CS Daily Archive > Son of a Pitch > 03/17/04

Why Screenwriting?

by David Michael Wharton

The question posed in today's Screenwriting 101 column is: why would anybody want to put up with the grief of trying to break into screenwriting when the odds seem so overwhelmingly against you? Before you have any shot at success, you'd better find your own answer to that question.

Call it the "Backseat Writer Theorem": every being on this planet who has so much as completed a crossword puzzle is convinced, absolutely convinced, that they could be a writer... if only they "had the time." Every writer, be they poet, playwright, or novelist, has encountered it. But let's be honest: it's worse for the screenwriters. People who have never written more than the occasional dirty limerick are nonetheless experts in the craft of filmmaking, and could easily be living in the Hollywood Hills with a bookshelf full of Oscars if not for the day job or the kids or the damn car breaking down again.

And some of them actually could. God knows there's no shortage of unrealized potential in the world, but most people who think they could be writers, but aren't, have never really tried. They've never stared down a blank computer screen at 3 a.m., haunted by the certainty that the white space isn't going to fill itself. They've never tried to lasso and tame that mischievous little imp we call "talent" on the good days and "personality disorders" on the bad. Way, way, WAY more people talk about their dreams than ever strive to achieve them.

So... why screenwriting?

The maddening paradox is that, for all their armchair- quarterbacking, most nonwriters would agree it takes a special breed of insanity to dedicate yourself to the proposition of spinning yarns that may never be read outside your family and friends -- and it takes an especially masochistic variant of that insanity to try and storm the gates of Hollywood. Those that try face a system that seems designed from the ground up to crush, demoralize, or subvert the creative spark that sent them on their mad, westward crusade in the first place.

You'd have to be nuts even to try, right?

You'll weigh your talents against thousands of writers just like you, not to mention those who have already made it past the gatekeeper, and who are quite eager to stay there. You'll have nothing but perseverance, passion, and the absolute best work you can produce to convince the powers-that-be that you're worth at least WGA minimum.

Just look at the numbers. Statistics don't lie, kid. Pack it in and save yourself the grief. Right?

Even if you sell something, the dreams you've worked so hard to move from your head to the page can be vaporized in an instant by the whims of directors or development execs or producers. You could be left with no recourse but to sit down at your desk, boot up Final Draft, and start all over again.

It's a tight wire act, and it's not worth it! Even in success you're just one stiff breeze from falling, from winding up worse off than you were when you started. Better to get a real job and stop wasting your threescore-and-ten chasing pipe dreams, right?

Right?
If you're reading this column, I'm going to make a couple of assumptions about you, because I'm the columnist and such is my terrible power. I'm going to assume that you've heard all of the above arguments, probably thousands of times, just as I have. From friends, family, coworkers -- probably even from yourself, every time you sit down to write. But I'm also going to assume that you've decided to ignore all those omens of woe and to charge, in finest Wile E. Coyote fashion, over the precipice, hoping that if you can just manage to keep your eyes on the horizon, you might just make it; but the instant you look down and see the nothing beneath your feet, you're doomed to spiral into the abyss, leaving behind nothing but a comical puff of dust to mark your passing. If so, then this column is for you.

Maybe, for you, it is about the money. Maybe the prospect of six-figure paydays for a few months of work makes your eyes widen and your salivary glands moisten. If so, I'll wish you the best and call your attention to the words of Dennis Palumbo -- author (Writing from the Inside Out), former screenwriter (My Favorite Year), and licensed therapist specializing in working with writers -- who told me: "The fact that writers are crucial to a film's success, yet are so callously treated, tends to encourage veteran writers toward a self-protective cynicism, or to claims that they're just doing it for the money. But I don't buy it. As Bernstein said in Citizen Kane, 'There's no trick to making a lot of money, if all you want to do is make a lot of money.'"

Maybe you're a born writer, writing because you can't not write, and screenwriting is just the next challenge, the next uncharted valley just begging to be explored.

Maybe you're just in for the fun of it, because the pleasure centers in your brain don't kick over for skydiving or table tennis or investment banking. Maybe you just honestly can't think of anything that would put a broader smile on your face than seeing your name paired with the words "Written By" on a thirty-foot screen.

Maybe it's a means to an end. Screenwriter David Berenbaum (Elf) never planned to write; he just wanted to make movies. "I never really viewed myself as a writer but as a filmmaker. I went to New York University's film program and while I was there I was busy making movies. Writing them, directing them. And coming to LA I didn't have the access or money into directing, but I did have a computer. So I just started writing the stories I wanted to see." Now Berenbaum holds the rare honor of having had two movies he wrote open in the same month (New Line's Elf and Disney's Haunted Mansion, for the record-both opened last November).

Maybe it's one or all or none of those, but, regardless, I believe there's one common currency, one universal motivation in the hearts of everyone who's ever typed the words "FADE IN." Not everybody goes to plays or reads novels or short stories or comic books. But I'll lay you good money that if you stopped 100 people at random, every last one of them could name their favorite movie.

They'd remember E.T. in the ghost sheet or Quint recounting the doom of the Indianapolis or Rick not sticking his neck out for nobody or Inigo Montoya's speech to the six-fingered man. They'd remember any of a million different moments from a thousand different movies, but they'd remember.

Just like you remember. Just like I remember.

And that, my friend, if that doesn't answer the question, "Why Screenwriting?" then I don't know what does. Whether we want to write blockbusters or romcoms or tearjerkers, whether we want to change the world or just tell some good stories, we're all spawned in the same creek. At some point, every last one of us sat in a darkened theater looking up at the ghost dance above us and said, "That right there. That's what I want to do."

That's who this column is for. If you're so green you bleed chlorophyll, still clutching a copy of Syd Field's Screenplay under one arm and trying to figure out just what the hell three-act structure is and why everyone's so keen on it, welcome. If -- like me -- you've spent years writing in other formats, but you've decided to delve into the one sandbox that's given you more joy over the years than all the rest, welcome. And if you're a pro, hell, you're welcome, too. Just take a seat in the back and have patience with us rookies as we fumble our way toward enlightenment.

Starting next Thursday, every Thursday, class will be in session, for me as much as for you. Check the shelves; you won't find any Oscars or best-selling screenwriting bibles with my name on the spine. The questions I'll delve into along the way will be the same questions I'm struggling with. I'll be talking to screenwriters of every stripe, from the newbies to the 30-year veterans, covering both ends of the experience spectrum and everything in between. As you learn, I'll learn; as you write, I'll write. I'm just like you, just another schmuck with a screenplay, a dream, and a stubborn streak. Just another everybody.

At least until I sell a screenplay. Then you chumps are on your own.

See you next week. Now, go write.

Next week: We'll take a look at just what the hell constitutes a screenplay anyway, and y'all can watch me wander into an omelet metaphor for which I'm wholly unprepared.

From the Trenches (Monday)
Working screenwriters discuss in their own words a particular aspect of screenwriting, from the mechanics of writing to the personal and professional impact that writing has had on their lives. > VIEW ARCHIVE

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Screenwriting experts discuss how to approach various aspects of writing and the writing life. A mini-seminar each week from the people who write the books and teach the classes. > VIEW ARCHIVE

Expert Witness (Wednesday)
A panel of experts assembled to provide the facts about the screenwriting business. Readers will be able have their questions answered by an agent, producer, entertainment attorney, and WGA representative—and without paying that 10% commission. > VIEW ARCHIVE

Son of a Pitch (Thursday)
A weekly tutorial on how to write a script. Each week deals with a different element of creating a script, with the ultimate goal to provide a step-by-step instruction manual for new writers. The guide for this is a writer just diving into screenwriting himself, who asks the pros questions any new screenwriter would have about this brave new world. > VIEW ARCHIVE

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Film, book, web site and technology reviews from a writer’s perspective. How can these items help a writer on his or her journey, or make that journey more enjoyable? > VIEW ARCHIVE

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DVD reviews from a writer’s point of view. What aspects of this script and features of this DVD illuminate the writing, development, and storytelling process? > VIEW ARCHIVE