argument for me. It’s this:
If someone is going to make a profit out of your work, then you as the screenwriter should be making a profit as well.
As screenwriters we don’t want to get ripped off. So it’s up to us to protect the investment that we’ve put into our work. And therefore to insist on decent writing rates and conditions.
But the ‘if’ in the principle above is a big one. A lot of films aren’t really making money, so where is this profit we’re meant to be earning as a screenwriter going to come from? So even though we should protect ourselves, we should be realistic about the expected return.
And sometimes that return won't be money - there are different kinds of 'profit'. As a screenwriter, you want to make sure that your input into the finished film is properly recognised, and therefore you're rewarded in that way.
Something that further confuses the situation in the film industry is that it can often be hard to tell who’s making money and who isn’t. For those of you who haven’t seen it, Hix has linked to a very good post about Monkey Points. The key idea: make sure you sure you’re in line for a percentage of the gross profit rather than net profit. You’ll probably never see another cent if you wait for the net profit to come through.
Oh, and here’s a link to my earlier post on writing for the money as well.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
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…
Thursday, March 12, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
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!
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!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
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?
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?
Saturday, January 17, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
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...)
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...)
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