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.

Merrel took one look at what I had written and said, “Quit writing for TV. Get out of the box of TV. You’re allowed to do whatever you want when writing movies. It’s not like you have to do what someone else wants. Do what you want.”

I’m sorry, do what I want what now? It was crazy. No one ever says “Do what you want. If people actually said that, everyone would be eating Oreos for breakfast, and there wouldn’t be a need to legalize marijuana. But in this case, he was exactly right.

Just to be really clear, it’s not like he gave me permission to go rob banks and shoot danger in my arm and completely ignore all the writing rules and regs and allow me to turn into the E.B. White of screenwriting. No. It’s more like he gave me permission to break the walls, within my established framework and construction. He helped me see that while I already had excellent, rigid structure in place, I didn’t need to keep my creativity in check while writing. That was allowed to roam free.

So, thanks largely to my story analyst, I’m now 52 pages along and the script is much funnier! Before it has the dynamism of cardboard, and now, it actually feels like a proper movie. I actively, like a new mantra, have to keep reminding myself that I don’t need to stay within someone else’s arbitrary rules.  I can color outside of the lines. I can create and invent anything. The only limit is me. And that’s a pretty awesome place to be.

While I won’t be eating oreos for breakfast, I am going to bake a lemon cake for dessert. It’s nice being able to do whatever you want!

Yesterday, I had the delightful pleasure of being a guest on #scriptchat’s professional reader’s panel, on Twitter, and my fingers have only just cooled down from all that speed typing!! It was amazing how many questions everyone had and how fast they all came! What an amazingly inquisitive bunch of writers!!

I found that the scriptchatters had a lot of similar questions. These were the most common. What do professional readers look for in a script? How many pages in before I know I want to pass? Why is working with a professional important? / What should I expect to get out of my coverage experience?  I figured I would take the time now, to answer those three questions again in a little more detail than the 140 characters Twitter afforded me. Here are my answers:

Q: What do I look for in a script?: This question could be both literal and metaphorical, so here’s both answers. I check to make sure that the script is properly formatted, that the font is correct, that the cover page appears professional –all sorts of critical minutia. After my “white glove” inspection, I start reading. While I am reading, I look for concise, breezily written action passages. I look for fully realized characters. I look for a complete story filled with appropriate structure and act breaks. And finally, I look for typos.

Q: How many pages in before I know I want to pass?: I know on page one, if this is going to be a script that I will be engaged by or one that is going to be an uphill battle. I’ve read enough scripts in my career to know which writers will tell a compelling story and which ones won’t. Very rarely am I surprised past page 1. But when I am that’s great! That’s why I keep reading.

Q: Why is working with a professional important? / What should I expect to get out of my coverage experience? A story analyst much like a personal trainer or a therapist, is there to tell you what to do to get you healthy, not do the work for you. Why you want a story analyst, is exactly why you want a trainer or a therapist; you have things that are bothering you and you need some help fixing them. Your reader will ideally provide you timely, unbiased notes, which are constructive, a path to resolve whatever problems are found, and an open line of communication to discuss everything. While you might get a lot of those things with a friend, a friend isn’t a pro… unless your friend is a pro and then by all means, enslave them. However, if you are not friends with a professional story analyst, it’s wise to seek out help before you start submitting. A pro will be able to spot industry standards that your friends might overlook. Also, friends and family tend to love or hate whatever you write simply because you wrote it. And while that loyalty is super adorable, a pro is going to tell you like it is, always. And isn’t that really why you’re there to being with?

Ultimately I feel like a reader / writer relationship is one based on trust. Like any therapist or trainer, a reader is privy to the writer’s deepest, most personal feelings of self-consciousness and with that comes great responsibility for your pro. You and your reader should agree to the terms prior to starting to read. You should know exactly what services you’re getting and make sure that your needs are met. If you don’t want a synopsis but they’re included, speak up. If you need your script expedited, speak up. The clearer you are with your needs, the easier it is to have them met.

Should you ever have an issue with your reader, which shouldn’t ever happen since you took such care in selecting them, you should be able to explain your point of view, and allow the reader to work with you to find some sort of solution. We’re writers too, for the most part. We understand how tough it is to get notes. It’s exhausting, but it’s a necessary part of a writer’s growth. So, figure it all out in advance, go into it with an open heart, hear what the reader has to say, and work on a plan of attack together. That’s the best way to make the most of your time with your story analyst.

One of the other panelists from #scriptchat was Merrel Davis, my story analyst. He has the tough job of keeping my writing on the straight and narrow and making sure that I don’t get testy while hearing his notes. Hey, it’s a tough gig, but someone has to do it! He and I have shared clients in the past, someone comes to me and him at the same time, gets two sets of notes, but no way to reconcile them. Merrel and I thought, like so much an infomercial, that there had to be a better way!

I’m so thrilled to announce that I will be partnering up with Merrel Davis, my good friend and colleague, to bring a REVOLUTIONARY NEW SERVICE TO YOU! We’re calling it: “DOUBLE FEATURE.”

We offer two professional story analysts working on your project, at the same time, and then collaborating together to help you get the most out of your development experience. We plan to offer this amazing service to both screenwriters and novelists of every genre. This service is the first of its kind. There are NO OTHER SERVICES QUITE LIKE IT.

Merrel and I share a passion for story development and a keen eye in which to help writers push through to reach their goals. I chose Merrel to partner with for this project, because we share the belief that it’s essential for writers to trust their story analysts, be able to get what they need in order to grow, and he has the same no-nonsense approach that I look for when I hire a reader to review my work. I felt, without question, he was the right person to bring on board.

So, Merrel welcome to CoverMyScript.com! And to all of you, please check out the #scriptchat transcript for the other panelist’s answers. And  I can’t wait to see you, at the “Double Feature.”

Hi everyone,

Just a head’s up, Thursday, March 25th, I am sponsoring Screenwriter Karaoke!!

Screenwriter Karaoke is a free monthly networking event hosted by my friend and colleague Merrel Davis at Sardo’s Bar and Grill. It’s a great chance to come out, have a few drinks, meet some fellow screenwriters and possibly win some prizes. I am donating FREE COVERAGE to one lucky participant; that’s a $175 value all for the price of a song. Other giveaway prizes include offerings from Twin J’s and Ravengloss Studios. If you’ve become a shut-in with your 80th draft, now might be the best time ever, to leave the house and croon the night away with people who get you.

Also, for all of you folks on Twitter, I will be a guest on Sunday, March 28th’s Scriptchat’.

They are having a professional reader’s panel, with several other impressive guests and have asked me to participate. If you have coverage / development / writing questions, that’s the best time to get some free answers from a panel that really knows their stuff! To join in, just log on to Twitter and do a search for #scriptchat. To learn more about Scriptchat go to Facebook, Ning, Google Wave, or Twibe. You can follow me on Twitter @covermyscript for the event, or at #scriptchat. Thanks to @jeannevb, @zacsanford, @yeah_write, and @kageynyc for having me. I’m very excited to participate in some #scriptchat #worlddomination!!

So, that’s what’s going on for the rest of the month. I look forward to meeting you all in person at Screenwriter Karaoke, and hope to see you all on the interwebs for Scriptchat! Until then, xox X

My sister, Spenser, and I go on the same highly anticipated adventure every time we’re together. We drive from our parents’ home in Connecticut into Manhattan for a quick, food hit-and-run on Original Ray’s on 9^th between 23^rd and 22^nd and then on to Billy’s Bakery, half a block away between 22^nd and 21^st. It’s my favorite two blocks in Manhattan, next to Zabars and H&H. Mmm. Delicious! The drive usually takes us one hour and forty five minutes roundtrip to complete and then there’s forty five more minutes of scarfing pizza and cupcakes while we giggle. We are on a mission, specific solely unto us, which can only be satisfactorily concluded with that first bite of pizza and end with the last moist bite of a chocolate cupcake with vanilla frosting.

Like Peewee and his bike, Citizen Kane and his Rosebud, Lt. Aldo Raine and his Nazi scalps, Spenser and I wanted something so much that it prompted us to act just to get it. That slice and cupcake, in the movie of our cross-state adventure, is our MacGuffin: the “thing” we seek.

A MacGuffin, plainly and simply is everything and nothing at the same time. It is the object of your character’s desire; it’s the thing that drives him and forces him to act. It is the carrot at the end of your plot’s stick. It is an excellent character motivator and every movie has one, regardless of genre. Some movies have a tangible thing, like Harold and Kumar’s White Castle, while others can be intangible, like Dorothy wanting to “go home.” While she’s not yearning for a “thing,” she’s yearning for “something” and that’s enough to motivate her to act.

The term MacGuffin was coined by Alfred Hitchcock while working on Notorious. The spies were originally going to be hunting diamonds, but then Hitchcock decided Uranium would work better. The thing about MacGuffins is that even though there’s a huge difference between diamonds and Uranium, there’s really no difference at all. Hitchcock recognized that all that needed to remain constant was the characters’ desire to obtain the “thing” not what the “thing” is. The “thing” itself is really just a random thing. Sam Spade had his Maltese Falcon, The Terminator has John Connor, Neo has his whatever The Matrix is about. Everyone wants something different. What they want doesn’t matter, just that they want something does.  It’s really a spectacular revelation when you think about it.

Hitchcock dubbed this concept a “MacGuffin” after a joke: Two Scotts are on a train. One points to the other’s case. “What’s in the case?” “It’s a MacGuffin. It’s an apparatus used to trap lions on the Scottish Highlands.” “But there are no lions on the Scottish Highlands.” “Well, then sir, that is no MacGuffin.” And that’s it. A MacGuffin was born.

According to Hitchcock, a MacGuffin can really be as varied as the character. My cupcake, is one spy’s papers is another thief’s diamond necklace. But what that “thing” is, isn’t important. What is important is the character’s desire to possess that “thing.” Because it is desire that drives us as people, and it is desire that makes for relatable and accessible characters.

It is this desire that will prompt a cross-state adventure to satisfy a food craving, but it is also this desire that puts your character on their journey to self discovery. The MacGuffin gives your character something to focus on, to strive for, to be pushed to the limit to have. It is through this process that your character will develop and ultimately grow as a result of participation. The MacGuffin is such an integral piece of all writing, fiction and non, because it is a comment on the human condition. Everyone wants something… that “thing” that they want, isn’t important. Their hunger for it is everything.

Just because your character is on a quest for some “thing,” it is really how he gets it and if he gets it that is important. So while it might be of the highest importance to eat that slice and cupcake, it’s the getting there, and the trip with Spenser that makes the movie exciting. It is the minutia of what happens to us in the car ride that makes the movie special.

Whereas the object of your character’s desire can be as varied as the landscape in which you create it, the one thing that will always remain constant is that the MacGuffin is the most important thing to your character. It is this unabashed love of something that drives your character to act, to journey, to grow. So no matter if it’s a waffle or a sports car, whatever the “thing” your character wants, should inform their choices to obtain it.

The MacGuffin also allows you to show a little bit of character in a fun and clever way. The Dude’s attachment to a small throw rug in his living room is odd. It was weirdly sized, awkwardly placed and grungy. It was something of little consequence to basically everyone in the world; everyone in the world but The Dude.

You see, if The Dude hadn’t so seriously wanted his rug back, he might never have met The Big Lebowski, nor been sucked into the caper of The Missing Bunny Lebowski. It was his desire for his rug’s safe return that lead him to Maude, it was the rug that led him to the Nihilists. If Jackie Treehorn’s porno-actor thug hadn’t micturated upon the rug “that really tied the room together,” The Dude might not have realized how important this item was to him. He might have done his bowling Thai Chi over it for 10 more years as it gathered dust, unnoticed below him. But it was the loss of this rug, the ever present desire to reclaim it that forced him to realize how important it really was to him. That this rug didn’t just “really tie the room together,” it really made him whole, it defined him.

So, when you’re crafting your character think about what they want. By giving them a MacGuffin, you’re giving them something that explains something about their personality while also giving them a built in goal. The item itself is immaterial, as it can be anything. But what makes it so exciting and so mysterious, is that while it’s so important, it’s really of little consequence. Ascribe them something strange and different, make the object a poignant character point rather than some throw away. Use your MacGuffin to center your journey around, and let it inform your character’s choices.

I believe that when you employ an interesting MacGuffin, you’ll find the same satisfaction I find in my slice and cupcake, as your character will find in their adventurous expedition to get the “thing” they’re after. It is in the hunting for that “thing,” the lusting for that “thing,” the obtaining of that “thing” that your character will find their happiness. It is in the adventure to get the “thing,” their MacGuffin that will actually force your character to grow.

Everyone knows the story of Hansel and Gretel. Convinced the only way to save their impoverished family was to abandon their two children in the terrifying wood, Hansel and Gretel’s step-mother insisted that their father take them deep into the forest and leave them there. Being cunning, clever, resourceful children, and having overheard their evil step-mother’s plan, they filled their pockets with breadcrumbs in order to leave a trail to find their way back home.

Well, crafting good film structure is a lot like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs so your audience can find their way home. As a writer it is your responsibility to carry, to direct, to tantalize your audience into following you on your journey. Every crumb you leave is another detail, another character, another plot point and together, after they’ve all been collected, they should bring the audience to a satisfying climax or, in other words, lead them home.

Regardless of genre, structure is the skeleton that your story rests upon. The characters, the plot points, the mood, the setting, they’re all just skin and muscles and ribbons in hair, but they’ll never be as important as the skeleton. Without a skeleton, a solid foundation on which to build, it doesn’t matter that your story is a macho muscle man, with long flowing hair resembling sexy wheat, if he is a boneless puddle of skin and tissue lying immovable on the ground.

When the structure is off, I get bored. I get bored, because I feel lost and adrift. When I’m lost and adrift, my mind wanders. I think about emails, or where I’m going next, or about the piece of popcorn stuck in my teeth. I’ll think about anything, other than your film. And you don’t want my mind wandering to that sweater I wanted but didn’t buy because it wasn’t on sale. You want my full-undivided attention for as long as your script / film is.

As an audience member, I want you, as the writer, to own me. I should be so invested in your story that I would follow you into a fire because I just have to see what’s on the other side. Whether you’re doing alternative structure or traditional three-act structure, telling a story is telling a story. You follow each bread crumb, until you’ve collected them all and wind up at your destination.

So, recently when I was talking with my best friend Scott about a movie we had just seen, he said he loved it. While I had laughed at the jokes, I felt the structure was off and therefore the movie seemed, to me anyway, like a 1000 hours of lugubrious uphill battle. I was exhausted from trying to figure out what act we were in, if the dark moment had passed, who the main character was because we spent equal time with everyone. Scott felt that I get too hung up on structure and sometimes it’s nice when they mix it up. While I couldn’t argue with that, what I could argue is that structure is important because without it, you get lost in the story, and not in a good way.

Imagine instead of dropping a measured trail of breadcrumbs, Hansel and Gretel chose to throw their breadcrumbs buckshot, willy nilly, all over the place. While the wild life those crumbs would attract would be beautiful and diverse and unexpected, Hansel and Gretel would be no closer to reaching their goal. Applying that same principle, if you as a screenwriter choose to scatter your story to the wind, relying on the details to carry your audience, your film simply won’t work.

Screenwriting is an artful balancing act. Every scene must build upon the next scene which must build upon the next, like a pyramid. Each moment being supported by and supporting the next. Whereas in other writing, prose, fiction, even non-fiction, you have the space to slowly spin your yarn, you have page after page to describe the pattern on a character’s blouse without it detracting from your overall piece. In screenwriting, brevity is king and without a clear cut travel itinerary your audience will be lost forever.

Structure is so important because as a story teller you want to tell your story in the fastest way to illicit the greatest response. You have a lot to accomplish and only a small amount of space in which to do it. You should have a main character who experiences growth throughout the piece and takes most of the focus. You should have a villain or detractor of some sort, constantly throwing road blocks in the hero’s way. You should have sub-plots and comedy and drama (regardless of genre) to provide the tension and the release needed to create an edge-of-your-seat story. You should have supporting characters and issues. That’s a lot of business to jam pack into a movie, leaving you with no time to waste.

When you go to write your next project, imagine you’re back in high school and you’re going out for the evening, but your father stops you at the door and cross-examines you about your nighttime agenda. He wants to know where you’re going, with whom, what you will be doing, and as if that’s not enough, he wants to know when you’ll be home. Well screenwriting is the same thing. You should know where your character is going, with whom and what he’ll be doing and where and when he’s going to wind up back at “home.” All of those elements are related to structure. If you miss one of those key points, your story will suffer. Your audience will get lost in the woods, and your script / film will feel like it’s a 1000 hours of wandering through the forest looking for the hint of a trail home.

So, while Scott was correct, that sometimes it is nice to mix it up, it also has to pay off for your audience in the end. It can’t be rambling or unfocused. You can’t use “But it’s alternative structure” as an excuse for shoddy craftsmanship. The best writers know that alternative structure is really traditional three act structure, dressed up for Halloween. At its core, your story has to be a clear path from Point A to Point B. The rest, the details, the minutia, that’s all window dressing, unique to each writer. It is in that area where your creativity, your cleverness, your genius can shine. I won’t be daydreaming about getting a pedicure or thinking about which has more carbs, a pizza or a chocolate cake. I’ll just see the story as you intended.

Apparently, when Hansel and Gretel finally did find their way home, after escaping from the evil witch who tried to bake them into gingerbread, they found yet another witch waiting for them, their step-mother… can anyone say sequel?