Should scriptwriters write novels as well?

February 7th, 2010

This blog is an article from TwelvePoint.com (without the illustrations). After a spirited #scriptchat session on Twitter where many of the questions related to writing in different formats (check out #scriptchat) I was asked to make this article available to non TwelvePoint members so here it is.

arJulian Friedmann is an agent representing both scriptwriters and book writers. In this article he looks at some of the reasons why scriptwriters should also consider writing prose, not instead of but in addition to scripts. He demystifies the publishing process for writers, explaining how to access alternative ways to earn money.

This article is based on a talk I gave at the Screenwriters’ Festival in Cheltenham in October 2009. When we did a survey of delegates early in 2009, writing novels was low down the list of priorities yet in October 2009, the lecture was so crowded that not everyone who wanted to could get in.

What happened between early 2009 and late 2009 to bring about that change? Several things could explain the change. Perhaps what else was on during the Festival at that time was not very interesting? The recession had begun to take its toll of the creative industries: film and television budgets had been cut and staff made redundant. In publishing the same was true, with advances falling for newer writers, editors being fired and lists cut, so that a publishing company that previously released 100 books a year might now be releasing 70. That meant that they already had 30 for the following year and, as a result, were looking to buy fewer books than before.

There is big business to be made out of writing and selling rights in books.

Why should scriptwriters think about writing novels if publishing is also having problems? The main reasons are not straightforward but there are sound arguments to recommend it. In the same way that the film industry is seen by some to be healthy despite the recession (bumper box-office receipts largely because movie going is not an expensive form of entertainment ‘per hour’), so publishing overall is not in bad shape because reading is another inexpensive way of spending leisure time.

Brand name authors do better in recessions – although the ‘mid-list’ suffers – and niche books on specialised subjects sell as well as before because they are not impulse buys.

I spent my customary week in Frankfurt earlier in October at the Frankfurt Book Fair (as I have for nearly 40 years) where many thousands of publishers from all over the world were selling rights in books to each other. In one building, the Film & Media Rights Centre, there were also producers trying to buy film and television rights to books. On some days I had so many meetings that they could only be 15 minute slots.

In other words, there is big business to be made out of writing and selling rights in books and, in the troubled financial time we find ourselves in, I believe that it is increasingly important for scriptwriters to think outside the box. One way to do this is to step back and reconsider what it is you do.
Scriptwriters tell stories in a particular format, in Courier 12 point font, usually in three acts. The significant word here is ‘stories’. Most scriptwriters become scriptwriters because they are passionate about movies and television drama or the theatre, and most scriptwriters spend a great deal of time trying to get to grips with the complex and often inscrutable legal and contractual aspects of doing business as a scriptwriter.

They also face endless disputes between the so-called experts as to whether there are 3 acts, 22 steps, 12 stages and so on. They are caught up in disputes between script editors, producers and directors, and are sometimes fired to be replaced with a writer who has less talent. There are literally hundreds of books about writing scripts and hundreds of courses, long and short, degree courses and two-hour miracle fixes.

What is so often missing from courses is really useful information about the psychological makeup of the characters; instead the courses tend to focus on – amongst other things – writing script formatted documents. What writers write about is human behaviour but this is rarely a component of scriptwriting courses.

I have also realised from many conversations over decades with scriptwriters that the vast majority are daunted by the idea of attempting to write a novel. There seem to be two main reasons for this. The first is that a novel is rather long. It has been estimated that the average novel is 100,000 words whereas the average script is apparently 30,000 words.

Secondly, publishing is a completely different business with its own arcane rules, terms and contracts, all of which are daunting to have to deal with if you don’t have an agent who can pave the way for you.
I would like to suggest that writing prose is a serious and complementary activity for scriptwriters. There are many reasons for this but the main ones seem to me to be as follows

• Most of you have probably read more novels than you’ve read scripts and you would certainly have had some training at school and possibly university to write prose probably long before you had any training to write scripts.

• Compared to writing a script, writing prose is relatively straightforward and it does not require the same obsessional adherence to structural templates that scripts need to demonstrate for them to be taken seriously when submitted.

• I believe that one of the great fallacies in the teaching of scriptwriting is precisely that I do not believe we should be teaching ’scriptwriting’. Instead I believe writers should study (and learn to appreciate) storytelling. One of the most important motivations, apart from making money, for a writer should be that he or she is compelled to be a storyteller and after forty years of working with writers, I believe it’s easier to tell the story in prose than in script. As Alexander Mackendrick, the director of The Ladykillers said: ‘Don’t try to work out story in script form; do it in prose first.’

• A great advantage of writing a novel as opposed to a script is that you can describe what characters think and feel, something you can’t easily or acceptably do in a script. In other words, a draft of a novel can be a very extended treatment enabling you to work out the subtleties of character and plot for your proposed feature film. Admittedly it can take many months. As Robert McKee said when asked how long it should take to write a script, it should take about 6 months but you shouldn’t start writing the script for 5½ months.

• Whether you’re able to sell the novel or not, it might be easier to find a publisher for a well-worked-out manuscript taking us into the hearts and minds of the characters, the emotions, the pace and the plot – effectively a template for the film – than to find a producer willing to put up money for the script version. Furthermore, should a producer make you an offer to option your prose document, one of your deal points can be that you have to be given the first crack at the script. If a publisher therefore makes an offer for your novel, whatever you do, do not allow them to control film dramatisation rights; keep those yourself.

• My final argument for the value of investing time in writing a novel as opposed to working in a bar is that all things being equal, by which I mean if your prose writing ability is as good as your scriptwriting ability, novels and therefore novelists tend to make more money than scripts or scriptwriters. This may not be true in Hollywood where silly money can be paid for a script but it is true in Europe, particularly in Britain. You need to remember that in Britain we make about a 100 movies a year but we publish about 100,000 books a year.

Those are the main reasons why I think scriptwriters and storytellers should take prose seriously.

However, it does mean learning how to get to grips with the structure of the publishing industry, the very different way of trying to sell book rights and, when you get an offer, having to try and deal with contracts that are even more alien to you than the script contracts with which you’re more familiar.

What follows is a very rapid tour through the publishing industry so that you have some idea of how it differs from the film and television industries in order that you might be in a better position to think about whether to turn some of your story ideas into prose before or instead of into script.

There are many aspects of approaching writing a book that are similar to the approach for writing a script. You have to think about the market: is there a market for what you want to write? Let’s take horror for a moment. There are specialised publishing lists that publish horror, not many but easy to identify. How easy is it to identify producers who are interested in horror? Quite difficult because as soon as you discover one who is doing a horror film, you will also probably discover that they don’t really want another at the same time whereas a publisher who does say ten horror novels a year will not be put off by the fact that they have all ten if a really good one comes along.

How do you check the market? Read widely, check the best-seller lists, spend time browsing in bookstores, try to read the publishing trade papers (the main one being The Bookseller). You need to know what sells just like you should when writing scripts. If a particular type of novel (say Brigit Jones’ Diary or The Da Vinci Code) is a huge hit, don’t assume you should copy it because the timetable of the publishing industry is very slow. From acceptance by a publisher of a completed manuscript that they have bought until publication is usually more than a year. By the time you have written your opus it might be two years after The Da Vinci Code is in the best-seller list before your book is published.

On the other hand, as a genre this kind of conspiracy thriller is a stable genre and if your book has something that sets it apart and is very fast-paced with endless reversals, tension and suspense, then it will probably find a publisher at any time.

You could always self-publish and have printed copies in about a week. So why the delay with regular publishers? Simple: most publishers already have all the books they are going to publish in the next 12 months and some for the following year.

Your choice or genre, theme and subject should be based in part on what you know you can do best. Many scriptwriters try to set scripts in the USA because they believe that is a bigger market than their own but in reality few non-Americans write scripts with the muscular intensity that American writers seem to have and you will not be around the corner for a script editor to sit down with you to work on the rewrites.

For a novel it is easier but still problematical. There is not a big market for books set in the Middle East despite The Kite Runner so where you set a book, the nationality of the central characters and the genre can all play a part in making your novel more likely to sell.

If you are writing the book as a template for a film, remember that it costs no more to publish a novel with a cast of thousands than a cast of three, but don’t be lured into expansiveness and still expect it to be easy to sell film rights, although a great novel with a cast of thousands is far more likely to be picked up for film if the book performs really well than an original script is likely to be picked up.

With google and the internet it is possible to conjure up a location so well that people reading will believe that you have been there. I suggested to a novelist client many years ago that he set a spy story in Russia. He had never been there and didn’t know the genre. I provided him with research books (this was in the early 1980s, long before the internet) and after publication, one major American newspaper reviewed the book (which was made into the television mini series Codename Kyril) with the words ‘Mr Trenhaile, who obviously knows Moscow like the back of his hand…’ We had a good laugh at that.

In the next part of this article, Julian Friedmann goes on to look at what kinds of novels writers might choose, how to submit and to whom, how offers for rights are made to authors and how contracts are negotiated.

Julian Friedmann is an agent at Blake Friedmann, Editor of ScriptWriter Magazine (now published at TwelvePoint.com), Board Director of the International Screenwriting Festival (Cheltenham) and author of How to Make Money Screenwriting (Intellect, 2000).
Should you have comments or questions on this article, please write to the [FORUM](?q=forum

Publish so you are not damned

February 2nd, 2010

I gave a talk at the SWF in Cheltenham and many people who did not get into the room asked for a copy to be provided, so it is up as a TwelvePoint article. I was going to do a blog about the subject but decided to put the key points of the talk and article into a blog. Here it is.

I am suggesting that writing prose is a serious and complementary activity for scriptwriters. There are many reasons for this but the main ones seem to me to be as follows:

• Most of you have probably read more novels than you’ve read scripts and you would certainly have had some training at school and possibly university to write prose probably long before you had any training to write scripts.

• Compared to writing a script, writing prose is relatively straightforward and it does not require the same obsessional adherence to structural templates that scripts need to demonstrate for them to be taken seriously when submitted.

• I believe that one of the great fallacies in the teaching of scriptwriting is precisely that I do not believe we should be teaching ’scriptwriting’. Instead I believe writers should study (and learn to appreciate) storytelling. One of the most important motivations, apart from making money, for a writer should be that he or she is compelled to be a storyteller and after forty years of working with writers, I believe it’s easier to tell the story in prose than in script. As Alexander Mackendrick, the director of The Ladykillers said: ‘Don’t try to work out story in script form; do it in prose first.’

• A great advantage of writing a novel as opposed to a script is that you can describe what characters think and feel, something you can’t easily or acceptably do in a script. In other words, a draft of a novel can be a very extended treatment enabling you to work out the subtleties of character and plot for your proposed feature film. Admittedly it can take many months. As Robert McKee said when asked how long it should take to write a script, it should take about 6 months but you shouldn’t start writing the script for 5½ months.

• Whether you’re able to sell the novel or not, it might be easier to find a publisher for a well-worked-out manuscript taking us into the hearts and minds of the characters, the emotions, the pace and the plot – effectively a template for the film – than to find a producer willing to put up money for the script version. Furthermore, should a producer make you an offer to option your prose document, one of your deal points can be that you have to be given the first crack at the script. If a publisher therefore makes an offer for your novel, whatever you do, do not allow them to control film dramatisation rights; keep those yourself.

• My final argument for the value of investing time in writing a novel as opposed to working in a bar is that all things being equal, by which I mean if your prose writing ability is as good as your scriptwriting ability, novels and therefore novelists tend to make more money than scripts or scriptwriters. This may not be true in Hollywood where silly money can be paid for a script but it is true in Europe, particularly in Britain. You need to remember that in Britain we make about a 100 movies a year but we publish about 100,000 books a year.

Selling script or shooting script?

January 22nd, 2010

Yesterday I had one of those conversations with a client and then with his producer that made me wonder about the manipulative nature of what agents do. Not necessarily bad manipulation, more like the golden oil that ensures that your car starts smoothly.

The writer is anxious the producer won’t understand what he is trying to do in this draft of the script. The producer has issues with the draft. I sit somewhere between them.

I recommend that we get two reports on the script, one from an established script analyst, the other from someone with some knowledge of the history and geography of the location.

I propose that when we have these reports we can all be more dispassionate about deciding how to go forward. What I want is not a script ready to shoot, but a script that will attract a director and start attracting finance. Do they want the same?

My guess is that this is not the script that the writer wants to be shot.

So is there a useful distinction to be made between a selling script and a shooting script? I think so: after all until the director has had some input we cannot have a shooting script. Next week will be interesting.

It is not what you say it is how you say it….

January 14th, 2010

I had an interesting meeting with Jen Segaio (sp) this week as she is helping organise Mark Travis’ influential workshop, The Solo Workshop, in the UK later in the year. In this Mark works with a limited number of writers on a project of theirs: in essence it is to find out what the story is really about. http://www.markwtravis.com/

This reminds me of the dictum I have always loved: what happens in a story is not what the story is really about. Failure to realize that almost always leads to the blight on most spec scripts especially by inexperienced writers: the stories are very thin; they lack substance; they lack universality; they lack depth.

It also made me think about what two iconic writers, Agatha Christie and Stephanie Meyer (couldn’t be further apart), have so much in common. Do they, you ask? Well, what they have in common is that neither writes particularly well, in the sense that they do not use language like poets; their style is not ‘authorial’; they do not really have an unforgettable voice.

They also have in common that they are read and watched all over the world, by huge audiences.

What they really have in common is their accessible storytelling. The way the story is told is perhaps more important than the actual story being told. Accessibility is the key. Where is this taught or studied? Please let me know if you know.

Writing for money or for yourself?

December 29th, 2009

I am doing the research for a book on writing for television and came across this quote (in a tweet): “Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.” Cyril Connolly

I re-tweeted, commenting that what Cyril Connolly is saying is rubbish. It is simply not true for 95% of the thousands of writers I have met over the last 40 years. It is cute but makes assumptions about the purity of being a writer that suggests pure self-indulgence.

There are some writers who genuinely do not care if no one ever reads what they write. There are mss and scripts in bottom drawers that stay there. There may even be some masterpieces in those drawers, since writers are often not the best judges of what they have written.

The book on writing for television, which I am co-writing with Christopher Walker with whom I set up the MA in Television Scriptwriting at De Montfort University (check it out http://bit.ly/4BTnVd), is intended to be the best guide to actually getting to work for TV producers and broadcasters.

Why set up a post-grad course focused only on television? Because that is the only place where writers can more easily get hired, earn money and (perhaps as important) get the experience of going through the development process so that they can see how what they imagined ends up on screen, as it passes through many hands, from casting directors to script editors, producers, directors, actors and film or tape editors.

This is the coal-face, this is where the real learning is done, rather than in academia where all too often the teaching is done by academics not very experienced practitioners. And in far too many universities the industry guest lecturers are to few and far between.

I have no problem with writers writing for their bottom drawer. But most are desperate to be read and watched; most have something important to say and most want to earn a living from their writing. Quotes like the Connolly one need to be balanced by the famous Samuel Johnson quote “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”

Neither are 100% correct, but the Johnson quote is far closer to the reality than the Connolly one.

If you can’t join them, beat them.

December 18th, 2009

The Writers’ Guild blog has an interesting and important debate over the assertion that the BBC Writers’ Academy favours its trainees so that other writers get less of a chance. This blog is partly my response to the debate in the WGGB blog.

http://writersguild.blogspot.com/2009/12/bbc-writersroom-update.html

A couple of years ago I interviewed John Yorke, BBC TV series supremo:

http://www.twelvepoint.com/files/Interview%20John%20Yorke_Julian%20Friedmann.pdf

john-york1

It was clear then that the Academy made sense from the BBC’s point of view: they would get a better-trained cadre of writers, who would deliver more usable scripts in less time, thus saving time and money.

Other writers (such as my own clients) would probably get less access to slots even though some of them have had many years of diligent service in writing dozens and dozens of soap and series scripts.

There cannot be enough to go round for everyone. As a result of the increase in degree courses for scriptwriters over the last 5 years there are also now many more writers with some experience (even if it is spec academic scripts) trying for the decreasing number of slots. Inevitably there will be fewer writers getting a piece of the pie.

On top of that the BBC like the other broadcasters are having to cut the budgets of their shows. This is a reality they would be negligent not to deal with. Using equally talented writers who have been trained in the in-house hothouse of the Academy is pragmatic and sensible even though the Beeb admits a kind of sadness that they can’t please all the people all the time. But I don’t see anyone protesting at the ever-increasing new degree courses in scriptwriting that will turn out hungry and ambitious writers also after those slots.

The key – which I have encouraged through the pages of TwelvePoint.com and as an agent is to be flexible and adapt. There have been several long-running series and soaps cancelled in the last 4 or 5 years: between 500 and 600 episodes have disappeared; add that to the Academy writers and the new graduates and any scriptwriter who assumes that they can behave as they have in the past will end up probably out in the cold for a lot of the time.

Writers have to be more proactive; they have to start partially being like producers; they have to write saleable and commercial spec scripts; they have to consider other formats like novels – I had amazing feedback in Cheltenham on a session about novel writing for scriptwriters.

They way we were has gone. Like the ice shelf at the North Pole. As an agent I have had to make changes to the way I work to deal with the changing business in which we all work: so writers need to make changes. If you are a storyteller and want to earn a living by telling stories then tell stories for people who want to buy them in the format that they want to buy them. Don’t worry so much about the format. I would not recommend novelists start writing scripts (without training and experience); but most scriptwriters I talk to have read more novels than they have read scripts. You see where I am going with this. Watch out for my Cheltenham talk as a forthcoming article in TwelvePoint.

Just when you thought it was safe to go into the water…..

December 10th, 2009

After all the stress of travelling, life returns to normal and problems that seem to be a hill of beans suddenly loom too large to forget them when I leave the office. Today’s was dealing with a producer (producer 1) who commissioned an adaptation, paid the commencement and (eventually) delivery of the first draft, only for us to discover that he didn’t have the rights to the underlying book.

He had warranted in the writer’s agreement that he did have those rights. After lots of discussion with various parties including producer 1 we were no further. He claimed to have an understanding with producer 2 who did own the rights, but producer 2 wouldn’t accept his proposed deal. Unsurprisingly producer 2 said producer 1 wouldn’t accept his deal. Stalemate.

One lawyer came up with the advice that the writer’s agreement wasn’t valid because the writer would not have signed the agreement if she had known that producer 1 did not own the underlying rights, and that clearly fraudulent misrepresentation had taken place.

Another lawyer said that the assignment of rights was actually valid but because of the misrepresentation there was a legal remedy to get the rights back and we could apply to the courts to enforce this.

Before doing that, however, we should send a lawyer’s letter to producer 1 pointing out that he was in breach of his warranties, that there was misrepresentation, that is he agreed to assign the rights back to the writer she would agree that he would be paid back what she had been paid (less the legal fees incurred). If we went to court we would win and producer 1 would end up paying all our costs as well as his own.

Producer 1 would have to warrant that the rights that had been assigned to him were unencumbered so that he could re-assign them, that he had not used them as a charge with his bank or brother-in-law, because without proper re-assignment back of the rights my client could not assign them freely to anyone else, which she dearly wants to do as producer 2 wants to make the movie.

Watch this space. It is good to be back!

What is cinema for?

December 6th, 2009

The suitcase and passport are packed away, I have no travel plans for the rest of the year. This is not really much of an achievement since we are nearly one week into December. But there are no trips planned for January (yet) either. After the Frankfurt Bookfair, the Cheltenham Screenwriters’ Festival, The World Conference of Scriptwriters in Athens, a terrific wedding in the north-west of England and the Black Nights’ Film Festival in Tallinn, all in about 6 weeks, home does not seem to be where you lay your hat.

This is further confounded by December being a short month. We always close the office for a couple of weeks and already demob fever is starting to surface as all the jobs that have been put off for ages jostle on the inevitable list.

The first of these is always reading articles in the papers that I rarely have time for. So I started this weekend to get into training. I wanted to catch up on what has been happening in French cinema as I am due to meet Philippe Carcassonne soon. So I read the interview by Jason Solomons with Jacques Audiard with great interest.

It was full of inspiring thoughts, ones that are repeated by many great teachers but so seldom seen in spec scripts one is forced to wonder what those writing the scripts read or study. “…cinema is all about…monumental figures, icons, male or female, people who are emblematic of their time, who are in their time and who define their time.”

The genius of great writing, in whatever format – film, television, the stage or novel – is that it enables us to experience that which we might not otherwise. Solomons describes Audiard’s films as “…intimate studies that draw the viewer in to the characters until we’re thinking like them, until we almost inhabit their skins, no matter how morally suspect their actions or intentions may be.”

Macbeth immediately comes to mind, as does Lady Macbeth. Audiard says: “The audience must fly with me, must go where the images take them. The film, as all good films should be, is rooted in realism, but you must not ignore the poetry, the fiction, the story. Film is abstract, not definite. It is a dream.”

No wonder films are hard to write.

The article ends up quoting Audiard again: “…every time you make a film these days, it’s a political gesture, like it or not. Every director must be conscious of the power of this tool we’re using. It’s a very shocking tool, cinema, and you have to ask yourself what you’re using it for.”

I ended last week attending a gathering organized by Amnesty International, focused on stopping the abuses of human rights by corporations. There was an inspiring discussion of real cases fought and won and even a quiet discussion about running a competition for scripts that focus on Amnesty campaigns. “Save the human” is one I am sure Audiard would agree with.

Polish or rewrite?

November 26th, 2009

Sorry the blog has been irregular: the last two of five trips in as many weeks are coming up, then I am around for a while. But interesting things keep happening, the latest of which is repeated every few months as a negotiation takes place or a producer tries to vary elements of a contract after the contract has been signed.

I don’t mean tearing it up, just pushing into an area of semantic ambiguity. This happens when there is no clear definition of the difference between a rewrite and a polish. One is bigger than the other. But rarely is there wording that clearly differentiates one from the other.

What happens when the writer shows say the first Act to the producer and director and they provide notes while the writer is still writing the first draft? In this case it made sense for some of the rewrite to be done before the Second Act. So the writer did it.

When the final pages of the first draft was delivered they were well received and the response included the words (more of less) that perhaps there could be some tidying up prior to the rewrite.

This raised an interesting scenario. If a writer writes such a good first draft that very little work is needed for the ‘rewrite’, so little that it is a matter of a day or two, ie much more like a polish? Should writers perhaps deliberately leave in aspects of the script so that the rewrite is substantial and necessary?

In the end the producer behaved perfectly and even though the notes for the rewrite have still to be delivered, they asked for the rewrite invoice to be sent since some of the rewrite had already been done.

Good enough isn’t good enough

November 15th, 2009

Tweet

There was quite a lot of tweeting about this topic and the session today (which I missed). Writers often ask what the market is looking for, which immediately indicates that they don’t know.

It also indicates that there is an assumption that other people will or might know, as if this nugget of knowledge will give writers an advantage if only they knew what it was.

You can check TwelvePoint’s Buzz, you can check the Commissioning Index on Broadcast’s website, you can read Screen International, surf the web for articles and chat. You can check the box office and the ratings and the best seller lists.

The Buzz in TwelvePoint

You will learn what was chosen 1, 2 or even 4 or 5 years ago. You won’t know what the market wants now or in the near future.

The Commissioning Index

I think that grasping at straws like this is completely understandable. It is obvious. But the bandwagon that went by is too late for you.

On the other hand there are the perennials: certain genres and formats that are always in demand only if the script and story is good enough. Which reminds me of an article Tom Williams did in TwelvePoint some time ago, when he went over to LA to work in development in Hollywood, to see how different it was from the UK (check out his articles: put his name into the search box in TwelvePoint): one conclusion was that in LA ‘good enough wasn’t good enough’.

What is far more valuable for writers is to know what they are good at. Interrogate your strengths and weaknesses. Work on the weaknesses; build up your strengths. And write what you are best at because all genres are viable, even apparently unpopular ones. As soon as someone with talent gets a hit in a genre no-one seems to be looking for it becomes hot again, and by then it is too late to chase the bandwagon.

Worry about your own writing, not what others are doing. That does not mean you must only write the kind of movies you like watching, though it does help to enjoy what you like writing. What you enjoy as a punter is not necessarily the same as what you may be good at.

If you do choose to cross genres, then beware: you have half the time to develop the storyline of each genre and expect the script to be on the long side and to take longer to write. Putting Dolly Parton and Sylvester Stallone into the same picture is like crossing genres: it doesn’t always work if her fans don’t like his movies, and vice versa.

Since most spec scripts do not sell, but the good specs get their authors work, focus on whatever it is you do best.