John August

QandA

Two transitions in a row

Formatting, QandA, Words on the page

Don Donahue writes:

How would you format two transitions in a row?

I’m experimenting with a transition where a drone gets shot down in Alaska. Right now I have…

CUT TO STATIC:

FADE TO BLIZZARD:

Is this acceptable? Is there a better way to do this?

This looks awkward. It feels like there’s something omitted between the two transitions. After all, the point of a transition is that you’re transitioning to something. That something is missing here.

It’s important to understand that by “transition” screenwriters are really talking about two distinct things:

  1. What we’re seeing on screen as we move from one scene to the next.
  2. The handoff from one idea to the next.

The first kind of transition happens on the right-hand margin, uppercase, often with a colon at the end. It’s unique to screenplay grammar.

In your example, FADE TO BLIZZARD is an example of this kind of transition. It’s strictly cinematic. You’re telling us what we’d see on screen, and giving specific instructions to an imaginary editor.

The second kind of transition happens in all kinds of writing. You see it novels, plays, non-fiction and journalism. I’d argue that at least half of the craft of writing is transitioning smoothly to the next thing.

In your example, CUT TO STATIC is describing what we’re seeing and hearing, but it’s the kind of thing the characters in the scene are probably experiencing firsthand. So I’d leave it in scene description.

Obviously, I don’t know exactly what’s happening in your scene, but let’s imagine it something like this:

Malcolm leans close, pointing to a dark smudge on the screen.

MALCOLM

There! What do you think that is?

DAHLIA

A bunker? Something’s moving inside.

CLOSE ON SCREEN, a FLASH. Something flies straight for the lens. Bright. Hot.

MALCOLM (O.S.)

Shit! A rocket!

Impact! The screen cuts to STATIC.

CROSS-FADE TO BLIZZARD.

EXT. ARCTIC STATION – NIGHT

HOWLING WINDS. The domes of the compound are just barely visible. Yellow work lights wobble.

Fade? Cross-fade? Your call. To me, FADE generally implies that we’re going to black or white.

You’ll notice I put a period after BLIZZARD rather than a colon. Blizzard is the thing we’re cross-fading to, so it feels like a complete thought. I’d give it a period.

The colon makes sense when the object of the transition is in the next line, like this:

DA’VONNE

I know where he’d hide it.

CUT TO:

INT. TRUCK GARAGE – NIGHT

With flashlights, Da’Vonne and Sarah make their way amid the massive semis and trailers.

Here, the CUT TO: is doing the work of both a cinematic transition (a blunt cut to the next place) and a narrative transition (answering the question “Where does Da’Vonne think it’s hidden?”).

Uppercased transitions are a useful tool for screenwriters, particularly when they can do this double-duty. But you’ll read many screenplays that hardly use them at all, and that’s fine too. They’re never strictly necessary.

Normal is not an option

Psych 101, Rant

young woman holding homemade sign reading "I want to go back to normal"

The image that accompanies this article on a school reopening protest captures a major mood in July 2020.

The photo comes courtesy of Victoria Conti, who is also quoted in the piece:

I don’t want my kids to stay in front of a computer all day long. It’s not good for health, for mental health, there are too many reasons that it’s not good.

Conti is right, of course. It’s not healthy for any of us to sit in front of computers all day, particularly children.

My daughter is 15. Like most American kids, she finished her school year in Zoom classes of debatable quality. I want her back in school with her friends, just like I wanted her to go to her beloved sleepaway summer camp, and to be able to hug her grandmother.

Just like the girl in the photograph, I want to go back to normal.

But it’s simply not possible. Normal is not an option. Not now. Probably not until there’s a widely-available treatment or vaccine.

Demanding a return to normal in July 2020 is like yelling at the night to be less dark. It’s out of your control and everyone’s control. The more you complain about it, the more miserable you make yourself and others, and the more time and energy you waste.

Conti’s frustration about online classes is valid and understandable. I share it. But the real opponent isn’t the school district; it’s the coronavirus. That’s the barrier between teachers and students and in-person classes resuming. The virus doesn’t care because it’s a lump of genetic data. Scientists and public health officials care deeply but they can’t offer a cure at the moment.

In psychology, one strategy for dealing with these situations is radical acceptance. You start by acknowledging the reality of the situation — and how much it sucks — so you can begin thinking about the future.

  • It sucks that we can’t open most schools safely, so we need to work on ways to make online classes more accessible and less terrible.

  • It sucks that we can’t go to bars and clubs and movies, so we need to find other ways to hang out and socialize that don’t spread the virus.

  • It sucks that some jobs aren’t possible amidst the pandemic, so we need to find other ways for people to pay their bills.

  • It sucks that we have to wear masks and yet it’s clear that they save a lot of lives.

Individually and as a society, we need to move past this idea of “back to normal” when it comes to coronavirus. Stop saying it. Stop pretending it’s an option. It’s night and the sun’s not coming up any faster. We need to do the best we can in the dark.

And we can do surprising things! For example, American retailers quickly adopted contactless payment and curbside pickup, along with a staggering amount of plexiglass. Businesses realized that a lot of work can be done from home. Talk shows figured out how to film from attics.

We’ve been forced to rethink and adapt because normal was not an option. It still isn’t. We need to acknowledge that this pandemic sucks and keep going.

What is a #writesprint?

General, How-To, Psych 101

A #writesprint is a timed writing session. For a set period — often 60 minutes but sometimes shorter — you sit down and focus all your attention on writing.

No checking Twitter. No Googling lyrics. No running to the kitchen for a snack.

Just write.

It doesn’t have to be screenwriting; you can #writesprint a term paper, a novel or a blog post. The important thing is that you’re writing something you want or need to write.

A #writesprint is about showing up. It’s designed to get your butt in the seat, fingers on the keyboard.

When the timer ends, stand up and walk away. You can come back to do more writing later, even another sprint, but definitely reward yourself for having done the work.

You can do a #writesprint by yourself, but it often helps to have the social pressure and accountability of others. I’ll occasionally announce on Twitter that I’m about to start a #writesprint:

If you want to write along with me, reply or favorite or just start. You never need permission. If you want to brag about how much you got done during your sprint, go for it!

Frequently Asked Questions

Do I need any special equipment or software? Not really. You can set a timer on your phone. If you’re using Highland 2, the built-in Sprint function will keep track of your words, which is handy.

Do I need to start at the top of the hour? No. It’s convenient but not necessary. When I was writing the Arlo Finch books, I found it useful to schedule two sprints a day, generally at 10am and 2pm.

Can I use a #writesprint to do non-writing work?
Of course! If it’s something you’re kind of dreading doing, but a timer and some social pressure helps, go for it.

Where did this idea come from?
I might have created the #writesprint hashtag,1 but I definitely got the idea from Jane Espenson, who’s been doing these for years. (She calls them writing sprints, which sounds better but doesn’t hashtag as neatly.) And of course it shares a tradition with the Pomodoro Technique and other productivity hacks.

Will this really boost my productivity?
If you’re spending a fixed amount of time at the keyboard concentrating on one thing to write, you’re going to get more accomplished than if you’re jumping between email and YouTube and various news sites. It’s like putting blinders on a horse. It keeps you focused.

How short can a #writesprint be?
You can get a lot done in just 10 minutes of focused writing. Don’t be afraid to set short sprints.

Can I go longer than 60 minutes?
If you’re in the flow and decide you want to keep working past the bell, that’s your choice. But don’t set out to write for more than 60 minutes. The idea of a sprint is that it’s intense and focused. It’s a different energy than a marathon.

  1. I’ve deleted my old tweets, but the earliest appearance of #writesprint is in 2011, which is when I started doing them. ↩

Working as a freelance reader

Film Industry, First Person, Follow Up

On this week’s Scriptnotes, we talked about professional readers and the challenge of making a living as a freelancer. We got several great emails from listeners, like this one from “Zeke.”

Like most people outside LA, I had no idea that people are actually getting paid to read scripts or that coverage even existed. That changed when I took a story analysis course that specifically taught us how to read, analyze, and write professional coverage.

From there I started doing unpaid reading at a couple of places around town as an intern and with the Austin Film Festival. My first paying gigs were with some popular script competitions such as Screencraft and obscure ones such as the Canadian Wildsound. The pay ranged from decent ($30-$40 a script) to downright embarrassing ($15 per script).

My first “real” reading for a company was Paradigm talent agency, and then UTA, who pay more but also require more extensive work (additional character breakdown, etc.). From there, and for the past few years, I’ve been focusing on reading for production companies and, most recently, for premium cable and streamers.

Consistency is the bane of the freelance reader’s existence. I always make sure I’m reading for at least 4-5 places simultaneously, and even then, there are slow weeks with little to no work (especially around the holidays). As for rates, I started with lower rates and had to fight for raises. And that’s a big issue: unless you push the companies to pay more and ask more than a few times, you will stay at the same rate you started with years earlier. I know that for a fact by asking other readers who just didn’t know they could ask for more money.

Being a reader for multiple companies, I have to be on call essentially all the time, including nights and weekends. For example, just this week, I got a request to read a script at 11 PM on a weekday, and the requested turnaround was for the following morning. This is not a rare incident.

Technically, you don’t have to accept the work. If you turn down one script or one book, maybe it won’t change much. But the second time you do it, you risk losing the gig with that company, no matter how good your working relationship is with them. Needless to say, sick or vacation days do not exist. I go to Israel every year to visit family, and I work from there as well. Again, I was never forced to do so, but I have no choice since this is my main source of income.

As for the union, we’ve been having a discourse about organizing as freelance readers, but it’s still quite vague on what steps we could take. A union reading job is much-coveted since it not only provides you with stability, but also a respectable salary, excellent health insurance, and paid days off. I would note that Netflix is probably the company that offers the best pay and terms of all non-union companies who work with freelancer readers.

Finally, I believe that a major problem in this field is the fact that many of us, including veteran story analysts at the studios, often feel somewhat inconsequential. Intellectually, we know this work is essential to the development process of any production company/studio/agency. But it doesn’t often feel that way. And that problem translates to everything else: if readers don’t respect themselves, why should companies?

It’s hard to convince employers to offer better rates or better conditions when most places in town use assistants or interns to read their projects. No matter how good a given reader might be, free labor is hard to compete with.