John August

Projects

How to sell Big Fish

Big Fish, Projects

This afternoon, I came across the letter I wrote in 1998 trying to convince Columbia Pictures to option the rights to Daniel Wallace’s novel Big Fish for me to adapt.

It’s strange seeing this letter now. In it, I describe the very broad shape of the movie, but at the time I didn’t know so many of the details. Crucial elements like the circus, the war, Josephine, Norther Winslow — none of these existed in the book, and I had at most a vague sense of what I wanted to do.

At the time, there were no producers involved, and no director. It was just me and the studio.

The truth is, this letter probably didn’t convince anyone. Columbia wanted me under contract so they could have me work on other more-commercial movies. But it served an important role in convincing myself that there really was a movie to make out of Wallace’s weird and delightful little book.

To: Readers of Daniel Wallace’s BIG FISH

From: John August

Date: 9/14/98

RE: This book

I come to you with an unfair advantage: I read BIG FISH a few weeks ago, whereas many of you probably only read it last night or this morning. Trust me — it’s the kind of book that sticks with you and gets better as you think back through it. But since you probably don’t have the luxury of weeks to mull it over, I wanted to tell you why I liked this book so much when I first read it, and like it even more as I look back.

If you’re reading coverage of this book, the logline probably includes the words dying father and humorous anecdotes, which sounds suspiciously like the TV Guide listing for a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie that would be nominated for an Emmy, even though nobody you know actually saw it. The problem with that logline is that while it’s technically correct, it’s absolutely wrong.

BIG FISH is the story of Edward Bloom, a charming pain in the ass, as told by his immensely frustrated son William, who in the absence of any concrete history, can only tell us the wild exaggerations his father has been shoving upon him his entire life.

Edward Bloom feeds his son the kinds of stories you tell a wide-eyed five-year old — how you used to walk to school five miles, uphill each way. But now his son is in his 30’s, and Bloom never stopped telling these stories. Rather, he kept embellishing them, until they became a second life of sorts — perhaps the one he secretly wished he had lived. We pick up the tale as the elder Bloom lies on his deathbed, but the question of the story is not “will he die?” but “will he finally drop the facade?”

At this point, I have to digress and tell an anecdote from my life. (This is the kind of book that inevitably makes you want to talk about your own life; it stirs up strange recollections.)

On a dark rainy night in production on GO, I was sent off to set up a second-unit shot with a talented young actor who is, moment for moment, one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.1 The problem is, he doesn’t shut up. It’s as if every sensory input is channeled through a part of his brain that seeks humorous output. This life-as-Groundlings-sketch is charming at three in the afternoon, but at three in the morning, when you’re cold and exhausted and first unit has the lens you really really need, you find yourself searching for the switch that turns him off. Would you please just stop being funny so we can do this fucking shot?

In BIG FISH, William has the same frustration with his father: Would he please, just for once, not make a joke of all this?

Even as Edward Bloom amuses us, we can understand why William is annoyed. And honestly, if we had to spend an entire movie with this old man, we might get sick of him too. But the special treat of this movie is that you spend most of it with Bloom as a young man, tracking his life from impossible story to impossible story. He’s a modern-day Paul Bunyan, funnier for the inconsistencies in his tales.

If it sounds like I’m downplaying the dramatic elements, I’m not. Like FORREST GUMP or ORDINARY PEOPLE, there’s honest emotion at its core, and a movie shouldn’t shy away from that. I lost my own father at 21, and can remember sharply the months of walking on eggshells, and the weird power dynamics of a household built on maintaining tranquility at any cost.2

Because even as they’re fading, people can piss you off. Just because you’re dying doesn’t give you an excuse to be an asshole.

While Edward spends his life trying to convince his son what a great man he is, William just wants to see a glimpse of the real man behind the bravado. In the end, neither wins, but there’s a more fundamental truth to be learned: even if you never really understand a man, that doesn’t keep you from appreciating him.3

Now that I’ve rhapsodized about the book’s many virtues, let me note that it isn’t perfect. The individual anecdotes don’t always thread together especially well, and need to be more consistently (a) funny and (b) relevant. Properly told, we should see the reality behind the wild exaggerations. Even though we see the “myth” of Bloom’s life, there’s truth in the lies.

I’m not crazy about the ending; magical realism is a tough sell, and almost always feels like a cheat. But I think we can have it both ways. My instinct is to let Bloom die the way actual people die — quiet and peacefully — then show his death the way he would want us to believe: a funny, cataclysmic event that burns down half the town and coincidentally resolves many of the loose threads from his various stories.

I hope these ramblings give you a forecast of what you might be thinking about this book a week or two from now. Likely you’ll have your own anecdotes, because Wallace has the weird ability to feel universal and highly specific, as if he stumbled across some secret trove of shared histories.

  1. Jay Mohr. ↩
  2. I was 28 when I wrote this. I made Will my age and Edward my father’s age so I could keep track of the timelines. ↩
  3. This thesis gets restated different ways in the movie, including “My father and I were strangers who knew each other very well.” and “You become what you always were: a very big fish.” ↩

What to do about fake scripts

Aladdin, Projects, Rights and Copyright

A listener pointed me to this listing on Barnes & Noble for “Aladdin: Screenplay” by Meredith Day. The listener writes:

This is clearly a bootleg, and the Kindle preview shows it’s just a movie transcript without any proper formatting. You don’t even get credit as a screenwriter in the book.

On Amazon you can find dozens of books by Meredith Day, all of them “screenplays.” But they’re not actual screenplays. At most they’re transcripts, perhaps pulled from the closed captioning.

aladdin transcript page

The text isn’t the only thing that looks to be yoinked without permission. The cover artwork shows up in the Artstation portfolio of Vietnamese artist Khánh Khánh as “Aladdin 2019 Fanart.”

The listener asks:

I was wondering if you ever do anything to legally take these down? Have you ever considered official publications of your previous screenplays besides just the digital releases in your library?

Let’s take a moment to look at the copyright issues here.

Aladdin — both the character and the basic story elements — are wholly in the public domain. Everyone has the right to retell the story of the kid, the lamp and the genie.

Disney’s Aladdin, including its songs and dialogue, are property of the Mouse House. This book isn’t the public domain version of Aladdin; it’s a transcript of the film. It’s hard to imagine it passing any of the standards of fair use, as it’s a commerical endeavor that uses the work in whole without commentary or transformation.

What’s more, it invites confusion about whether it’s an authorized product. To my knowledge, Disney hasn’t published the screenplay anywhere, but they have put out a well-reviewed novelization.

As one of the credited writers of Aladdin, I considered filling out Amazon’s “Report Infringement” form, but Disney is the more properly aggrieved party here. It’s their call.1

As frustrating as it is to think of someone profiting off this hacky transcript, I honestly don’t think they’re profiting that much. A quick Google search will find you the same text for free. The best case for taking these fake scripts off Amazon and Barnes & Noble is that they’re terrible and certain to disappoint anyone who purchases them.

  1. Because the 2019 Aladdin is based on Disney’s IP, I don’t control any of the separated rights, including publishing a book of the script. ↩

What I Learned Writing a Trilogy

Arlo Finch, Author, Books, Projects, Psych 101

In October 2016, I began writing Arlo Finch in the Valley of Fire. It’s about a kid who moves to the mountains of Colorado, where he joins the Rangers. Modeled on the scouts of my youth, Rangers can do some kinda magic things because the forest outside their town is kinda magic.

arlo 1Arlo Finch sold to Roaring Brook/Macmillan as a trilogy, with Valley of Fire debuting in February 2018 and Lake of the Moon the following year. It has spawned thirteen translations published around the world. I’ve toured extensively across the U.S. and Europe. It’s been a wild trip.

Now the trilogy is finished. The paperback of Arlo Finch in the Kingdom of Shadows arrives in bookstores across the U.S. and Canada today.

As this part of the journey ends, I wanted to look back on what I learned in writing a trilogy. Here’s what I wish someone had told me before I started.

1. Have a plan, but be ready to change it.

When I sold the trilogy, my proposal included descriptions of books two and three. Here’s a paragraph I wrote in my summary of Kingdom of Shadows:

The Duchess, who has always operated through proxies and emissaries, is finally forced into the open. Charming, clever and ruthless, she’s willing to make a bargain with the boy she can’t seem to kill. Arlo must decide whether to forsake his friends and family in order to keep them safe.

No spoiler warning needed, because this doesn’t happen. The Duchess — a character I’d intended to become the series villain — never appears in the trilogy at all. There’s nothing even remotely like her. Early in writing book two, a better villain appeared, one who was a much stronger foil for Arlo.

arlo coverAnd it’s not just the Duchess. Here are seven crucial elements in the trilogy that I didn’t know when I sold it:

  1. Hadryn, and his connection to Arlo
  2. Fallpath
  3. The Broken Bridge
  4. Big Breezy
  5. The Summerland Incident
  6. Mirnos and Ekafos
  7. Why the Eldritch actually need Arlo

Shouldn’t I have planned better? Was it pure hubris to start writing without locking down these details?

Maybe. But I didn’t know about Hadryn until he showed up in a scene. He was a bit player who caught my interest and ended up becoming a costar. I didn’t know — and perhaps couldn’t have known — that I needed him back when I was writing the first book. Many things you only discover while writing.

In the end, a series outline is like a map. It can help keep you from getting lost, but if you follow it too closely you may drive right past some amazing discoveries.

2. Set rules. Break them when necessary.

Every book has rules. Some are conventions (such as spelling and punctuation), while others are specific to the genre or audience (no swearing in a kid’s book).

These rules help both authors and readers. For example, consider how we handle dialogue in prose. The author doesn’t have to add he said or she said to every line because readers have come to expect that characters alternate speaking unless otherwise indicated.

The same principle applies to point of view. Like many fantasy novels, Arlo Finch is told from a close third-person perspective. As the reader, we are hovering right behind Arlo’s shoulder. We only see what he sees, and we can only peer inside his head. Arlo Finch is at the center of every scene.

Fifty feet away, by the edge of the gravel driveway, a dog was watching him. Arlo assumed it was a dog, not a coyote or a wolf, though he had never seen one of the latter in person. The creature had a collar, which at least meant it belonged to somebody.

Arlo knew to be careful around strange dogs, but this one didn’t seem threatening. It was simply watching him.

Although the book never explicitly states it, the reader quickly understands the rule: Everything is from Arlo’s point of view.

This point of view splits the difference between a first-person narrator (e.g. The Hunger Games) and an omniscient narrator (Game of Thrones). It keeps the reader dialed in with the hero, which makes it a perfect choice for Arlo Finch…until chapter 37 of Lake of the Moon.

Arlo and his friend Indra had gotten separated. Now I needed to show what Indra was up to. But how? There was no elegant way to do it without breaking the rule on POV.

So I did it. I broke the rule. After 100,000+ words from Arlo’s perspective, we shift to Indra’s POV for that chapter.

And it was fine.

My editor noticed — but no one else did. (Or at least, they didn’t complain.) In context, it felt natural to be seeing these events from the point of view of a well-established supporting character. Later, when Indra meets up with the Blue Patrol, they’re focused on finding Arlo but the reader hardly notices that our POV character isn’t there.

Ultimately, I wasn’t breaking the rule as much as amending it: Everything is from Arlo’s point of view — unless he’s not present. Then it’s from the POV of the best-known character.

For book three, I stuck with this modified rule. One of my favorite chapters in Kingdom of Shadows is told from Uncle Wade’s perspective.

POV wasn’t the only rule I ended up breaking in Arlo Finch. I initially set out to show that Arlo’s real strength was not as a leader, but rather a follower. If there was a decision to be made, he’d help find consensus but would never take the reins.

This “hero as wallflower” approach lasted until the midpoint of book two, when he found himself facing many more challenges alone. By the third book, he’s standing up against governments and supernatural forces of unfathomable power. He’s a reluctant leader, but he’ll do what it takes.

Doing what it takes is part of writing a trilogy. You need to break rules carefully but unapologetically.

3. Build roads, not worlds.

The town of Pine Mountain brushes up against the Long Woods, a vast extra-dimensional wilderness that can only be navigated by mastering a special Ranger’s compass. Unlike a lot of fantasy literature, there’s no map at the front of the novels because the Long Woods cannot be mapped.

But there are books in Arlo Finch: Arlo and his friends occasionally consult Culman’s Bestiary to learn about the dangerous creatures they’re facing, yet I never seriously considered putting together the actual catalogue. Nor did I write out the oft-cited Rangers’ Field Book. I knew the names of the ranks and a few of the requirements, nothing more.

When it came to world building, I tried to create only what Arlo could himself encounter. I put a sticky note on my monitor to remind myself: Don’t build more than you need.

In the case of Arlo Finch, the decision was partly practical; I simply had too many chapters to write. But I also recognized a pattern I’d seen in a lot of fantasy literature:

  • Elaborately constructed universes that have little to do with the hero’s story.
  • Supporting characters who talk about events that happened long ago.
  • Visitors hailing from faraway lands the hero (and reader) will never visit.
  • Creatures described but never encountered.

Even over the course of a trilogy, your characters will only see a small corner of their universe. So focus on that. Make it rich, rewarding and most of all relevant.

4. Slow and steady wins the race.

I started Arlo Finch as part of NaNoWriMo, the annual challenge to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days. That’s a pace of 1,667 words per day.

While I’d had a lot of experience as a screenwriter, I was a complete newbie to the world of publishing. I knew I had a lot to learn, so I used the excuse of making a documentary podcast (called Launch) to ask hundreds of naive questions to editors, booksellers and other authors. They taught me about the joys, challenges and frustrations of getting a book published.

When told I was writing a trilogy, authors invariably offered a sympathetic smile along with a gentle shake of the head. Oh, child, they seemed to be saying. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Writing any book is a marathon. Writing three books back-to-back is like a race that never ends.

I wasn’t prepared for the sheer number of words I’d be typing — 202,595 in all — and having to do copy edits on one book while finishing the next. In the morning, Arlo might be investigating a mysterious campsite in Lake of the Moon. In the afternoon, he was back six months earlier in Pine Mountain, meeting his friends for the first time in Valley of Fire.

As a screenwriter, I’m used to working on one movie at a time. When writing Toto, I don’t need to worry about the sequel; it’ll only happen in wild success.

Instead, my experience writing a trilogy had much more in common with the life of TV showrunnner. My friends who write TV have to map out a season, then write the episodes, then oversee all the tweaks and changes — often all at the same time.

While it’s amazing to have this amount of control over one’s work, it requires a steady pace. There’s simply no way to sprint it.

5. The middle book is the hardest, but also the most exciting.

The middle book of a trilogy serves as a bridge between the start of the series and the end. It’s the second act, where stakes and complications are raised. As the writer, you’re spinning a bunch of plates, and then you add more.

You can find many articles about middle book syndrome, because if there’s one thing writers love, it’s lamenting about how hard writing is.

For me, the second book felt like the second season of a TV series. And I love second seasons. That’s when shows hit their stride.

Having established the characters and the rules of the world, I could introduce new obstacles and conflicts. For example, Arlo has friends — but what if his friends aren’t getting along? Arlo has a routine with family and school, but what happens when he’s away from all of that?

I wrote the second novel while I was living in Paris. My friend Damon Lindelof was in town and stopped by to record an episode of Scriptnotes. In our conversation, we discussed the list of ideas you have as a writer than you never actually get around to writing:

Damon: I always wanted to do a show about time travel. And then I suddenly realized, hey, Lost is that show. There is not time travel embedded in the pilot of Lost, but J.J. and I tried to do everything that we could to open up all possibilities in the pilot so that if we wanted to get to time travel, we could.

And I always wanted to set a show in the ’70s, and I was like, well, we’ve got time travel now. So Lost is that show, too. And I’ve always wanted to do like a pirate show. Well, Lost could be that show, too.

I always wanted to write some time travel as well. So I decided that was a thing that was possible in Arlo Finch.

Having established the mystery of the lost Yellow Patrol in book one, I wanted Arlo to not only learn what had happened, but to be the cause of it. Figuring out how to do that was brain-melting, but the resulting novel is my favorite of the series.

6. Most reviewers only read the first book.

Librarians and professional reviewers have to look at dozens or hundreds of books each year, so even if they love book one, they’re unlikely to review book two unless it’s a publishing phenomenon. That’s a real frustration when you’re writing a trilogy, because you’re deliberately portioning out your story over three books.

In the case of Arlo Finch, I wanted to push back against the tropes of the genre (cf. Harry Potter and Percy Jackson), in particular the notion that the titular hero is the chosen one. So in book one, Arlo is confused why he’s special. Then in book two, he gets the answer: he wasn’t “chosen” at all. He’s an ordinary kid who made a choice — and in the process, created the villain of the story.

But reviewers won’t see that, because they’re only reading the first book.

Now that all three books are out in the world, it’s been gratifying to see some bloggers and librarians looking at the series as a whole when making their recommendations.

I am so sad that is over but it ended in such a satisfying way! If you haven’t read this series yet, do so. It will be one of the best stories you read in your lifetime.

Returning to the TV analogy, readers who start reading Arlo Finch now will have a different experience than those who encountered it one book/season at a time. Without a year between installments, Arlo’s arc becomes a lot more clear. The setups and payoffs aren’t separated by time.

7. Clear some shelf space.

In addition to the original English version, Arlo Finch is available in 12 translations. For each of these, I receive five copies, for a total of 195 books, which have to go somewhere.

This is luxury problem, to be sure. It’s great and gratifying that so many international publishers took a chance on Arlo. And it’s exciting to cut open a box to see the new Polish or Romanian translation. But then what? I can’t read them. I don’t need them. Yet I can’t bring myself to get rid of them, either.

I hadn’t anticipated how much space it would all take.

shelf with arlo finch books lined up

In my library, I cleared room for one copy of each translation. The rest are packed away in boxes in a closet.

8. You won’t get everything right. (See #1.)

If I could go back to book one, I would make a few changes.

Capitalize Eldritch. I didn’t realize these supernatural beings would become so important. (I also didn’t know they were giants.) We started capitalizing Eldritch in book two, but it bugs me that we’re not consistent.

Set up Arlo’s origin earlier. In book one, we learn Arlo is a “tooble,” but not what it means. We get an answer in book two, but as noted earlier, most reviewers only read the first book. Fox, who appears at the end of book one, could have been less oblique.

Name the Warden. In book three, we learn that the adult Ranger Arlo talks to after the campfire in book one is the middle school band teacher (Mr. O’Brien). I wish I’d given him his name from the start.

Put Hadryn in book one. Hadryn appears early in book two, but by the rules of trilogies, he should have shown up in the first book — if not as a character, then at least as a named threat.

Call out how it’s different from other fantasy trilogies. Unlike Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, Arlo Finch sleeps in his own bed every night. It’s a much more grounded adventure. I think that’s obvious, but none of the reviewers seemed to notice. I should have underlined that.

9. Don’t wait to thank people.

Early on, I decided that I wanted to save all of the thank yous and acknowledgements until the end of the third book. My reasoning was that as a reader I generally skip these sections, so why waste the pages and the ink? Plus, wouldn’t it feel presumptuous to thank a bunch of people for a book that might not be well-received?

In retrospect, this decision was dumb.

I should have included thank yous in the first two books as well. As the past year has demonstrated, anything can happen. There was no guarantee the final book would ever come out, or that everyone would be alive to see it. So thank people often and publicly.

10. It’s hard to say goodbye.

It’s been almost 18 months since I turned in the final revisions for Kingdom of Shadows. I’m finished, yet I don’t entirely feel finished.

The series was conceived as a trilogy and definitely resolves the major open questions. Like any finale, I took advantage of the opportunity to burn down the sets and let characters move on.

Could there be another book? Sure.

Does there need to be another book? Not really.

Had Arlo Finch become a runaway best-selling phenomenon, I’d certainly be writing more books in the series. But as a writer, my most precious resource is time, and the best use of it going forward is on other projects.

Still, Arlo is special. I’ve lived with it longer than anything except Big Fish. I know every inch of the Finch house. I know Indra’s secrets. I know what happens at the Ranger equivalent of the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico and the circumstances of Arlo’s first kiss.

There are Arlo Finch books that won’t be written and stories that won’t be told. But I’m grateful for the three I have, and the years it took to write them. I’m happy they’ll outlive me.

You can find Arlo Finch in bookstores everywhere. The series is appropriate for anyone age 8 and up, including quite a few adults.

2020 Annual Review

Apps, Highland, Projects, Weekend Read

Now that we’ve called a wrap on 2020, a year that maybe wasn’t the worst in history but sure felt like it, I want to take stock of what I accomplished over the prior 12 months. While the pandemic impacted everything, many aspects of my life marched along with minimal disruption.

I still wrote movies. I still made software, worked out, and played a surprising amount of D&D.

Basically, a lot of normal happened despite the abnormal circumstances. It’s worth evaluating those parts of 2020 that were under my control.

In his annual reviews, James Clear asks three questions:

  • What went well this year?
  • What didn’t go so well this year?
  • What did I learn?

Let’s see what we find.

Writing

My two big writing projects for 2020 were Toto and Upstate.

Toto, an animated retelling of The Wizard of Oz, has been charmed from the start. Writing it felt like remembering. It went from treatment to script to greenlight in orderly fashion. With normal production upended by the pandemic, we found new ways to do things that blended animation and theater workflows.

Upstate, a Netflix comedy with Ryan Reynolds, is a wildly different movie but has also benefited from being the right idea and the right place at the right time.

For both Toto and Upstate, I wrote detailed treatments before starting on the first draft. In the past, I’ve never found treatments to be all that useful, but in both cases the treatments helped me and my collaborators understand the shape of the movie we were discussing. Doing this work staved off some painful decisions down the road. For 2021, I suspect I’ll be writing more treatments.

The end of Arlo, for now

For the first time in four years, I didn’t need to write a book in 2020. All three Arlo Finch novels are out in the wild, both in the US and overseas.

It’s hard to overstate what a change it is to be freed from the thousand-words-a-day treadmill of writing a novel, much less a trilogy. For four years, I felt like I was always behind — that anything I was choosing to do that wasn’t writing or revising Arlo Finch was cheating. To be finished is a huge relief.

At the same time, I miss that daily work. It was great to have a clear purpose and plan: sit in the chair, write the words, keep going. While I’ve always felt like a writer, working on the books made me feel like an artisan, a potter at the wheel. I couldn’t wait around until inspiration struck. I needed to throw some damn pots.

With the books finished, I took a lot of meetings about turning Arlo Finch into a movie or TV series. Deals were proffered and scuttled. I think there’s a decent chance there will ultimately be an Arlo Finch on screen, but I can’t predict when, and it’s not a top priority for me.

A quick no is better than a slow maybe

The Arlo Finch meetings were part of a larger narrative in 2020 in which I pitched projects with mixed success.

Early in the year, I made a deal with a Well-Known Rights Holder to create a limited event series based on their material. In the spring, we went looking for a home for it. We took meetings with all the streamers and got offers that never quite became signed deals. Twice, the executives we pitched to left their companies before business affairs started making a deal. It was a very slow process that still hasn’t finished.

In the fall, I tried again with a feature animation pitch based on a terrific short film by an international team. We got a lot of yesses on Zoom but no offers. It was the kind of project that animation folks always talk about wanting to make: mid-budget, unique, very culturally specific. But that was always from the creative side of the studio. The money people wanted something that could easily play to the traditional family audience.

Basically, more Toto, less Frankenweenie.

And on some level, I should have known that going in. The project was always a longshot, but I convinced myself that multiple buyers really could make it.

One important difference between the two experiences: on the animation project, we got to “no” quickly. I’ve come to really appreciate execs who can say, “I like this. I get it. We just can’t make it here.”

The Zoom of it

Because of the pandemic, all of these pitches were on Zoom. Honestly? Pitching virtually was great. We could meet with six buyers in a week, and I didn’t miss driving all over town. We could rehearse and show slides, and not worry about making eye contact with the one key person in the room. Post-pandemic, I suspect a lot of these meetings will remain on Zoom.

Looking back, I spent too much of 2020 pitching, especially considering I didn’t control the underlying IP. Had these been my own properties, I could have decided to simply write them myself.

Right after the new year, there’s a project I’m going to pitch to the one buyer who could conceivably make it. If they say yes, great! If they say no, I can scratch it off the list. Again, a quick no is better than a slow maybe.

The other theme I’m using to guide my choices in 2021 is Hell Yeah or No. If a project comes my way and I’m only mildly interested, I’m going to say no faster. (Basically my internal version of avoiding the slow maybe.)

One project that had zero forward movement this year was The Shadows, a movie I’m planning to direct with a blind hero, played by a blind actor. From the start of the pandemic, it became very clear that the challenges of filming it safely were insurmountable until we’re safely back in a normal production universe.

Going back to our initial questions:

What went well: – Writing scripts – Starting with treatments – Taking meetings on Zoom

What didn’t go so well: – Pitching other people’s IP – Self-delusion

What I learned: – A quick yes is better than a slow maybe – Focus on words written – Remember Hell Yeah or No

The Apps and Other Company Projects

My company Quote-Unquote makes digital things like Highland 2 and Weekend Read, along with atom-based products such as t-shirts and Writer Emergency Pack.

We made steady progress in 2020, both in terms of revenue and features. In addition to incremental improvements on our main products, we did a lot of behind-the-scenes work setting up for what’s coming next.

Highland 2 is mature. Currently at version 2.9.5, we won’t be adding any new features to it. Instead, we will fix the bugs that invariably pop up because of OS changes, and make sure Highland for Mac stays compatible with the iOS version of Highland currently in development.

Likewise, Writer Emergency Pack is mature. It still sells well, especially at Christmas.

This year, Highland 2 and Writer Emergency Pack have offered useful lessons about supply chains, both in and out of a pandemic.

Highland is available only through the Mac App Store. It’s a free download, with a $50 in-app purchase to unlock the Pro version and remove the watermark. We qualify for Apple’s new Small Business Program, so for 2021, Apple will only take a 15% commission rather that 30%.

(For folks doing the math, I’ll confirm: our apps generate less than $1 million per year in proceeds, which is why we’re eligible for the discounted commission.)

One of our goals for 2020 was to get more screenwriting students using Highland. We want the next generation of screenwriters to think of Highland as the way screenwriting apps “should” work rather than Final Draft.

With that aim, we added a Student edition, which is essentially Highland Pro but with an expiration date. Students still download the app off the Mac App Store, but rather than purchasing the upgrade, they enter their pre-approved email address which we’ve gotten from their writing professor.

This new system worked, mostly. We now have around two thousand student users at writing programs around the world. But the system we built for adding students is cumbersome and requires way too much staff supervision. For 2021, we’re greatly streamlining it.

We learned a similar lesson in 2020 with Writer Emergency Pack, trying to reduce the number of steps and intermediaries.

In the US, we sell WEP on Amazon through Fulfilled by Amazon. You click the yellow button and comes directly from Amazon’s warehouse along with everything else. Around the holidays, we had a hard time staying in stock this year because of Amazon’s COVID-related inventory restrictions. I don’t know that there’s anything we could have done differently or better. We kept sending new cases to Amazon every three days, trying to stay in stock but below our limit.

In both the US and overseas, we also sell WEP directly from our website. This is where we made bigger changes.

Our system is based around Shopify. When someone buys a deck, Shopify handles the billing and then generate an order for outside fulfillment service. For years, we used Shipwire as our warehouse/fulfillment partner. They were ultimately the wrong place for us: way too expensive, too opaque, too hard to control. For 2020, we decided to flatten our supply chain by shipping directly from our printers in Florida. Now when you buy a deck through our site, it comes directly from the folks who printed it.

The other area where we made changes in 2020 was our user community. We opened a Slack for our Pro users, and hired a new team member to take over customer support emails.

On a tech level, we updated Highland 2 to run natively on Apple new M1 and did a lot of behind-the-scenes work in SwiftUI for upcoming products. We also tried a few moonshots: wild experimental projects just to see what’s possible. I’m happy to report that one of these will ship soon. It has that “wouldn’t it be cool if…” feeling that makes software fun.

As a company, we tend to be early adopters on new Apple stuff. For SwiftUI we definitely hit some rough patches where it wasn’t clear if the issue was us or the language. But I’m glad we stuck with it. The software we’re shipping this year and next will definitely benefit from what we’ve learned.

What went well: – Flattening our supply and distribution chain – Signing up students – Pushing updates – Engaging with power users

What didn’t go so well: – Keeping stuff in stock – Shipping new things

What we learned: – Asking, “What if it were simpler?” – Any process that requires a human is worth reconsidering – Think twice before rolling your own solution

Scriptnotes

Scriptnotes continued its weekly release schedule through 2020, with a few video events to make up for the lack of in-person live shows.

We moved our premium subscriptions to a new service (Supporting Cast) and raised the monthly price from $1.99 to $4.99, which included access to all the back episodes and special bonus segments at the end of every episode. We also started putting out the premium episode the night before the normal episode drops.

Even at the higher price point, we have roughly the same number of premium subscribers (3,500) as we did before the switch. Craig and I don’t earn any money from the show, but the subscriptions nearly cover the salaries of our producer, editor and transcriber.

In 2019, a major focus of the show was improving Hollywood’s traditionally abysmal assistant pay. This year, the pandemic quickly shut down the industry, leading to massive layoffs. #PayUpHollywood had to quickly pivot to helping support staff simply pay rent and buy groceries. Craig and I donated and raised more than $500,000 through GoFundMe to provide direct relief for staff.

Raising the money proved much easier than getting it out the door. With the help of unemployed production accountants, the team was able to cut checks, but the logistics were still daunting. It reminded me of my experience with Writer Emergency Pack on Kickstarter. Congratulations! You now have $158,109 and 5,714 different problems to solve.

Ultimately, the Actors Fund took over the ongoing back-end work of getting the last of the money out.

If I had to do it again, I would have gone to the Actors Fund from the start and set up a special campaign. GoFundMe is great for pulling money in, but any roll-your-own system for distributing it is perilous.

Format tweaks

This fall, we started having producer Megana Rao read listener questions on air. It felt like a good change, in part because she could ask follow-up questions as a proxy for the audience.

In terms of guests, we consciously tried to bring on more new voices — especially female, Black, and members of underrepresented communities — rather than relying on longtime friends of the show. There are big areas of film and TV writing that Craig and I don’t work in, so it’s great to talk with folks who do. That said, we don’t want to become a guest-of-the-week show, so it’s always about finding a balance.

One thing that’s become clear is that our Tuesday morning release schedule pushes work onto the weekend. We may revisit that for 2021.

What went well: – The switch to the new premium service – New guests – Small format tweaks

What didn’t go so well: – The video episodes felt kludgey

What I learned: – It’s easier to raise money than to distribute it – Think twice before rolling your own solution

Organization and Getting Things Done

Earlier in the year, I wrote about my Daily Lists, the little quarter-folded sheets that have proven indispensable for me. I’ll keep using them.

Likewise, I’ll keep writing in 60-minute sprints. It’s the way I work best.

In 2020, I started keeping a stack of blank index cards on the bedside table. If I have a late night thought — an idea or reminder of something I need to do — I’ll grab a card, scribble it down and put the card on the floor by the door. That gets it out of my head and into a system for dealing with it.

I haven’t found a great system for that 10,000-foot view of personal projects and goals. (This summary is a stab at that.)

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying out Roam as a space for brain-dumping. It’s still early days, but so far I like it. The initial outline for this blog post was put together inside it.

What went well: – Daily lists – Writing sprints

What didn’t go so well: – Evaluating longer-term goals and plans – Finishing things

What I learned: – Habits are better than goals – Don’t mistake the system for the product

Fitness and Health

This is the easiest one to measure. I worked out nearly everyday. I consistently filled my rings on my Apple Watch. I lost nine pounds and gained three back over the holidays.

In 2019, I ran a half-marathon. I didn’t run any races in 2020, and ran less outdoors as the pandemic got worse. My total running mileage was about half what it was in 2019, although I did more interval work on the treadmill.

I got a Peloton bike at the end of 2019. I rode just over 1,000 miles in 2020. I pushed myself to beat personal records, figuring that if I was meeting or beating my best output, I couldn’t possibly have COVID.

Is that “healthy?” I dunno. But it was very honest 2020 energy, and it got the workouts in.

In addition to the bike, I liked the Peloton digital classes. I did the four-week strength class, which was nicely designed. In recent weeks, I’ve been trying out Apple Fitness+. The classes are well constructed, and the on-screen data from Apple Watch is smartly handled.

I haven’t been to a real gym since March. I miss it less than I would have expected. I definitely do miss the Hollywood Boulders climbing gym, and look forward to going back once that’s safe.

Food

I used to be a vegetarian. Then I started eating poultry and fish. These days, I try to eat a mostly plant-based diet. Each week we get a box from Purple Carrot with three or four vegan meals to cook, and they’re thoroughly tasty.

In 2020, I stopped eating breakfast on weekdays, which could be considered Intermittent Fasting or Time-Restricted Eating. Basically, I have black coffee and plenty of water until lunch. I eat all of my calories between noon and 9pm, except on weekends.

The science is decidedly mixed on whether these diets are a good idea. For anyone prone to an eating disorder, I’d urge caution. But in my own experience, it was surprisingly easy to do after a rough first week. It’s helped me to distinguish between “hungry” and “bored.”

While most of our meals were cooked at home this year, I didn’t eat especially healthy. Many cookies were eaten.

Other than my regular colonoscopy — my family’s history of colon cancer means I need to have one every three to five years — I didn’t have any of my normal medical appointments this year. Once the infection rate drops I do want to get my normal checks for cholesterol and the like.

Mental

Between the election, the pandemic and the protests following the killing of George Floyd, it was a stressful year. I tried to watch how much I checked Twitter, and to stop looking at news altogether after 8pm. That helped, but c’mon. This year was scary.

After years of being a sporadic Headspace user, in 2020 I took off my headphones and instead got a good cushion and a quiet corner. I meditated for about 10 minutes every night before bedtime, and it really helped. When I meditate, I zone out so completely I can’t remember my name.

Likely related: I slept surprisingly well this year given :gestures at everything:. It also helped that I kept a regular bedtime (around 11pm) and woke up later once my daughter’s school went virtual.

What went well this year? – Working out at home – Regularly meditating – Turning off the news

What didn’t go so well this year? – Limiting sweets and bad carbs – Normal medical visits

What did I learn? – Not every tingle is COVID – The discs in your spine need time to hydrate after sleeping. So don’t rush ‘em.

Reading

I didn’t have any particular reading goals in 2020. I read a pretty wide assortment of books, including the following:

  • Beowulf: A New Translation by Maria Dahvana Headley Amazon / Bookshop

  • Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life by Sissela Bok Amazon / Bookshop

  • Brilliant: The Evolution of Artificial Light by Jane Brox Amazon / Bookshop

  • Money: The True Story of a Made-Up Thing by Jacob Goldstein Amazon / Bookshop

  • The Origin of Capitalism: A Longer View by Ellen Meiksins Wood Amazon / Bookshop

  • The Truth about College Admission: A Family Guide to Getting In and Staying Together by Brennan Barnard, Rick ClarkAmazon / Bookshop

  • Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel Amazon / Bookshop

  • What Does It All Mean?: A Very Short Introduction to Philosophy by Thomas Nagel Amazon / Bookshop

  • The Day It Finally Happens: Alien Contact, Dinosaur Parks, Immortal Humans—and Other Possible Phenomena by Mike Pearl Amazon / Bookshop

  • Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion by Jia Tolentino Amazon / Bookshop

  • The 99 Percent Invisible City by Roman Mars, Kurt Kohlstedt Amazon / Bookshop

  • Leave the World Behind by Rumaan Alam Amazon / Bookshop

  • I Want to Be Where the Normal People Are by Rachel Bloom Amazon / Bookshop

I re-read Atrocities: The 100 Deadliest Episodes in Human History by Matthew White Amazon / Bookshop for the third time. In times of great upheaval, I find it comforting to know things have been much, much worse.

I’m putting up links for Amazon and Bookshop, but I generally buy my books from Chevalier’s on Larchmont in Los Angeles. I hosted an online event for them over the summer.

What went well: – Bedtime reading

What didn’t go so well: – Reading at almost any other time of day

What I learned: – Most local bookstores can get almost anything you want in a day or two. So support your local bookstore!

Friends

In the late spring, I made a conscious effort to set up FaceTimes and Zooms to talk with a few friends I’d normally have lunch with. It was great to catch up. I wish I’d done more of it, and will make it a priority for the new year.

In the summer, we had backyard, socially-distant drinks and dinners with three friend couples. Again, it was lovely to see people. By the time Thanksgiving came around, that wasn’t particularly safe, so our holiday meals went back to Zoom.

The one area in which the pandemic has surprisingly improved things is D&D. My group used to play in-person every few weeks. We’ve now moved online, using Zoom and Roll20. We’re playing every week and I’m eating a lot less junk food.

Our friend Tom commissioned Gedeon Cabrera for this illustration of our D&D group:

DnD group illustration

Craig and I recorded a five-part YouTube series on getting set up as a DM in Roll20.

One thing I noticed early in the pandemic is the collapsing distinction between “local” and “distant” friends. If we’re hanging out on Zoom, it really doesn’t matter if we’re in the same city.

What went well: – D&D on Zoom/Roll20 – Adapting to changing safety standards

What didn’t go so well: – Keeping up with lunch friends

What I learned: – It’s weird how the pandemic has flattened distance

Family

I’ll end my wrap-up with family time, which constituted the majority of my hours in 2020. We were within 100 feet of each other for nine months of the year.

Fortunately, me family is good at spending a lot of time together. Our year living in Paris, along with a lot of other travel over years, definitely gave us a head start on learning to live in lockdown.

We took two family roadtrips in 2020. The first was to Colorado to see family (at a distance). The second was to Yosemite. These trips were by far the most time we’d spent in a car together, but luckily we all enjoy the Hamilton cast album.

From the start of the pandemic, I worried about my 84-year-old mom, who was living in a senior community in Boulder. Since she couldn’t socialize with her friends, I FaceTimed with her every day at lunch. We’d traditionally been on a once-a-week schedule, but moving to daily calls genuinely improved our relationship by taking the pressure off. We didn’t have to go deep. We could talk about anything or nothing, and I could really see how she was doing day-to-day.

My mom died fairly suddenly at the start of December. It sucked. Many the normal things one faces with the death of a parent were upended by the pandemic. There was no funeral, no reception, no sitting around in her apartment reminiscing. In many ways, she simply vanished.

Fortunately, I’m close with my brother and his family. We’ve been able to share the workload, and our relationship was never entirely about our mom. Still, 2021 is going to be weird and different without her.

What went well: – Lockdown, all things considered – Car trips – FaceTiming with my mom

What didn’t go so well: – A death during a pandemic

What I learned: – Frequency of contact can be as important as depth

Conclusions

This post ended up being much, much longer than I expected — which was also true of 2020. It felt like a decade rather than a year.

As I write this, we’re a week in 2021. It’s already had wild peaks and valleys. But I remain bullish on the overall direction of the country, the world and the things that matter to me.

I don’t know that I’ll write one of these updates every year, but the process of accounting for what I did in 2020 has been helpful for organizing my principles for 2021. I recommend this exercise to anyone struggling to move beyond resolutions to real progress.