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My Story Theories

The Not-So-Silent Treatment

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As anyone who read my post on loglines might guess, I’m in a phase of reevaluation and rediscovery of prewriting tools due to a new project. The latest object of experimentation is the treatment, or stylized synopsis of the script. The producer I’m working with asked first for a four-page, and then a 16-20-page treatment as a means of tweaking and developing the concept.

Much like the loglines, I’d previously thought of treatments as an annoying step that came in the marketing phase, to pare my script down to a document short enough to accommodate the time constraints and attention spans of producers or executives. I always found the process whittling the story down into an effective summary excruciating.

After learning that it’s commonly done prior to writing the script, I wasn’t much happier about that prospect. I’m a scene cards (index cards) guy. They’ve become my favorite tool for mapping out the significant plot points, so I can then adjust the structure until I’m able to kinda sorta watch the film in my head, and then dive into the screenplay itself. I didn’t see what could be gained by distilling and summarizing a plot that was still in development.

But, of course, I was wrong again…

The misconception that was really holding me back was viewing the treatment as a rote synopsis (recall that “effective summary” language used earlier). The utter stupidity of seeing it as simultaneously a promotional device, and an essay devoid of creative flair, where the story concept was laid bare to speak for itself, is unfathomable now. After some perspective damage control, I’ve discovered a whole new dimension of prewriting benefits, both artistic and mechanical.

There’s much more literary flexibility in the treatment than the script itself, due to the need to get to the point and economically convey the mood and tone. It’s permissible to spend some time in the characters’ heads, as well as the readers’. Of course, we still have to stay primarily visual and not hit them over the head with how they should feel at every turn, but there’s much more room for suggestion on these matters.

Throwing in some stylistic and provocative turns of phrase here and there; such as “She’s devastated to find out that…,” “He doesn’t quite buy that explanation, but he agrees,” or “And then they exchange a knowing smile. These two are working together!;” also hatches a graphical “emotion map,” an invaluable guide for the writer to reference and adjust along the way, which brings me to the more pragmatic aspects…

If the scene cards represent a blueprint of the story, then the treatment operates more like a miniature 3D model. It reflects not only the order and structure of the beats but also how they flow and blend together. Thus it goes beyond the mere framework of the story and gives a preview of how it will be told. This allows numerous plotting mishaps to be pinpointed and rectified in the treatment-writing process, and uniquely so, since they aren’t so easily spotted in outlining, scene cards, any other form of “beating out the story” that I’ve employed.

Its nature as a piece of prose rather than an itemized list of occurrences lends greater immediate visibility to how any change you make affects, not only that plot point but other narrative factors as well. Here are some issues it can help detect…

  • The overall timing of scenes, setup/ payoff pairs, obstacles, tense moments, reveals, and twists are awkwardly and/ or predictably paced.
  • Two significant events are butted against each other, but the logical cause-and-effect principles that would carry one to the next just aren’t there.
  • A character’s mood, actions, or motives change on a dime or seem inconsistent somehow
  • The characters are acting according to knowledge or motivations that they don’t have yet.
  • Scenes and sequences need to be added or cut to get to certain waypoints more smoothly and effectively.

This isn’t a magic bullet. Haven’t found one of those yet. Maybe a treatment is as useless to you as I once thought it was for me, but many of the issues above were caught and dealt with much sooner in the process this time around than on previous projects that had no treatment in the pipeline. Adding one on this go-around opened a new world to me. If you’re getting stuck in the development of your plot, maybe it can give you the same refreshed perspective! Give it a try and let us know how it works for you!

My Story Theories

Don’t Underestimate the Logline

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We’re all familiar with it, and many of us dread it. It’s that terribly brutal chore of condensing 100+ pages of story into a single sentence. It’s often invoked as a necessary component of the marketing package of your script once it’s complete and ready to be shopped around. However, the depth the logline’s purpose and utility go far beyond that. It’s a mistake to overlook it as a powerful prewriting tool, guide, and measuring stick for a developing idea.

According to John Truby, most scripts fail at the premise level, meaning that the foundational concept isn’t adequately fleshed out before the writer opens up Final Draft and gets going. Forming a logline isn’t the catchall remedy to this, but it can be the ideal starting point for troubleshooting. It’s a super quick, super efficient device to gauge whether your premise or situation has graduated to the level of a story; and to get you there if it hasn’t. 

The logline lets you know if the bare essentials are taken care of. In its most common and basic form, it represents the skeletal framework of 1) protagonist, 2) protagonist’s goal, 3) antagonist (or antagonizing force), 4) stakes (consequences if the goal isn’t achieved), and maybe 5) world of the story if it’s unique and/ or vital to the narrative.

Example – Logline for The Dark Knight: A masked vigilante hero must stop a sadistic domestic terrorist before his attacks destroy Gotham City.  Loglines can undoubtedly vary in form and structure, and will usually be modified later when the objective becomes marketing and promotion, but most of the time they’ll look something like this at the outset.

See all five of those pieces in there? If you can’t roll call these elements and articulate how they operate together in one concise sentence, then you probably have some fundamental story problems; and these are much easier to take care of at the prewriting stage than after you’ve written 25 pages and don’t know where to go from there.

This is coming from experience. I had an idea for an action thriller that I was so fond of, it seemed as if the entire story just played right out in my mind. So I just dove in head-first and started cranking out pages. Somewhere around the end of Act I, I hit a wall. Some glaring logic issues started creeping into my head that needed addressing before I could move on. A fellow writer, much more experienced than I, suggested taking it back to the logline to ferret out any missing pieces.

“Logline? Those awful one-sentence summary things they harped on in filmschool? Isn’t that for the pitch phase?” I’m not proud of my mentality or writing from those days. Anyway, I took his advice and the missing link came jumping off the page at me. 

I had a familiar but unique protagonist, with a clear goal, and his polar-opposite-in-every-way antagonist that had perfectly organic reasons to oppose him. The bloodbath finale between them was the image that made we want to write it in the first place.

BUT… 

Those logic problems came from one central notion: why wouldn’t he just walk away from the situation before said bloodbath ever ensued? There were no stakes. So many other building blocks were so clear, and so many of the plot points practically wrote themselves, that I’d developed a total blind spot when it came to the stakes. Who cares why he has to be in this situation? If he’s not, my awesome story can’t happen! That’s why! Well, I don’t think that’s going to cut it with a producer or manager.

This is where things really got interesting. It’s just stakes. No big deal, right? Just contrive some reason that explains his plight and traps him in it. I’ll have this script back up and running in no time; awesome story still intact. Not even close.

The narrative corner I’d painted myself into couldn’t have been a better arena in which to learn the indispensable nature of each of those logline components. It dawned on me real fast that they interconnect like the cells of a Rubik’s Cube. Change one, and you shift several others with it. The most precious ideas in the story were so dependent on certain choices by the protagonist, that the introduction of every type of stakes I brainstormed threw them off. 

I’d reached a storytelling impasse. My premise needed stakes, but the addition of stakes altered it into something I wasn’t so excited to write. So I shelved it, extracted some of my favorite aspects, and put them into a new script; one with a complete logline.

Is that idea dead forever? Of course not. No story issue is insurmountable, and it may just get another look someday. But the point is that looking to the logline allowed me to avoid digging deeper into a story that had already failed at the premise level and direct my time and effort toward something with a greater chance of success. So when you’re getting a newly-formed story concept off the ground, bypass this step at your peril.

What do you think? Do you agree that the logline is an important guide? Let us know!

Screenwriting Issue of the Day

Too Many Steps?

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A movie is a story, and a story is a journey, right? We (usually) want to relate to a hero on a quest to accomplish something. We want to see the struggles, the triumphs, the defeats, the

levities, the tragedies, and the breakthroughs that befall our hero along every step of the odyssey. Well, surely not every step. And here

in lies today’s issue…

Am I including too many incremental nudges toward

the end game, and bogging down my plot?

There’s a fine line between showing what’s necessary, so as not to leave logic gaps and have the audience scratching their collective head, wondering how point A lead to this point C, without the necessary point B (and maybe also wondering why bother to continue reading/ watching); and slogging through mindless and unessential details, painstakingly and pitifully trying to address every last doubt about the story’s logical credibility and plead with the audience, “It all makes sense, I promise! Please like me, and my story!”

I’m just not sure where that line is…

Do we need to see the discovery, analysis, and follow-up of EVERY single clue in the course of the investigation?  Surely some can be implied, or presented in retrospective dialog (without being overly-expository, of course), but which ones? Where’s that threshold of relevance that tells me if it should be shown or referenced?

I’m going through my scenes, and attempting to elevate the drama in each of them to ensure that every moment matters, and I can’t help but question whether a few of them should just go. I know some schools of thought say that as soon as the question enters your mind, cut it; but I’m not so sure my instincts are honed to that level.

On this pass, my emphasis will be on making sure something (somewhat) vital is introduced into the story at each turn that we actually see (read). And, for now, I’m pretty much leaving it all in, because…

This puppy is almost ready for another set of eyes to scour it for faults. I’ll be trusting in that step to solve some of the aforementioned riddles. I’m just hoping for some sweet, sweet consistency in the notes, particularly about issues like this one. If three people are telling me that we don’t need to see the helpful rent-a-car clerk expounding that one suspicious transaction, then I’ll have my answer.

Anyway, your thoughts? Let me know below!