Breaking the Rules Pays Off

If you’ve read my latest book, “Scrolled”, you might remember a note in the “The True Parts” back matter that indicated there was an extremely slim autobiographical aspect to the protagonist, one Jack Gregory. Like him, I was once an aspiring screenwriter. While I still like to work on screenplays, I harbor little hope of having one purchased and/or produced, two supremely distinct and totally independent steps in the process.

Part of my obsession, er, um, pursuit was attending film festivals. The best fest for us wannabes is the Austin Film Festival, the definitive writers’ festival. (I had some success in their screenplay competition but evidently not enough.) One of the primary attractions to AFF was the opportunity to present (“pitch”) ideas to established industry professionals. One year, I pitched my idea for “Scrolled” to such a panel.

It tanked. Big time.

Why? I was told it broke two of the cardinal rules of screenwriting:

  1. No stories about writers. Of any kind.
  2. No doing-something-that-I-won’t-mention-here-because-it’s-too-much-of-a-spoiler-for-my-book-as-well-as-the-film-to-be-named-later.

Imagine my surprise then, when one of this year’s nominees for the Academy Award for Best Picture broke the same two rules. Not only that, but it actually won the award for best adapted screenplay!

“American Fiction” is a great movie with a terrific screenplay.(*) But it broke rules that I was told beyond a doubt disqualified my script from consideration! It only goes to show what I pontificated on nearly ten years ago in this blog post, to wit: Rules are meant to be broken. Within reason.

There, I feel better now. Sort of.


(*) Please note that I am in no way comparing my humble sample of silliness called “Scrolled” to that truly great script. But you can buy it and judge for yourself. ๐Ÿ™‚

Born to be broken

IMG_20150330_200252587The old adage says rules are meant to be broken. There’s no shortage of “rules” for writing. Those commandments are intended to aid in the writing process. They might be helpful if only they weren’t moving targets. I’ve written before about the difficulty of writing. Trying to remain upright on the shifting sands of unstable standards doesn’t make it any easier.

Go ahead. Try to get a group of authors to agree on the tenets that are most useful to guide the writing process. You’re likely to get a protracted religious argument for your trouble.

Here are a few of the most well-known non-negotiables that are constantly being negotiated:

  • Write every day.
  • Write what you know.
  • The road to hell is paved with adverbs.
  • Use sparse language, i.e. “less is more”.
  • To write well, you must read a lot.

For every writer who subscribes to one of these statutes, there’s probably one or more who eschew it. For example, I was at a book reading by a highly regarded, best-selling author who, when asked what other authors he read, claimed not to read other authors in order to avoid being unduly influenced by them. So much for reading to become a good writer.

With all due respect to adverb-phobic Stephen King, who deserves a great deal of respect indeed, I don’t have any problem with adverbs as a reader. In fact, I kinda like them. So why avoid them? If you’re writing a book for Mr. King, I guess. But why leave any tool in the toolbox unused? They’re there for a reason.

Fundamentalism is generally condemned in other spheres, but it’s alive and well in the writing world.

And the “write what you know” dictum would be better expressed as “write what you care about.” You can always gain knowledge about a topic. It’s no easy task to develop enough passion to write well about something about which you are otherwise indifferent.

John Fox, manacled hand and foot by his pirate captorsIf you’ve read enough about writers writing, you’ve undoubtedly come across the ones who claim they don’t know where their characters are going to take the story. Those lifeless entities are independent actors with wills of their own. I guess that’s possible, but is it mandated somewhere? Some would have you believe that it is or that at least it’s a hallmark of a higher level of fiction. I don’t think so. No less an authority than Vladimir Nabokov says he has no use for that tactic when he says, “My characters are galley slaves.” No surprises for Mr. Nabokov, thank you.

This confusion first confronted me when I was trying to master screenwriting. The rules to screenwriting are many, absolute, and quite specific. The only problem is, accomplished screenwriters break them as a matter of course. One decree beyond discussion is: Don’t describe what can’t be shown on the screen. For example, a script can’t say in its descriptive text, “Joe was nervous about the interview.” Fine. At a lecture at the Austin Film Festival (the screenwriter’s Mecca), a man who is arguably the most successful screenwriter of this generation, told all of us rapt listeners that he does it all the time.

AFF produced a nice little book of excerpts from various talks given at the festival over the years. “On Story” has lots of advice for writing the next great movie. Unfortunately, much of the advice is conflicting.

This is one of the reasons I question a prime directive of screenwriting education: Read scripts. A problem with that advice is that screenwriters don’t follow “the rules” we’re supposed to learn, so we’re likely to learn the wrong way. Also, most scripts we have access to are “shooting scripts” filled with camera angles and other technical directions that don’t belong in submitted scripts.

What’s a struggling writer to do? Obey the rules (“Do as I say, don’t do as I do.”) until you break in. Then you can do anything you want. Another way of saying it is, “Write something great and you have permission to write whatever you want.” I think of it as learning a secret handshake. Based on what I’ve seen and read, once you’re in the club, the rules no longer apply.

Fair enough. If I want to play their game, I’ll do my best to play by their rules.