CoverMyScript.com will have a vendor table at The Great American PitchFest in the great hall on Saturday. We will be providing on-the-spot consultations, one-sheet help, pitch prep and many other services. Stop on by and say hello!
Here’s a list of what we’re offering:
Can’t wait to see you there!
June is a very exciting month! It marks two very important occasions: The Great American Pitchfest and Screenwriter Karaoke’s 1st Anniversary!
CoverMyScript.com is so proud and honored to be participating in the 7th Annual Great American Pitchfest. For those of you unfamiliar with The Great American Pitchfest, it is a yearly event at the Burbank Marriott where hundreds of writers pitch en masse to hundreds of production companies. It’s an exciting, frenzied, energy-packed event and we at CoverMyScript.com are so proud to be a part of it in two ways.
Saturday, June 26th, CoverMyScript.com will be on site with a team of talented, speedy story analysts from 9am until 5 pm to help you meet your Sunday pitch time crunch. We will be offering a variety of on-the-spot services from one-sheet construction, query writing, as well as last-minute pitch prep consults to help you hone your skills. With prices starting at $20, there’s a service to fit any budget. We will be accepting credit cards through paypal as well as cash for easy transactions.
There are many seminars to check out from 9 am until 5 pm with something for every writer. Then stick around for Screenwriter Karaoke! A fun networking event for screenwriters that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Have a couple of drinks and sing your heart out. We promise we won’t judge. We can’t sing either. ;-p
Not sure what to sing? Here’s the Screenwriter Karaoke Song List for PitchFest.
Saturday, June 26th @ 6 PM
Marriott Burbank Hotel & Convention Center
Room “Academy Two”
2500 N. Hollywood Way, Burbank, CA 91505
AND LATER COME OUT TO OUR REGULAR SPOT SARDO’S AFTER 10 PM. Just a short ride in town.
Sardo’s Grill and Lounge
259 N. PASS AVE.
BURBANK, CA 91505
What are the rules?
* NO COVER CHARGE.
* CASH Bar only.
* Hotel parking has been made available at a discounted rate of $14 to attendees.
* 21 and over only. Please bring ID and be prepared to show it.
* Have fun, drink , sing and connect!
Come out, make some new friends and meet #scriptchat peeps Jeanne Veillette Bowerman and Zac Sanford who will both be in attendance. It’s a very exciting time and CoverMyScript.com couldn’t be more honored to be apart of this. Hope to see you there!
5 days ago, I finished my 108 page feature that I wrote in approximately 20-ish days, for Script Frenzy. As soon as I typed “FADE OUT. THE END.” I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. The last month was jam-packed with stress and thinking and typing, and worst part was, I neglected everything else in my life just to finish.
Finally after typing until my fingers bled, I got to have mermaid time (that’s fancy talk for taking a bath), get my toes done, have a facial to peel off all the layers of blood, sweat and exhaustion. And now, I am back to feeling alive.
But now that I’m alive again and have my first draft completed, where do I start to try and make my “vomit pass” a viable script? It’s so overwhelming that it seems insurmountable. So, now what?! Well, that’s when it’s time to call your story analyst.
Upon re-reading my script, while I got the basic structure down (thank god!), I recognize it’s not nearly good enough. There is so much that I wanted to accomplish and so much more I want still to do. It is in no way ready to be seen by an agent, a prod co, most of my friends. The only person who is going to get to see it, is my story analyst. Hey, all therapists need a therapist of their own.
So, I called my story analyst and booked a consultation. I needed someone to tell me what to keep, what to junk and what to donate. And it turned out to be great. Most of what I had I could keep. Some of it was actually funny. But a lot of it was utilitarian place-holders that needed to be replaced with sparkling dialogue and clever character quips.
My friend Janelle was on a mission from God, yesterday. She showed up, like Moses to shepherd me across the Red Sea of cookbooks that was drowning me in my living room. It was a bad scene. Janelle came in, opened my basically empty and cavernous hall closet and said, “We can start here.”
She was right. We did the linen closet and realized I wasn’t lacking space, I was lacking organization. I needed someone to say to me “Take manageable bites.” Someone to help me sort through all my amazing things, help me take stock of what’s important and what’s donatable and what’s garbage. I basically needed a story analyst for my closet.
Thankfully, my story analyst was able to help me with my first draft. He really put things in perspective for me and is actively helping me reach my goals. It’s so important too, for you to have someone like that for your writing. You need someone you can confide in and trust, someone who is non-biased and most importantly someone to help you move forward after your first draft is complete. Because there’s always going to be revisions.
My story analyst allowed me climb out from under the massive stack of mis-matched towels, and show me what my story really looked like. And you know what? It’s really cute in here!!
Okay, so I’m now 27 days in and I have written 91 pages. That puts me 1.1 pages over my target. I should be happy, but I’m not… this script is still not finished. Why is the end so hard to reach?
When I started this script almost a month ago, I was ready. Well, sort of. After three or four false starts, I was ready.
I had my outline, Final Draft, I had snacks… it seemed like a winning combination. I would stare for endless hours at my screen and then I would type diligently for 20 pages. I would procrastinate and then I would write 3 really tough pages for 9 hours. I never seemed to find my rhythm like in other projects.
This whole writing process, this writing to a self-imposed deadline with no promised paycheck at the end, reminds me every minute of every day of a 1-mile marathon I ran when I was a kid.
My step-mother, Eileen, and I trained for weeks to participate in Millbrook, NY’s fun summer festival activities with the hopes that I would do great. I always have loved the idea of being a runner; the light on your feet pounding, the swift feeling of power as you raced your body hard like a steam engine. I always could see the deliberate turning of the body’s gears, as I watched other runners passing me by on the NYC reservoir’s track and I longed to be poetry on my feet.
My family had a weekend house there, so we practiced running the course religiously. We also ran in the city. I never could keep up. Even as a 13-year-old, I was no runner. (Author’s note: at 13 I had a D-cup. Now that I’ve put that inappropriate image in your head, here’s a picture of your mother.)
Well, the day of the race came. I woke up, I was ready to go. I was running the course in my mind. I laced up my sneakers. I was bouncing around like Rocky. That’s what runners do, right? They warm up and stuff?
My parents took me down to the starting line a bit early. I was one of those busy-body kids. The kind of kid you tell to stay someplace, and they don’t listen. They go off in a fog, thinking their weird kid thoughts and then wind up sleuthing mysteries that no one knew existed. Well, yeah, that was me. So on that day, I wound up next to the awards table and discovered they were giving trophies for the various races. There was one for the 1st girl and 1st boy of the 1-mile race. Hmm… I liked my odds for a trophy. I looked around at the other kids who were taking their place, and so far, it was only boys and me. I also liked my odds for having a soda with a boy at the diner afterward. But that’s another story.
I silently prayed that no other girls would show, just so I could trophy, and that’s when they gathered us around. The gun was fired. We were off and running. Haha! I was the only girl in the race, and provided I didn’t die and I crossed the finish line, I would win a trophy! I was so getting that trophy, I was so getting it, if it killed me.
At first, surrounded by a bunch of very cute boys I was running and bouncing and being a pony-tail flipping moron. For about six feet I kept this up, until I couldn’t breathe. The cute boys all ran very ahead of me, very quickly, leaving me with my plodding feet, beating mercilessly down on the cruel hard pavement, my gasping breath that no amount of well-intentioned training could’ve prevented, it was just me and the road. I had to run or quit. It was up to me.
So, like a quarter mile in I’m thinking, how far is a mile? That’s like 20 NYC blocks right? I can run 20 blocks. So like that’s from my house to 73rd Street. I can totally do that. Then maybe two NYC blocks later I start complaining to myself “The reason why NYC is so much better than the stupid country is that there’s stuff to look at while you’re running the mile. God!” This carried on for maybe six more NYC blocks, until I was too tired to silently complain anymore. I was now just groaning on a loop inside my mind.
I had run this course before. I knew how much farther it was going to be, and it was indeed far. I couldn’t breathe. My legs were burning as they always did every time I tried to run. I wondered how it was that people were able to run 26 miles. I didn’t think at this point I could evade a serial killer if I had to. I would be the first person killed in a horror movie. I just knew it.
But I kept on running. So, like NYC block 17, I’m basically blind, sort of delirious, definitely deranged. I can’t breathe. I am drenched with sweat. I feel pretty low, but I’m still moving. Barely. That’s when the ambulance showed up. I wondered who they were there for. I hoped they were alright who ever they were. The paramedic, sitting in the open back door of the ambulance spoke to me. “Are you, Xandy?”
The ambulance pulled up and around me, so that they were in front of me, pacing me while I ran. One of the paramedics sat in the back, the doors open, his legs dangling. His partner tooted the horn at me. I was startled. I shivered, I was roused, like a demon was released from my body. And there before me was the smiling paramedic. He told me all about the mayor and how he was worried that I was dead. He told me to get in the ambulance and they would drive me the rest of the way.
I had been gone so long that the mayor thought I was dead? How long had I been running this mile? Going on 3 hours. No wonder I was so tired. I was dehydrated, I was exhausted. I was basically brain dead. The paramedic tried to hand me some water, but I refused. The mayor thought I was dead?! Oh, crap! There would be no trophy for me now. All of this for nothing. I slowed to a stumble. The paramedic told me to hop in. They would take me the rest of the way.
I was done. I was done 8 NYC blocks back. I was dead on my feet. But I was no quitter. As soon as I realized the mayor thought I was dead, and sent the ambulance to resuscitate me I got a second wind. I don’t know from where or how, but I roused and I ran. I wiped the sweat from my beet red face, I fixed my pony tail and I ran.
I refused to let the ambulance take me the rest of the way. I had come so far and only my determination would carry me across the finish line. And, something like 20 more minutes later, about another quarter of a NYC block, I finished. The whole town was there, to cheer me across the refastened finish line.
Everyone came out to see the girl who took nearly four hours to run a mile. It was humiliating. Everyone in our town now knew us. The search for me, or really the town-wide caucus to decide if they should send the ambulance to go find me, had really brought everyone together. It would’ve been sweet if not at my expense.
I made it three inches on the other side of the finish line, and that’s where I collapsed. My parents were there. My dad had many stories about the nice people concerned about me, about all of the people who volunteered to uncover my dead body. Eileen was proud of me that I finished on my own. So was I. In fact I was so glad to no longer be moving, that I forgot that I didn’t win a trophy.
I was finally able to stand. Eileen said I could order whatever I wanted from the diner to celebrate my victory. That’s when the mayor came over. He was thrilled to discover that while I was indeed a wreck, I wasn’t dead and a girl found alive during the town festivities is a weight off of his shoulders. The race had been over for the better part of 5 hours for everyone else, even though it was only really minutes for me. But, he handed me my trophy anyway, and said that I deserved to win just for having the strength to finish. I felt renewed. I accepted it and walked with my parents to the diner and ate probably the best BLT that ever existed.
I’m sure that as soon as I type “The End” on my script, I’ll feel as accomplished as I did after finishing the 5-hour 1-mile marathon that cost the city $17,000 in man hours and service from the dedicated paramedics. How does this relate to my #Scriptfrenzy script? Well, I’m right now at NYC block 17 and I’m really looking forward to my BLT.
The last time I wrote a feature script, it was 5 years ago. I wrote an outline. I sat down and stuck to it. 10 days later I had written exactly the movie I outlined. I had produced 101 brand-spankin’-new script pages. It was cute. I was very pleased with myself.
The logline: An upscale NYC chef returns to Montana to open a restaurant, after she is publicly dumped and fired by her celebrity chef boyfriend.
It was all feelings, and quips, and beautiful food imagery. The characters were a little cloying, but on the whole it was charming. And it got good traction. Good enough traction, in fact, that along with some of my other specs, I started getting serious TV work.
Where’s the drama in this chain of events? Here’s the drame: after writing for television for 5 years, it was super difficult to around and remember how to write a feature script. Television is its own animal. Shows have to maintain consistency. They have to keep your favorite characters occupied for 22 to 44 minutes a week. And don’t forget act breaks, teaser and a tag. But just like Mr. T probably wouldn’t miss an A-Team mission to babysit, you have to make sure you stay true to the show before anything else. (p.s. this episode did not air… but it could’ve on “A-Team: Babies.”)
In TV, you basically have the creative freedom to do what ever you want, provided it fits within the pre-established confines of the show, such as characters, locations, plot points and the world in which they live. The show “mythos” is already establish. You are merely responsible for the machinations of the plot and clever character quips. That’s writing for television. It’s like an open book test.
When I was a kid, I loved to color but while my work was always beautiful and creative and interesting, it was always inside the lines. I wouldn’t cross those thick black lines with my crayons, not even at gun point. Writing for television is getting a coloring book page, and being told “You can be as creative as you like, provided you stay within the lines.”
Take a look at series bibles (here’s a pdf link to the series bible for Batman: The Animated Series) and you’ll see. The show runners have already fleshed out the world in vivid detail. They’ve given you some basic premises to give you a sense of what to pitch. And at the outset, a writer receives the character bios, the plot points they’re looking to hit, and any other materials required to immerse yourself in a pre-established world.
Back to feature writing. So, 5 years go by and I have no movie ideas, until recently. As it’s not done yet, I still have 18 days to finish 50 pages (I’m feeling good about it) I’m not divulging any of my current Script Frenzy script secrets other than to say, it’s a comedy and well within my skill set. That being said, this has been the hardest “writing assignment” I’ve ever had!
I wrote my outline like I always had. An outline is an outline is an outline. It should always be basically the same, no matter what form or genre you’re writing. It should have broad strokes, and enough detail to keep you writing swiftly, a fully fleshed beginning, middle and end. You outline should cover basically every scene in the script, what happens, what is learned and then on to the next. So, I had one.
Then I started writing. The first 10 pages were like being constipated after eating fondue; uncomfortable! I was rigid and I wrote to the outline but it just laid there, flat and plain. There was no pizzazz, no sparkle, no Xandy. I had left myself no wiggle room to imagine, no creative freedom to try the unexplored. I knew my idea was good, in fact it’s already been pitched and there’s interest. I realized I was doing this all to myself because I was trapped in the boob tube.
This went on for a couple of days, until I found myself with my friend Merrel (he’s my story analyst) and I told him about my problem. He had read the outline already, so he was familiar with the work.
