Starting a screenplay can sometimes be as hard as finishing one. Impatient to pull up to the front door of a classic motion picture, I want to get everything right so quickly. This impatience challenges my trust in the work, the creative process of screenwriting. What exactly does trust mean? If I don’t trust my writing, then what am I? Frightened. This is the battle. If I’m scared that everything I’m typing is worthless, then what? My hands find something else to do. So trust is good and important and essential to beginning this journey, alone, a trip that will eventually take what comes out of you into millions of people. But its just you now. And your trust.Now, does trusting your writing mean sitting down with no ideas, opening a new document, and starting to type? Of course. And no. What I need to do is make a decision and execute. And this decision often comes back to whether I should write an outline or treatment before I start writing my screenplay, or, with a rough idea, a shadowy shadow of something calling from my brain, start writing?I have done both in the past. When I wrote the first draft of LOVE LIZA, I really had very little idea of where the story was going. I had a few things to start off with, and somewhere I wanted to end up down the road, but that was it. It was terrifying and difficult to remain seated. But the most original characteristics of the screenplay came out of the immediacy of trying to come up with whats next, with my fingers resting on the keyboard. I became sold on this process. Outlines killed creativity, because writing an outline is not actual screenwriting. Its outlining.But then I came to Hollywood and tried to tell executives the little ideas I had. I would very proudly announce an image, a picture in my head, that I knew contained the fire of an entire epic. I was shocked when they asked, Then what happens? I didn’t have an answer. Why? Well. BECAUSE I HADNT WRITTEN IT YET. It seemed like a completely stupid question. What happens? What happens?? Did I say I had a complete screenplay to show you?!You know the rest. No phone calls and bewilderment and then I found myself in the city of pitches, and starting to flesh out things into 14 page screenplay treatments. I did so, convinced that it could never be that good, that it was forced, and staged, and predictable. I was shocked to find out that it did not destroy my creativity. I was still able to come up with interesting, original things. But deep down I knew. This was still not screenwriting. This was not the art of screenwriting. And I’m right.So now what was I going to do? What was better? If I was to sit down and spec something out, how was I supposed to go about it? First off, I’m lazy, so having a treatment or an outline sitting next to my laptop to walk me through the first draft is very appealing, despite knowing that the inspiration driving a treatment is different than the juice that comes when writing the screenplay blindly. And I have sat down and written 90 pages, trying to find the story, only to simply start over. This is a lot of work, but I’ve come to recognize that this work is not lost. This is the path. It hurts, it kills, it bludgeons, it fatigues, it flattens, but its the road. Believe me.But what about a heist movie, or a mystery? A thriller with twists? Aren’t movies sometimes puzzles? Can we find this stuff without a plan? Don’t you have to figure this stuff out? Yes and no. Flying by the seat of your pants often produces jaw-dropping turns the audience will never see coming. Why? The writer didn’t. This is the largest reason why studio movies are predictable—-the fabric of the script is shot through with the knowledge of the ending of the story.If we are to plot out the map of our movie with a treatment, beat sheet or outline, we better be damn sure its the real thing. Putting our best foot forward with a very strong outline is only the start of what will end up as a screenplay. Despite putting that golden outline next to our keyboard, we will find that turning it into a screenplay is still, I’m awfully sorry, a lot of work. Scenes that we imagined to be amazing will suddenly be impossible to write. And why does that upset us? Why does that frustrate the writer?Well, we thought we had a short cut. We thought we were going to sneak into the back of a classic movie. My journey as a writer has been marked by the learning and relearning that all that wood has to be cut out there in the back yard, whether I like it or not. If I wanna do this, I have to swing the axe.But we know, if we trust our gift, that something beautiful is coming, regardless if we have an outline or not. Perhaps the writers who work from outlines should throw them out. Perhaps the writers who write like the house is on fire, with nary a note within miles, should sit down and write a treatment. Treatments are fun, too.I do both, switching back and forth when I need to. When I’m writing and I start to feel blindfolded, I turn to jot down a few notes, sketch a few ideas, track a character arc, reorder an act. But when I think I’m caught up in pitches and notes and beat sheets and the safety of plans, I chuck it all and write like I did when I was a kid.Did we use notes when we were kids?

Article URL: http://www.bluecatscreenplay.com/About/how_to_start_a_screenplay.phpCopyright © 2006 BlueCat Screenplay Competition

Winner of the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at the Sundance Film Festival for LOVE LIZA , Gordy Hoffman has written and directed three digital shorts for Fox Searchlight. He made his feature directorial debut with his script, A COAT OF SNOW, which world premiered at the 2005 Locarno International Film Festival. He is also the founder of the BlueCat Screenplay Competition. Dedicated to develop and celebrate the undiscovered screenwriter, BlueCat provides written screenplay analysis on every script entered. In addition, Gordy acts as a script consultant for screenwriters, offering personalized feedback on their scripts through his consultation service, www.screenplaynotes.com. For more articles by Gordy on screenwriting, visit www.bluecatscreenplay.com.

It’s Awards Season in Hollywood as the countdown continues to Oscar Night. I don’t know about you, but every year when I watch the Oscars, I love to imagine myself all tuxed out and mingling with Hollywood’s Elite at the Kodak Theatre. The million dollar question is, what’s the real difference between the tens of thousands of unproduced writers out there and the screenwriting members of the Academy sitting at the Kodak?

The obvious answer is, they have big agents who make sure they’re constantly working as writers. They’re the insiders. But even insiders like Paul Haggis, last year’s Oscar winner for both writing and directing CRASH started out as outsiders scrambling to break in.

It’s not about who has the most talent, though talent is important. Nor is about who has the most powerful agent, though again, having a strong agent can be a major asset. It’s about how you see and treat yourself as a professional. Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a young man who very much wanted to be in show business, or more specifically, making movies. He attended one of the best film schools in the world, while there discovered the joys of writing and producing and everyone around him had high expectations about his career. Yet for more years than he cares to admit, that career was stalled.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that young man was me. And this article is for everyone who, like me, has visions of having their name up on the big screen as a writer. It’s all about the importance of getting a balance of what I call “macro training.”

Over the years, I’ve invested tens of thousands of dollars in classes, seminars, books and retreats all intended to teach me to be a better writer. Don’t get me wrong. Many of these classes were well worth the money when it came to teaching me about the CRAFT of screenwriting. I absolutely learned a lot. But talent and craft by themselves are not enough to make you a regularly working professional screenwriter.

I learned through painful experience that if you want to succeed as a professional artist in show business, whether it’s as a writer, actor, director or any other craft that’s employed by the networks and studios, you have to treat your career as a small business with yourself as the CEO. As countless people have said to me over the years, it’s called Show “Business” for a reason.

Eureka! This was the missing piece. When it finally registered with me the importance of treating my artistic endeavors like an entrepreneurial small business, I began to see things in an entirely different light. I call myself a writer and producer – and those are accurate titles – but the business I’m in is really manufacturing, sales and distribution. Huh?

Think about it. As a professional writer, you’re manufacturing a product – the things you write. In order to get paid for that product, you also have to have a sales, marketing and distribution mechanism in place so that the scripts you write can generate money for you.

Of course you have to have the talent and skills to consistently deliver quality scripts and do so on time. But talent and skill alone don’t hack it. If you want to be a successful, consistently and steadily working writer, you have to understand that you’re in the business of creating and selling products. Your products are your scripts.

Like any manufacturer, in addition to dedicating part of your business to developing and creating products, you also need to address the sales, marketing and distribution of those products (scripts) along with the business affairs aspect (contracts, accounting, etc.) of working with your customers (studios, production companies and/or networks). You don’t have to do it all by yourself, but you do need to make sure these aspects of your business as a professional writer are handled. Just by making that shift in the way you see yourself and your career, you’ll immediately transform from would-be writer to an entrepreneurial professional well on the road to success.

© Gordon Meyer, all rights reserved

I’m a producer who has enjoyed both sides of the writing seminar experience. As a writing fellow years ago, I attended many diverse seminars. Then, as a story analyst for a major production company, I developed my own system for understanding and applying story structure which I now teach in a seminar of my own. There are three things I explain to people who question or resist “learning how to write” through professional seminars.

First, writers often (mistakenly) interchange “story” and “structure.” These are two separate elements of the writing process. Story is the creative experience that only you can uniquely express from your vision. Structure is the foundation for that story, and the rules of structure have been accepted for thousands of years. The easiest way to grasp the distinction is to think of a dinner party. What you cook is entirely up to you (story). But you must serve your guests the appetizer first, then the entrée, then the dessert, in that order, and those dishes have to complement each other (structure). If not, no matter how great the food is, your guests are going to think you have no idea how to make dinner. And they won’t come back to dine with you again. Writing seminars tend to focus on teaching structure, NOT story, so that creative genius has a chance of being understood and enjoyed by buyers and audiences who innately expect a certain foundation to a script. And story instincts can be honed and expanded with professional guidance, as well.

Second, virtually all professions have rules for writing. Just as lawyers must learn proper structure and format for legal briefs and programmers do the same with software code, screenwriters must learn and apply rules of structure and format to screenplays. Most professions have training expectations, too. Just as no one is going to give you $100,000 to perform open heart surgery on a patient just because you’ve always dreamed of being a doctor, no one is going to give you $100,000 to write a script just because it’s your lifelong fantasy. Doctors, lawyers and other professionals get degrees and regularly attend seminars to maintain their chops and their edge, and so do writers. No matter how strongly emerging writers believe that Hollywood is a get-rich-quick-with-no-effort industry, in order to succeed, you will have to replace that belief with the simple acceptance of show business as a business.

There simply is no benefit to railing against the industry’s insistence that writers get some training before they attempt to get paid for their work. Any time you are asking someone to pay you, you must anticipate their establishing rules for that income. If you don’t want to have to learn the insider rules, the simplest solution is to write for free. But if you want to sell your work, just as in any other business, you have to respect the guidelines. The good news is that the rules of writing get far more flexible after a first sale!

Third, it’s common for people to mistrust writing teachers as unnecessary snake oil salespeople who are not personally successful themselves. Yes, the rules of story structure that Hollywood subscribes to are fairly standard. The laws of physics are standard, too, but not many people easily grasp and apply them! Training helps writers master the rules so they can craft solid scripts that can actually be sold. And just as you learned better from some teachers than others in high school, you will find in the variety of books and workshops at least one approach to structure that will help you effectively integrate it into your work.

Remember, selling a script is neither a requirement for nor a guarantee of being able to teach screenwriting. I’ve produced many writing panels and seminars, and many successful screenwriters lack the communications skills and the clarity of process to adequately guide another writer to a successful script. For my part, I teach from the point-of-view of the buyer instead because that was my background and because my personal business strategy is to always understand what the person who writes the check is looking for. Believe this – whatever an individual teacher’s approach, the ability to teach a subject well enough for students to grasp it is its own gift.

Finally, let me be a bit frank just to give you a glimpse into the perspective of your potential buyers. From the industry’s point-of-view, writing exactly what comes out of your head, spirit and heart, with no structure or training, is not screenwriting…it’s “typing.” For a parallel, dancing around a living room on your toes is not professional ballet, and it does not warrant the expectation that you should be equally respected as trained ballet dancers in the world of classical dance. Next, I can think of few industries that offer as accessible an education in the basics as screenwriting’s swath of books and seminars. Please compare those demands on your time and wallet to what dentists, accountants, attorneys and other professionals must do before they can earn a professional paycheck. If attending a well-respected course for a few hundred bucks helps buyers have confidence in you, do whatever helps you crack those barriers to entry! Last, try very hard to name any industry where training destroys natural talent rather than enhances or develops it. Still a skeptic? Buy a couple of writing books and take some classes just to prove everyone wrong. What I know you will discover, instead, is that training can take what’s good and makes it great.

Happy screenselling.