Why This is Good

Chugging right along on the grammar train, today I’ll offer a quick review of a really confusing and often misused couple of words-its and it’s. I understand why this rule is confusing, and every time it comes up I am in absolute awe and amazement of anyone who learns English as a second language. English is so idiosyncratic and difficult I don’t understand how native speakers can get everything right, let alone people learning English as adults.

But, distinguishing between its and it’s is simple once you get the difference. Don’t think too hard about it or question it, just go with it. Learn it, live it, love it.

It’s is a contraction of it and is. Makes perfect sense. We all know contractions of two words use an apostrophe where they are joined to replace the omitted letter-you + are=you’re, they + are=they’re,  we + are=we’re, would + not=wouldn’t.

Easy. Whenever you are using it’s to indicate it is, use the apostrophe because you are making a contraction of the two words, and the apostrophe takes place of the i omitted from is.

It’s getting cold. It’s really windy outside. It’s a good thing we left when we did. It’s not my fault! When it’s that warm, you shouldn’t wear a sweater.

As with you’re and they’re, you can use the test of replacing its or it’s with it is to see which form to use. If it is fits, then you want it’s.

Its is possessive (like your and their). It means something that belongs to it. What gets tricky and confusing, and what trips up people with otherwise impeccable grammar is that, at first glance, it seems like you would need an apostrophe for its as well. After all, if you were talking about Joe’s ear, you would use an apostrophe, so why not the same for it’s ear? Because, unike Joe, which is a noun, its is a possessive pronoun. You wouldn’t say your’s nose, their’s car, and so you wouldn’t say it’s house.

I hope you were convinced by the the last post that grammar is important. But, I also know it’s boring, so I’ll try not to spend too much time here.

Another common mix-up is there, their and they’re. One would think that writers would be well versed in these simple differences, but misuse of these three is extremely common, I see it all the time in the writers I work with, and found that even when I was grading papers of graduate students (graduate students who were writing majors, for that matter) these words were confused.

There is a place. It is somewhere to go, a direction. Use it when you are talking about a place. When you are pointing at something, talking about where something is.

Over there. Where is your car? It’s over there. Hand me that book, there. There you go. There you are. Where do you want me to put this? Right there.

Their is like your, it’s possessive and refers to something that belongs to them.

Their book, their car, their camera, their thoughts. What did they do with their money? When is their play starting? Whose dog is this? It’s theirs.

They’re is like you’re, it’s a contraction of they are. Use they’re when you are referring to what a group of people are  doing or going to do. You can check by inserting they are in place of they’re/there/their to see if they’re is the right form to use.

They’re going to the beach. They’re at the mall. They’re all outside playing catch. What do you think they’re going to do when they see this? When are they going to leave? They’re leaving next week.

As with your and you’re, since all three words sound the same, it’s important for you to understand the difference, particularly if you don’t read a lot and don’t see the varied spellings and learn the meanings. Spoken, all of these words sound the same, but they are (they’re) completely different, and you must be comfortable with the proper usage if you want to be taken seriously as a writer.

As a screenwriter, you may think that grammar and spelling don’t matter as much as they would if you wrote novels, short stories or articles. This is partially true. After all, a screenplay is only a blueprint, and not meant to be read.  As I’ve told you, sometimes sentence fragments work best in screenplays, and the language rules are somewhat flexible for a screenwriter. Whereas the written word is the final destination of a book, a screenplay is only a guide that is one part of the process used to create a film.

However, your script is going to be read, and read a lot. It is what gets your foot in the door and gets you past the gatekeepers. It is your calling card as a writer, and if you want to be taken seriously and considered a good, reliable writer, you need to show that you are competent through proper grammar and spelling. While it is absolutely true that an amazing story will not be hindered by a few mistakes, it is also true that poor grammar and spelling will irritate and annoy most readers, and often lead to your script being rejected before it is even read and appreciated. Keep in mind that many producers, readers, literary agents and interns majored in English, not film, and also consider themselves writers, or at the very least, educated literary professionals. No matter who is reading your script, you are trying to put your best foot forward as a writer, and understanding the rules that govern writing is vital to your success.

I’m not going to get into a lengthy discussion on the use of who and whom or ending your sentences with a preposition, because no one cares about that.  Also, feel free to use improper grammar in your dialogue-if and when it is appropriate to the character and makes more sense than perfect English.  What I am going to go into here are the most common grammar mistakes I see, notice, and judge writers for, and the ones you need to be sure to learn.

My absolute pet peeve is the confusion of your and you’re. Spoken, these two words sound identical, which is why people who haven’t concentrated in English class, and perhaps don’t read anything besides texts, tweets, and websites that notoriously use these words incorrectly, mix them up. But these are different words, and it is simple, yet vital for you to know the difference if you want to be taken seriously as a writer.

Your is possessive. It means something that belongs to you. Your book, your screenplay, your house, your car. Hand me your keys. Is it your dad’s birthday tomorrow? Where is your school? If something belongs to you, it is yours.

You’re is a contraction of you are. If you think about it this way, it is easy to know when to use each word. Use you’re when you are talking about something someone is doing. You’re going to the beach. (You are going to the beach). You’re taking a long time to get ready. (You are taking a long time to get ready). You’re sure you want to do that? (You are sure you want to do that?).

If you aren’t sure which form of your to use, substitute you are for your and see which sounds better.

For example:

You’re mom is nice.

You are mom is nice. Obviously, that doesn’t sound right, so the correct form is your.

Your welcome.

You are welcome. That is correct and what you are trying to say, so the correct form is you’re.

When in doubt, remember this simple phrase I said to my students at CSUN: “If you mix up you’re and your, you’re (you are) going to get a bad grade on your (possessive) final exam.”

[WARNING: SPOILERS]

After six years of faithfully following what was one of my favorite shows, I am feeling pretty letdown this morning. I was sure that the writers of such a brilliant, complex, ambitious show would come through at the end with some serious explanations and answers for all of the loyal fans who sat through countless hours of frustrating, mind-boggling plot twists, flash forwards, backwards and sideways, and enough red herrings, white rabbits and MacGuffins to keep several online chat forums and blogs buzzing with theories for years.

After all of that, I, like millions of other viewers, tuned in for the series finale, the one that promised to finally answer all of our questions and solve the mystery- What is the island? Why did they end up there? Are they dead? Dreaming? In Heaven, Hell or Purgatory? What did the numbers mean? Why did certain Losties end up at the church singles mixer in the end while others were left out? Anyone remember Walt and Michael? If Sayid devoted his entire life to finding and loving Nadia, why did they make it seem like random island hookup Shannon was his true love in the end?  If turning on or off the magical light would kill whoever did it, making Desmond so important that both Locke and Widmore were fighting over him, why did it end up that Jack could also do it and also didn’t die from doing it?

With all of its potential, all of the fascinating storylines, amazing international cast, gorgeous cinematography, Lost promised to be one of the most revered series ever, and until last night, I held out hope that it still would be. But after that vague series finale, it will go down in television history along with Dallas as one of the worst cop-out explanations of all time. They’re all dead, kind of…

But this is not a blog about Lost, and the important thing for writers to take away from the Lost debacle is not to do something like this in their own writing. Never let your readers down like this, and always tie up loose ends. Don’t leave people hanging, and make your explanations abundantly clear to your viewers.  You don’t need to spell everything out kindergarten style, but no one should need a doctoral degree in quantum physics in order to grasp the ideas put forth in your film or TV series.

I know that defenders and die-hard fans of Lost will be buzzing today about how the series finale did explain it all, and that the writers meant to be vague so as to leave it up to our own interpretation. They will attach some spiritual significance to the confusion, citing that, as with religion, we should be free to understand and interpret Lost ourselves, and having all the answers wouldn’t be good for us. I’m here to tell you writers that this is not true, and it’s terrible advice to follow.  Do not leave your viewers frustrated and confused. Answer the questions, tie up the loose ends, and wrap up your story in a way that leaves people talking, but not asking questions and feeling perpetually lost.

Check out this video of some of the many unanswered questions.

This week, while watching my mother suffer through dozens of tests, surgeries and treatments in the hospital, she joked that she wanted to experience everything that the hospital had to offer. I laughed with her, glad she still had her sense of humor, but then thought about how experiences like this help us grow as writers. We know that “write what you know” is great advice, and while I believe you are free to write beyond what you know, the more you do know and have first-hand experience with, the more authentic, real and satisfying your stories will be.

While I’m not advocating anyone go out and try to give themselves cancer (a la Southpark), I do think it is important to experience as much as possible. Don’t spend so much time focusing on learning about writing that you end up with nothing to write about. Take classes in other subjects, join clubs, attend lectures and meetings on careers, hobbies and subjects that you might not even be interested in, but that one of your characters might be. If you want to write about battling cancer and you never have, go volunteer in a hospital for a month and witness these battles first hand so you have an authentic experience to lend credibility to your story.

The most important thing you can do to gain credibility in your writing, and build a vast repertoire of experiences to draw from, is to talk to people. Whenever you can, ask people for their life story, listen to what they have to say, and remember the truth of their feelings and the way they described them when you attempt to create characters. The more you experience for yourself, the better, but that is limited to the time and money you can dedicate to research. Learning through other people is free, if you’re willing to listen, but the information you’ll gain is immeasurably valuable to your writing.

Readers, I apologize for the missing Monday post! My mother is very sick and has been in the hospital, and I’ve been there with her. I’m afraid the blog was neglected for a bit. Today I am posting the article I wrote for Tina Haapala’s Excuse Editor website.

Screenwriters, like all writers, are often plagued with fear of the blank page, or writer’s block. Advice for beating writer’s block is often to just do it in spite of a lack of inspiration, or fear of writing the wrong thing. This is good advice, however there are some specific techniques that screenwriters can use to beat our own particular form of writer’s block. Writers of all genres can use these ideas to complete their stories and stop making excuses.

Some writers detest the idea of structural rules and outlines because they find them limiting and stifling. They like to approach writing as a purely creative art form, where ideas and words flow freely and magically form a coherent story. But this desire for freedom is often what leads to the second-act morass that screenwriters are all too familiar with. You envision how the story begins, who the characters are, and maybe even have an ending in mind. But getting from page one to page one hundred and twenty can leave a screenwriter feeling lost, and therefore blocked. You approach the first act with inspiration, introducing characters, setting the scenes, creating goals and anticipation. You know where you want to end up, but how do you get there? Without an outline, screenwriters often find themselves stuck and unsure of where to go, what should come next and how to resolve the questions posed early in the story.

Take the time to write an outline. This will not limit your creativity or stifle the creative process, in fact it will make your ideas flow more freely, because you won’t have to worry about what happens next or if each scene will work in the overall arc of the story. Instead of focusing on plot points and when each major turn and revelation should occur, you can concentrate your energy on finer details like the dialogue, the action description, and the language you use to vividly convey your ideas. An outline is not limiting, it is actually very freeing. When you’ve laid the foundation the pieces fall into place easily, and give you the freedom to write without obsessing over when each even should occur. The guide has been created and it can be used as a roadmap to keep you on track and help you realize the full potential of your writing.

An outline is not set in stone. You can move pieces and scenes around as you go if you decide they will work better in a different order. If it helps, write each beat on an index card or small piece of paper so that you can rearrange them if you choose, adding in new scenes and deleting others as needed. This outline will help you avoid writer’s block because you’ll always know where your story needs to go next. You’ll have the assignment all laid out clearly from the beginning. The outline will serve as a map that keeps you from wandering and feeling lost and avoiding writing in frustration. Detours and deviations from the outline are welcome, but without this guide, you’ll be more likely to decide to give up and turn back.

Another cause of writer’s block is fear and doubt. Most writers are intimidated with the idea of having others read their work and plagued with doubt about how good our writing really is. We are afraid to write because we are afraid to fail. If we never try we can never be rejected. We always think our script isn’t ready, it’s polished, and we’d be embarrassed to put it in the hands of a professional for fear they’d laugh at our inept writing. Overcoming this fear and self-doubt can be the key to overcoming writer’s block. One of the best ways I have found to undo this nagging fear is to read other scripts.  Not just good scripts from already produced films, but terrible ones as well. If you can get an internship or job as a reader, this will greatly improve your writing and your motivation to write. Just like watching terrible movies will make you think, hey I can do better than this, reading horrible scripts will show you what your competition is like, and inspire you to put your own work out there, because you will see how truly awful your competition is. If you can get your hands on screenplays submitted to a studio, you will gain confidence in yourself by realizing that some truly abysmal writers are able to obtain agents and managers and have their scripts taken seriously. If they can do it, you certainly can. Bad scripts are abundant, and if you aren’t able to get a job as a reader, focus on reading the screenplays of badly reviewed movies. These scripts are sometimes awful, and yet the writer was able to get their story produced. This isn’t discouraging, it’s encouraging because it shows you that you aren’t up against thousands of phenomenal Oscar-caliber screenplays, and it reveals the real lack of talent and need for good stories and good writing. This understanding of what terrible writing you’re up against will make the task of writing your own script much less daunting. When you see what else is floating around, the idea of submitting your own work will be infinitely less intimidating, and confidence in your ideas and your ability as a writer will undo the fear and insecurity that often cause writer’s block.

Another very effective method of unblocking yourself is to join a writer’s group or take a writing class. With the abundance of online and traditional writer’s groups and classes on writing and screenwriting, there’s no excuse not to get involved in a group, and it should be easy to find one near you. This will accomplish two things: you will have a chance to read other work, which as explained above, will help motivate and inspire you, and you will have deadlines.

When writing on spec, you have no set due date, and this often leads to procrastination. If you had a writing assignment and were forced to hand in a draft by a certain date, you would. The excuses would be overcome and you would make it happen and turn it in, whether it was perfect or not. Your desire to get paid and keep your job would force you to overcome your writer’s block and just get it done. A writer’s group or a class will create these deadlines for you. If your group meets regularly for critiques, you will be expected to bring work to the meetings, and this will force you to write something. You’ll have people you are accountable to, and deadlines will make you write. A screenwriting class will also provide you with these goals and deadlines, as you’ll usually need to complete an entire script within a semester. A well-structured class should break down the process into manageable chunks, with a certain number of pages due at different intervals.  Whether you care about your grade or are just taking the class to grow as a writer, you will benefit from the knowledge of the teacher and the classmates, as well as the deadlines and due dates that will force you to write and get your story on paper. It’s easy to make deadlines, goals and resolutions for yourself, but if you aren’t accountable to another person or group, it is easier to find excuses, give yourself extensions, and make up reasons why you didn’t meet your own deadlines.

Necessary Dialogue-Critical Information

One type of necessary dialogue is dialogue used to relay critical information to other characters. I say critical, because you walk a fine line between repeating things the audience already knows (see Unnecessary Dialogue-Repetition).

While it’s not good to use the dialogue to describe something the audience has already seen, it is good to use the dialogue properly to relay information the other characters need to know in the most concise way possible.

As discussed in the Repetition post, if we the audience watch something happen, and then have to listen as a character explains in detail what we just saw to another character, we will be bored. However, if no one explains or repeats this information to the characters who didn’t witness it, and they continue on as if they understand what happened, we will be confused and irritated and wonder how they got this information. The key is to only relay the most critical information as briefly as possible.

Critical information only does not just apply to repeating things to other characters. It should apply to all of your dialogue. Dialogue should never be used as filler or just conversation. Dialogue that is necessary and good tells the audience things they need to know when dialogue is the best way to do it. Examples of information that is critical for the audience are:

-Revealing a character’s past (not just a wound but any relevant past information).

-Explaining where a character was and what they were doing prior to the beginning of the scene (only if that information is interesting and matters to the story).

-Explaining a plan-what the characters are going to do next, or what they hope to do to solve a major problem (this sets up anticipation and alerts the audience to what should happen so we will know if something goes wrong).

-Explaining how one character knows another-though this must be done subtly and naturally-the way introductions are done in real life.

-A witness or source relaying details about a crime or mystery to an investigator.

All dialogue should relay critical information, even if it is just subtextually. If a line is not completely necessary because it tells us something we need to know, it’s better to have silence. Movies began silently, after all, and they still should be motion pictures, not still talking.

After talking about what dialogue shouldn’t do, I wanted to spend a few posts discussing what dialogue should do. Obviously, much of a screenplay is dialogue, and while less is more, and we should show not tell most of the time, there are times when dialogue is absolutely necessary.

One of the most important functions of dialogue is to reveal information that we would have no other way of knowing. Often done wrong, expository dialogue does serve an important purpose and is a useful tool for screenwriters. The way you craft your dialogue is what will make the exposition seem either natural or phony.

Some writers get so enmeshed in the show don’t tell rule, that they prefer flashbacks as the only method of revealing information. Sometimes, flashbacks are not the best way, and dialogue would do a better job. Other times, dialogue is the only natural way to reveal information that the audience needs to know. When writing, look at each scene and ask yourself what information the dialogue is revealing. Think about what is being said and if dialogue is truly the best way to reveal that information. Even when you do rely on dialogue, be careful not to inject so much dialogue and so many details that it becomes excessive or false-sounding. Keep in mind that the characters are supposed to be real people with pasts and relationships that existed before your story began. They probably know each other well, and wouldn’t need to rehash personal information with their spouse or best friend. They also have histories and experiences that have colored the way they react to certain situations, and this needs to be taken into account when crafting dialogue.

Although you should show instead of tell most of the time, there are times I feel dialogue works best:

-For conveying strong emotion-sometimes a look isn’t enough, and a few profound words-even simple often spoken ones like “I love you” will mean more than a bunch of flashbacks or reaction shots and close ups.

-For revealing a past trauma-I dislike when a past wound is shown via flashback. Just have the character talk about it instead. It’s almost always more powerful for the audience to see the current character’s emotional response to retelling a past traumatic memory than to go to a flashback of them when they were younger. That’s not them (sometimes it’s even a different actor), so it’s more emotionally compelling to see the current version of the character react to the memory than to witness it being reenacted. Often a memory doesn’t become painful or poignant until after the fact, so the retelling is more interesting.

-For explaining something quickly-as discussed in my post on Unnecessary Dialogue, repeating something the audience has already seen in order to inform another character is irritating, but often it must be done. When this is true, it should be done quickly through dialogue, rather than through a lengthy monologue, or worse, a series of flashbacks with voice over.

I hesitate to call this unnecessary dialogue because sometimes it is necessary. But, more often than not, this type of dialogue is done incorrectly and ruins an otherwise great script or movie. There are three types of explanatory dialogue that particularly irk me.

The first is when the hero, finally having confronted the villain, but not yet safely out of danger, will tell the villain, in detail, what they know they did and how they are going to go to the cops and get the villain arrested. This is dumb for so many reasons. First, it’s illogical. If you were in a showdown with your arch nemesis who had just robbed a bank and stashed the cash under a statue rigged with explosives, would you sit there and gloat while telling your nemesis how you figured out what he did, and how you’re going to stop him? No. You would incapacitate him, call the cops, and go try to get that bomb disarmed, or at least warn people so no one would get hurt.

You also might not want to reveal to a psychopathic killer that you know what they did because they might decide that dead men tell no tales and if they just off you, they’ll save themselves the trouble of going to jail. Why would you admit you knew the truth and were going to turn someone in? It would just anger them further and put you in danger.

The second type is the reverse, the villain, who finally has the hero in his or her clutches, confesses the brilliance of their evil plot to take over the world. They explain what exactly they did, why they did it, and of course, if the hero wanted to unravel the plan and stop everything before it all came to fruition, he would now have all the information he needed to do this. He will also make a superb witness to testify against the villain, now that he knows all the details and secrets of what the villain did and why. I have no experience dealing with criminal masterminds in real life, but I like to think that they would keep the details of their diabolical plans to themselves, and just kill anyone who tried to get in their way, rather than confessing everything to them.

The third type is the least egregious and probably the most necessary, though it’s still better if you can work around it. This is the denouement explanation. When everything is done, the bad guy is behind bars, and everyone is safe, the hero explains to everyone how they solved the crime/saved the day/stopped the bad guy, what happened, and slyly gloats on how brilliantly they unraveled the mystery. This explanation is often accompanied by flashbacks that remind the audience of important clues or facts that they may have missed. While this is the least unnecessary, it isn’t great. A well-written script should leave the audience with a clear understanding of how everything worked without requiring this type of explanation.

You know the old, tired joke, when someone says something everyone knows and can see for themselves, you say, “Thank you, Captain Obvious!” That type of speech is bad enough in real life, but it’s dreadful in a script. In real life, we can try to forgive the people who say things like “Oh here we are at the library!” or “It’s raining!” because real people aren’t carefully choreographed characters saying exactly what they should and when they should at every moment. But the characters in your screenplay are, and they should never be Captain Obviouses.

I call Captain Obvious dialogue play dialogue. In plays, especially classic ones written before modern advances in theaters allowed for more sophisticated set design and multiple set changes, there are limited numbers of locations and scenes. Even in a modern, technologically advanced stage play, set changes take some time, and aren’t used frivolously. Because the settings are limited, and because there are no camera angles, close ups or special shots to reveal details or add emphasis, many important details and bits of information must be revealed through dialogue and described in order for the audience to know about them.

In plays, characters often have to discuss what they were just doing, where they came from, or what they plan to do next. They might describe a small object aloud, since no close up is there to reveal what it looks like or what it is to the audience. They might describe something they see off-stage that the audience can’t, like “Oh there goes John on his horse, riding into the sunset.” They often have to be Captain Obvious, and even great playwrights rely on this technique to convey information.

Films are different, and you as the screenwriter have all the technology on your side. It’s almost always best to show rather than tell, so most of the things a Captain Obvious might say are unnecessary, unnatural and redundant in a screenplay. I can’t give you examples from real, produced scripts, because most of the time these irritating lines don’t make it into them. Below are examples of the kind of dialogue I’m talking about:

“Oh look, here comes Joe!”

“Here is the restaurant.”

“Wow, this snow is really coming down hard!”

“Look at this, it’s an old knife crusted in blood!”

“See here, how the lines converge?”

“See here…(basically anything that we could easily see via a close up)”

“Look, there he goes, off to see her.”