Screenwriting, well any writing really, is a loner sport. It’s for thinkers, for watchers, for journalists of the human condition. It’s just the way it is. Even most writers who sit in a writers’ room and are forced to work together, still pretty much don’t like people as much as they like writing about people. And where you write is almost as important as what you’re writing.

I recently set up my home office. I moved late last year and I just never got around to creating a proper workspace. So, when I finally was forced into really unpacking and setting up my desk, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I wanted it to be very me, but it also needed to be functional and inspiring. I filled my desk area with eclectic thrift store findings, candles, a mug of my face that my mother made filled with a bouquet of craft scissors, loads of colorful clutter, each item with a meaning, each item providing inspiration.

But eventually my recluse ways are invariably encroached upon. Sometimes I have social or work engagements, but mostly I venture out when I’m blocked. There’s nothing like participating in the world to find the solution to your story. I’ve often said that 90% of writing is napping. Well, after you’ve done the napping and you’ve got your story, and the words just aren’t flowing, that’s when I say take your act on the road. Try writing on location.

In L.A., it’s the vogue thing, to go to Starbucks to pound out your Magnum Opus, but as far as I’m concerned, that’s a trite behavior. To really write is to think, to hear your inner voice, to channel a character’s pain and translate that into palpable text. How can you do all of that important work, while listening to a grinder gnash beans incessantly, loud teenaged girls snapping their gum and ordering embarrassingly complicated coffee drinks, and people yapping on their Bluetooth cyborg earbuds? You simply can’t. Real writers don’t write in Starbucks, people who want to be seen writing, write in Starbucks.

For my money, I like to write in bars. If I feel like I’ve been cooped up too long, and my facial tick has gone completely out of control, I pack up my laptop and head for my bar. “The Bucket of Blood” is perfect for writing. There are only a handful of ever-drunk and very quiet, afternoon regulars there during the day, which makes for a peaceful working environment. Their TV’s are on mute, and the service is excellent, mostly because the cute blonde bartender has the preternatural ability to know exactly when I want something and when I want to be left alone. It’s a great place to have a drink, look at your story and really take stock of what you have in a new environment. Usually somewhere between drinks two and three, an hour into rugby, and half an order of bangers and mash later, I get the perspective or inspiration I was missing.

I had been working in my bar the day of the last Screenwriter Karaoke, when I got stuck. I was stuck on a plot point, which is what drove me to the bar in the first place. Three martinis, two diet cokes, some potato skins and four hours later, and I was no closer to solving my problem. I figured, as I was already toasty, why not go drink away my troubles with my compatriots, with other screenwriters?

I went to Sardo’s and met a bunch of great people. I got to chatting with one of the writers there and I don’t know if it was the three martinis I already had or the fourth I was drinking that made my lips quite so loose, but I spilled the beans. I told this other writer my whole story. Every detail that I held close to my vest, every intricate moment that made my story special and unique. It was an odd burst of revelation from me, largely, because I don’t ever talk about what I’m writing, until I can hand you a finished script. It’s just the way I work. But I was stumped and I needed the help.

And she listened to every word I said, hung on to my every pause and really was engaged by me. I was worried I was boring her, but she wanted to know more. So I told her my problem. I needed a monument for a very integral plot point; its importance to the story was so great, that the monument needed to become its own character but none of the real monuments were quite right. The Eiffel Tower was predictable, the Arc Du Triumph was strangely incompatible. The Empire State also had problems. I had spent days researching buildings and architecture, but I just couldn’t find the right place for me and it was making me nuts.

She looked at me and said, “Just make it up.” Her theory was, I was being intentionally vague throughout most of the story, allowing the audience to project their impressions on the characters, allowing the audience to fill in their own details. She suggested, why not just make up a building and have it suit your needs and then be vague about it. People will imagine it’s whatever building they think it is and you’ll be golden. It was awesome! As a professional writer, where ideas and words are your trade, it’s hard to trust others with your conceptions. But for the first time, it felt great to be so exposed. I allowed myself to be critiqued and to learn from someone else. And I’m pretty sure, none of this would’ve happened had I stayed home and sat at my colorfully cluttered yet inspiring workspace and never ventured out into the world.

As writers there’s a tendency to withdraw into your imaginary world, to become so turtle-like that your whole world is contained inside a dark little shell. But I found that by going out into the world, connecting with people, meeting other writers who so deeply understand what it means to be blocked, seeing what else there is to see past the end of my desk, that either the answer comes to you or you meet someone who solves your problem.

Either way, I learned that while writing is a solitary sport, sometimes it’s absolutely mandatory that you take your show on the road. It’s amazing what a change of scenery can do for your spirit and your story.

Well, Bob, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen Office Space, mostly because I’ve lost count. And another thing, Bob, I can’t recall a week since I bought the DVD where I didn’t watch it. It is to me as TPS reports were to Peter’s 8 bosses my only reason to live.

Not really, but I do really like the film. I like it because it’s simple and comforting, not necessarily because it’s outstanding. It’s mashed potatoes, it’s mac and cheese, it’s mind meatloaf. It’s plated up with a nice vegetable side. Everything works out for Peter as we hoped. He gets the girl, he gets a job where he’s finally happy, Lumbergh is presumably jobless and the evil Initech empire is reduced to so much a pile of soot. And Milton may not have received a piece of cake or been able to keep his stapler, but he had three hundred thousand of Initech’s dollars and a sunny Mexican beach on which to drink. It was a satisfactory resolution for all of those characters; a “happy ending.”

There are many choices when ending your script, and picking the right one is of paramount importance. In a comedy for example, you need to let the audience know that it’s all going to be okay for the main characters. At the end of a drama, the conflict has most likely been resolved, the emotions are still raw, and you want to capture that intense anguish without beating your audience over the head with a leg of lamb. You want just enough subtlety to tug at your heart, but enough nuance to remain sophisticated.

While, of course, some movies do still employ the classic happy ending, most films now go out of their way to choose simple, clean, quirky endings as a way to shine. It’s a writer’s last chance to send their audience out into the lobby, with a bigger and better smile on their face.

A happy ending, to me, is one in which the protagonist satisfactorily completes his journey and has demonstrated growth as a result. He participates in a conclusion that marks the character’s growth with a hint that his future is going to be okay; that we need not worry because this person whom we’ve become so invested in, will thrive in the next phase of his life.

Recently, I saw 500 Days of Summer. I generally hate romantic comedies. But in this case, I was charmed. I liked the notion of telling the story of “the girl before the girl.” Every man has had their heart broken and it is through that pain that they become the men we marry or couple with. I find the story of the woman that helped make my man the man he is, fascinating. To me, this was a wonderfully quirky ending. Tom moved on. He chose to live and thrive. And then, he meets the girl we’re lead to believe is “the girl.” Tom has a happy ending. A classically happy one? No. But a happy one nonetheless.

Before I saw Tootsie, I felt every movie should end with the hero and the heroine driving off together, into the sky, in a cherry red convertible like Grease.

Instead, the ending is this: Michael and Julie stand on a Manhattan sidewalk on a beautiful spring day. His female persona no longer. Julie asks to borrow Michael’s yellow Halston dress. Being cheeky, he refuses to lend it to her. And so he starts to walk down the street away from the camera and Julie follows protesting, and that’s it. They just keep on walking until they vanish into New York, the end credit music lulling us to the final fade out.

Oh what a revelation! You mean to tell me, endings didn’t have to be a magical, Disney-wedding, extravaganza, in 3-D, on ice in order to sell the simple idea of love? It seemed preposterous, yet also plausible.  It doesn’t have to be wrapped up in a nice neat  bow.

When Boogie Nights came out, I was a big fan right from the get go. I’ll never forget leaving the theater, with my mother. (Yes, it was sort of awkward.) We got into the biggest fight over the ending. I felt that it was a happy ending. Dirk was back together with Amber and Jack and Roller Girl and even though he was doing porn, it felt to me that Dirk had come “home.” He was a sad kid looking for parents and in a sick way, Amber and Jack filled that void. Roller Girl was like the sister he never had and while none of them were actually related, and they were all screwing each other on film, they were a support system who loved and cared for each other. These loners in the world, for them all to come together to be happy as a “family” seemed sweet, in an albeit creepy sort of way. That ending to me is both a happy and satisfying one and it is an excellent use of a non-traditional happy ending.

SPOILER ALERT! Fight Club, I would call that a happy ending too. Tyler became whole and he created an army and finally earned the respect his life so profoundly lacked. He got the girl, and his plan succeeded. That’s a happy ending. As those buildings fall down, Tyler takes Marla’s hand as the Pixies play and you just know, everything is going to be okay. How the hell it is? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Chuck Palanhuik about that one. But for my money, that’s a happy ending.

Think about Shaun of the Dead, he gets the girl and his best pal, who’s really not that much worse for the wear even though he’s now a zombie. The Sound of Music, the Von Trapps might be on the run from the Nazis but they’re climbing every mountain together, headed for a better do-ray-mi-tomorrow. There Will Be Blood, when Daniel Plainview was done smashing Eli’s face in with a bowling pin, he was his happiest and he was done!

The Royal Tennenbaums ended with a funeral and a wedding but it was still a happy ending. It showed a family reunited, idiosyncrasies healed and lives put back on track. A Clockwork Orange totally has a non-traditional, happy ending. Alex is cured! What a brave new life is in store for Alex, filled with the old in-out, ultra-violence and Ludwig Van.

I always want a happy ending for my characters, even if the choices those characters have to make are hard ones. I want to know as a writer and as an audience member participating in another writer’s story that these people I have invested my time and my love into, are going on to better journeys that just haven’t yet been written. It gives me hope, even in their bittersweet parting and that satisfies me. That’s a happy ending.

So as you’re closing your film, think about subtlety, think about nuance. Reconceive a touch of the hand, a walk down the street, a long zoom out, whatever you choose to make your ending happy, make sure you make it fresh, twist it around and stand it on its head. It’s both stand out and delightful for your audience. Not every movie needs to end with a giant wedding cementing the characters’ fate, being clever and inventive is exciting. Sometimes, all you need is to show your characters finding a red stapler in the rubble of a once proud software company to perfectly articulate that “it’s all going to be okay.”

I’ve been watching The Young and the Restless since before I was born. How is that possible, you ask? My mother watched it while pregnant with me. I know that’s a cheap one, but it counts. I’ve been actively watching it since my birth. How many shows, other than the news, can you say that about?

I watched it my entire childhood. I tuned in throughout my teen years, on those rare occasions when I could convince my parents I was indeed bleeding from my eyes, so I could stay home from school.

When I went to college, I started watching every day. I hadn’t missed a single episode until this past November 2009. On November 30^th, Y&R went dark in my house for the first time in my life. It’s been hard on me. Y&R has moved on, but I have not.

I should’ve seen it coming, and even though it was my idea to end our relationship, that doesn’t mean that I’m not grieving. In fact, being apart is almost harder than it was when we were together. I find myself wondering, in the middle of the day, around 11:30am, what Y&R is doing. I wonder if my Genoa City friends are okay, left in the hands of a revolving door writing staff who don’t know the characters past a couple of seasons.

It reminds me of something that happened to me at a WGA function last week. I met a writer staffed on a reboot animation franchise (I can’t say which one, but it was a big one with a flop live action movie.) The offending thing was, while lovely and presumably talented, he didn’t know the history of the show he was working on. He wasn’t a fan. He had never seen or connected to the original incarnation. But like a competent journeyman writer, he cranked out satisfactory scripts regardless of his project knowledge; they had to be good to impress their difficult and demanding Executive Producer.

The thing is this happens. I’m no civilian. I should know better. I know that the turnover a writing staff is. To expect every new staffer to know everything about every character ever in a 35 year history, is fairly ridiculous of me. But in the same way I was so appalled by the TV writer who had never seen the show he was remaking, I was furious with the Y&R staff.

I know who Sharon Newman is, and she is not how the writers have been crafting her. She’s done a total 180 degree turn as a character, and not in a positive, growing sort of way. The writers have lost the real essence of Sharon, what really makes her a character you love, and instead, they’re presenting us a Sharon imposter… which might not have been a bad plotline, but turns out to be the death knell for me as a viewer.

Then about 5 years ago, the show took a strange turn. Concerned that the audience was getting bored with the tried and true Y&R, they decided to make it glamorous, more daring, more like a nighttime soap. That’s the beginning of the end for me.

Y&R has been suffering a snowball effect of bad writing since then. The nighttime soap idea was a disaster. Y&R had their lowest ratings ever. Then there was the writer’s strike. More viewers lost. Then there was the interim staff who just kept things humming, but Y&R was clearly out of tune.

Then, two years ago, like a shining beacon of hope, a Bell was back in charge of Y&R. Maria Arena Bell, the series creators’ granddaughter, was now helming and she was going to reestablish the show and restore it to her grandparents’ legacy. At least that was the hope. CBS was behind her and seeing the Bell name at the top of the show, post credit sequence, was oddly comforting. While we had a bad, mean babysitter looking after us for a while, it almost felt like Mommy had come home from dinner.

And then, things went weird in the writers’ room. The 35 year history of Genoa City was rewritten, character backstory was thrown to the wind. It was like they were bizzaro world clones of their former selves. They did the old plot standards: a murder, a court case, mistaken identity, baby switching, but all the plotlines were ruthlessly dark, bizarre, and seemingly angry without any payoff. There was no pleasure in watching these characters.

My eyes and brain were tired of being assaulted. I have loved these people, the citizens of Genoa City, my entire life. I remember a lot of what’s happened to them over the years. But at some point, when the writing is so bad, when the characters no longer make sense, when everything they do is so improbable that you’re embarrassed for the people who make the thing you love, you have to tap out. And that’s what I did.

On November 30^th, I finally had enough. Wednesdays are usually boring on a soap. Something minor happens, to move towards the exciting Friday cliff hanger, but nothing too noteworthy occurs. On this Wednesday, an art theft case was wrapping up; another murder no one cared about was solved. Amber, a blonde bimbo with a sweet side and a penchant for trouble, was finally united with Daniel, her true love (for that hour anyway), but then she was forced to marry this other guy to save him. Would she, wouldn’t she? It had taken maybe 6 months for me to finally say, no more. Daniel, Amber, I just don’t care anymore.

But like a partner, with whom you shared a deep and profound long-lasting love, you miss the nearness of them, the comfort they provide, even if the relationship is abusive.

I will forever miss The Young and the Restless. But, I’ve moved on to new lovers. I’m seeing some really nice celebrity chefs right now, and I’m hanging out a lot over at with “Horrible People.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to be okay.

I just have one thing left to say.

Young and the Restless: You were my first, and as that, you’ll always have a place in my heart, even if we can’t be together. But just know, Y&R, and all the good people of Genoa City, I miss you now and I’ll miss you forever.

When I was 8, my step-mother, concerned that the 10 hours a day of television I was consuming was probably too many, made a declaration: only 8 hours a day. That meant that I had to choose what to watch, not just watch everything that was on! Well, Godbless her for trying, but it didn’t work. I grew up to be a TV writing TV junkie.

Yes folks, I write television and I watch television and that’s how it should be. Writers should know what is out there, what works, what shows are thriving and why. Also, I haven’t ever had a pitch meeting that didn’t start with “What are you watching, Xandy?” I’m never at a loss for an answer and it always works as an easy ice breaker. When you watch or know something about everything on TV, chances are, you’re watching one show the development exec is watching.

I didn’t watch TV as much as I consumed it, like every book I read (1000’s), and from every episode of Love Boat I watched, I learned a little something about story structure and character development. It’s surprising but true. Think of it as an apprenticeship; TV taught me to write. But, TV was totally in charge; telling me what to watch and when to watch it. Then I discovered that my beloved Tivo was in cahoots with TV; pushing me around telling me stuff was being deleted and that I had to hurry up and watch. I had become a slave to my truest love, and I was growing to resent it.

I, the ambassador to TV Junkie Town, decided I was fed up with how television was treating me…  So I started an experiment; can a TV Junkie not actually watch a television and still view all of their favorite and new shows on the internet? And to begin this 2 month journey I took an unthinkable step. I canceled cable.

How is life without TV during Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years? Strangely adequate. Granted, I didn’t get my local programming, or Thanksgiving Day parade, but it turns out, the internet rocks! Who knew?! Everything I ever wanted to see and more from official youtube channels to network websites, is up, available and ready for my compulsive viewing pleasure.

How does this saucy writer fill her internet TV Days? Here’s what I’m watching:

Peep Show

No, it’s not dirty, it’s the best British comedy you’re likely not watching. It’s an “Odd Couple” show with quirky POV camera work and Voice Over. Mark and Jeremy are best mates from college who are still sharing a London flat well into their 30’s and while Mark is stiff, uptight and generally a rule follower, Jeremy is the total opposite: a rock god in his own mind. This comedy is dark, hilarious and altogether the best show you’re probably not watching. Peep Show “I fucking love you!”

Hell’s Kitchen

I love Hell’s Kitchen. Gordo is so totally my boyfriend. He’s only got about 60 shows currently on all over the world so, so between Fox and BBC, they’ve got me covered on all the streaming screaming from his hot kitchens and it’s so wonderful. I have also been able to catch some Kitchen Nightmares, The F Word and some hour-long Cookalong Live deal. Oh Gordo, I just can’t get enough of your furrowed brow, and thanks to the internet, I can order you up for delivery. Ahh,  instant gratification tastes so good.

South Park

Okay, I have a lot of boyfriends. I love Trey Parker too. I told you I’m a junkie; I get around. Truthfully, South Park is simply just excellent TV. Trey Parker knocks out those scripts in a week, then they have like three minutes before it has to air to animate it. I am impressed with what they have accomplished and I revere him as a screenwriter. His episodes are not only topical and timely but also brilliantly well written. At South Park Studios, you can watch all of the new episodes as well as any from the prior 14 seasons. There’s nothing better than going down to South Park, to have myself a time. And now I can do it from anywhere. It’s awesome.

Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace

The series’ fictional premise: in the 1980s, best-selling horror author Garth Marenghi and his publisher/publicist, Dean Learner, made their own low-budget television series. It was bad, really bad. If you like incredibly quirky and meta shows, check it, Dark Place “from your bean bag chair, if that’s how you choose to live your life,” and watch “the greatest televisual event since Quantum Leap” and I don’t say that lightly.

The Tonight Show

I mentioned that it’s hard sometimes with current events to watch as things are airing live, and that’s true but I managed to see Conan’s last show before it aired in LA. The second the east coast airing was done, Gawker.tv had it up and ready for streaming. The quality was excellent and it was segmented so I could jump around. It wasn’t live, but even if I still had TV, I probably would’ve watched it when I got up or a day later anyway, so this totally worked out. Now the full last episode is up on Hulu.com, where you can watch it in its entirety.

In terms of animation, I’m watching all the same stuff I was watching before, Family Guy, The Simpsons, The Cleveland Show, American Dad except I’m now watching them all on Hulu.com. There’s a couple of commercials but nothing egregious, the video quality is excellent and they have the current 5 episodes up there at all times. Some older shows have more. It’s not the greatest, if I want to see something old, but between Hulu.com and AdultSwim.com, they got me covered.

Adult Swim also has their entire Sunday Night Stoner Lineup online for viewing. Metalocolypse, The Venture Brothers, Robot Chicken. They’re all on there, as well as King of the Hill if you’re looking for gentle bedtime programming.

For a blast from the past, I decided to watch all of the Night Gallery episodes. There’s four seasons up on Hulu, but they’re mostly terrible. Rod Serling is my hero and my God and I have to support his work, even if most of it is dreadful. But it’s campy and sometimes cool, so check them out. I also watched all of The Twilight Zone episodes available, but they’re limited on CBS.com. I’ve seen them all 1000 times, but I still love to hear Burgess Meredith scream “But there was time now!”

Just so I don’t loose touch with my reality TV series, I watch The Soup. Joel McHale gives me the best 22 minutes of gut-busting laughter ever. The only bad part of the show is when it’s over. The player is a little buggy, but the show is so funny, it’s totally worth any hassle.

So, here I am, three months with no cable and I have to say, I don’t miss it. I feel satisfied that I’m watching everything I want to be watching and anything I forget about, I’m probably not missing anyway.

Sometimes it’s boring watching movie after movie, and being online doesn’t give off the same energy as watching TV. TV has a repetitive rhythm that I have come to find soothing after all these years, but with all of my favorite series up online, plus a dirth of other video entertainment consumables, there’s enough going on to keep my eyeballs busy until eternity.

Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free? So long, cable!

Recently, I was interviewed on getting started screenwriting in Hollywood at All Freelance Writing.com. Here is a link to the article where I candidly share how I got my start and helpful tips on how to get started yourself. I sincerely hope you enjoy and find this interview resourceful and a fun read.

Only one more shopping day until Screenwriter Karaoke LA! Come on out, belt a few tunes, and meet some filmmakers. You don’t have to be a writer to join the fun, just in the business. Bring your cards and a friend. Can’t wait to see you!

SCREENWRITER KARAOKE LA IS THURSDAY, DECEMBER 10TH, 8:30 PM AT SARDO’S BAR AND GRILL IN BURBANK, CA.

Thursday December 10th, 8:30 PM
Sardo’s Grill and Lounge
259 N. PASS AVE.
BURBANK, CA 91505

Driving directions: Here

Your mother always said to wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and that you only get one chance to make a good first impression. Well, your mother has found her champion, because I’m here to say, that she’s 100% right.

I can’t stress enough how important first impressions are in the film business. This is an industry where the superficial is king, where creative execs hate to read and their main job function is to say “no”. Getting your script into their hands is your biggest challenge. However, what you might not know is that there’s someone else you need to woo before Mr. or Mrs. Producer will ever see your script.

It doesn’t matter that the executive is your mother’s brother’s uncle’s sister or that he’s your doorman’s brother’s live-
in partner, your script will most certainly be covered by a reader before your executive ever sees page one. A reader is someone who went to film school, is a frustrated writer, either gets paid less than the janitor or is (shudder) an unpaid intern, most likely loathes you because your script is being submitted and tragically has the most say in what the producer sees. If the reader hates something, even the most mundane thing about your script, your opus is sure to be filed under “g” for garbage.

From deciding on font type, to two brads verses three, every choice you make, no matter how big or how small, reflects on you as a writer. It doesn’t seem fair, but that’s “Chinatown , Jake”.

Of course there are the superheroes you read about, the writer who landed a deal in his underwear from a script written on napkins. But that’s an extraordinary case and is most likely not you. If you’re trying to get your foot in the door and you weren’t born into Aaron Spelling’s clan, try not to aggravate the same people you want to win over.

The first rule in making a good impression is to do things the right way. Even though it seems like ridiculous minutia, straying from the industry standard incurs an immediate pass.

That means:

Always use three-hole punch paper, bound with two, 1½” brass fasteners. Not three, always two. I don’t care that the pages turn better with three. If you use brads that are longer than 1½”, they can stab the reader while the analyst evaluates your script and nothing makes them hate you more than a work related injury.

Do not use colored or specialty covers for your script. It shows that it didn’t come from a proper representative. Your rep will have the right cover to adorn your script. No bad script was ever sold because it had a flashy cover. Focus on the writing.

Courier 12. There should be no clever fonts ever! Not on the cover page, not in the body of the script and not on the back. No one ever got ahead using a clever font. All it does is make people think that you spent more time on the font than you did on the story.

Proofread. There is no reason to have a typo on page one. It’s just inexcusable. Readers always, without exception, pass on scripts that have typos on page one. If the writer was too lazy to proofread the first page then readers assume that that person is also too lazy to turn in a quality product. If you feel that you’re incapable of proofreading because you’re too close to the project, hire someone who can or ask a friend. It’s better to annoy your buddy than to face premature rejection.

Don’t dedicate your script to anyone. If you wrote it for your dead dog, leave a copy on his grave, but don’t advertise it. When and if it’s produced and you have the lofty position of power to dedicate the movie to someone, do it then. Otherwise it will make you seem like a besotted newbie.

Never call for music. That means when your plucky girl lead finally leans in for that meaningful kiss on page 101, and you say in the action, “Brown Eyed Girl plays softly in the background” it better mean that something plot related is about to happen. The only acceptable time to call for music is when it’s integral to your story. For example in “ Sea of Love ” the song was part of the plot, it indicated the killer was approaching. If you want to match songs to script plot points, be a music supervisor. If you want to be a writer, focus on your story.

This is really a checklist of why most new writers get a pass. In future columns we’ll get into the deeper and more serious issues like character development and story arcs that are also reasons for a pass. The key is understanding a simple idea: this is a superficial business. And as such, if you make stupid, superficial errors you’ll never get sold.

If your script is clean, when it’s handed to a ruthless reader or an exhausted executive, then the special story that you slaved over will shine through and your work will be seen as it was intended. And look at it this way — if they do wind up passing, then at least you know they took you and your work seriously. And in most cases, those same professionals who did pass will be willing to look at other scripts in the future. You then have the limitless opportunity to cultivate relationships, ultimately creating the exact thing every new writer needs, contacts.

So, if you feel passionate about a story, write it. But be painstaking with your work prior to sending it out for review. Don’t make avoidable and grievous errors and your luck just might improve with those no-sayers. They just might utter a yes.

Halloween is my favorite time of year. It’s a celebration of never-ending candy bowls of bite-sized chocolatey goodness, the smell of smoke rising from chimneys as you carve pumpkins, and the very best part of all, a non-stop horror-fest of the very best and very worst of scary film on television.

In the spirit of chilling cinema, CoverMyScript.com is offering special rates for all those writers out there who feel about horror, sci-fi and fantasy film as I do. From now until November 1st, CoverMyScript.com will provide professional story analysis for your horror / chiller / sci-fi genre / fantasy feature film (up to 120 pages) for $100. That’s 33% savings!

Contact Xandy@CoverMyScript.com

Some say, the world is full of horror. I say, the world isn’t filled with enough… horror films that is. So, send me your gore, send me your axe murderers, send me your serial killers (or cereal killers if your characters are against Pirate Captains and Leprechauns) and let me help you ready your super scary script for sale.

Printed in “Hollywood Scriptwriter Magazine” July 2005

If you listen to any great raconteur entertain a group of people at a party, he tells his anecdote in a certain way to elicit the greatest emotional response from his audience. Well that, in its simplest essence, is the Three-Act Structure.

By following the Three-Act Structure’s formula, the story teller knows how to introduce the characters, when to create the drama of the circumstances and more importantly, how to get the audience to feel what he wants, exactly when he wants.

Act One is for getting to know your hero, understanding his world, his struggles, and learning what his problem is. Based on a 90 page script, Act One is broken up into a couple of sections. Pages 1-10 contain character introduction, location set up, general opening details. Let’s make up an example for illustration purposes. So, you’ve got a family man, let’s say, a taxi driver from Brooklyn . His ex-wife is a pain and she’s demanding he fetch his daughter’s cake from a Queens bakery before 2pm . By page 10 in Act One you must have the Inciting Event, which is some action that either the protagonist does or something that is done to the protagonist to set his story in motion. In our example, the family man taxi driver picks up a mob guy who dies in his cab and the taxi driver’s now got a kilo of mob coke in his back seat.

Act Two usually begins at page 30 and lasts for the majority of the 90 page script until approximately page 70. Act Two is the hardest section of the script and the place where most, if not all, writers have difficulty because it’s the longest section. This is where all the dramatic pathos is, where the emotionality resides, where the plot complications flourish. So now our taxi driver is on the run, the mob guys are after him, thinking he jacked their coke and they want him dead. Plus he still has to go to his daughter’s ballet recital and stop at the bakery.

So our taxi driver does a creative u-turn and evades his pursuers. It looks like he’ll get the cake after all. However, that forward moving story progress comes to a crashing halt, at the Dark Moment. In a 90 page script, the Dark Moment usually comes in between pages 65-70, and it’s the point in the script where everything is against the protagonist and it looks like the character won’t achieve his goal. So, right before the recital, the taxi driver is carted off by henchmen and is about to get boiled in oil for the coke and it looks like nothing will save him.

However, here comes Act Three to the rescue between pages 75-80. The Act Three act break is a direct result of the dark moment and it gives the character a new chance to rebound from seeming failure. So, maybe our taxi driver hero sees that he can save himself by swinging out harm’s way and in a Herculean feat of strength sending his captor instead into the oil to be French fried. It is this chance that leads the protagonist to the successful resolution of his problems. He makes it to the recital, with the cake, and eventually gives the coke back to the Don. He and the Don make up and our hero’s life is spared. And that is the Three-Act Structure.

Another is example is 1988’s Working Girl, which has perfect Three-Act Structure. This film knows structure and if you’re having trouble figuring it out, check out this movie again and watch for the transition between acts.

Tess is a struggling secretary with dreams of success in the corporate world. However, she’s tacky and no one takes her seriously. So when she gets fired, i.e. the Inciting Event, she has to start a new job, working for narcissistic Katherine. Tess pitches an idea to Katherine, whom she views as a mentor, which Katherine rebuffs.

In Act Two, Tess has to take over for Katherine, who is injured. Tess discovers that Katherine passed off Tess’ idea as her own, and so Tess decides to pose as Katherine’s colleague to get her ideas heard. Tess contacts Jack, a colleague who coincidentally is Katherine’s beau, to put the deal together. Both Jack and Tess are unaware of the Katherine element in their relationship, adding more plot twists and heightened tension for the audience as Jack and Tess fall in love. These are all perfect Act Two details.

The Dark Moment comes just as Jack and Tess are about to succeed and finalize the big Trask deal. Katherine, recently returned from her injury, and having discovered Tess’ scheme, goes and humiliates her in front of Trask himself proclaiming “That woman is my secretary!” Tess, shamed, leaves the boardroom knowing that she’s spoiled her one chance at happiness both for work and love. As part of the audience we shout, “Tess, speak up, don’t let Katherine get away with it!” but you see, if she did, then it would prematurely end the story, providing a less than satisfying climax. But this is not the end of the story. There’s still Act Three to bring us our promised happy ending.

As Act Three begins, Tess is unemployed. But we discover that Jack loves her not Katherine, and he intercedes with Trask on Tess’ behalf. Tess finally has the courage to speak up and vindicate herself. Katherine is fired for her unscrupulous behavior. Tess winds up with a job at Trask as an executive and gets Jack too! This is how Act Three ties up all the loose ends and satisfactorily concludes the story.

The Three-Act Structure is the best story telling tool around. Understanding it, implementing it and using it to your advantage will make screenwriting all the easier because since it’s a formula, you will know exactly where to place the highs, lows and inbetweens. The Three-Act Structure and you are perfect together.

William Safire died yesterday. He was a wonderful writer and a man whose grammatical flair, his intense style and his sense of right and wrong I will always admire. When I read the news of his death, I was saddened, but reminded of my own personal connection to a man who helped shape my direction as a writer.

It was the spring of 1992, my last semester of high school and I was studying Hamlet in AP English. We were forced to learn the whole “To Be or Not to Be” soliloquy by heart and as if that wasn’t tragedy enough for my teenage schedule, my English teacher, Mrs. Brown, gave the class what appeared to be a fairly straightforward assignment but would take me someplace I never anticipated.

The assignment: Mrs. Brown, gave the class a photocopied “article” written by William Safire that was a list of 20 Hamlet quotes. We were to correctly identify the act, scene, and line of each quote. Simple enough, right? I was able to easily identify 19 of the 20 quotes. I read Hamlet 15 times, by this point. No lie. 15 times. I scoured each line looking for the last quote, but nothing about it was familiar. No giveaways, no hints, no obvious character patois. It was a real puzzler.

No one else in my class could identify the last quote either. Being the industrious and brazen girl I’ve always been, I decided that if I was going to get number 20, I was going to have to go right to the source. Naturally, I did what any normal 17-year-old highschool senior would do, I called The New York Times and asked for some dude named “William Safire,” like he was just some sort of rookie desk jockey, not the respected, award winning journalist that he was.

The receptionist put me through to the Washington division, and then within a second, William Safire answered his own phone, just like he was a regular person. I introduced myself and explained my assignment. I asked if he would just please tell me the answer, after all, he would know, he wrote the thing! His tone was gravely serious. “No, I won’t tell you. That’s cheating.” That wasn’t quite the outcome I was hoping for.

He started off condescending. “Did you even read the play?” I explained I had read the play 15 times now, that coupled with all the re-skimming to find the quote. To prove myself, I even recited “To Be or Not To Be,” for him. He, unlike Mrs. Brown, clapped for me when I was done.

Safire said I was “charming” and then asked “do you know what a Concordance to Shakespeare is?” A Concordance to what? “Uh, no sir, I do not,” I replied. He told me to go the library, and there, I would find a book called A Concordance to Shakespeare. Contained inside this magical book would lie my answer. I should call him back when I have the answer that’s all he said. Like Bastion the young boy in The Never Ending Story, I was on a quest, to find a book that would provide the answer and save the world (well, the first of the two anyway).

Armed with theses instructions, I raced to the library, there I found the magical tome with the answers I sought. A Concordance to Shakespeare is an alphabetical list of every Shakespeare quote from every play, sonnet, anything he ever wrote. If you just know one line from something, you can look it up and voila, all the info you would ever need. And there it was the 20th quote in all its glory! Maybe there was something to this Safire guy after all!

That night at dinner my parents asked me about the William Safire assignment and had I found the 20th quote? I told them “Well yeah, I called The New York Times and spoke to William Safire” My step-mother, Eileen, nearly spit out her wine. My father almost choked. They wanted to know everything; had I spoken to him, what did he say, what was he like?

I couldn’t understand why they cared about some writer guy. My family was impressed with my tenacity, it took gumption to get a literary celebrity on the phone. A “literary celebrity?” Who, this Safire guy? As my family relayed his importance, I felt humiliated, I must have made a fool of myself in front the the prestigious Mr. William Safire.

The following day, I called back William Safire, he again answered his own phone. I told him his advice worked brilliantly and I thanked him for taking the time to help. He told me to hang in there, I told him I’d be going to NYU and he was sure I would do well as a writer.

Six months later, my father and step-mother were attending the White House Correspondence Dinner and found themselves standing next to William Safire at the bar. He was relaying a story of a ballsy high school girl who called him up once to ask for the answer to her homework. My parents looked at each other, as my step-mother interjected, “That was my daughter.” William Safire spent the evening with my parents, he was very nice and inquired about me. They told him how I was thriving at NYU and how happy I was. He was delighted.

Sometimes, as a writer (and as a person) you may not know the rules, and you brazenly run into a room only to have weapons turned on upon you at the doorway. William Safire taught me it was okay to know that I didn’t know. The spirit of asking questions, however potentially embarrassing, has been thoroughly instilled in the very fabric of my writery being.

And so, today, as I was on my Blackberry, the world’s information at my fingertips, I got word that William Safire died. Suddenly, I felt like it was 1992 all over again, and I was an unabashed high school student with nothing but promise and a willingness to get the job done regardless if I would embarrass myself. As I remember my brief encounter with him fondly, I can never discount the power of personal connection with a phenomenal talent; something for which I will be forever grateful. I’ll miss you, William Safire.

Thank you deeply for making me work for it.