John August

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On the physics of space battles

Genres

Joseph Shoer looks at some of the [uncomfortable science](http://gizmodo.com/5426453/the-physics-of-space-battles) behind these science-fiction mainstays:

> Explosions are basically a waste of energy in space. On the ground, these are devastating because of the shock wave that goes along with them. But in the vacuum of space, an explosion just creates some tenuous, expanding gases that would be easily dissipated by a hull.

Better choices for weapons include radiation, lasers and old-fashioned bullets. But don’t expect fast-and-nimble dogfights, because steering a ship in space is laborious. With no atmosphere to cut against, changing directions takes time and lots of fuel.

The z-axis fighting we’ve recently come to embrace — the new Star Trek did it a lot — only makes sense in certain circumstances. Orbiting a planet, things get flat again:

> The marauding space fleets are going to be governed by orbit dynamics -– not just of their own ships in orbit around planets and suns, but those planets’ orbits. For the same reason that we have Space Shuttle launch delays, we’ll be able to tell exactly what trajectories our enemies could take between planets […] So, it would actually make sense to build space defense platforms in certain orbits, to point high-power radar-reflection surveillance satellites at certain empty reaches of space, or even to mine parts of the void. It also means that strategy is not as hopeless when we finally get to the Bugger homeworld: the enemy ships will be concentrated into certain orbits, leaving some avenues of attack guarded and some open.

In writing your space epic, do you even need to worry about any of this?

Only to the degree your viewers will.

Each movie and TV series establishes its own level of plausibility, and as long as it plays within that range, audiences are largely satisfied. Space in Apollo 13 is nothing like space in Star Wars. A viewer who complains too much about the Millennium Falcon’s propulsion system will be justifiably shunned.

A general rule for screenwriters is to stick with genre conventions unless there is a story benefit to changing them. For example, in modern space adventure movies you get artificial gravity, warp drive, and shields for free. You can roll your own if it suits your story, but that screen time is likely better used in service of your characters and plot.

(Thanks to [Nima](http://twitter.com/nyousefi/status/6763548593) for the link.)

Startups and slippery facts

Film Industry, International, Screenwriting Software

I cut startups a lot of slack. Innovation and entrepreneurship rely on some suspension of disbelief: we’ll be able to make this product, on this schedule, at this price. Google was once a pipe dream, as were Twitter and Facebook. Dream big, I say.

But since I was name-checked twice in [this interview](http://knowledge.wharton.upenn.edu/india/article.cfm?articleid=4431) from Wharton School of Business, I feel some responsibility to point out a few fallacies and follies.

> When the Writers Guild of America went on strike in 2007, it looked as if Hollywood’s balance of power favoring big, money-hungry studios would never be the same again. To some extent, that’s the case, but not necessarily in the way the striking screenwriters expected. The growing popularity of free, web-based writing software — available to anyone, anywhere — is breaking down the barriers to entry of the screenwriting profession as never before, says Sunil Rajaraman, co-founder, president and CEO of Scripped.com. As he tells it, the urgent mission for his California-based screenwriting software startup couldn’t be clearer, yet more daunting: Change Hollywood.

I met with Sunil and his partner Zak Freer (a Starkie) in 2007 when they were coming up with their concept for Scripped. I gave them a few suggestions and wished them luck.

In particular, I hoped they could fulfill the international aspect to their mission:

> We combine cloud computing and web-based software to provide free access to Scripped.com to aspiring writers worldwide, to find the next John August. He or she might be in Thailand, China or India — not necessarily in Los Angeles, which is the way the film industry has traditionally thought about sourcing this kind of talent.

Their site is up and running. I haven’t really checked in with it for the past two years. But it annoys me to see Rajaraman recycle this Hollywood urban legend as proof his software is needed.

> Two problems are solved with web-based screenwriting software. The first is collaboration. Many of the scripts of the films we see in movie theaters have undergone dozens of rewrites before they make it to the screen. For example, for the original of Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck put the screenplay together with more anecdotal stories about South Boston and friends they grew up with. Characters were eliminated from the screenplay and it underwent a very detailed rewriting process. Who knows how many writers had their hands on that screenplay before it was made — and it eventually won an Oscar.

So, wait: does the untrue story about rewriters on Good Will Hunting mean your collaboration software is good thing, or a bad thing? Rajaraman is taking one of the few actual advantages of of web-based screenwriting software — real-time multiple users on an open document — and making it sound unsavory.

> The second problem online software solves is access to writers. If you give the software away for free — it is very cheap to provide the software — you can attract all sorts of talent that would have otherwise not been interested in screenwriting.

There are many free or low-cost options for screenwriting software, including the basic word processors everyone already has on their computers. I wrote Go in Microsoft Word. Screenwriting software is useful, but hardly necessary.

For that matter, both of the flagship applications cost less than $200. When the price of an iPod will buy you all the software you need, that’s a very low barrier to entry.

> The Writers Guild West consists of about 15,000 writers, a very small group. The average price in Hollywood for a feature-length script from an accomplished writer is US$250,000. These writers have to protect the system, and the system exists to provide for them. Because Scripped aggregates talent worldwide and brings new content to producers, it is a threat to the way business is currently done.

[WGAw membership](http://www.wga.org/uploadedFiles/who_we_are/HWR09.pdf) is closer to 8,000. I don’t know where Rajaraman is pulling the $250,000 figure, but he’s committing the classic mistake of confusing a script sale with a career. In 2007, median earnings for a WGA writer were $104,857.

> Hollywood pays roughly US$1.2 billion a year for feature-length scripts. So point one, producers are not necessarily getting the most talented writers to write those scripts. And, two, they are overpaying for those scripts. We aim to democratize the process, cut the cost and increase the talent pool of writers who have access to the Hollywood studio system and elsewhere.

I emailed Rajaraman to ask about the $1.2 billion, but I think he’s off by at least a zero. ((Update: Rajaraman says he’s basing that on $30 billion in worldwide film production costs, with 3% to 5% going to the writer. He will try to get the article updated. It still doesn’t help make his point.)) Regardless, I can’t fathom how that proves producers are overpaying for less-talented writers.

I don’t know that there’s a viable business model for Scripped. I still wish them luck; I’m not rooting against them by any means. But they do themselves a disservice by misrepresenting the facts behind the motion picture industry and the career of screenwriting.

Through my work with the Sundance Screenwriting Labs, I’ve experienced that the best way to extend the craft of screenwriting to other countries is through example and outreach. The Labs does it with in-country sister programs. I do it with this site, trying to make sure my articles acknowledge the wider world beyond the [30-mile zone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Studio_zone).

But I’m also very leery of trying to promote screenwriting as a career separate from the greater film industry. The reason most screenwriters live in Los Angeles is because this is where Hollywood movies are developed, financed and produced. Software doesn’t change that.

Burn it down

Psych 101, Story and Plot

You wouldn’t splash gasoline on the walls of your home, then toss a few matches while strolling out the door. In real life, this kind of willful destruction is criminal.

In fiction, it’s crucial.

As the writer, you need to burn down houses. You need to push characters out of their safe places into the big scary world — and make sure they can never get back. Sure, their stated quest might be to get home, but your job is to make sure that wherever they end up is a new and different place.

Writers tend towards benevolence. We love our characters, and want to see them thrive. So it can be hard to accept that what our hero actually needs is to have everything taken away, be it by fire, flood, divorce or zombie uprising. No matter the story, no matter the genre, we need to find ways to strip characters of their insulating bubbles of normalcy.

The Fire (or other catastrophe) often occurs as an inciting incident, setting the wheels of plot in motion. In The House Bunny, Anna Faris’s character is kicked out of the Playboy Mansion by page 10. In Gladiator, Russell Crowe’s family is killed.

Just as often, The Fire signals the end of the first act. In Star Wars, Luke returns home to find his aunt and uncle dead. In 9 to 5, the trio of secretaries has inadvertently kidnapped their boss. There’s no going back to the way things were.

But The Fire can work just as well later in the story, effectively burning bridges characters have just crossed. Three of my upcoming projects feature second-act or third-act Fires that not only keep the momentum going, but also remind the audience of the scale and stakes. ((There’s something uniquely cinematic about destroying a giant set. A TV show, no matter its ambitions, generally has to protect its standing sets until at least the end of a season.)) Late fires ward off complacency in everything from The Dark Knight to Revenge of the Nerds.

It’s easy to think of dozens of great movies that never really burn the house down. But the better exercise is to look at your own scripts and ask, (a) what could burn, and (b) why haven’t I lit it on fire?

Narcopalabras

International, Words on the page

Like English, Spanish has a knack for neologism. Ken Ellingwood’s article in the LA Times provides a [glossary of new words and phrases](http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-narco-glossary28-2009oct28,0,1009690.story) related to Mexican drug violence.

My favorite is *encajuelado*:

> **Encajuelado:** Based on the word for “trunk,” a body dumped in the trunk of a car. This is a common method for disposing of victims of a drug hit. Often, the bodies are bound and gagged with packing tape or are *encobijados*, wrapped in blankets.

When something is happening enough that *they made a word for it*, you know there’s a problem.

Ellingwood’s glossary explains that an encajuelado is sometimes accompanied by a handwritten *narcomensaje,* a scrawled drug message meant to threaten rival drug cartels or government security forces. Messages sometimes take the form of banners, known as *narcomantas,* and are hung from bridges or in other public places to demonstrate a gang’s audacity.

As a screenwriter, you have to be careful how much of this esoterica you try to use in your script. Particularly if characters are speaking English, trying to wedge a “narcomensaje” into dialogue is going to feel forced. Yet a reference to a character being encajuelado, once explained, is chilling.