John August

QandA

Workshops: An invitiation to idea theft?

Psych 101, QandA, Writing Process

questionmarkI was wondering how you feel about workshops. I am an aspiring screenwriter, and am about to enter a workshop of about 20 other writers. My concern was protecting my work. I don’t have a complete treatment yet, and god only knows how much my story outline will change before I really write it. I can register something, but it might be pretty different from the final work. Do I run the risk of as yet unmet peers stealing parts of my idea?

— Frank
Los Angeles

Get over it. No one wants to steal your crappy idea.

Honestly, Frank, your idea might be terrific. But the reality is, none of the other aspiring screenwriters in your workshop are going to realize it’s terrific, because they’re all busy working on their own crappy-slash-terrific ideas. They came into the workshop with the same false confidence in their genius that you did, and it’s this equity of delusion that will protect you.

Had you written in something like this…

I am an aspiring screenwriter, and am about to enter a workshop of about 20 other writers. My concern was protecting other people’s work. I’m unsure of my ethical backbone, and worry that I might poach other aspiring screenwriters’ stories. Do I run the risk of as yet unmet peers realizing that I’m a thief?

…I might be worried. But I’ve been getting a slight variation on your email every week for the last five years. “Idea poachers” are the WMD’s of newbie screenwriter angst. They’re not really there, no matter how hard you look. Just write your script, and do everything you can to help your workshop-mates.

Why isn’t The Nines in competition at Sundance?

QandA, Sundance, The Nines

questionmark
I was wondering if you could explain the difference/reason for competitive and non-competitive categories at Sundance and why you chose the latter?

— Steve
Lakeland, FL

It’s the Festival’s call. They decide whether or not they want to show the movie, then which category they’re going to put it in. They don’t explain their logic, but if you look at the lists, you can sort of see the thought process.

Traditionally, the [Premieres](http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117954801.html) have included bigger movies by established directors. There are are a few of those this year — Craig Brewer’s BLACK SNAKE MOAN, Rod Lurie’s RESURRECTING THE CHAMP — but there are also other first-time feature directors, including Sarah Polley and Jake Paltrow. Last year’s LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE was in the Premiere category, with first-time co-directors. (Worked out for them.)

Another difference is name recognition of the actors involved. If you look at the [list](http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117954727.html) of films in competition, you’ll see that while some of the films star people you’ve heard of, most of them don’t. Ryan Reynolds and Hope Davis are comparatively name-brand actors, and would attract some attention just because they’re in our movie. Many of the competition movies are relying on the attention and acclaim that “winning at Sundance” would bring. For us, an award would be great, but it wouldn’t be nearly the boost it was to a film like last year’s [Quinceanera](http://imdb.com/title/tt0451176/).

Honestly, you could have put us in either category. I was fine either way. And not having to think about awards will be one relief in what promises to be a very chaotic week.

Retcon

Geek Alert, Words on the page

In doing some research for a project today, I came across a great term I’d never seen: retcon. According to Wikipedia:

Retroactive continuity or retcon is the adding of new information to “historical” material, or deliberately changing previously established facts in a work of serial fiction. The change itself is referred to as a “retcon”, and the act of writing and publishing a retcon is called “retconning”. Retconning can be done either on-purpose, or accidentally, wherein a break in continuity is not noticed until later and is then blessed by later events.

The [full article](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Retcon) has many examples.

Many of my favorite TV shows and comic books have gone through significant retconning. The first thing that comes to mind is “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” which not only gave Buffy a kid sister in the fifth season, but made the reconfiguration of the backstories a key plot point. It was almost a meta-retcon. Which is too much responsibility to pile on a word I’ve only known for about for 15 minutes.

Quick, someone wiki it: [[retcon]]

When do you walk away?

Charlie's Angels, Film Industry, QandA, Tarzan, The Nines

questionmarkSo I’m doing it again. Writing on a project that I feel in my gut is doomed. It’s paying me money and I know many writers are looking for that first paying gig. This is my umpteenth paying gig, and somehow I’m not really that much further along in my career than I was four years ago when I started. But I am a bit wiser. Wise enough to know when producers and development execs are really out to lunch. But apparently not wise enough to jump off this sinking ship. Baby needs a new pair of shoes, right?

And so I must ask someone wiser and infinitely more successful than I am: at what point do you pull the plug. You know, you’re getting notes that make no sense. You’re executing a project that is someone else’s “idea”…though you know full well this someone doesn’t realize that his idea is nothing yet…not until you deliver a script that will undoubtedly be everything he did not imagine (because he really hasn’t imagined anything at all).

When do you save yourself the embarrassment and heartache and suddenly become “unavailable due to a scheduling conflict.” Yes, sometimes the most unlikely projects fraught with problems go on to become successes. Apparently Casablanca didn’t have a script and was being written anew the night before each shooting day. But my experience also tells me that is the exception and that doing it “right” has a higher likelihood of turning out a creatively successful product. What’s John August’s tipping point? When does he leap? What are the danger signs that make John August say, “My employers are completely whacked and I’m catching the next bus out of here”?

— Skip
Vancouver

Often, the only power a screenwriter has is to walk away, and the decision whether to do it is almost never straightforward. But there are a few key points to consider:

1. **Write movies, not scripts.** Always recognize that the words scrolling up and down on your monitor are the means to an end, not the end itself. An unproduced screenplay is like blueprints for an unbuilt skyscraper — brilliance is irrelevant if it never gets made. So ask yourself: “Am I giving up because of a fundamental concern about the movie, or a concern about the script?” The former is valid, the latter isn’t.

2. **Don’t do free repairs on sinking ships.** The Writers Guild (or the Canadian equivalent) would like to remind you that you’re never supposed to do free rewrites, but the reality is that for a project you believe in, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it right. But if you’re questioning the producers’ commitment to the project, ask to get paid for that next batch of tiny tweaks. If they balk, it’s that much easier to walk.

3. **Set some objectives and deadlines.** Agree to do that next pass, but only if they’ll commit to taking it out to directors. Insist on having the follow up meeting this week, not a month from now. Don’t let it drag out.

4. **Write your own notes.** Before the next revision, give them a set of written notes about what you want to do. Let that be the template. If they’re not on board, it’s clearly time to move on.

If it’s any consolation, the decision of when to cut one’s losses never gets easier. I had to walk away from both Charlie’s Angels movies when they completely went off the rails, only to come back later. More recently, I had to let Tarzan go, after more than a year of work.

In both cases, I felt profound frustration and disappointment, both in myself and the people who’d hired me. It wasn’t just the amount of wasted work, but the sense that I was abandoning my creations. The characters were real to me, and now wouldn’t get a chance to live. (This dilemma ultimately became one of the storylines in The Movie.)

The only upside I can offer is that once you leave a project, you remember how many other movies you want to write. Shutting one door opens others.