John August

Search Results for: courier

One dash, two dashes

Formatting, QandA, Words on the page

questionmarkI’m thinking this might boil down to “personal preference”, but I can’t seem to find any direct answers as to whether it’s best perception-wise to use one hyphen, two hyphens (as I see more and more) or no hyphen at all? The trend seems to be going towards two, but I can’t see or find what the relevance is. Can you elaborate?

— Chris
The OC

There are at least three distinct names for those little horizontal lines used in English.

A **hyphen** is the shortest of these, and is used to break a word into syllables (i.e. hyphenation). You also use hyphens to make compound words like inside-out. On your keyboard, it’s probably next to the plus sign, so it’s fair to conflate it with “minus.”

A **dash** is a punctuation mark. An **en-dash** is commonly used for ranges, such as “6–10 years.” An **em-dash** is longer, and used to set off a phrase—often a parenthetical thought, like this—from the rest of the sentence.

With most typefaces, you can and should use en-dashes and em-dashes instead of just automatically hitting the hyphen. You can use a special key combination, ((On a Mac, you make an en-dash with option-hyphen and the em-dash with shift-option-hyphen.)) but many applications will automatically choose the right one based on context, such as converting two hyphens into an em-dash.

Em-dashes in particular just look better. And you don’t need to put spaces around the dash.

Screenplays are set in monospace fonts like Courier. Because every letter takes up the same amount of space, a lot of what looks good in normal typefaces looks wrong in Courier. ((Notably, we still double-space after the period in Courier.)) Traditional typewriters never had “real” dashes, so the convention was to use two hyphens instead, generally set off with a space on either side.

TODD BLANDERSNOT (14) is the homeliest kid at Miskatonic Academy -- and two of Cthulu’s kids go here.

That’s what I use: two floating hyphens. Other writers jam two hyphens right at the end of a word, ((The Wibberleys do this. We rewrote once each other on a project, and it involved a lot of dash-redeployment.)) or leave a single hyphen dangling at the end of a line when cutting before the end of a sentence.

You can also simply stop a line early, with no punctuation. I often do this when the next thing will be an intermediate slugline:

Dazed, Todd scrambles to feet just as

THREE GRIFFONS

swoop down from above, snatching random classmates in their talons.

It’s all to your taste. The important thing is to pick a style and stay consistent throughout the script.

Last looks

Formatting, Words on the page

I handed in a script today, and thought it might be helpful to talk through my best practices when finishing up a draft. I don’t always do all of these — but I get nervous if I’ve skipped one.

1. Print it out.
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There are mistakes you’re only going to catch on paper. So print it. I like to do two-up (side-by-side) printing to save paper, but your eyes might prefer full size.

Circle mistakes with a colored pen so you’ll see them. In addition to typos, look for any bit of redundant description or needless fluff. You can almost always squeeze a page out of a 120-page script.

2. Make changes all at once.
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It’s tempting to fix mistakes as you catch them, but you’re likely to miss things if you’re constantly switching between error detection and error correction. Sit at the computer and go through page by page, fixing each problem you’ve found. As you go, you may spot ways to improve page breaks and other formatting niceties.

3. Fix the title page.
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This is the step I often forget, resulting in mis-dated drafts and re-exported .pdfs. If I’m doing multiple versions of a draft — for example, one with starred changes, one without, I’ll make sure the title page indicates this.

4. Save this draft and email it to yourself.
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Yes, you should have multiple backup strategies. But the self-addressed email will always work, and can be accessed from wherever you find yourself.

5. Export a .pdf — then check it.
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These days, you almost always “hand in” a draft as a .pdf by email. But make sure it actually looks right, complete with title page. If you’re friendly with the assistant on the other end, ask her to check if there’s anything you’re at all worried might print strangely, such as a title page font ((Yes, you can use a font other than Courier for the title page. But I rarely do anymore.)) or starred changes in the right margins.

Show your work

Awards, Directors, Rant

For math and science exams, we were often required to “show our work” — not merely to prove we weren’t cheating, but to demonstrate we understood the underlying principles involved.

I’ve been thinking about this in relation to screenwriting. When it comes to making a film, the screenwriter’s craft is probably the most direct and transparent. What did you do? You wrote the script, the 120-or-so pages of Courier around which everything else revolves. Your work is front-and-center.

Cinematographers, production designers and editors can’t point to a product which is “theirs.” In the finished film, the light is lovely; the world is stunning; the pacing is tight. All wonderful accomplishments, but inextricably bound to the work of others. That wonderful light would go unnoticed if it didn’t highlight the sets, and the sets would be meaningless if the editor favored close-ups. And the contribution of directors, who marshall all these forces in addition to actors’ performances, is probably the most difficult to judge.

As a concise, pre-existing document, the screenplay is probably the only thing that can be judged independently of the finished film. Put another way, the screenwriter shows his work.

But the irony is, after the film is made, no one asks to see his work.

Indeed, we award “best screenplay” based on a viewing of the finished film. If the movie was good, we figure the screenplay was probably pretty good. We guess. Even though we don’t need to guess, because the screenplays for “award contender” movies are commonly available. But frankly, it would be a lot of work to read all those screenplays, so we don’t make that a requirement, even for the WGA Awards. The more honest award would be titled, “Best Film based on a Screenplay which was Probably Good, and Presumably Didn’t Get Messed Up by the Director or Others.”

Worse, we also presume that a bad movie came from a bad screenplay. At some point, I’ll fund a comprehensive study of film reviews from the past 10 years, tracking exactly how many times the film’s screenwriter’s name is mentioned. My gut tells me that the writer’s name is three-to-four times more likely to be mentioned in a negative review than a positive one. But I’d love to see data.

In the meantime, screenwriting will continue to be the most transparent and opaque part of moviemaking.

Money 101 for screenwriters

Film Industry, How-To, WGA

Most of the questions I answer on this site are from readers who hope to become professional screenwriters. A small percentage of these readers will succeed, and suddenly face a new category of questions about What Happens Next. Having watched former assistants and other young writers cross the line into professional work, I’ve noticed that one of the biggest mysteries is money.

I want to offer a brief financial education for the newly-employed screenwriter. For most of you, this won’t apply — yet, if ever. But for others, this may be worth a bookmark, because there are some specific, unusual things you need to know. Screenwriting is a strange profession, and handling the money it generates is more complicated than you’d think.

1. Don’t quit your day job — until you have to.

Before writing this post, I asked a dozen working writers for their recommendations, and this was by far the most-often made point.

The natural instinct is to immediately quit your crappy day job once you’re hired to write something (or sell a spec). After all, isn’t that the dream? Isn’t this why you came to Hollywood? Every waiter and barrista in Los Angeles considers himself a screenwriter, so quitting your day job is an important way to distinguish yourself as a True Screenwriter, the kind who gets paid actual money to push words around in 12-pt Courier.

But don’t. Don’t quit your job right away.

Even if you sell a spec for $200K, it will be months before you see a cent. The studio will sit on your contract as lawyers exchange pencil notes about things you can’t believe aren’t boilerplate. When I was hired for my first job, (I adapted the kids book How to Eat Fried Worms for Imagine) it took almost four months before I got a paycheck. I was living off of money from a novelization, but when that ran out, I had to ask my mom for help paying rent.

Nearly every screenwriter I speak with has a similar story — you’re never as broke as when you first start making money.

Beyond the initial delay in getting paid, keep in mind that there’s no guarantee you’ll have a second writing job. I haven’t seen numbers, but my hunch is that a substantial portion of new WGA members aren’t getting paid as screenwriters two years later. A career is not one sale. As one writer friend says, “I always think of myself as six months away from teaching community college.”

If all goes well, the needs of your career will eventually force you to give up your day job. You’ll have meetings at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday, and no more excuses to offer your boss. Or you’ll be hired on a TV show, which is at least two full-time jobs. So don’t panic when it comes time to quit. Just try to leave on good terms, with back-of-mind awareness that at some point you may need to get a normal job again.

Here’s how the transition happened for my former assistants:

  • Rawson finally quit working for me because the movie he was directing (Dodgeball) was in preproduction. He went from being an assistant to having an assistant in less than a week.
  • Dana had a movie greenlit and another script under a tight deadline.
  • Chad met with Aaron Sorkin on a Tuesday morning — and got hired in the room. He had to start working on Studio 60 that afternoon.

Each of them left, but only after the needs of their writing career made it impossible not to. In the meantime, they had regular hours and health insurance. That last part is especially worthy of attention, because it may take months to get WGA health insurance started after making a sale.

2. It’s less money than you think.

We’re used to getting paychecks that have all of the taxes and expenses taken out. Maybe you’re bringing home $850 per week. The math is relatively straightforward: you know how much you need for rent, food, utilities and whatnot. And next week, you’ll get another check.

Screenwriting is nothing like that. You get paid in chunks, from which you have to pay taxes and percentages to all the people working for you. The money shrinks at an alarming rate. Worse, you have limited ability to predict when you’ll get paid again.

As an example, let’s say you and your writing partner sell a spec script to a studio for $100,000. That seems like pretty good money. But how much of it do you get to keep? Let’s run the numbers.

100k grid

Out of all that money, you have less than $37K, and that’s before you’ve paid a penny of taxes. So don’t buy your fractional Net Jet just yet.

Some points while we’re here:

  • Not every writer has a manager. I never did. Many beginning writers find managers helpful in making contacts and working on pitches. Your mileage may vary.
  • While most managers get 10%, that’s not fixed by law the way it is with agents.
  • You can also pay attorneys by the hour — but they’re well worth the 5%.
  • You generally don’t write a check for your agent and attorney — that money is deducted by the agency when they collect from the studio for you.
  • The WGA sends you a form every quarter on which you list what you’ve been paid by signatory companies. It’s your responsibility to pay dues.

Flipping through Variety, you might think that all screenwriters are rich. For instance, you might read that Sally Romcom sold a pitch for “low six figures.” That’s slanguage for $100 to $250K — still a lot of money. But if you actually looked at her deal, you’d see that the money is structured in a way that she’s unlikely to get it all at once, or even in the same year.

deal steps

Sally is getting paid in three steps: first draft, rewrite and polish. For each step, she is being paid half at commencement, and half when she delivers. Each step has a time frame, ranging from 12 weeks for the first draft to four weeks for the polish. There is generally a four-week guaranteed reading period between each step, which means that the fastest she could expect to be paid for these three steps is 32 weeks (12 + 4 + 8 + 4 + 4).

She’ll get $125K for these three steps. The $75K sole credit bonus only happens if (a) the movie gets made, and (b) she’s the only credited writer on it. The shorthand for Sally’s deal would be “125 against 200.” The first number is what she’s guaranteed to make, while the second represents what she’ll get if the movie is made.

In order to pay her bills, Sally needs to be able to predict when she’s going to be getting more money. For years, I kept a spreadsheet tracking projects and expenses across upcoming months, to make sure I’d have enough cash to pay rent six months down the road.

3. WGA membership happens automatically

One day, you’re an aspiring screenwriter who hopes to join the Writers Guild. The next, you’re a working screenwriter who must join the guild by law.

The first time you sell a script to (or are hired to write by) a signatory company, (There are a few indie companies which are not under the WGA deal, but every major studio is) you need to join the Guild. Odds are, the guild will contact you as soon as paperwork crosses the right desk, but you can also jumpstart the process by calling the Los Angeles office.

You’ll have to pay a fee of $2,500 to join. (WGA East costs $1,500 to join. No, I don’t know why it’s cheaper.) Ask nicely, and they’ll let you spread out the payments.

The most immediate benefit to joining the guild is the health insurance. The plans and benefits are confusing but extensive, with trade-offs for Preferred Providers versus HMOs. It’s worth spending a few hours getting it set up correctly. Once you’re in the plan, you’ll need to keep working in order to maintain eligibility.

4. Splurge on one thing

Once you start making money, there’s a natural instinct to upgrade every aspect of your lifestyle, which has probably stalled out in a post-college, heavy-Ikea phase. Don’t. You’ll burn through your money and wonder what you spent it on. Instead, buy one thing you really want and can afford. Make that your reward.

For me, it was getting a dog. I’d wanted one since I was 10, and I was determined to move to an apartment that allowed dogs. I found a duplex off Melrose and got my pug. Twelve years later, he’s still sleeping at my feet. He’s a good dog and a good reminder of how my career started.

Your dog equivalent may be a car, a painting, or a 30-inch monitor. Buy it and enjoy it.

But don’t feel any pressure to act rich. I drive a six-year old Toyota. We buy store brands and clip coupons. We fly coach. (Though we’re pretty canny with upgrades. Get a credit card that pays you either frequent flier miles or hotel points, and use that for everything.)

Over time, you will probably start spending more on housing, clothing, travel and food as your standards rise. That’s okay. But spend your mad money on those few things that actually make you happy.

5. Don’t rush to pay off your student loans

Everyone wants to be debt-free, but classic federal student loans are some of the cheapest money you’re ever going to find. Until you feel confident that you’ll have enough money to last you a solid year, keep paying your normal amount.

Instead, pay off your credit cards and private student loans, which tend to have much higher interest rates.

6. Sock it away

Whether you’ve made a bunch of money at once in a spec sale, or carefully grown a nest egg through steady assignments, you’ll want to put your money in two virtual boxes. In the first, stash enough to live on for six months (including taxes). In the second box, put all the rest of the money you make — and pretend it doesn’t exist.

I’m not qualified to talk about investments, pensions or retirement, but I feel absolutely certain giving you this financial advice: save your money. Get financial advice about about smart places to put it, and then leave it alone. Except for rare occasions — buying a house, for example — you should never need to touch it. Your living expenses should be more than covered by new money coming in the door.

7. At some point, you’ll incorporate

When a studio hires me, they actually hire my loan-out corporation, which provides both tax advantages and liability benefits. I didn’t become a corporation until after Go, at which point my agent and attorney told me it was time. (I’ve often heard $200K/year as being the threshold at which point incorporation makes sense, but it may be higher or lower depending on circumstances.) It’s a lot of paperwork to set up — your attorney will do most of it — and a fair amount of responsibility, with quarterly taxes and other filings.

Like heart surgery, it’s smart to ask a lot of questions, but you ultimately want it handled by professionals who do it every day.

Before becoming a corporation, I was managing my money easily with Quicken and Excel. The added complexity of the corporation led me to hire a business manager and accountant. The best resource for finding a good business manager is other writers. You want someone responsible, reachable and thorough. Keep in mind that a business manager is not an investment guy. A business manager is writing checks to keep the lights on. The only financial advice you’ll be getting from your business manager is to spend less money, which is always worth hearing.