Column #18 - Writing the Good Write

(Sorry, I couldn't help myself.)

This column is dedicated to my aunt, who in addition to actually reading this and even more astoundingly looking forward to it regularly, had the gumption to call me up and say, "Hey, where's the new column? Talent like yours this world can't go without for long. You're a beacon of hope, no, of light, the wind beneath my wings, that gets me through from dreary manic Monday to thank God it's Friday. You're single-handedly bringing literacy and family time back into my home, sitting around to enjoy and be educated, by your writings. Jess, you inspire me. You amaze me. You challenge me. And you surprise me. I am humbled in your (literary) presence..." It should be noted that the events just detailed are only the praising and salutations fit to print. The rest compare my talent to some guy named Shakespeare and frankly I don't want to bring free press to unknowns. (Note: The above may or may not be true. I like to think I've just given voice to what she was thinking.)

I'm writing a proposal-meets-prospectus-meets-pitch-meets-bible for a possible series on CBC. Simultaneously, I hope to send it to CTV. So, I'm busy. At least, I act like I'm busy. How busy I really am is another kettle of fish. As I'm doing this I'm editing down my very first script to send to a producer. It's gone from 105 pages to a very lean 96. I've taken out almost every line that I'd fallen in love with, weeding through the wheat to get to the chaff, or is that the other way around? Back to the CBC pitch. I thought I had a handle on the humor and the characters and the stories. Then I read some of the character descriptions for the TV show Thirtysomething and realized -- I'm a hack. A hack is me. Hackish is my official nationality. How can I even deign to send my flotsam out into the ether when real genius exists and it's not me?

In the meantime, after some dealings with the Canadian Film Centre that I'll detail in the future, my thriller short Road Rage has metastasized into a full-blown feature. This is mainly the combination of two things. One, a desire to actually write something that will get made even if I have to max-out all of my relatives' credit cards no matter how distantly related, even if I have to sell various and unmentioned bodily fluids and organs to the most disreputable third world criminal organizations, even I must subject myself to medical testing of the most invasive sort, up to donating eggs. This film must get made. Second, my ego has run amuck. What gumption it is to say, "If no one else wants to make this movie, I will. I'll write a script the likes no one has even seen. I'll raise the money necessary to shoot it. I'll beg, borrow, and steal to people it with the best available-- no the best talent-- no, the most willing actors and crew people. I'll will direct if a more qualified individual is not found." This isn't just an idle threat, this is a mission statement, my Jerry Maguire moment: I do solemnly swear I will make this movie, not matter the cost, the psychic injuries, the effort. Why? Because I can. No, because it's TIME. And I can tell this story, this tale of the road-trip from hell, of good friendship gone bad, of how one lousy decision can send your entire existence into catastrophic tale-spin. All that, some pretty funny one-liners and you've got yourself a film. At least, I hope so, boy do I ever hope so...

And I'm tired of writing without seeing the natural end-product. Being an aspiring screenwriter, which is what you are until you make some sales, is a lonesome and spiritually perilous existence. Now, a sale is good, great even, at least that's what I assume and I'm assured by those who've sold stuff. It's a whole convoluted quagmire that involves options and purchases of percents against production, with bonuses and payouts that only a lawyer, or your agent, can understand. Or so I'm told. But more than making sales, I want to see something of mine on-screen. I want to hear my characters say my words. I want to see a dozens versions of my personality expressed publicly. I want...I want...I want...Remember "want" is just another four-letter word. This is hubris for certain, but it's also ambition. But mostly it's time. So I'll bate my hook, cast my rod, and wait...but not too long, cause I've waited long enough.

My first script is actually not mine. I adapted Icebreaker and since I don't own the rights, it stays off the radar. I actually don't mind that much. It was an exercise to see if I could write visually and in script format, and as such it was successful. Truth be told, it's not a very good piece of writing. The dialogue is derivative, the pacing is tepid, the characters really caricatures...But it's not all steaming piles of (the word rhymes with spit). Icebreaker has two things that I love: Dual protagonists fighting the good fight, named, and I look at the creativity here with pride, Ben Franklin and Tom Jefferson. Heck, I've used Ben Franklin two other times. Icebreaker also has the genesis of some fairly creative action scenes (my contribution). Action writing and science fiction seems to be my forte. It might turn out, to my great surprise, that I'm a genre writer, e.g. I write good science fiction stories. So Remote Viewer (RV), the script that I think of as my first, a story about real-life psychic spies, is really my first script.

You're first script is like your first love, never forgotten, secretly idolized, constantly compared to all that come after it. It's always remembered more fondly than it really was. I've written better scripts since and hopefully after, but somewhere deep in the cockles of my heart, this story holds power over me. I'm still betwixt. Which actually means exactly the same thing as the previous sentence. (I'm a writer, so sue me. No, wait. I'm a struggling writer so I have no money. Go sue a lawyer. Or kill them. Don't come after me, that was the hack of his day, Bill Shakespeare, though in some circles a political party run solely on this platform would probably get victory in a landslide. Unless they were in BC. Then the NDP still gets a handful of seats.)

I love these characters. I try and try to deny it. I ignore them, I trivialize them, I dismiss them, and mostly I belittle them but for some strange reason, known cosmically as that-thing-that-we-do-for-reasons-we-can't-fully-fathom-but-do-anyway, I think the British call it "stiff upper lip" or maybe "panache" or maybe "bangers and mash", which isn't nearly as dirty as it sounds. I want to tell their stories, I need to tell their stories, I must tell their stories. They're practically bursting out of my chest, like that chest-bursting alien in the that movie, you know the one, it had an alien, aw cripes, what's the name of it, something with alien in the title, perhaps...I love where they could go, I love what they might do, I love who they might become. I just know that there are more tales for these characters to tell.

I wrote RV with a writing partner. This has been a double-edged sword. I have someone to bounce ideas off of and push character boundaries. It also means that every time I want to make meaningful changes I've got to pass them by him. This is equal parts exasperating and challenging. It's also the reason I mostly write my own stories now. I wrote another with a friend who approached me about sending a script off to Paramount, back when they had an open-door policy on Star Trek: The Next Generation script submissions. (Not as futuristic as it sounds. One of the best Next Gen episodes, "Yesterday's Enterprise" was a fan submission. On occasion it does work.) We wrote it for Voyager and then it went off the air. Afraid this was more than coincidence, I haven't submitted again since...this and they changed the submission guidelines.

Remember to express yourself. A thousand ways in a thousand days. To anyone who'll listen. Because you never know when the person sitting next to you on an airplane is a prolific and important producer at a major movie studio exactly in the market for the story your peddling...Hey, it could happen. For the record, I'll will send that series pitch to the CBC. Cause maybe the time IS right for Northern Exposure to meet CSI and The O.C.

Note: The movie to which I refer is of course The Hidden, the classic Kyle MacLachlin-Michael Nouri science-fiction tale of alien implantation and chest-bursting.
Jess Nakaska is an aspiring screenwriter always on the lookout for the next great script idea. He'll let you know if he finds it. Feel free to contact him at jessnakaska@hotmail.com.