Jimmy Stewart decides not to commit suicide, Robert DeNiro transforms himself into an unstoppable example of determination, and Donald Sutherland manages to keep a family together despite a son's traumatic past. It is a wonderful life, but one has to be a raging bull in order to stand out from ordinary people. Often times individuals get lost in the crowd without ever realizing the potential to "stand out". They're afraid of failure, and hesitant to engage an independent mind. Instead, they stay with the mundane and, as a result, never grow.
I used to consider myself that person. By the way, this isn't an essay about discovering Scientology. I always imagined that the only profession one could be required seven to ten years of a formal education. Being an artist was inconsistent. I remembered hearing stories about how my father was jobless during the writer's strike in 1987. My mother really wanted to divorce him, but she then considered waiting until he had a better fiscal year. There were other options, I thought. Live in Hawaii. Take up surfing and pineapple farming. But in all seriousness, if I attended art school, there would still be a systematic approach to creative princpals. These institutions use phrases like "breaking the mold" or "thinking outside of the box". The lure of a promising brochure inevitably leads to elitist dogma and a crippling of originality. Truth be told, education is a business. I don't think outside of the box because the box doesn't exist.
Any form of art begins with an idea. The process subsequently takes its own form depending on the individual's work ethic and other variable characteristics. I consider myself organized and somewhat mentally stable, so I have to develop an idea before moving on to writing a first draft. Initially, I create a premise line for which to base my story. Most screenwriting textbooks would suggest asking yourself "What If?" questions. Like, "What if my ex-girlfriend turned gay because I took her to go see a roller derby match?" or "What if my agent really works at Subway to pay for his daughter's birthday pony?" Keep in mind, neither of the above premise lines have been storylines in any television shows or movies. After coming up with several premise lines, I decide which is the strongest in terms of originality and entertainment. Two years ago, in what appeared to be the most miserable summer in Los Angeles, I helmed Threshold, which told the story of a teenager who had the ability to heal. The following is an account of twenty days in April. It encompasses all stages of a screenplay's life, from its organic conception to the inevitably artificial demise (see producers.)
The project was very personal to me on a thematic level. Being raised Catholic, specific dogmatic principles were always instilled in me. No meat on Fridays during Lent. Unbaptized babies would end up in limbo. Nuns can fly if they mix holy water and Red Bull. I never fully accepted religion as being organized. Everyone had the same message, but a different interpretation. This being said, the material is subjective. just like the approach. There is no absolute. Spirituality, however, caused me to embrace a perspective that allowed me to accept myself for who I was, and live life to the fullest. For Threshold, I thought about the sanctity of the human condition and how we struggle everyday to maintain uniqueness. I created the character Trevor Cooper, a 17-year old teenager who struggled with this unique ability nobody knew about. When I build a character, I usually envision the dynamic range of emotions that everyone demonstrates. Although the basics are comforting, the extremes are more inviting. My characters aren't psychopaths who bury school busses under a soccer field. That was really an episode from Walker, Texas Ranger. Behavioral extremes are the most authentic when they're paired with instances of normalcy. Although I wrote Trevor as an introvert who fears most interactions, supplementing him with the ability to break free from his previous nuances added depth. For instance, he creepily obsesses about girls. He wants to take drugs and destroy himself, but his supernatural ability gives him purpose. I juxtaposed this against the backdrop of a recently divorced single mother and an uptight older brother, both of which are trying to find their purpose.
Once a strong story is developed with flourishing characters, I map out the beats, or significant moments of the adventure. For example, I figure out what event incites the journey, or the apparent call to action. Since a feature screenplay is divided into three acts, I immediately develop the first act so I know the direction of my story. The second and third acts are outlined as well, but concentrate more on the broad strokes of the overall journey. I never adhere strictly to the third act. It merely serves as a place holder for which to build the main adventure. Once I figure out what I want to write about, I begin the drafting process. Here, I write in a non-linear fashion because it is important to be constantly aware of your story at all moments. If I'm unclear on setting up certain foreshadowed events in the initial pages, how can I effectively pay off what I intend later? Sometimes, I'll have an idea for the character's low point, also known as the part when the audience believes that hope is unattainable. At the end of the second act,when I write a low point in addition to another pivotal moment, I bridge them with the end of the first act. Whatever lies between these points is devoted to strategically shaping the character's journey, acknowledging both the successes and failures of the emotional journey.
I don't believe in writer's block: it has no merit. Some days I don't feel like writing. I drink lethal amounts of caffeine and pace around my apartment, twitching like Gary Busey. Some story concepts race through my head, but I toss them aside. I read Variety or check my email and see who's boning whom on Perez Hilton. Eventually, I have to order myself to sit down. I yell at myself and get the message across while ultimately making my schizophrenic neighbor feel at home. I emphasize the emotional discourse because, in my opinion, it prevents an abrupt writing drought. Instead, it motivates the creation of new authentic scenes that aren't dictated by unecessary plot devices. In Threshold, Trevor's healing of a popular kid in school connects with his own character in conflicting ways. Trevor wants to be popular and realizes that miraculously saving him will promote his own recognition. On the other hand, Trevor must keep in mind his vulnerability and maintain a low profile, even if it means watching a life be lost.
The first draft is probably the most difficult because I'm never fully satisfied. The acts run long. The characters lack dimension. 7th Heaven has better dialogue. I don't realize this until "Fade Out" is written on the final page. I now have to face the next dilemma -- the rewriting stage. That's when the index cards come in handy. 4x6 versions of the National Guard that rescue my story and integrate it with a newfound depth. The cards visually display what scenes need to be added, rewritten, and deleted. It is a visual map without the "you are here" arrow. Finding your way is the real task. I usually devote six to eight weeks for revisions. I find enlightenment around week three, which is when I feel comfortable letting go of ideas that I once thought were redeemable.
A few years ago, I attended a writing workshop in Santa Monica called Writer's Bootcamp. The workshop was held over twenty-two months and mentored its members to produce an arsenal of scripts within the time period. The most cathartic experience, however, was their motto: the secret to writing is writing. Writing for a career takes on more responsibility than writing as a hobby. Discipline, awareness, and the occasional corporal punishment, benefit a screenwriter. I write for two hours per day, the work going back and forth from writing pages to developing story components. In the end, this will pay off. If something goes terribly wrong with my life by the time I'm forty, I can always move to Hawaii and grow pineapples.
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