John August

Psych 101

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. ↩

But does it spark joy?

Genres, Psych 101, Random Advice

Yesterday, I was talking with a colleague about a project I’m considering writing. It would be an adaptation of a very successful series I’ve long admired, and falls in a genre that’s comfortable to me. Even better, the studio really wants to make it, so it wouldn’t be pushing a boulder uphill.

But there are downsides that keep it from being a no-brainer.

Commensurate with its high profile, the property comes with a lot of strong voices and opinions. And it would be a tremendous time commitment, which would prevent me from working on some other long-simmering projects.

So, should I pursue it? My colleague asked a question inspired by Marie Kondo’s book and Netflix series:

“Does it spark joy?”

She sort of meant it as a joke,1 but it was exactly the right question. It clarified everything.

Some projects really do spark joy. You feel it from the first moment you start thinking about the idea. For me, these projects include Charlie’s Angels, Go, Big Fish, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, plus an unannounced movie I just turned in.

Yes, they were all exhausting slogs at some point. Work is work. But when I compare them to other assignments with equivalent pay checks, the difference is stark.

So: does this new project spark joy?

Not really. It sparks curiosity and nostalgia. It would cool to work on it, and a very high-profile assignment. But if I didn’t get the job, I wouldn’t miss it. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t pursue it. The studio will find another writer who dreams about the chance to tackle that adaptation — or at least fakes it convincingly.

As a screenwriter, you often don’t have luxury of being so choosy. I went after a lot of projects for which I was faking that spark, especially at the beginning of my career.2 As I talk about on the most recent Scriptnotes, there’s no shame in hustling to get work.

But it’s also important to recognize when you need to stop hustling. To stop hoarding. To let some things go.

  1. It reminds me of B.J. Novak’s short story “The Girl Who Gave Great Advice” in which the title character alternates between asking, “What does your heart tell you?” and “What does your gut tell you?” ↩
  2. I have a folder in Dropbox with pitches for everything from Highlander to My Three Sons. ↩

True confessions of a knife-juggling bear

Arlo Finch, Projects, Psych 101

This profile on me by Dan Jackson in Thrillist was originally supposed to be about Arlo Finch and Launch, but grew into a bigger piece on the many different projects I tackle simultaneously.

John August presides over a mini-empire steered by curiosity, fortified by experience, and fueled by brain power. With only 24 hours in a day, the multitasking writer of movies like Charlie’s Angels, Big Fish, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory scribbles out scripts for big budget Hollywood blockbusters, outlines sequels to middle-grade fantasy novels, maps future episodes of his hit podcast, designs apps for other creative professionals looking to optimize their time, and finds time to invent fonts. If you were granted a golden ticket to tour the laboratory that is his bald head, you’d find a jolly team of meticulous, laser-focused Oompa-Loompas.

That’s not really accurate, though. My inner Oompa-Loompas aren’t laser-focused. They’re a rowdy bunch fighting for control of my various gears and levers, each with a different idea about what the factory should make.

Over the years, I’ve gotten better at managing them, in part because I’ve recognized that I am them. There’s not a me separate from my interests and fears and jealousies.

I’m the product of these competing impulses, not the master.

But I’ve gotten good at recognizing when an Oompa-Loompa has an interesting idea, and then marshalling the forces to try it.

“I’m really curious about how things work, and generally the only way to know how things work is to actually do the thing,” he tells me over the phone one morning. “Rather than planning the thing or reading up about the thing or interviewing someone about how the thing works, I’ll tend to just start doing the thing and then figure it out as it goes along.”

I don’t second-guess whether it’s a good idea, or get fixated on what might go wrong. I don’t ask permission. I just assume I’m not any worse than someone else, and I’ll figure it out. That’s how I started writing my first script, my first musical and my first novel.

But I also leave a lot of projects half-finished. Sometimes they finally come into being years later (Writer Emergency Pack), yet often they don’t (an animated short; a new stage musical; my next directing project).

Giving yourself permission to move on to a better idea is tough. You’re always wondering if you’re one draft away. This will be the one that does it.

But as I look back over the past 20 years, most of my successes — both creatively and commercially — have come from the projects I was excited to do rather than the projects I felt an obligation to start or finish.

I’ve also had things I love fail. It’s heartbreaking.

But the projects I never really cared about? They’re worse in a way, because it was just wasted time.

If I have any general recommendations, it’s to aim to fill your day and your mind with interesting things, even if it’s messy and unfocused. Or as the article puts it:

It’s like watching a dancing bear juggle knives.

Such a life is unlikely to go quite as planned, but at least it’ll be exciting.