Alexa Adams from Milford, CT asks:
My scene count is making my screenplay too long, but I can’t see cutting any of the scenes I’ve written. What should I do?

Expert Martha Alderson replies.

The job of a good writer is to know which scenes to cut and which ones to keep. You, as a writer, needed to write each and every one of those scenes to better understand the characters. A movie-goer or reader needs only scenes that work on a multitude of levels at once.

Tips:

1) Write your project all the way through each draft. If you continually go back to the beginning, you will find the earlier scenes harder to cut because of all the time and work you have devoted to them.

2) Track your scenes using the Scene Tracker Template or some other technique that shows you which scenes provide all seven essential elements (See my article Create Scenes that Sizzle – 7 Essential Elements) at once. The harder your scenes work, the greater the weight they carry and the more they probably belong in the project.

3) Plot out your scenes on a Plot Planner or by using some other technique. Being able to see which scenes are episodic and which ones flow through cause and effect improves your ability to know which ones to cut and which ones to keep. A scene that has been foreshadowed in an earlier scene or one that grows from the proceeding scene becomes an essential piece of the overall picture that emerges.

4) While you plot out your scenes, look to see if the stakes in each scene rise in intensity one step at time. Chances are that the scenes that do not carry more conflict, tension and suspense than the one that came before may need to be cut.

5) A good writer knows that in order for a certain passage or sentence or character or plot turn to be in a story is not because of the beauty of the writing or the cleverness in the plotting or the depth of the characters, although these things are important in order to captivate the reader. A good writer knows that each line and each element in each scene belongs there because it has a definite purpose in the overall scheme of things.

Martha Alderson is an international plot and story consultant for writers. Her clients include best-selling authors, screenwriters, writing teachers and fiction editors. She created a line of plot tools for writers, including a book, dvds, and the Scene Tracker Kit. She has taught plot workshops through University of California at Santa Cruz extension, Learning Annex, writers clubs and conferences, and privately. Contact her via contact@blockbusterplots.com

Source with permission: The Writers Store

Every story spans a period of time. Story can be defined as conflict shown in scene, meaning that most writers will treat time in scene rather than in summary.

An example of a partial scene from Rick Bragg’s memoir: Ava’s Man:

“Charlie felt the hot rush of shot fly past his face, and his legs shook under him with the boom of the gun. But it was a clean miss, and he started to run at Jerry, closing the distance even as Jerry fished in his pocket for another load.

Twenty feet.

Jerry cursed and broke open the breech.

Twelve feet.

He slapped in the fresh shell.

Eight feet.

He snapped the gun closed.

Six feet.

He threw it to his shoulder.

Four feet.

He saw a fist the size of a lard bucket come flying at his nose.”

Every high point in a story must be played out in scene on the page, moment-by-moment in real time. The technique of slowing things down forces the stakes in a story ever higher. At the same time, the stakes also rise for the writer. Many beginning writers hide from the pressure of creating scenes by relying on summary. These same writers hold the mistaken belief that they can control things better by “telling” what happens rather than by “showing” what happens in a scene. Consider, instead, the idea that by breaking down each scene to its smallest parts you retain control.

Essential Element #1: Time and Place

The first layer of every scene deals with time and setting. Often this layer is implied or understood from the scenes and summaries that precede it. Either way, be sure to ground your readers in the “where” and “when” of the scene. The last thing you want is for your reader to awaken from the dream you have so carefully crafted due to disorientation or confusion.

In the scene from Ava’s Man, the time is established in the earlier part of the scene – “They were getting ready for supper just a few weeks later when”

Essential Element #2: Character Emotional Development

If conflict, tension and suspense drive the reader to turn the page or send the viewer to the edge of her seat, the character emotional development motivates them. Readers read stories and viewers go to the movies to learn about a character’s emotional development. The word development implies growth or change. Therefore character becomes a layer.

Using the example, Charlie’s character emotional development has deepened over the scope of the story thus far. “Then Charlie did one of the bravest things I have ever heard of, a thing his children swear to. He opened the door and stepped outside to meet his enemy empty-handed, and just started walking.”

Essential Element #3: Goal

The protagonist has a long-term goal for the duration of the story and smaller goals for every scene. They may or may not reach the scene goal by scene’s end, but viewers and readers who know what is at stake for the character are more apt to cheer for the character’s successes and mourn his failures.

For example, in Ava’s Man we know that Charlie’s goal for the portion of the scene written above is to close the distance between himself and Jerry before Jerry loads the gun.

Essential Element #4: Dramatic Action

Dramatic action that unfolds moment-by-moment on the page makes up the next layer of scene.

In our example, the dramatic action intensifies because of the “ticking clock” – will Charlie stop Jerry in time or will he get shot?

Essential Element #5: Conflict

Embedded within dramatic action lies a layer or two of conflict, tension and/or suspense. The conflict does not have to be overt, but it must be present in some form. Fill a scene with tension or suspense or something unknown lurking in the shadows and you have yourself an exciting story. Remember that setbacks and failure create suspense, conflict and tension, not success or good news.

Charlie’s dilemma has conflict, tension, AND suspense. Will he or won’t he? is a simple and powerful set-up.

Essential Element #6: Emotional Change

Just as the action in every scene affects the overall emotional growth of your characters as a reflection of the entire work, the action also affects your characters emotional state at the scene level. In other words, the character’s mood changes because of what is said or done in that specific scene.

In Ava’s Man, Charlie starts the scene angry that Jerry hurt his friend, Hootie, “just for the sport of it.” The more he thinks about “now this man had come to his house, bringing the treat of violence to where his wife and children lived,” the angrier and more determined he becomes.

Anger consumes Charlie. Then Jerry says he is coming inside the house, and Charlie becomes furious (an emotional change in intensity).

Charlie’s anger gets him to his enemy in time to stop him cold only to see “a huge figure hurl itself at him from the shadows,” changing his emotional state again, moving it even higher.

Essential Element #7: Thematic Significance

Thematic significance not only creates mood, it also creates the final layer of scene and the overall spirit of your story. Your reason for writing the story, what you want your readers to take away from having read it holds the key to your theme. When the details you use in scene support the thematic significance you have an intricately layered scene that provides meaning and depth to the overall plot.

The theme of Ava’s Man could be that a man who drinks too much but is loyal and just, inspires respect and becomes legendary.

Our example scene, Charlie’s friend Hootie is accused of stealing Jerry’s whiskey. Charlie is not drinking or drunk in this scene, but the fact that alcohol is the object of the conflict creates thematic significance.

Early in the scene, Bragg establishes that Jerry has done wrong to Hootie. As much as anger motivates Charlie’s actions, so does his deep sense of loyalty to Hootie. This reinforces the idea that Charlie is loyal and, by emphasizing the concept, also strengthens the theme.

At the end of the scene, in summary we are told that Jerry never came back, “maybe because [he] respected [Charlie]” Yet another of the thematic elements is highlighted, deepening the thematic meaning to the entire piece.

Creating a Scene Tracker

Create a Scene Tracker for your project using all seven essential elements for a scene that sizzles. Track each scene for the seven elements. The elements you locate right may very well be your strengths in writing. The missing ones may create more of a challenge for you.

Take it one layer at a time. Trust the process and good luck!

Martha Alderson is an international plot and story consultant for writers. Her clients include best-selling authors, screenwriters, writing teachers and fiction editors. She created a line of plot tools for writers, including a book, dvds, and the Scene Tracker Kit. She has taught plot workshops through University of California at Santa Cruz extension, Learning Annex, writers clubs and conferences, and privately. Contact her via contact@blockbusterplots.com

Source with permission: The Writers Store

Synopsis:

Stories are stronger when characters are moved by the events; credible emotional reactions allow the audience to connect more deeply with the work. But if a writer gets carried away with emotion, he’s apt to sacrifice plot momentum. Here are some ways to keep the train of events on track and moving, and still get to the emotional stations.

When characters share emotions with the audience, it deepens the experience of the story. Viewers are made available to the storyteller through emotion: writers seek an emotional connection with their audience the same way actors and directors do. A smart plot is intellectually satisfying, but movies are about more than that. Audiences expect emotional stories. A clever plot is satisfying on its own, but one that fools and surprises us as much as the characters is all the more satisfying because in movies we like being manipulated, startled and stunned.

But writers who get carried away with emotion can sacrifice the plot’s momentum. We want the audience’s emotional connection to our stories, but it’s also our job to craft a sound plot with a rising action that builds through obstacles and complications, to crisis, climax and resolution. We generally don¹t want the dry plot of a docudrama or the melodrama of soap opera. We want a credible plot that carries us along emotionally.

Basic cause-and-effect plotting, where scenes specifically link actions and emotional reactions, helps keep a plot on track, building from one important point to the next. But a plot must do more than add story beats, the momentum of these beats must increase as the story unfolds.

We can intensify a story’s momentum and heightening the audience’s emotional involvement with sequences of preparation and consequences. We construct a sequence that sets up an important event in the protagonist’s (or another main character’s) future, then follow the character through the event to its end.

Preparations and consequences offer the screenwriter the opportunity to include emotional content without sacrificing momentum through plotting a sequence of scenes that uses directed action focused on a specific result. This keeps the story moving forward while the audience still gets to connect with the characters. The concentration on the lead-in to the scenes of conflict adds dramatic weight to the action, making the scenes more powerful. Scenes in such sequences force the audience to worry about the future of the characters as they prepare, and feel with the characters in the wake of the events.

Preparation Scenes

A scene of preparation consists of an important character (or characters) getting ready for an approaching dramatic event. Sports movies and war films contain the most obvious examples of this type of set-up. The former have locker room scenes where coaches psyche up the athletes for the big game. War films show soldiers before the battle, serious and nervous, anticipating the pressure of the impending conflict. Tension builds for the audience during these scenes because they feel the characters’ anxiety and worry about the potential outcomes. If the event isn’t truly important to the character, his anxieties, excitement, or anticipation will feel forced and undercut exactly what you’re trying to achieve.

Most films make use of preparation scenes somewhere in their plots. In The 3:10 To Yuma, almost the whole last act consists of Dan and Wade waiting in the hotel room for the train to arrive. Part of Dan’s preparation is to send his son out of harm’s way with Mr. Butterfield. In this scene we see his courage and fears. Twice the director has started these scenes as we near the fateful hour on Dan’s watch ticking down. Just before the climax starts, the director opens on Dan, head in hands, the watch held tightly in his hands. Wade sits across from him, sketching in the Bible. He makes a remark about the watch and Dan hurls the pocket watch across the room. We know what Dan’s up against and we know how he feels, and feel the tension with him as he heads off with Wade to meet his fate.

Preparation Scenes Build Tension

Several times, Se7en readies the audience along with the characters for upcoming events. Once the detectives have the lead to what turns out to be the “Sloth” crime scene, a big buildup illustrates the SWAT Team getting ready to move on the location. A lot of time is spent showing policemen being briefed and readied before they shove off.

In act three, we see Somerset and Mills preparing to go with John Doe to the final crime scene. It starts with the men in the washroom shaving their chests for the wires they”ll be wearing. Somerset does his best to prepare Mills, wanting him to be ready for anything. If the man in the moon should pop out of his head, “I want you to expect it,” he says. Then Mills makes a small joke and the two men laugh, the audience with them. But as they return to their work, the seriousness of the situation overtakes them, and words slip away. They’re worried, and the audience can see it in their faces and their reactions. The next shot shows the men in silence, buttoning their shirts over their wires, putting on bulletproof vests and their holsters. They check their guns. All of this communicates to the audience the life-or-death nature of the situation they face. We then cut to John Doe, in orange jumpsuit, head shaved, hands cuffed, escorted down the stairs. The sequence builds until all three are in the car, helicopters flying over them, other vehicles monitoring their every move; all the while the looming catastrophe hangs in the future.

The interesting thing about this sequence is that it readies the audience for another scene that is still meant to prepare them for the climax. John Doe, Mills, and Somerset, get into the car on their way to the real dramatic event, the final revelation of the crimes. All of this heightens the tension by increasing the audience’s worry (and plays into how screenwriters build suspense, another topic worth exploring).

Comedies use scenes of preparations and consequences, too. In Juno, once Juno’s situation has been established, the plot introduces the potential adoptive parents: Vanessa and Mark Loring. The scenes actually show Vanessa, though we only see her hands, preparing her home for the meeting with Juno. She wants everything perfect, her picture straight, every towel folded.

Dramatic works also rely on these types of scenes. In One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, after the ruckus over the cigarettes (spurred on by the revelation to McMurphy that most of his fellow patients voluntarily committed themselves), McMurphy, Cheswick and the Chief are subdued by the attendants and taken for treatment/punishment. The three men are led down a hallway and seated outside a room. McMurphy doesn’t know what’s happening and stays his usual lighthearted self. The Chief keeps up his mute, impassive facade. But clearly Cheswick knows what’s coming. He whimpers while Mac watches, puzzled by his reaction. The attendants carry Cheswick into the next room. McMurphy watches, clueless, but the audience anticipates what’s next: electroshock therapy. What’s wonderfully original about this sequence is how the audience, through the use of Cheswick’s character, worries about McMurphy before he himself does.

As Mac and the Chief wait their turn, tension builds. Then Mac offers the Chief a stick of gum, and another revelation comes: the Chief speaks. “Thanks,” he says.

Shocked, McMurphy offers him another stick just to be sure he heard right, and is delighted to be sharing the Chief’s secret. And now, while the audience is still anticipating the upcoming treatment, they watch these men interact and plan their escape. This develops both men’s characters and the audience’s relationship with them. When the medical staff brings Cheswick out on a gurney, still as death, the audience is totally aligned with Mac and the Chief as they view Cheswick, and quiet down.

But McMurphy still doesn’t get it. The attendants come for him, and, tickled by the Chief’s deception, he heads in with a spring in his step. Inside, he obliges the medical staff’s every wish. With forehead swabbed, electrodes in place, mouthpiece in his teeth, the audience sees ­ and feels ­ the current hit him.

This sequence builds tension by using Cheswick’s reactions as the barometer of events to come. Mac and the Chief wait for Cheswick to finish his treatment and the audience anticipates the danger soon to befall the men. But the writers disarm us. They let the two men connect emotionally, deepening the meaning of the repressive shock treatments.

The Consequences

The result of a dramatic event, shown in the consequences of the action, puts the focus on how the action has cost or benefited the characters, both physically and emotionally. Here the characters process – try to make sense of – what’s just happened, and the audience does the same. Time allows the situation to settle for the characters, as well as the audience, and it broadens our understanding of the events.

The consequence scene for the sequence above from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest starts back on the ward. The ubiquitous mood music is playing; patients are sitting down for yet another therapy session with Nurse Ratched and it seems like an ordinary day. Then McMurphy enters, shambling dully across the room. The men’s hearts sink – he’s had a lobotomy. Even the Chief, who is in the back shuffling with his broom, looks dismayed. Then Mac suddenly jumps, scaring them, and he’s back to his devil-may-care self, promising to be a good boy for Nurse Ratchet and not cause any more trouble.

This scene works wonderfully. It offers a scare, and then relieves with a laugh. It shows the audience McMurphy is all right and that the effect is he now intends to behave himself knowing what the cost is if he doesn’t.

In Juno, the result of Vanessa and Mark’s interview is shown after Juno and her father leave. Vanessa, tears in her eyes, smiles happily at her husband and wraps her arms around him. In The 3:10 To Yuma the consequences are shown in Wade’s reaction to his henchman Charlie Prince shooting Dan. (Spoiler Alert!) Wade processes the action, and in a split second responds with a death force that stuns everyone, including himself. He then completes Dan’s mission, turning himself in and getting on the train.

In Se7en, the direct aftermath of the climatic scene of the movie (where the final murder is revealed) is the film’s resolution. We see the ultimate effect of the events on Somerset: he will keep up the good fight and not give in to the forces John Doe represents.

Preparations, Consquences & Reversals

Preparations and consequences often set the audience up for one result, but then deliver its opposite. These are wonderful tools when plotting a reversal. The aftermath of the electroshock therapy scene for McMurphy is exactly this. The audience believes worst has happened, but suddenly the scene spins and everything is all right. When the action completes in a surprising way, the audience experiences a stronger emotional impact.

The beginning of Jerry Maguire illustrates this beautifully. Jerry is laying out exposition for us, but he is really preparing his Mission Statement. His frantic intensity drives the action and reveals how important the Mission Statement, entitled “The Things We Think But Do Not Say, The Future of Our Business,” is to his psyche. Jerry has the memos copied and distributed. He returns to his hotel room where he immediately has second thoughts. He tries to recall the memos, but it’s too late. As he panics, the audience panics with him. Then in the following scene as he nervously prepares to enter the lobby the next day, he’s met with applause. The audience is whipped around and smiling with him. As he exits the lobby, the focus shifts to two agents. “How long you give him?” asks the first agent. “Mmmm. A week,” says the other. A second reversal hits the audience, and both feel right.

Preparations and consequences are strong tools for developing and outlining a plot. They’ll help you design the sequence of scenes so that you know where to place the emotional emphasis. When actually writing these scenes, remember to find the emotion and use it in an interesting yet authentic way.

About the Author:

Linda Cowgill is a screen and television writer who teaches at Loyola Marymount University and the Los Angeles Film School. Her feature film, “Opposing Force,” was released by Orion Pictures in 1986. She has written for such shows as “Quincy,” “The Young Riders” and “Life Goes On,” for which she won a Genesis Award. Most recently, she optioned her script “Honor Student” to World International Network. She received her MFA from UCLA where she won a Jim Morrison Award for best short film. Ms. Cowgill is the author of the popular film school textbook Writing Short Films and Secrets of Screenplay Structure.

If you make explicit what you already know intuitively about the structure of movies and stories, you’ll have yourself a conscious plotting tool. The rhythm of story is in all of us right now, especially for those who were read to as youngsters and continue to read today.

Storytellers often intuitively tap into this rhythm and are able to weave all three plot lines without much conscious thought to structure. When they get stuck, it is always because one or more of the three elements has been ignored by:

• Concentrating on action only, forgetting that character provides interest and is the primary reason that people go to the movies and read books.
• Organizing solely around the character and overlooking the fact that dramatic action provides the excitement every story needs.
• Forgetting to develop the overall meaning or the thematic significance of their stories. When the dramatic action changes the character at depth over time, the story becomes thematically significance.

Plot Tip: The best way to become a better writer is to read a wide variety of good literature. Not only will you learn how the pros develop all three plotlines, you will discover useful tricks along the way.

Plot the Overall Story

Plot is made up of three intertwining threads:

• Character emotional development.
• Dramatic action.
• Thematic significance.

In other words, the protagonist acts or reacts. In so doing, he or she is changed and something significant is learned. Whether you are a writer who likes to outline first or to face a blank page, begin your story with a character who wants something so fiercely that she will fight for it. Thus begins both the character emotional development plot line and the action plot line. Tie the character’s private passion to a bigger, more universal public subject, and the thematic plot line is launched.

The story builds as the character confronts one antagonist after another. The six basic antagonists are: another person, society at large, nature, machine, God, and/or the character herself. A story ends when the final cliffhanger is resolved and the character has been changed at depth. Here is an example:

In the first quarter of National Book Award Ernest J. Gaines’ A Lesson before Dying, Grant, the protagonist, desperately wishes he could “get away from here.” Grant’s private fear of responsibility and his proclivity for running and hiding conversely introduces the bigger and more universal idea of how resistance and defiance of what is expected is actually heroic. So begins the thematic plotline.

Throughout the middle of the story, Grant is confronted by the gatekeepers to his freedom: his aunt, a family friend, his girlfriend, the white establishment, a man condemned to die by electrocution, his community at large and ultimately himself. Through dramatic action that is linked by cause and effect, each antagonist teaches Grant about himself, what it means to be a man, and the nature of heroism.

In the final quarter of the story, Grant, through witnessing another man’s struggle for dignity and his ultimate heroism, is changed to his core. By staying where he is needed, Grant defies the expected and becomes the hero of his own life.

In this example, working together seamlessly, are the three plot lines:

• Character emotional development.
• Dramatic action.
• Thematic significance.

The dramatic action reveals more and more of Grant’s emotional development. The dialogue and narrative and mood and character and even the details of the dramatic action, both in the tangible objects of each scene and in the metaphors they represent, all reinforce the thematic significance. For example, the school children Grant teaches drag a small oak tree through the mud to school. Though an unexpected choice, in the end, this small detail turns out to “be a beautiful Christmas tree” and reinforces the theme.

Plot Tip: Pick up your favorite book or movie and consider its theme. See if you can articulate in one sentence what the author is trying to say with her work. What techniques does the author use to prove this underlying meaning?

Plot the Parts of the Story

Every story is divided into three parts: the beginning, the middle and the end. In a movie, these parts are generally known as: Act One, Act Two and Act Three. Each of the parts or acts has specific structural parameters that are almost universal:

• The first quarter of the scenes or pages of a movie or book constitutes the beginning.
• The middle or Act Two makes up one half of the entire project.
• The end is one quarter.
• Within each part and interacting together in uniquely different ways are the:
• Character emotional development plot line.
• Dramatic action plot line.
• Thematic significance plot line.

The Beginning

The beginning or the first quarter of the book or movie usually:

• Introduces the core conflict of the story which becomes the basis of the dramatic action.
• Introduces all the major characters.
• Establishes most of the protagonist’s pertinent emotional and psychological plot information.
• Introduces the theme through showing details.
• Ends on a cliffhanger that propels the protagonist into the unique world of the story.

The Middle

Once your characters leave the beginning, they have crossed into the heart of the story world. The middle is where the main action of your story takes place. This long, empty expanse and its many demands often appears daunting, like a huge wasteland waiting to devour the writer.

The middle constitutes a whopping one half of the entire project and is no place for the action to meander. Understand that when you hit the brick wall that often lies in wait for you in the middle of the middle, it is not you. It is the nature of the beast.

In the middle:

• The stakes of the character emotional development plot line and the dramatic action plot line steadily rise. The writer must come up with one tension, conflict or suspense scene after another, each with more significance than the last. This can be especially hard for writers who fall in love with their characters and don’t want to see anything bad happen to them.
• The highest point of the story so far – the crisis comes toward the end of the middle of the story. Each scene in the middle portion of your story serves to march the protagonist one step closer to the crisis. The protagonist believes she is marching closer and closer to her long-term personal goal. When the crisis hits, she is shocked. The reader, however, has experienced the steady incline and feels the inevitability of this shocker from the linkage between each scene and from each thematic detail.
• The energy of the story drops off for a bit after the intensity of the crisis to allow the reader or the viewer to catch his or her breath. The protagonist, confronted with a potentially life-threatening or ego-threatening situation, finally sees him or herself for who they truly are. Now he has to make a decision. Is he going to rationalize his way out of change? Or does he accept the challenge to move out of his comfort zone and risk the unknown to live his life differently for evermore?

The End

In the end:

• Once the reader or viewer and the character have had a moment of reprieve after the crisis, it is time to start cranking up the tension and the conflicts again. The end is near. The stakes are high.
• All scenes are required to put the protagonist in situations that force him to make choices, thereby “showing“ the reader which direction he chooses.
• Each scene in the end section builds in significance and relevance through rising tension and conflict until your protagonist reaches the climax of the entire story.
• It is best if the dramatic action and the character emotional development and the thematic significance all collide at the same moment. But even if they occur in different scenes, the three plot lines must show the final confrontation of the biggest hurdle, greatest challenge, and toughest test.
• The climax does not have to be an all-out war, full of explosions and death. What this biggest and most important scene does have to have is meaning to the overall story.

An Example:

In the first three chapters, which represent the first quarter of the book almost exactly to the page, Nobel Laureate William Golding’s Lord of the Flies introduces:

• All the boys.
• The major characters’ emotional/psychological information.
• The dilemma the boys face bereft of adults on a deserted island.
• The theme as being the defect of society can be traced back to the defect of human nature.
• Golding shows this theme on many different levels throughout the piece. A few examples in the beginning are:
• The choirboys marching in military fashion in such severe heat that one of the boys, Simon, faints.
• The boys immediately establish rules
• The littlest boys fear a beast looking to devour them

Plot Tip: Pick up your favorite book or movie and divide the total page count or total time of the movie by four. Now go to the section of the book or movie that represents the end of the first quarter. Look for a shift in the story that indicates the protagonist is leaving behind their ordinary world for the story world. Analyze this major transition point to find out how your favorite writer signified the passage.

The middle of Lord of the Flies begins in summary, showing that time has passed and establishing that the characters have indeed entered the heart of the story.

• Almost immediately, Jack, the boy who represents evil, dons his colored clay mask and refers to it as the camouflage used in warfare.
• Because he takes his group on a hunt rather than watch the fire, Jack and the appointed leader, Ralph, have a rift.
• As the middle portion of the story develops, more and more of civilized life disintegrates. The more the domestic order breaks down, the more the group loses control of itself.
• Within these pages, the stakes of the dramatic action and the character emotional development grow higher and higher, each with greater and greater significance.
• Near the end of the middle, the tension and conflict steadily rises to the breaking point when all the boys in a ritual frenzy turn into a mob and beat Simon to death.
• This crisis is filled with dramatic tension and represents significant emotional development for both major characters in uniquely different ways. The scene demonstrates an aspect of the theme and carries enormous energy in the story, and sets all the characters on a path from which they are not able to turn away.
• Ralph clearly sees what they did as murder and becomes frightened, fighting to maintain his civilized self. Jack becomes paranoid and even more of a cruel dictator.

Plot tip: Pick up your favorite book or movie again and go to the section that represents three quarters of the entire project. Work your way backwards until you find the crisis or the highest point in the story so far. Analyze what your favorite writer did at this next major transition point.

The end of Lord of the Fliesis filled with scenes that show:

• Ralph’s struggle for sanity.
• Jack’s further descent into savagery.
• Another character death.
• Cruelty, torture, and destruction prevail.
• Evil triumphs.
• The story culminates as the entire island burns and Ralph runs for his life.

Plot tip: Pick up your favorite book or movie again and go to the section that represents the final one-quarter of the entire project. Work your way backwards until you find the climax or the highest point in the entire story. Analyze what your favorite writer did in this climatic scene.

Conclusion

Plot comes in threes: Character Emotional Development, Dramatic Action, and Thematic Significance. Story Structure comes in threes: the Beginning, the Middle and the End. Each of the three plot lines deepens each part of the story structure. Each of the story parts grows into the whole. The rhythm is there. As a reader, you’ve always known this. Now, as a writer, find it and make it your own.

Writing Exercise

To help you with Character Emotional/Psychological Plot Information – Answer the following questions:

• What is the protagonist’s personal goal?
• Dream?
• That stands in her way?
• What does she stand to lose if not successful?
• What is her flaw?
• Strength?
• What does she hate?
• Love?
• Fear?
• What is her secret?

Martha Alderson is an international plot and story consultant for writers. Her clients include best-selling authors, screenwriters, writing teachers and fiction editors. She created a line of plot tools for writers, including a book, dvds, and the Scene Tracker Kit. She has taught plot workshops through University of California at Santa Cruz extension, Learning Annex, writers clubs and conferences, and privately. Contact her via contact@blockbusterplots.com

Source with permission: The Writers Store

Working with Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Jason Miller and the legendary Tennessee Williams offered me a tremendous entrée into the magical world of storytelling. As American icons, their extraordinary talent inspired the world; and as screenwriters, their remarkable ability to work through the visceral process of storytelling taught me that great stories communicate simple truths that reflect the poetic dimensions of the human soul. Not only do powerful characters help us understand our lives, their stories reflect our core values as human beings. But how do we create these ideas and feelings as a story for the big screen? How can we be certain that a screenplay delivers the maximum impact, both emotionally, and as entertainment? Here are five steps from the trenches – the Five S’s of Screenwriting – that invite you into the process: 1) Story 2) Storytelling 3) Structure 4) Sequences and 5) Spine.

Story

Story creates the deeper understanding about human nature that we experience when we hear or see what has happened to another human being. Whether it’s an incident in the life of someone we know, the true-life experience of someone in the news, the adventures of a fictional character, or the heroic life of a compelling historical figure, we are fascinated by the progression of events that a human being encounters, and this progression of events is called plot. However, what engages our imagination on a human level is how the main character reacts to this progression of events, and this cumulative insight is called story.

A good story features a main character, or protagonist, who confronts a strong moral choice. This is true in comedy as well as drama, and the best stories feature a protagonist who struggles with identifiable human flaws. The moral choice can be very simple or complex, but it must test the inner moral strength of the main character against his human flaws, not just toward achieving his outward goal, but through his internal transformation, which occurs in his conscience and emotional life. As the story progresses, the hero confronts other characters and situations that support, negate, and challenge his ability to overcome the odds and achieve his goal, but what is satisfying to the audience is the internal triumph that occurs throughout the external struggle, such that, at the end of the story, the audience understands in a profound way what the story is about.

Storytelling

Storytelling is how we tell the story. It’s a process, rather than a formula. Storytelling begins with defining what the story is about as an idea. This is usually called theme, although theme is more subtle than an abstract idea. It’s what we feel about the story, as revealed through the moral dilemma of the main character, in opposition to other characters. For example, if you were writing a story about freedom, an interesting approach would be to create a world where the main character longs for freedom, but is subjected to servitude by his life situation, or imprisoned as a consequence of his actions. Alternately, if you were creating a story with trust at its dramatic center, there would be strong elements of betrayal within the opposing elements and characters of the story.

The second major storytelling decision is defining where the story begins. Most writers take the easy way out. They begin with back story. The result is a story that never takes off until about page 40. Ugh! The preferable approach is to pinpoint the theme of the story, based on the main character’s inner conflict. Die Hard, starring Bruce Willis, is a great example. The story begins with a man who is afraid to fly whose goal is to win back the love and respect of his family. He confronts a hostage situation involving his estranged wife, and all of a sudden, his courage is tested to the max. The combination of his internal conflict and simple goal, together with the challenge of the hostage situation sets the story into fast motion, from beginning to end.

The third storytelling decision is choosing the genre that tells the story. Genre tells the audience how they should feel about the story, whether they should laugh, smile, cry, think, scream, or just enjoy the ride. Genre is so crucial to the movie-going experience, some screenwriters begin with a genre, and then create the idea and story concept.

The fourth storytelling task is creating a point-of-view character within the story. This character interacts with the main character throughout the story to help the audience understand what is going on inside the main character. Interestingly, the point-of-view character also serves as the storyteller inside the story through which you, as writer, establish yourself. Although this is a difficult task at the onset, frequently we, as writers, make this decision unconsciously during the first draft. Despite our conscious efforts, the point-of-view character jumps off the page, easily recognizable by readers.

Structure

Structure is form. Screenplay structure is invisible form. Syd Field, who is internationally recognized for his landmark book Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, defines screenplay form in three-act structure better than anyone else, which is why his work is widely respected among professionals:

The Set-up establishes the main character and dramatic situation.

The Act I Plot Point features the main character’s primary story decision, in opposition to the antagonist.

The Mid-Point is the moment when the main character is forced into the antagonist’s world, thereby redefining the story premise, this time by the antagonist.

The Act II Plot Point is the lowest point in the story where the main character has been defeated by the antagonist and lost his motivation.

The Ending is the last ten pages, wherein the main character realizes a deeper understanding of his struggle, and summons up the courage to defeat the antagonist.

Sequences

As a producer, I enjoyed learning the art of creating sequences by working with directors and editors in the editing room. This is one of the hallmarks of my approach to screenwriting, which is why it is prominently featured in my upcoming book. Although this can be a complex task, for purposes of discussion, here are some basics to get you started thinking in film sequences:

Each scene is made up of a series of shots. Each sequence is made up of a series of scenes. Each sequence builds upon the next sequence to create story progression. Story progression occurs when story sequences build upon one another in a logical way, moving the story forward through character conflict. In a major motion picture, or studio picture, there are usually 12 sequences that build towards the final climax. The story moves forward in 12 major story beats, or film sequences, that reflect the 12-Sequence Story. Here is a shorthand summary:

1. The main character faces a strong moral dilemma in achieving a goal.

2. The antagonist poses opposition, both morally and to the goal.

3. The main character confronts the major complication, but proceeds into the story.

4. The story moves into a new world, and the main character makes an achievement.

5. The antagonist takes control of the story, sets the counter-plot in motion.

6. The main character moves forward, believing himself to be victorious, but finds the antagonist to be equal and opposing.

7. The main character restates the goal, with renewed conviction, but experiences his first setback.

8. The antagonist spins the counter-plot forward, and achieves momentum against the main character.

9. The protagonist experiences defeat at the hand of the antagonist, and loses his moral strength.

10. The protagonist loses the will to achieve his goal, but resuscitates his motivation and moral strength.

11. The protagonist restates his goal and summons up his moral courage. The antagonist restates his mission to destroy the protagonist, as well as his motivation and courage.

12. The protagonist and antagonist prepare for confrontation, but the protagonist experiences an epiphany of moral courage that gives him what it takes to defeat the antagonist. The story resolves with the protagonist understanding his life with renewed meaning and understanding.

Spine

Just in case screenwriting seems simple, please allow me to introduce you to the world of advanced screenwriting, the world of spine. This is an abstract world where (even veteran) screenwriters labor in pain, sometimes without professional breakthrough, sometimes without financial reward. When the breakthrough finally happens, however, there is magic on the screen!

Spine begins with discovering what your story is about through character behavior. It is about creating a unifying depth within your story, character by character, action by action, sequence by sequence, layer upon layer. The surprise is that once you discover what your story is about on a profound level, there are an infinite number of insights and details you can infuse into the material through character behavior, actions, and images. The challenge is to discover this unifying idea or principle that synthesizes what the story is about in simple terms. The genius is to be able to create characters as ideas that morph into character behavior, revealing what the story is about in every frame of the picture.

One of the best examples of spine is Tootsie, the Academy Award winning screenplay written by Larry Gelbart and Murray Schisgal, starring Dustin Hoffman, directed by Academy Award winner Sydney Pollack. The original screenplay went through numerous writers, and it wasn’t until Sydney Pollack came aboard to work with the immensely talented Larry Gelbart that they were able to discover what the story was really about. It wasn’t enough to do a comedy about a man becoming a woman. Putting on a skirt is good for a few laughs, but not enough to sustain a movie. The challenge was to create a story about a man struggling with his (chauvinist) flaws, who is forced to become a woman, but by becoming a woman, he becomes a better man. With this paradox as the spine of the story, each and every frame of this marvelous movie feeds the heart of the story.

There is a constant demand for writers who can create good stories, especially for the big screen. The fact is, however, over one hundred thousand scripts are written every year, and only a few hundred actually make it. Even then, most do not succeed. Usually the script is the culprit, and the most common script problem is story. Either there is not enough, or the story splinters into more than one storyline because the main character is not developed through a powerful moral dilemma at the center of the story.

The market for great screenplays is wide open. The challenge is to develop your own treasure trove of great stories that have never been told. Be bold and original. Remember the Five S’s. Strive to master them. Above all, shoot for the stars. You might make it to the moon!

A Writing Exercise

Here is a challenging writing exercise that will help you understand what your story is about. It begins with creating a powerful moral dilemma at the center of your story. Think about the narrative of the story you are working on. Identify your main character, and think through the most important dramatic choice he/she makes. Work through why he/she makes the decision, or why not. Take your time. Set the stage for the consequences of either story direction by developing the antagonist. Understanding the depth of conflict within this key character-driven story moment opens the window to discovering what your story is about.

Kate Wright is an Emmy Award-winning writer/producer who, as vice president of Interscope Communications, supervised feature film and television projects, including Billy, The Conspirator Saint, Cocktail, and A Mother’s Courage: The Mary Thomas Story. She is a senior instructor with the internationally known UCLA Extension Writers’ Program. Her first book, Screenwriting Is Storytelling: Creating the A-List Screenplay that Sells! is being published Fall 2004 by Perigee-Putnam.

Source with permission: The Writers Store

Plot involves at least three primary threads: Dramatic Action, Character Emotional Development, and Thematic Significance.

Of these three elements, writers are equally divided between those who begin a project by concentrating on the Dramatic Action and those who begin with Character Emotional Development.

Dramatic Action writers tend to thrive on the excitement of what happens in the story. The first draft of a Dramatic Action writer is full of excitement with lots of conflict, tension, and suspense, twists and turns, chases and confrontations, and usually contains little character development. Often, a reader’s comment of this first Dramatic Action draft is: “Why should I care?”

Writers who prefer to explore the different aspects of a Character’s Emotional Development delve into what makes her tick, her feelings and emotions, her loves and hates. The first draft of a Character Emotional Development writer tends to be full of insight into the human psyche, with very little happening in terms of Dramatic Action. Often, a reader’s comment of this first Character Emotional draft is: “When is something going to happen?”

Far fewer writers choose to begin with the Thematic Significance thread. These writers usually have a message they wish to impart, but not much of an idea of characters or what will happen.

Wherever you begin writing, by your final draft, you have an idea of the deeper meaning of your story, what you are trying to say and the ways you have attempted to communicate that meaning through your story to your audience.

Crystallize the meaning into two specific universal themes and improve your chances of creating a classic blockbuster story.

Two Kinds of Thematic Significance

When a character is changed at depth over time, a story becomes thematically significant.

1) Character Emotional Development Thematic Significance

In Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Nick serves as the narrator. Of all the characters in the story, Nick is the only one who is changed by the Dramatic Action, thus making Nick also the protagonist. (The definition of a protagonist is the character most changed by the Dramatic Action in the story. If several characters in your story are changed by the Dramatic Action, then the protagonist is determined as a matter of degree and significance of change.)

Some might point to Gatsby as the protagonist, alive in the beginning and dead in the end. What counts with Thematic Significance is not the change from alive to dead, but how the Dramatic Action creates a long-term emotional change in the protagonist.

Nick sets his own Thematic Significance in Chapter 3 when he states that he is one of the few honest people he has known. Since he is the narrator, the reader is curious to know if he is reliable, or not. Does Nick have a clear sense of himself from his time in the war as he thinks? Or, does he have more to learn about himself before he can accurately judge himself? In the end, Nick understands he has only begun to live up to his initial assessment of himself as stated in the beginning.

A Thematic Significance statement for Nick’s character emotional plotline could be:

Only with maturity and assuming personal and moral responsibility are we able to accurately judge ourselves and others.

2) Dramatic Action Thematic Significance

The Great Gatsby, as with all classic stories, deals with universal themes. Along with Nick’s personal Thematic Significance, there is also an overall meaning or Thematic Significance for the entire story.

A Thematic Significance statement for The Great Gatsby as a whole could be:

Ambition for money and another man’s wife leads to destruction.

Eat, Pray, Love

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert is a character-driven memoir and soon-to-be released motion picture of the same name. In this story, the protagonist (I use the term character and protagonist even with a memoirist in order to make the reference less personal and to remind memoir writers to develop their character to show change and transformation) attempts to achieve her goals (outlined below). She also, on a much deeper level, undertakes an intensive spiritual investigation. As a seeker, her focus is on the search for Truth or meaning.

The book is more prose writing than in scene, in that the author spends lots of time describing Italy, India and Bali, the places where the three segments of the book unfold. In much of the book, the author also discusses her thoughts. Because of the subjects she described – the history of meditation, descriptions of the Ashram, and the like – are fascinating and extremely well-written, and most readers like to learn something new through reading, many will not object to the telling nature of much of the narrative.

When Gilbert does write in scene, the descriptions and discussions have depth and impact. However, the Dramatic Action, when in evidence, is secondary. Her Character Emotional Development and search for resolution and God over time carries the significance.

A thematic significance statement for Eat, Pray, Love could be:

A spiritual journey is challenging but, when undertaken with passion, and dedication, can transform a person enough to overcome hurt, and to love again.

The Beginning (1/4)

The Beginning of Eat, Pray, Love functions in an introductory mode as all good Beginnings do. The protagonist’s Dramatic Action goals are clearly outlined: 1) to spend one-third of the story in Italy learning the language, 2) one-third on her Guru’s Ashram in India in meditation, and 3) one-third in Indonesia with a medicine man. Her Character Emotional Development goals are clearly implied: 1) undergo intensive self-inquiry, 2) recover from her recent divorce, and 3) find balance and spirituality in her life.

The Beginning of the story takes place in Italy with a goal of learning Italian. This section functions on a sensory level with lots of eating great bread and pastries, drinking wine, and meeting terrific men. Of the three sections, Italy is the least challenging for the author, which is fine because this is where we find out her issues: she has had a spiritual crisis, which ended in a divorce and was followed by an unfulfilling relationship.

In the Beginning, and into the Middle of the memoir, the protagonist freely shows her flawed self, which, at times, comes across neurotic enough that if her writing were not so compelling, the reader might not stay with her. However, the more flawed the character, the greater the possibility in the final transformation.

The Middle (1/2)

In the Middle third, the protagonist travels to her Guru’s Ashram in India and spends her time there mostly in meditation. When she is in scene in this section, it is often with Richard from Texas who is a hoot and a compassionate mentor.

The more she has to devote to meditation, the more frustrated she becomes, which is an effective means of revealing more and more of the depth of who this person truly is. Take note: Although the project only covers one year in her life and the author has several memories of the past, there are only a couple of instances where she actually goes into a flashback.

The Middle is the territory of the antagonists and the bulk of this character’s antagonism comes from her own mind. She can’t concentrate. She can’t meditate. She can’t let go of the past. She engages in useless longings.

In her search for spirituality, “you revert from what attracts you and swim toward that which is difficult.” The more difficult her journey becomes, the more flawed we see her character. Still, as challenged as she becomes, she never gives up or gives in.

At around the three quarter mark in the story, the crisis hits after she climbs to the top of a tower at the Ashram and asks to be shown everything she needs “to understand about forgiveness and surrender.” Up until this point in the book, we know she has been craving a resolution to her dissolved marriage. She would have loved to have an actual conversation with her ex-husband, but knows that will never happen due to the ugliness of the divorce, which had turned them into “two people who were absolutely incapable of giving each other any release.”

Once she drops into mediation “to my surprise, I did an odd thing. I invited my ex-husband to please join me up here on this rooftop in India…. And he did arrive.” What happens after that, as she finds out what she needs to about herself and her part in the past, is she finds the release she so desperately craves.

The End (1/4)

The End is the section where the character now shows whether or not she truly understands her flaw and her part in what is not working in her life.

The Climax occurs at nearly the end of the story when the protagonist commits to helping a woman with a child of her own and two orphans she has taken in. Up until this act, the protagonist has been completely self-centered. She has obsessed about her life and flaws and worries.

At the Climax, we see that the wake-up call that came at the Crisis has ripened into the new personality deeply enough that she is able to extend herself in generosity and help another person. This action is the perfect metaphor to show character transformation. We have a definite sense that the protagonist would not have been capable of doing what she does for this family if she had not experienced every single thing she has undergone previously – the definition of the Climax.

The Resolution

In the end, the protagonist finds love, and satisfies the thematic significance statement: A spiritual journey is challenging, but with passion, and dedication can transform and overcome hurt enough to love again.

To write a lasting and meaningful story, don the hat of a sleuth. In each rewrite, provide another layer of the Thematic Significance of your stories. Your readers may never uncover the deliberate care that went into the formation of every detail of your story. They will be left to ponder the meaning you set forth, possibly even be changed at depth by your story’s theme. The effort is worthy.

Hands On

1) Who is the protagonist of your story?

2) Write down a Thematic Significance statement that encompasses the emotional transformation your protagonist undergoes from the beginning and throughout to the end of the story.

3) Write down a Thematic Significance statement that encompasses the meaning of the overall story. In other words, what do all of the scenes and Dramatic Action together add up to mean in the end.

4) Infuse your story with this theme through details and comparisons, metaphor and simile.

Excerpts of this article were taken from Blockbuster Plots Pure & Simple by Martha Alderson, M.A.

Martha Alderson is an international plot and story consultant for writers. Her clients include best-selling authors, screenwriters, writing teachers and fiction editors. She created a line of plot tools for writers, including a book, dvds, and the Scene Tracker Kit. She has taught plot workshops through University of California at Santa Cruz extension, Learning Annex, writers clubs and conferences, and privately. Contact her via contact@blockbusterplots.com

Source with permission: The Writers Store

High Concept is a term that’s been confused, misunderstood and misused by writers for decades. The common belief is that it’s any movie that can be pitched in one sentence. A man who battles his wife for custody of their children is one sentence, but it’s a million miles from being High Concept.

Others define it by describing it as “one film crossed with another film.” In Robert Altman’s The Player, the writers pitch their project to a producer as Out of Africa meets Pretty Woman. That is not what a High Concept film is. What they used is a framing technique that is given prior to pitching your project to prepare the listener for what’s coming. You cross two well known films that touch upon the material you are about to pitch so the producer has some idea where you’re going with your pitch. That is an example of a common pitching technique and not what defines High Concept.

Story ideas, treatments and screenplays can all have High Concept premises. But only High Concept projects can be sold from a pitch because they are pitch driven. Non-High Concept projects can’t be sold from a pitch because they are execution driven. They have to be read to be appreciated and their appeal isn’t obvious by merely running a logline past someone. This is the reason why films like “Pulp Fiction,” “Star Wars” and “Sideways” could never be sold from a pitch.

In defining High Concept, we talk about the premise of your story, not what happens in Acts 1, 2 and 3. The premise or logline is the core of High Concept. My comprehensive definition of High Concept is comprised of five requirements, each of which is mandatory. The five requirements are in descending order of importance. Therefore, numbers one and two are the most important as well as the most difficult to attain. But meeting only several of the requirements is not enough. All five requirements have to be met for success in achieving the “slam dunk” project everyone is looking for.

Requirement #1:

YOUR PREMISE SHOULD BE ORIGINAL AND UNIQUE

A logline is generally one to five sentences, with the average being three. Therefore, you have to pitch your material in a compressed, economical manner which captures the essence of your story and showcases its originality. Most of my pitches are one or two sentences long. Every writer should practice pitching his or her work by boiling down their story into only one sentence regardless if their story is High Concept or not.

In seeking originality, we are not talking about reinventing the wheel. We can take traditional subject matter that’s been done before and add a hook or twist to it which then qualifies the material as original. Using the kidnapping plot, there have been dozens of films which covered that subject area before. In the film Ransom, Mel Gibson plays a wealthy businessman whose son is kidnapped. That story in itself offers nothing new. The hook of the movie which makes it original is that instead of paying the ransom, Gibson uses the ransom money to pay for a contract hit on the kidnappers. That twist makes the film original and therefore High Concept.

Staying with the same kidnapping genre, the comedy Ruthless People follows the same pattern. Danny Devito plays a wealthy man whose wife, played by Bette Midler, gets kidnapped. Challenging convention, Devito refuses to pay the ransom because he hates his wife and sees this as the opportunity he’s been waiting for to finally get rid of her. Now the bungling kidnappers are stuck with an impossible woman that they have no idea what to do with. Again, it’s that unique hook that makes this a High Concept film.

Requirement #2:

YOUR STORY HAS TO HAVE MASS AUDIENCE APPEAL

That means it’s possible to meet Requirement #1 by creating an original story that’s never been done before. But that story may be so odd or strange that the appeal exists only in the mind of the writer who created it. No one else.

An example would be if a girl woke up one morning, turned into a butterfly, and flew to the land of Shangri-La. That’s never been done before but who cares? Mass appeal means that nine out of ten people who you pitch your story to would say that they’d pay ten dollars to see your movie first run based solely on your pitch. You have to decide either you’re writing for your own enjoyment or you’re writing to sell. If it’s to sell, then you have to take the marketplace into account.

Requirement #3:

YOUR PITCH HAS TO BE STORY SPECIFIC

That means that within your pitch, you have to have specific details which make your story different and adds color and depth. Let’s take the bank robbing plot. If you came up with a story about three people who want to rob a bank by digging a tunnel underneath it, the response would be, “So what?” A twist on that genre is the movie Going In Style. It’s about three senior citizens who attempt to rob a bank. The wheelman has had his license revoked, the lookout is visually impaired, and the brains of the operation is 75-year-old George Burns. Those specific details enhance the story and keep it from being stale and generic.

Requirement #4:

THE POTENTIAL IS OBVIOUS

If you’re pitching a comedy, then the potential for humor should be obvious within your pitch. People should smile or laugh when you tell it. If you’re pitching an action movie, the listener should be able to imagine the action scenes in his head as your pitching. I sold a project to Miramax called My Kind of Town with the Wayans Brothers attached to star. It is about two guys who want to make a new start in life. They pack up their car and take off with no particular destination in mind. Entering City Hall in some tiny Southern town to get a map, the roof collapses on them and they sue. They win the lawsuit but the town can’t afford to pay them so they’re given the town. The potential for humor is obvious when the Wayans Brothers are given a Southern town to do whatever they please with it.

Requirement #5:

YOUR PITCH SHOULD BE ONE TO THREE SENTENCES LONG

Most pitches should be this length although some set-ups may be more, but you shouldn’t go over five to six sentences. You are not telling what happens in Acts 1, 2 and 3 unless you’re asked to do so later. You’re giving the premise of your story. I’ve spent days shaping my loglines to include as much information in as few words as possible.

I’ve had thousands of projects pitched to me in over twenty years and writers mistakenly think that the longer the pitch, the better the story. No one wants to listen to a pitch that’s a half hour long when I could read the script in less time. I tell writers “Pitch me your story in a couple of sentences.” Most cannot because they don’t know what the five requirements are and lack the practice in condensing and fine-tuning their pitches in advance.

When you’re pitching, you are telling what your story is about, not what happens in the story. You don’t want to begin your pitch with, “My story is about a 26-year-old woman named Jill, who lives in Chicago. She’s unhappy with her life. She goes to her office where she confronts her boss. She quits
and goes home where she fights with her boyfriend.” That is not pitching. That is a boring unfolding of the story which you want to avoid at all costs.

The reaction you want to hear when you pitch is “Wow! Why didn’t I think of that?” or “That’s so good why hasn’t somebody made that movie before?” When the faces in the room light up after you deliver your pitch, you know you’ve got them. That’s the sought after “slam dunk.” That’s what High Concept is all about.

STEVE KAIRE has sold/optioned 8 projects to the majors including Warners, Columbia, United Artists and Interscope without representation. He’s been featured in various industry publications and is a sought after speaker on the lecture circuit. He’s also taught writing classes at the American Film Institute. Steve’s new audio CD, “HIGH CONCEPT: HOW TO CREATE, PITCH & SELL TO HOLLYWOOD” is an informational bible for Film and TV writers.

Source with permission: The Writers Store

The key question that all screenwriters should ask themselves is: how do I write a script that Hollywood wants to buy? Most writers mistakenly think that success is all about connections and star power. Not so. The real trick to writing a script that will sell is to know and use Hollywood’s central marketing strategy. And that can be summed up in one word: genres.

Former Universal Pictures chairman Marc Shmuger recently said, “There’s no doubt the star system is in transformation. Arguably the two biggest stars in the first half of 2009 were Kevin James (Paul Blart: Mall Cop) and Liam Neeson (Taken). That’s a significant shift in the meaning of star power and a shift to the premium that is being put on concept and genre.”

Shmuger is telling any screenwriter smart enough to listen the first rule of the entertainment business worldwide: it buys and sells genres. Genres are story forms and each has from 8-15 special story beats (story events) that make up the form. The reason Hollywood marketing is based on genre is that executives are selling to a worldwide audience. And people the world over love particular types of stories that speak to their deepest desires.

I’d like to tell you 10 story techniques that must be in your script if you want the best chance of selling it in a genre-dominated business.

1. Know the 10 most popular genres

Step 1 in writing a script Hollywood wants to buy is knowing the 10 most popular story forms. If you write a script that is not based on one or more of these genres, your chance of a sale plummets. They are Action, Comedy, Crime, Detective, Horror, Fantasy, Love, Myth, Science Fiction and Thriller.

2. Combine 2 or 3 genres

In the genre-focused entertainment business, the most important story strategy today is to mix genres. 99% of films made, not just in Hollywood but worldwide, are some combination of the ten most popular genres. Why? It all goes back to that old rule of selling: give the customer 2 or 3 for the price of 1. This, in a nutshell, is how Hollywood works.

Let me give you some examples. The super-popular Bourne films are Action + Thriller. Knocked Up is Comedy + Love. Little Miss Sunshine is Myth + Comedy. Titanic, the most popular movie of all time, is Love + Disaster Film + Myth. The Dark Knight is Crime + Myth + Fantasy. The Harry Potter stories, the most popular books of all time, are Fantasy + Myth + Horror + Coming-of-Age Drama. The Pirates of the Caribbean movies are Fantasy + Action + Horror + Myth.

3. Find the right genre for the story idea

The single biggest decision you make in the entire writing process occurs right at the beginning, when you are developing your premise, or story idea. The decision is: which genres should I use for this idea? Here’s a shocking but eye-opening fact: 99% of scripts fail at the premise. And why? It’s not because their original story ideas weren’t good. They fail because the writers didn’t know the best genres to use to go from a 1-line idea to 2-hour, 120-page script.

Each genre will take a story idea in radically different directions. So when writers choose the wrong genres to develop their idea, the result is not only a lot of bad scripts but also the waste of thousands of great story ideas. Given that you can use many genres to develop the same idea, the key question is: what are the right ones?

The secret to choosing the right genres is buried in the story idea itself. You need to dig into the premise and find the genres inherent to that idea. Instead of trying to copy a popular movie from the past, you need to find what is original, what is organic to your story. One of the powers of genre is that the right genres highlight the inherent strengths of the idea and hide the inherent weaknesses.

In my genre classes, I talk a lot about techniques for digging into your premise and finding the best genres for you. One of them is to focus on the desire line, one of the seven major story structure steps. It turns out that each genre has a unique, pre-determined desire line. For example, the Crime desire is to catch a criminal. Detective is to find the truth. Horror is to defeat a monster. For Love, it’s to find love. Myth is to go on a journey, ultimately leading to oneself. Figure out the goal of your hero and see if it matches the desire of any of the main genres.

4. Use Myth as one of your genres

Because Hollywood only wants scripts with blockbuster potential, your story must be popular in over 100 different cultures and nationalities. That’s a lot of communication barriers to cross. Unfortunately, most writers don’t know which genres travel well and which don’t. For example, comedies based mostly on funny dialogue DON’T travel. Myth, on the other hand, loves to travel. That’s why Myth is found in more blockbusters by far than any other form.

Myth is the oldest of the 10 most popular film genres, and is surprisingly complex, with 15 special story beats. But boy, is it popular. Try adding up the box office of these Myth-based films: Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Shrek, Star Wars and The Lion King.

5. Combine Myth with one or two other genres

While Myth is the foundation of more blockbusters than any other genre, it almost never stands alone. That’s not just because Hollywood wants to give people 2 or 3 genres for the price of one. It has to do with the deep weaknesses found in the form itself.

The Myth form is thousands of years old. And it has a very episodic structure, so it can grow tiresome and decline in power through the middle of the story. Top professional screenwriters know this, which is why they always add 1 or 2 other genres to modernize the Myth form and overcome its episodic quality.

6. Make one genre primary

Screenwriters who are smart enough to study Hollywood as a business know that it’s all about combining genres. Where they sometimes go wrong is in execution. It’s one thing to say, “Take 2 or 3 story forms and put them together into a seamless whole.” It’s another thing to do it well.

Combining genres is more difficult than it looks, because of what it does to the story structure under the surface. Each genre has a pre-determined hero, opponent, desire line, thematic focus, and so on. Which is why most writers combining genres end up with a structural mess. They have too many heroes, desire lines, opponents, themes and story beats. Any one of these structural mistakes will kill a script, so imagine what happens if you make them all.

When mixing genres, the key is to make one form the primary one. This will give you your hero, a single desire line, a single story line and the most important unique story beats. Then put in other genre elements where they fit, so they amplify the primary form.

7. If you’re writing a screenplay for an indie film, write Horror, Thriller, or Love

One of the best ways to break in and separate yourself from the thousands of other screenwriters in the world is to write and make your own film. Of course, that requires keeping costs to a bare minimum. And the cheapest genres to shoot are Horror, Thriller and Love. These genres require the fewest actors, sets and special effects. Of these, horror is the most popular worldwide. But the most important determinants of which genres you use for your indie film are which genres are best for your story idea and which genres you are best at writing.

8. Hit all the genre beats

Writers of blockbuster movies always know their genres so well that they hit every one of the story beats unique to their form. In genre writing, this is known as “paying the dues.” And it’s absolutely essential or the audience feels cheated. Remember, they are there to see the story forms they love, so you have to know your genres better than anyone else and give the audience what they crave. And that means knowing how your genres work under the surface, in the structure, where the real story work is done.

9. Be original, transcend the genre

It may surprise you that the biggest reason a reader turns down a script is because it’s “derivative.” That’s a fancy way of saying that the writer hit all the beats of the genre, but nothing more. Readers have read scripts from every genre hundreds of times. So you can’t stand out from the crowd just by “paying the dues.”

That’s why professional screenwriters not only hit all the genre beats, they do the beats in an original way. This is known as transcending the genre. And you simply cannot succeed if you fail to transcend the genres you’re working in.

Unfortunately, there are no simple rules for how to do this for all genres. Transcending genre is different for each form. In the 1-day class I teach in each genre, I spend a great deal of time on exactly how to do this. Transcending depends on the story beats that are unique to your form. It also requires that you study the best films in your form so you know what has already been done.

10. Be honest with yourself, and specialize in the forms that are right for you

Genres are extremely powerful structural tools for a screenwriter, and they are the key to your success in the entertainment business. But they are complex story systems. I don’t know a single professional screenwriter who has mastered more than 2 or 3 of them. That’s why it’s so important that you look honestly at yourself and assess your strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Determine which genres highlight your strengths and express the themes you believe in. Then apply yourself with laser-like focus to mastering those forms.

When you let genres do the hard story work, and concentrate on writing them in an original way, you will be amazed at how good, and how successful, your scripts will be.

John Truby coaches top writers for the screen and television, has created software for the working writer, has served as story consultant for major studios and production companies, and as script doctor on movies, sit-coms and dramas for television. He founded Truby’s Writers Studio where he teaches writing techniques and has created a number of books, audiotapes and other essential tools for the writer, all of which are available through the Writers Store.

Source with Permission: The Writers Store

What is the essence, or heart and soul, of a great story? There are seven critical elements: the change of fortune, the problem of the story, the complications, crisis, climax and resolution of the classical structure, and the threat, which is by far the most important. In this article, we will examine the threat and its relationship to the other six critical elements that constitute the very essence of story — that without which there would be no story.

The first element is the change of fortune. There is an entity (i.e. an individual, a family, a town, a country, the world, etc.) and that entity goes from a desirable to an undesirable state or condition or the reverse. Or as Aristotle put it: ‘The proper magnitude (of a story) is comprised within such limits that the sequence of events, according to the laws of probability and necessity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to good or from good fortune to bad.’

In ‘The Exorcist,’ a little girl is possessed by the Devil and a state of misfortune exists. Then, the principal action, casting out the Devil, brings about a state of good fortune. In stories that end unhappily, it’s the reverse. In ‘Othello,’ a state of good fortune exists at the beginning. The principal action, perpetrated by Iago, destroys the Moor with jealousy and a state of tragic misfortune is the result.

The second element, the problem, brings about these changes of fortune. This problem is a prerequisite in all stories. You have a problem and that problem is resolved. No matter how big or small the story, it will be focusing on, or related to, a problem. And everyone in that story will somehow be involved in that incident. And everything everyone does in that story will in some way affect the outcome of that incident. And revealing how that problem was created and how it can be resolved is at the very heart of a story.

In ‘Kiss The Girls’ and ‘The Silence Of The Lambs,’ a serial killer is on the loose. That is the problem that brings about the change of fortune and that is the problem that has to be resolved. The solution to those problems will be the principal actions that give a unity of action to these stories.

In ‘Gladiator,’ a tyrant has usurped the Roman Empire, preventing the restoration of the Republic. In ‘The Sixth Sense,’ there are two problems: a murdered child psychologist is stuck in limbo, and the spirits of dead people are haunting a little boy’s mind. In ‘Independence Day,’ aliens have invaded the Earth. In ‘Star Wars,’ the Evil Empire has taken possession of the galaxy. In ‘The Iliad,’ the Greek army is being decimated because their best warrior has dropped out of the fight. In the legend of King Arthur, the kingdom is in a state of anarchy and has to be reunified. In ‘Jaws,’ it’s a shark problem. In ‘The Mummy,’ it’s a mummy problem. In ‘The Perfect Storm,’ it’s a weather problem. In ‘Traffic,’ it’s a drug problem. In ‘Armageddon,’ it’s an asteroid problem. In ‘Indecent Proposal,’ it’s a temptation problem. In ‘Erin Brockovich,’ it’s an environmental problem. Each of these stories, and hundreds of others I could name, revolve around a problem that has to be resolved.

Can any problem be a story? Technically, any problem can be a story if its solution contains a classical story structure — i.e. complications, a crisis, a climax and a resolution. Generally speaking, however, an audience wouldn’t be interested in a story about some minor problem, like finding your lost keys, unless something truly funny or horrendous like the end of the world would happen if you didn’t find them. Story is especially interested in problem-solving actions that involve crises — critical events that threaten life, health, wealth, freedom, love, security, happiness, etc. while testing the limits of human endurance and ingenuity.

Story focuses on problems for the same reason the news only reports the bad things that are happening in the world — and not the good — because problems are where it’s at. If everything is in perfect harmony, and there are no problems to worry about — we’re in Paradise. And that’s one of the functions of story: to help guide us to higher, more desirable, less problematic states of being. One of the ways that a story does this is by revealing the truth and nature of problems and their solutions.

Next, there’s the super important element called the threat. The threat is the agent or perpetrator that creates the problem that brings about the negative state. In ‘Kiss the Girls,’ the serial killer is the threat, and the act of murder is the inciting action that creates the problem that brings about the change to a state of misfortune.

Equally significant in a great story is the fact that this threat will become the source of resistance that opposes the action when someone tries to solve this problem and restore a state of good fortune. This resistance will create the classical structure that occurs when a problem-solving action encounters resistance.

In ‘Harry Potter,’ Voldemort is the threat. His efforts in the seven books to take possession of the wizard world create the problem that brings about an undesirable state. And he will be the source of the resistance that creates the classical structure whenever Harry tries to solve these problems and restore a state of good fortune.

In ‘The Exorcist,’ the Devil is the threat. He takes possession of a young girl and that is the inciting action that creates the problem and brings about the change of fortune. He is also the source of resistance that creates the complications, crisis, climax and resolution when the priest tries to solve that problem.

In ‘Ordinary People,’ the mother is the cause of the problem that has brought about the negative state, and she will be the source of resistance when the psychiatrist, played by Judd Hirsch, and the boy’s father, played by Donald Sutherland, attempt to solve the mystery of the boy’s suicidal tendencies.

In ‘Jaws,’ the shark is the threat that causes the problem. In ‘Dracula,’ it’s the Count. In ‘On the Waterfront,’ it’s Johnny Friendly. In ‘Gladiator,’ it’s Commodus. In ‘Braveheart,’ it’s the British. In ‘The Iliad,’ it is the Trojan, Paris. In the Egyptian myth of Osiris, it’s Osiris’ brother Set.

In all of these cases, the threat performs the action that creates the problem that brings about the change of fortune. It also is the source of resistance that creates the classical structure when someone tries to solve the problem and reverse the state of misfortune.

You can see this same pattern at work in real life as well. In World War II, Hitler was the threat, and his ‘taking possession of Europe’ created the problem and the state of misfortune. He was also the source of the resistance that created the complications, crisis, climaxes and resolutions of the classical structure when the Allies tried to solve this problem.

In our latest war, this is also very evident. Osama Bin Laden, his Al Qaeda terrorist network and the Taliban are the threat. Their attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon is the inciting action that created the problem that brought a very undesirable state of fear to the United States. And they will be the source of resistance that creates the classical structure as we try to solve this problem.

In all of these examples, the threat is the cause of the problem that brings about a change of fortune and is the source of the resistance that creates the classical structure when the good guys try to solve the problem. The problem, change of fortune and components of the classical structure constitute the very essence of story — that without which there would be no story.

If you think about it, this is easy to see. Without a problem and change of fortune, there is no story. If the story ends in the same place it began, without some significant progress up or down, the audience will wonder what the point of it was. It will be a very unsatisfactory experience. Without complications and a crisis, there is no story. If Cinderella goes to the ball, falls in love with the prince and marries him without a single hitch, or if Indiana Jones goes after the Holy Grail and finds it without running into any difficulty whatsoever, there is no story. The audience is left muttering: So what? If there are complications and a crisis, but no climax and no resolution, you will have the same problem. You will leave your audience feeling completely unfulfilled. They will have the distinct feeling that the story was left unfinished.

The threat, then, is not only the heart of the high concept great idea, it creates the problem that brings about the change of fortune and provides the resistance that creates the classical structure, all of which make up the very essence of story. An element that does all of that is an element worth thinking about and understanding.

James Bonnet was elected twice to the Board of Directors of the Writer’s Guild of America and has written or acted in more than 40 television shows and features. The radical new ideas about story in his book ‘Stealing Fire from the Gods: A Dynamic New Story Model For Writers And Filmmakers‘ are having a major impact on writers in all media.

Source with permission: The Writers Store

If creating a successful romantic comedy really was as easy as plugging a couple of stars into a standard boy-meets-girl, boy-loses- girl, boy-gets-girl structure, the market would be glutted with genuinely funny romantic comedies. But can you remember the last truly great ‘rom-com’ you’ve seen? Only one or two in the past few years topped the box office. And as a story analyst who sees-and rejects romantic comedy specs on a weekly basis, I can tell you that the ones that really work are all too rare. So in the interest of helping fellow writers (and good date movie-starved audience members everywhere), here’s half a dozen key pieces of inside knowledge I’d like to share. Follow these leads, and studios won’t be so quick to ‘pass’ on your project.

~~ WRITE THE CHEMISTRY
We go into a romantic comedy already knowing that our leads are going to meet, lose and, ultimately, get each other. So creating two unique characters an audience will fall in love with and NEED to see united is the most important key to such a movie’s success. All great characters have purpose and credibility, are empathic and complex. But romantic comedy leads have additional requirements. They’re emotionally incomplete people who get completed by their mate-to-be. One (if not both) of your protagonists should have an inner conflict that the story’s romantic relationship confronts and ultimately resolves. The ‘chemical equation’ in ‘Moonstruck’ makes sense: Loretta, a woman lacking passion in her life, combusts with Ronnie, an operatic Mr. Passion. Creating such 3D leads with interlocking needs is how chemistry happens in a romantic comedy, and it’s got to be on the page first, if you want to attract stars who can get a movie made. What do you think Meg Ryan’s looking for in a role, a Meg Ryan type? No, she’s looking for a wonderfully written, never-seen-before part played opposite the kind of suitably significant leading man that’ll catch a Hugh Grant’s eye. So whether your couple be made up of opposites or two sides of one coin, write compelling characters — who believably belong together.

~~ EXPAND YOUR GENRE
What most people think of when they hear ‘romantic comedy’ is a man and a woman trading witty barbs across a restaurant table. But this kind of typical talking-heads fare is far from all our genre can be. In fact, some of the most successful romantic comedies are hybrids — movies that have expanded their audience by cross-breeding with other genres. Romantic comedies can be action-adventures (‘Romancing the Stone’), gender-benders (‘Tootsie’), sports comedies (‘Tin Cup’), ghost stories (‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’), political (‘The American President’), satirical (‘L.A. Story’), period pieces (‘Shakespeare In Love’), crime stories (‘The Mexican’), teen movies (‘Clueless’) and more. This kind of cross-genre inter-breeding has kept our genre healthy for decades, and it’s something to think about as you shape your romantic comedy with an eye towards the marketplace. You may already be edging into another genre’s territory in your story. If so, maximize that element and plunder all it has to offer. Studios are more likely to be intrigued by a romantic comedy that also promises the kind of big screen action that a crime, adventure, sports, etc. movie provides.

~~ AN ACTION’S WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS
And while we’re on the subject of holding the big screen, consider making your romantic comedy a MOVIE, as opposed to a stillie. Great movies move — and romantic comedy duds talk themselves to death. I know that many of us lovers of the form are drawn to it precisely because it’s often about wonderfully pithy, sharp, delicious repartee. But too much talk can be the difference between a pass (because what you’ve written is more like a play or a TV show) and a green light-because your romantic comedy can really pull people into a multiplex.

How active is your script? How visually exciting? While you may not have the mudslides, wild chases and fireworks ‘Romancing the Stone’ delivered, you may have a set, a setting, world or a physical comedy opportunity that will open up and enliven your movie. Even the verbal-witty ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ featured a Scottish reel in colorful kilts. ‘Annie Hall’ is packed with sight gags, from the cocaine sneeze to the errant lobsters. Make sure your script makes use of all the cinematic storytelling techniques a good movie- movie uses.

~~ TWEAK THE FORMULA
Yes, there is a predictable paradigm for plotting that most successful romantic comedies employ (you can see it in hundreds of movies, and analyzed in my book). But that’s all the more reason for you to be exceptionally clever, imaginative and ingenious about your romantic comedy’s story concept and execution. Four movies from the past decade that were truly memorable made their mark by putting a spin on the standard construct. There was ‘boy doesn’t meet girl until the last five minutes of the movie’ (‘Sleepless in Seattle’), ‘boy meets girl after they’re both dead’ (‘Defending Your Life’), ‘boy only meets girl in and around weddings (and a funeral)’ (‘Four Weddings’) and ‘boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy loses girl, boy loses girl, ad infinitum, until he finally gets it right’ (‘Groundhog Day’). Try to come up with a concept that will enable your rom-com to stand out from the crowd. Failing that, a hook in the execution can make the difference. ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’ has the diary to hang its story on; ‘High Fidelity’ uses breaking-the-fourth-wall conversations with the audience. Take a bold leap and find your tweak. It may make all the difference.

~~ ROMANTIC MEANS SEXY AND COMEDY MEANS FUNNY
Everybody remembers the ‘fake orgasm in the deli’ scene from ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ But can you remember any similar scene from a romantic comedy in the dozen years since that was just as raunchy and hilarious? Not many come to mind, which may be why some recent rom-coms that HAVE pushed the erotic envelope have really scored with their audiences. The zipper scene from ‘There’s Something About Mary,’ the dress straps ‘Jerry Maguire’ breaks, ‘American Pie’s pie — successes like these show that the humor to be found in sexual situations is well worth pursuing. So mine that humor. Activate intimacy — which is what truly erotic and funny encounters are about: people being vulnerably, painfully exposed, whether it’s literally, metaphorically or both. At the same time, don’t forget that any comedy should provide at least a couple of truly funny set- pieces. Has your romantic conflict gotten so serious that the script is light on laughs? Find the humor in it and maximize. Steep your characters in painful, truth-baring situations, and look for gags to build bigger gags on. Smiles and chuckles don’t sell a script. ‘Ha- ha!’ laughs-out-loud do.

~~ MAKE IT BE ABOUT SOMETHING
He’s a this, and she’s a that, and high jinks ensue isn’t enough. At the core of any great romantic comedy is some kind of thematic idea grounded in the writer’s personal point of view. Why are you writing this particular story about this specific couple? What about their story reflects some insight you have about the relations between men and women or the human condition? What question are you asking that your screenplay’s story development answers? Highfalutin’ as it may sound, the romantic comedies that endure — and strike a real chord with their audiences — are the ones that explore universal issues. ‘When Harry…’ is about whether men and women can overcome gender differences. ‘Tootsie’ is about how no man (especially when he becomes a woman) is an island. ‘Annie Hall,’ with Alvy ‘I don’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member’ Singer and ‘I have no idea what club I could ever belong to’ Annie is about self-esteem issues. Your romantic comedy should be posing a question, or poking at a truth, that you, the writer, are passionately invested in exploring. That’s the real key to involving an audience, and no amount of cute one-liners can take its place. So have your movie MEAN something. It will help it to get made — and to matter.

Billy Mernit teaches ‘Writing the Romantic Comedy’ and ‘Writing the Character-Driven Screenplay’ at the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program, where he was just awarded 2001’s Outstanding Screenwriting Instructor of the Year. Author of the book, ‘Writing the Romantic Comedy,’ published by Harper/Collins, Mernit serves as both a private script consultant and a story analyst at Universal Studios. During his many years in the entertainment industry, he has written for NBC’s ‘Santa Barbara’ and composed songs recorded by Carly Simon and Judy Collins. He and his wife, Italian artist Claudia Nizza, are the co-authors of ‘That’s How Much I Love You’ (Tallfellow Press).