Does proper formatting actually matter in scripts?

I was reading the Haunt filmmaker diaries a few months back - Scott Beck and Bryan Woods document their lives as working Hollywood screenwriters while also juggling directing their horror film. It came with a draft of the script as a bonus, which was not only a fun read, but prompted some interesting questions about how the duo used formatting to create a particular effect on the reader.

Formatting is one of the biggest battlegrounds when it comes to screenwriting - it's possibly the only thing as loaded and fraught as discussions on whether or not 'act structure' is real. Scripts, so say some, are done on Courier font 12, with a specific spacing, usually in a programme called Final Draft (but some have also preached about John August's Highlander software, and for a time there was Celtx) that then exports it as a PDF. 

On the page, the real meat of the formatting debate, everything is broken down into slug lines (scene headings, like INT/EXT, DAY/NIGHT), and tight action lines to describe what's going on. All the character names and their dialogue is centered, and anything more specific is usually put into brackets (whisper, chuckling, screaming etc.). The key to this, the reason why it's done, is for clarity and ease of reading. And under NO circumstances are you allowed to use the following:

• Pictures/JPEGs
• Maps
• Weird fonts and word sizes
  
• Word Art
• Different colours
• Random quotes from other sources, like famous politicians or historical figures
  
• Specific times of day, broken down into hours and even minutes
  
• Long action lines/descriptions, more akin to bits from novels
  
• Ending scenes on dialogue instead of an action line
  
• Cut To
  

So, as both a script reader and working writer, how true is all of this? Does it really matter, in my experience, if you chuck in pictures or extra bits, or even if you play with fonts?

Mostly no, but there are some caveats. The top goal is writing a compelling story that people will want to make - so long as it's eligible, and of quality, then you'd be surprised how many people will let slide some minor errors. The only ones that are non-negotiable are the use of Sluglines and having character names and dialogue be centered. Those are the only true fundamentals necessary for a screenplay's format. Everything else is service of creating the mood and style of your script, anything you can do to get the reader utterly sucked in.

To return to Haunt, the writers there use the formatting itself to sell the creepy, surreal atmosphere of a haunted house gone mad. Word size is increased and decreased to indicate sound and proximity, with the odd use of onomatopoeia to punctuate. Even the scene headings and descriptions will flip to the other side of the page to sell the weirdness factor, and it really works. This is breaking the rules, done correctly: it's a horror script and it makes you uneasy.

But, I did warn of caveats - in my experience, most scripts that include all or even some of the gimmicks listed above turn out to be, well, just that: Lazy and poor quality stories, loaded with random nonsense no doubt trying to make it stand out in the submissions pile. The worst of these is inserting pictures: to me, this is simply an all-out failure of writing. You have the written word at your disposal, why not use it to describe something marvellous or weird and let the reader's imagination do some of the work? Changing colours can also fall into this: it can look ugly and there's often no sense of an actual benefit to doing this.

(And, as a cherry on top, most of the pictures tend of be of abysmally low quality. Blurry, grainy, muddy images shoved willy-nilly about the script. This defeats the entire point of even including them to begin with, meaning you just gambled with the reader's tolerance for no reason.)

Ditto the beefy action lines: if you want to write a lot, my advice is break it into smaller, more dynamic sections. It reads cleaner and it can give an added sense of tempo and attention to what's happening in the scene. The best advice to remedy this is, well, read more screenplays - learn how writers sold something ambitious or hefty, and apply it to your own work.

A lot of this comes down to developing your own voice as a writer, and that takes time. You use shortcuts (like say, grabbing a picture off Google Images) to try and get stuff done quicker, and maybe in the process, create a unique presentation. Maybe you want to showcase more of your creativity with some original art or funky font tinkering? However, if it's not done in actual service of the story, then it's not actually helping you: It's just a distraction. You have to give the reader as few reasons as possible to say no, and yours is maybe the fifth or sixth script they have to read that day - every choice you make has to be considered. Sticking to the 'rules' is simply an easier guarantee, one less possible strike against your work.

My advice, if you're really nervous: stick with traditional formatting and focus on fine tuning your writing. However, if you want something extra in, make sure it is justified and actually adds to the atmosphere and style of what you're making. Reasons like 'it looks cool' are utterly worthless and, as said, will just hasten the reader's finger to the big red X. Keep them on the page, at all costs.

Review: Haunt: Screenplay & Filmmaker Diaries

With 65 having done its run in theatres, I figured why not share a recent read of mine - the Haunt: Screenplay & Filmmaker Diaries. Writer-directors Scott Beck and Bryan Woods (also the minds behind A Quiet Place) made a little slasher called Haunt back in 2019, a twisted take on chintzy haunted houses where a group of teens get stuck in very real danger. Overseen by Eli Roth, Haunt used its low budget and small cast to its advantage, creating a small but distinct little horror. 

So in 2022, the duo brought out this book, a diary documenting their lives as working Hollywood screenwriters while also juggling directing their horror film. The pair discuss meetings, foods, movies they've seen and even changes in their own lives (like fatherhood and marriage), as the film lumbers from script to production to finished film. It comes with a draft of the Haunt script as a bonus.

Books like this are always deeply fascinating for me - I love getting inside other storytellers' minds and seeing how they tick; how they approach challenges and what are things to avoid. Beck and Woods, writing in a simple, conversational manner, offer this in easy, digestible chunks. They go over every issue that comes with making a film - pitching, writing, rewriting, notes, meeting, casting, budget, working with crew, getting locations, editing, balancing work and home life and then getting it out there. For every success, there's a bunch of setbacks, mistakes and sudden left turns, forcing the duo to think fast and still balance everything. It has the peaks and valleys of good drama, yet Beck and Woods never become sappy or maudlin - they acknowledge the pain, but endeavor to push on and enjoy the good parts.

The script draft, which follows a quick but neat interview with Scott McConnell (Gointothestory.com), was not only a fun read, but prompted some interesting questions about how the duo uses formatting to create a particular effect on the reader. Throughout, the script will have onomatopoeia to punctuate sounds and movements in scenes, as well as use the spacing and position of words themselves to create a sense of distance and atmosphere. The effect is a highly visual and evocative read that makes the script pop, even as the material itself is very firmly in its genre. 

Yet, it never feels gimmicky or lazy: it always done to enhance that haunted house feeling, giving it a sense of place and style. In my time as a script reader I've seen exactly this sort of stuff done wrong. VERY wrong - quirky formatting done to mask a generic, unengaging script. I and certainly no company is impressed by 2004-level Word Art or goofy Photoshop. However, Beck and Woods do it right - the story is set in a mad haunted house attraction, so it creates the sense of being in a twisty, turny, spooky place. Form and substance marry up.

A definite recommend, even if you're not a horror hound and just like a peek behind the curtain.

4 More Screenwriting Negatives FLIPPED into Positives

Since everything gets a sequel nowadays, might as well do one for my piece on annoyances in screenwriting. These were the common fears and pitfalls that can trip up a writer and lead to doubt, confusion and upset. I attempted to offer some remedies, new angles at which to look at them.

Now, for four more headscratchers, and how I think you can fix them.

• When a contact ghosts you, it doesn't mean you caused it.

Ghosting is one of the worst things in this industry: silence is always worse than a flat 'no'.  You have no idea what the person (producer, director, exec etc.) thought of your script, or if they've even read it. This can be a deeply painful experience, especially if the first meeting was positive and the person seemed nice and genuine. Maybe you think you pestered them too much, or did something wrong.

However, you should not shoulder the blame on yourself. The sad truth is this often has more to do with workload and time than you. People are always reading and being sent stuff, and inevitably, some take greater priority over others. Your follow up emails can, alas, be drowned in overfull inboxes. People are busy, they forget and sometimes, it's just rotten luck. You did what you could - be proud you were able to pitch well, get your script out and always remember, you can have dozens of nos, but all it takes is one yes. Don't let the guilt weigh on you.

• When you're told a character isn't likeable, you don't need to make them so.

A classic note you'll get sooner or later: your character isn't likeable enough, so the reader didn't get invested in their journey. They may be too nasty or harsh; they may be greedy, cruel or narcissistic; they may just be unpleasant to hang around with. The common fix is to, well, make them likeable; give them a cute cat or some funny lines or have them do one nice thing amidst all the bad.

Thing is, this one is super-contextual: I've found 'likeability' is really a shortword for 'interesting': your character may be a bad boy, but they're not actually interesting or engaging. Characters like Don Draper, Walter White, Raymond Reddington and Villanelle are all deeply bad people, but they are engaging because they are textured, three dimensional characters. If you are writing a script that demands a morally grey protagonist, then before you 'cute up' your mob boss, really go over and ask - are they interesting? Are they complex? Are they making tough and interesting choices? IF, on the other hand, you're writing, say, a fun kids script and the main kid or animal is just an unlikeable dick - that then is a case of your character not fitting the story, or even the genre. Match the protagonist to your genre and audience.

• If your writing is getting too much, you shouldn't be ashamed of stepping away.

We want to give everything to our art: it's the suffering artist trope. Everything else in our lives doesn't matter: we HAVE to get the script written. We HAVE to get it done by x date for this or that opportunity. We HAVE to make it revolutionary and different and so utterly unlike anything else. When a script bombs, or is rooted heavily in personal trauma, it's tough to deal with that. You feel like you HAVE to hang on, have to keep fighting.

However, you're only human: sometimes, it's not only good but necessary to wave the flag, step away and re-calibrate. A single-minded drive can be deeply toxic to your physical and mental wellbeing. I gave three years of my life to one mad pursuit of a tv script, and when it came crashing down, when I had to stop, is where I actually learnt what I was doing wrong and changed my routine and philosophy. It may have hurt, but it was the right thing to do for me. It wasn't cowardly, or lazy, it was the smart play for the sake of actually being able to have a career.

• If you don't live in London (or Los Angeles), it doesn't mean you can't have a career.

The old wisdom was you had to move to the big media hubs, spend a lot on rent and gamble on being able to network and meet people. London, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Hollywood - that's where the cool kids are at. Especially the cool kids with money. If you live in a small town or village, well, you're screwed right?

The pandemic did a lot of harm to peoples lives. There is the tragic aspect, of course, but there is a silver lining: it blew up online communication and meeting. Programmes like Zoom and Microsoft Teams have upended a lot of the old rules when it came to getting meetings with some of the biggest of big cheeses. The ability to set up a meeting any time, anywhere, never mind the sheer freedom of email and social medias, means so long as you know how to find people (IMDBPro, LinkedIn, Twitter, company websites), you could and can get yourself out there.

4 Tips on how to write a TV Pilot, from a working writer

Writing TV can be an exciting, as well as daunting, endeavor. You're not just writing one good script, you're writing the opening act to an entire saga, a story that could run 3-100 episodes, depending on the project. Maybe it's a five series fantasy epic, or a four part family drama about a forgotten murder: whatever it is, it's a big job that can, if you find the right people, pay off big.

As someone who's been at this for several years, with stuff broadcast and in development, I've learnt my share along the way. I've written for kids and adults, worked in ITV Studios and gotten recommendations from some rather hefty players in the business. I don't claim to know all: I'm still learning too, but I hope you can avoid some of my own blunders with this quartet of advice.

1. Build your series treatment/bible first, not your pilot

A television pilot is more akin to the first chapter of a book than a whole novel: it's the introduction, the setup that will give us a taste and template of what's to come. How many times have you ever heard of an author planning and writing just the first chapter of their book? 

A series bible/treatment is basically everything your show has to offer: the cast of characters, the theme and central conflict, the setting, the storylines you will tell, rough ideas for upcoming episodes. People may be wowed with twisty-turny plot, but they won't be back for more if the characters don't click, so spend the time in this document to flesh them out, give them flaws, arcs, secrets. Another important thing to remember: TV casts tend to be big, which means you also need to think about how relationships between the characters and what conflicts they have (that's a keyword, so remember) over the course of the series.

2. Please have subplots, and have them be discernible

Do not fall into the trap of having your pilot be nothing but A Plot, A Plot, A Plot. You need subplots to not only fill the runtime, but also give your cast more to do and see the characters be explored. In a pilot, these subplots will often also help set up longer running storylines and conflicts: secret romances, betrayals, family stories, alternate perspectives, the plans of the antagonist.

If you've done your bible, there's less risk of this not being present. However, this is where outlining will help too: being able to have clearly defined A, B, C and even D plots (sometimes you may even get E and F, depending on the type of show and the length) will enable you to treat them like individual stories, not random scenes that break up the main action for no reason.

3. Everyman/ordinary protagonists should not be dull

The protagonist, hero or dick, is the person we will be following throughout the whole show. Even if they are not a Sherlock-level genius, or a Marvel superhero, they should still be complex and interesting. Even if they still live with their parents and work a crappy till job in a deadend town, they will still be three-dimensional people with hopes, dreams and vices. If they don't care, why should we bother watching them?

Often, an ordinary protagonist is a reflection of the writer, and while there's nothing wrong with that, it's important to step outside your own head: just because you know something and take it as a given with your views and personality, that does not mean it will make sense on the page or be clear to the reader. Even if they are based on someone real, do the work and make them come alive on the page.

4. Be economical with your sets

While budget is less important than a good story and characters in a spec script, remember it's still television. if we are constantly changing locations every single scene, not only will the cost go up, but it means the show has no anchor. People, even the rich and diabolical, still have places to live and hang. Homes, hangouts like clubs or bars; businesses and places of work like shops, offices and schools, even vehicles they often are in like cars, trains and buses.

These places effectively function as precincts, as returnable standing sets that will help get the most out of the budget, and as a place where multiple characters can be expected to interact, thus creating conflict and drama. This is true, even in animation where there isn't a hard limit on sets because no construction costs: characters on those shows still have places they frequent. Ducktales has McDuck Manor and the Money Bin; Octonauts has their ship and underwater base; Simpsons has the house, Moe's Tavern, the Plant, Springfield Elementary, the church, the Retirement Castle, the Aztec Cinema, the list goes on.

I hope these will be of use to you. If you still feel like you need more help, I've also done a list of books I'd recommend about TV writing. Go check it out!

How long does it take to write a script?

An original spec screenplay, be it for film, TV or a short, is going to be a long-cooker. Audio and stage too. It takes time, if you actually want to create something good and interesting to potential collaborators, producers and companies. Time to create engaging, textured characters, time to create a compelling plot, time to craft great dialogue, everything is time.

So why is this seldom discussed in screenwriting discourse? There's endless debates about act structure, scenes, pacing, character construction and the validity/evil of screenwriting gurus, but why not about how long an average script could take to write? After all, many new writers are writing in spare time/when not at work, so that writing time is precious; cut up further if they are reading books, doing classes or researching. There's also windows of opportunity that are time sensitive: contests, schemes, even when shows might potentially be staffing. Having a reference point, an expectation, is useful.

The obvious answer is it varies depending on medium (a ten mins short versus a 60 mins pilot verses a two hour film) but that comes with caveats: a TV pilot may be a shorter script, but not a shorter project. It doesn't exist on its own, you have to have some kind of treatment/bible explaining where the show will go in 3-100 episodes time. A more useful and clear answer is to break down what goes into writing a script: it's not just the drafts, but all the research, brainstorming, outlining (or improvising, if you swing that way) and rewriting that goes into it. Rather than an abstract, let's think about it as a timeframe for a project.

Each of these steps, in my experience as a writer, can vary wildly. They are, however, usually not a few days long: I don't think it's wise, or healthy, to have one month to write an entire, polished screenplay from scratch. That type of pressure leads to stress and rushing, and in the world of specs, sloppiness is your second biggest enemy (first is writing a boring story). When you're not being paid, ultra-strict deadlines are not something you have to live by. They can be useful for discipline but they, by themselves, do not guarantee a better script: Only putting in the hours can.

So, what's my rough measurement (again, just my experience here)? Anything that is pre-script draft (all of the research and prep work, even if you don't use outlines) could easily be, minimum, two months but that could stretch out further, depending on how elaborate and ambitious you're making your script, and what detail you need to create authentic characters and worlds. Let's say three, for safety and maximum bug-ironing. After that, a vomit/rough draft could easily be done in a few days, maybe only three. After that, however, as you polish and rewrite, it will start to take longer. Usually my rewrites take about two-three weeks for big drafts, and then a week for polishes/tweaks. Bear in mind also I'm not just doing one script: I rotate between different spec projects in a day. Plus, you likely won't be writing continuously: you'll want a few days off here and there to let the most recent draft sit and get some fresh eyes on it.

You also have to factor in time for notes, whether you use a service or just put it up on a group. That could be days or weeks before you get feedback, depending on circumstance. Let's say two weeks as an estimate. And if you've gotten some pretty tough notes that require you dig deep, back to the rewrites you go, sometimes back into outlines and treatments.

So from that, what's a reasonable, minimum estimate for how long a script takes to write to a good standard? Well about six months as a barest of bare minimums, but experience has taught me that sudden swerves, and life circumstances, could easily bring that number up to eight, ten or even twelve months. Now, is that so terrible? You may be frustrated or really desperate to see a return on your hard work, but like it or not, patience is a vital skill for a screenwriter. Letting delusions of grandeur drive you is a surefire way to mess up and feel bitter.

And that, in the end, benefits no one.

New Year, New Articles and a New Schedule

A belated Happy New Year to all! If you're still managing to hold to your new diet or exercise regime, consider yourself a hero - I just don't have the patience.

So, what to expect from the blog in 2023? Well, there will be more screenwriting pieces up this year. I personally think I've focused a lot on the industry angle, and have strayed from talking about craft and offering practical writing advice. While that was part of this blog's goal, as stated before, I do want to share what I've found works for me and what I've learnt over the last few years as I've had to re-adapted to writing after the pandemic left me in a state. I'd also like to review some more screenwriting-related literature I've been reading, and not simply how-to books either.

What may not have escaped more longtime readers of this blog is that the output has sputtered some - the usually bimonthly pieces of past years have trailed off, with bigger and bigger gaps between uploads. Last year, I got swamped with gigs and this year, I have a big slate of specs I'm aiming to get through before the summer. Some in  genres i've not tried before, so that's both exciting and fraught. As a result, regular blogging will have to take a backseat: no way I can juggle this and all that new creative work at the same time. 

HOWEVER, be assured this does not mean you'll have to wait for several months - I will be endeavoring to prepare more pieces in advice and upload, ideally, once a month or so moving forward. Possibly every other month - just have to see. It will come, that I do promise you.

Screenwriting Professionally: 2022 edition

Another year, another time to reflect on the highs and lows of my screenwriting efforts. Some big pushes, some amazing experiences, and some terrible reversals. I was also able to finally travel again after nearly three years of being stuck in London, so huzzah!

I had dubbed 2021 as being 'one step forward and two steps back'. Is that also an apt summary of 2022, per what I just wrote? Well, that'll take a bit longer to explain. No more preamble, let's just go!

Jan-Mar (Winter): 

In past entries, I've written that this is the 'quiet' period of the year for me. Not so this time - a few days in, an email lands in my inbox and BAM, won ITV Original Voices and got to be one of the four placements on Emmerdale. It would be an even split - part done at home, part hauling myself up to Leeds and getting to work in ITV Studios. I got the second slot, meaning my tour of duty would start in March.

Don't think that meant I was slacking off though: I was grinding away a pitch for my episode of Doctors. I had sent a script off to a lovely producer on River City. I also got hired to consult on a children's book about disabilities, being published by none other than Penguin Random House (thank you Laura Henry-Allain). A picture book for little kids and their families, it offered a simple and colourful introduction and guide to disabilities, what they entail and how to make a better world for them. It aimed to be supportive, thoughtful and celebratory - no tragedy or sadness, here!

I wished for so long to have things pep up at the start of a year - well, I got it!

Apr-Jun (Spring):  

Busy busy busy! Emmerdale was a rollercoaster, going from storylining to script editing to finally a trial script. Always on my toes and always new challenges, surrounded by a fantastically helpful team. Those were some lively rooms, with no shortage of jokes (and sweet treats to boost morale!) and I even got to visit the interior sets - the Woolpack, the various houses, the prop room, all very cool.

And if you think that was all on my plate, oh ho ho no! I was doing a long overdue rewrite on the pilot script for Brenda and Effie, aiming to extract more from the wonderfully wacky world of Paul Magrs' unique imagination. River City got back to me in remarkable time, we got chatting and I was eventually able to set up for my own episode (bypassing the shadow scheme used by other soaps). It was frantic and tiring, but you know what? It was also exhilarating. Years of strife and struggle, doubt and fears over my own ability, and here was not one but two major UK dramas validating my ability.

It wasn't all sunshine, however: on top of a string of annoying stomach bugs, I also found Doctors sputtering a bit - there was a change in script editors, which left my pitch needing to undergo more rewrites. To be clear, the new person (or interim, rather) was very nice and helpful, but it was now approaching half a year since I'd been given the go-ahead to do an episode, and still it wasn't moving as I'd have liked it to. In addition, due to the new workload, all work on original specs had to stop, meaning I was now two years without a new spec available for my agent. Still, better money coming in than not.

Jul-Sept (Summer): 

And here comes the not-fun part of this trip down memory lane. I wrapped Brenda & Effie and then dove into River City. Got my first payment for the script, which I proudly showed my folks - I HAD MADE IT! What was meant to be the culmination of my journey thus far, the next step into television drama, however, turned into a crushing defeat. So enraptured in my own desire for success was I, I wasn't taking my notice of my own wellbeing. After three years of no real break or holiday (if I wasn't writing, I was planning or doing some other work), my mind was out of it. I hadn't seen my brother or my nephew in even longer, missing out on seeing him grow up. I wasn't spotting things in my work, and that's when mistakes started happening. Big mistakes.

I wasn't happy - every rewrite just didn't sit right with me. Something was missing, something wasn't clicking. I hadn't got the voice of the show right, even if I was writing passable drama with proper structure. With feedback and deadlines tight, an ability to recalibrate was also not on the cards. I was up at dawn, pounding out words without the passion or fun that should come with the craft. It was monotonous, draining and my desperation to finally conquer a personal milestone was likely all that was keeping me chugging. Until I got the phone call that is.

It hurt. The River City staff were kind and graceful, don't misunderstand, but I was kicking myself. I hadn't seen the problems, and now, it was too late. I made a decision: I had to get out. Get out of London, get out of the UK, just get away from writing for a while. Recharge. Re-evaluate. Clear my head and see what changes needed to be done. So, I joined my family over in Spain for their holiday, met up with my brother (but not my nephew, alas) and took the clean country air. No internet, just food and folks. It was exactly what I had been needing for a long time.

Oct-Dec (Winter again): 

Coming back to the UK (and boy howdy, had things happened in my absence!), I knew what I needed to do: Get my passion back and write original specs. How? By completely upending my writing methodology and routine, taking help from The Organized Writer by Anthony Johnston. A complete rethink of how I scheduled my day and how much work I took on: if I was to make things right and put myself back on track, I needed to work smarter, not harder. Split the day up by projects into short, manageable chunks.

Result: most output I've done in a long time, with stress down and some comprehensive treatments finally written. They currently comprise a cosy crime, a thriller and a teen drama, with some other stuff kicking around. After such a long gap, it feels incredible.

And  that's not all either: been talking to some shows, so see what comes of that; done some more consultation work on the disability book as well as on a children's project. Doctors is still an unknown, though conversations have been happening.

 

'One step forward and two steps back': to answer myself, is it an accurate summary of 2022? I mean, did I really go backwards at all? I am still grateful for the successes I did have, even with my loss. I got right into the beating hearts of major shows and learnt a lot, even revising and changing some of my own methods along the way. I didn't hit my big target, but I hit smaller ones along the way.

Most important, and this is another point I raised in the last recap: I implemented long overdue changes to how I work. It's a shame it took what it took, but I'm glad for it. We can get so buried in our work and dreams that we forget to take a step back and realize that something isn't working anymore. We need to be able to tap the brakes and rejig: even a few days away can do wonders to clean the cobwebs.

What do I want out of 2023? Well aside from the usual of gigs and pay, being able to get the new specs, however they turn out, out into the industry. Variety is not just the spice of life, but also of an artistic career, and I want to get into more exciting and thrilling genres of TV. I know I have more to offer and i want to showcase that. Film? One day perhaps...