I’ve closed comments on the Derivative Challenge to begin judging the 84 entries. Should have a winner this afternoon.
Does a working writer keep improving?
I am a reasonably successful screenwriter. A working writer. I’ve sold two pilots, gotten a freelance episode of a high-quality one-hour drama, done some comic book gigs, and just sold a feature with myself attached to direct at a production budget of $3M.
Not A-list, or B-list, but maybe C-minus working my way up. I’m in my early thirties and have been at this a couple years.
My problem/question is: I feel like I have hit a wall with respect to my sense of story. I feel like most of my success has been gotten on a combination of ability-to-pitch, charisma and the ability to turn a phrase _inside_ a scene. But I have this real weakness when it comes to knowing what the right scenes are in the right order. Story. Plot. I can put two people in a room and have them riff in a pleasing and entertaining way and to the extent that my story supports this kind of loose, Kevin Smith-esque writing, I do well.
But I know that if I want my career to go to the next level, I need to improve my understanding of story and plot.
So I guess I have two questions…
1) Any ideas on how to do this on an intermediate/advanced-level? How can I go from a “B” understanding of story/plot to an “A” understanding of story/plot?
and
2) What are your thoughts on how to keep making breakthroughs in the quality of your work when you are at an intermediate/advanced level? Do you feel like you are constantly improving? How do you keep improving?
— Scott
Los Angeles
You’re already the envy of most of the readers of this site: you’re a working Hollywood writer. So congratulations, and don’t dismiss what you’ve accomplished. I’m happy to hear you attribute it your skills (pitching, wit) and not pure dumb luck. ((Luck accounts for a small but not unimportant part of success in screenwriting, or any career. Being ready to be lucky, and what you do with that good fortune, is a big part of how a career goes. I was lucky to get into my film school — I honestly didn’t know how competitive it was. I was lucky that Tim Burton happened to be looking for a project when Spielberg dropped off of Big Fish. And, of course, I was lucky to be born in an upper-middle class family in Colorado.))
So let me offer some good news. The stuff you’re not especially good at — story, structure, plot — can actually be learned. If you were writing in for advice about how to be funnier or more charismatic, I would have probably let your email sit in the growing folder of unanswerable questions, because those are pretty much inherent qualities.
My advice for you is to dedicate one day a week to disassembling good movies. Take existing films (and one-hour dramas) and break them down to cards. Think of yourself as an ordinary mechanic given the task of reverse-engineering a spaceship. Figure out what the pieces do, and why they were put together in that way.
Here are the questions you need to ask about each scene or sequence:
* As the audience, what am I expecting will happen next?
* What does the character want to do next?
* Is this a good moment to let the character achieve something, or knock him back?
* How long has it been since we checked in with other character and subplots?
* What would have happened if this scene had been cut? Or moved?
By asking these questions about other people’s movies, you can take some of the pressure off.
When it comes to your scripts, it might be worth writing something that’s deliberately outside of your comfort zone, a script that doesn’t let you rest on your scenework. Because to answer your second question, yes, I think you can keep making breakthroughs in your writing, but only by challenging your preconceived limitations.
I’m currently writing my first period movie, my first stage play, and my first stage musical. Part of the reason I’m enjoying them is because they scare the be-Zeus out of me. I’ve passed on some more obvious projects that I’m sure I could have written competently simply to stretch a little more.
Yes, I’m deeper in my career than you are. And my flitting from genre to genre has probably hurt me in some respects. ((Despite Big Fish, I rarely get sent the “big books” that sell out of New York. And it’s hard for me to set up a pricey original, because I don’t have a long track record in a specific genre.)) But a career isn’t one script, or ten, it’s the years of your life. You’re working. Your ability to turn clever phrases won’t go away. So you’re right to focus on the areas you think you can improve, if only to increase your confidence and enjoyment of the career you’ve chosen.
A somewhat derivative challenge
Following up on my article about [How to Explain Quantum Mechanics](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2008/how-to-explain-quantum-mechanics), I think it’s high time for the third-ever Scene Challenge. ![[Scene Challenge]](http://johnaugust.com/Assets/scene_challenge.png)
For the first one, [Masturbating to Star Trek](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2007/masturbating-to-star-trek), you had to write an entire scene. For the second one, [Make Your Introduction](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2007/make-your-introduction), you had to introduce one character. This time, it’s both simpler and more difficult:
__Have a character explain derivatives, as used in the financial industry.__ (The thing that’s like a stock, not the thing that you learned in calculus.)
The speaker should be knowledgeable, and the listener should be a layman, i.e. a proxy for the audience. What are their names? What’s the story? What’s the genre? You decide, to the degree it matters. My suggestion would be to create a scenario in which the term needs to be explained — but only to the degree necessary. Metaphors and similes are powerful tools.
You’re welcome to write as much of the scene as you want, but the focus is on the explanation. The winning entry might be one sentence long. I strongly recommend you look at the [original article](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2008/how-to-explain-quantum-mechanics) for helpful suggestions.
Here are the rules:
1. Post your entry in the comments thread of this article. Please don’t attempt fancy formatting. It usually just screws up the margins.
2. All entries must be submitted by 8 a.m. PST on Thursday, May 8th, 2008. Remember that comments are sometimes held in moderation. __Don’t submit twice.__ It will show up. Promise.
3. I’ll pick a winner later that day.
4. Winner receives hearty congratulations and a brief moment in the spotlight.
And…begin.
**UPDATE:** A reader asks a fair question: What if two explanations are very similar, and both great? Answer: The earlier entry wins. So there’s no benefit to waiting for the last minute, worrying that someone’s going to read your entry and do a knock-off version.
To summarize: Best entry first wins.
Secret history of the Kleinhardt Gambit
In the second Charlie’s Angels, where did the phrase “Kleinhardt gambit” come from?
— Duane
Mount Pleasant
Duane is referring to this scene, near the end of the movie:
EXT. HIGH ROOF – NIGHT
Madison finds herself alone on a high, empty roof. Reeling, confused. A giant, blinking “LOS ANGELES” SIGN flashes.
A single telescope has been set up near the edge. Madison walks to it. Leans down to the eyepiece.
HER P.O.V.
On a distant rooftop, all of her gangster clients are being arrested by the F.B.I.
CLOSE ON MADISON
as she looks up from the eyepiece. Furious, but smiling. She speaks to the only ones who could be behind this:
MADISON
The Kleinhardt Gambit. Classic. Well done.
WIDEN TO REVEAL the Angels, approaching behind her.
NATALIE
Thanks.
SMASHCUT to a series of FAST FLASHBACKS:
MUSSO AND FRANK’S. SNAP ZOOM TO THE COAT CHECK ROOM. THE COAT CHECKER IS NATALIE, WITH BLACK HAIR AND SLINKY BLACK DRESS.
ROOSEVELT HOTEL, BATHROOM. THE HISPANIC DOORMAN QUICKLY RIPS OFF HIS LATEX FACE, REVEALING DYLAN.
(Those last three are separate scene numbers, by the way.)
Here, the “Kleinhardt Gambit” refers to the way the angels sent Madison’s buyers to the wrong rooftop through elaborate misdirection. The telescope is apparently not a key part of the gambit, but rather just to piss off Madison.
The action is pretty standard for Charlie’s Angels (or Mission: Impossible), so it makes sense that a fallen angel would recognize how she was duped, and would have a term for it. The term itself is completely invented, a ridiculous neologism. And believe me, there wasn’t a lot of deep thought going into it. The first combination of syllables that seemed reasonable got typed.
Science fiction does this constantly. What’s a [flux capacitor](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flux_capacitor)? How did Kirk prevail in the un-winnable [Kobayashi Maru](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kobayashi_Maru)? What are [midi-chlorians](http://www.theforce.net/midichlorians/), and how can we pretend we never heard of them?
Don’t be afraid to invent terms you think would exist in your fictional world. Done just right, jargon helps ground characters in their setting, much the way medical-ese makes you think those pretty people on TV could actually be doctors.