When I first began writing scripts as a young teen, I thought that rewriting a script meant changing a line of dialog here and there. Or maybe adding a sentence or two of description. Changing the name of a character. Or a location.
I didn’t realize that when I typed “The End” it was really just the beginning; that what I had was a first draft that needed patience and tender loving care to craft into a tight, flowing story.
Today I realize that rewriting is the most grueling aspect of screenwriting. The bursts of inspiration that got me through the first draft fade away, and I am faced with plot holes and illogics that aren’t going away unless I fix them. There might be pacing issues, or I’ve missed a beat or two in developing the arc of a character, or I haven’t left enough clues for the reader to get what I mean (as I illustrated in my last post, “Too Many Clues, or Too Few Clues?”).
Today I liken rewriting a script with demolition. Yes, sometimes I just have to reach into the script like a giant crane and tear out huge portions that aren’t working, or that don’t serve the story. Using the wrecking ball on a script is painful but necessary.
Many of these decisions I can make on my own, after I’ve tucked the first draft away for awhile, then come back to it fresh and see things instantly that need cleaning up. But many glaring holes are revealed to me through feedback from fellow writers who read my work.
I learn a lot about rewriting from reading produced scripts and comparing them to the finished films. I was shocked to observe that not one word of David Franzoni’s first draft of “Gladiator” made it to the silver screen. When John Logan and William Nicholson came on board for rewrites, they did a lot more than change a name from “Narcissus” to “Maximus”.
When I finally realized my own “Cumberland’s Gold” needed a major overhaul, I ended up tossing probably forty percent from the tenth draft in favor of new material. Better material.
And the only way I arrived at that better material was to force myself to concentrate on the story and think through a hundred ways one event could lead to another. Consider a dozen different lines of dialog that might be possible for a single moment. Or invent entirely new obstacles for my heroes to overcome.
Every draft brings you closer to a great script. In my next post I’ll explore this further. Now… go work on that rewrite! Guess I better, too.
I didn’t realize that when I typed “The End” it was really just the beginning; that what I had was a first draft that needed patience and tender loving care to craft into a tight, flowing story.
Today I realize that rewriting is the most grueling aspect of screenwriting. The bursts of inspiration that got me through the first draft fade away, and I am faced with plot holes and illogics that aren’t going away unless I fix them. There might be pacing issues, or I’ve missed a beat or two in developing the arc of a character, or I haven’t left enough clues for the reader to get what I mean (as I illustrated in my last post, “Too Many Clues, or Too Few Clues?”).
Today I liken rewriting a script with demolition. Yes, sometimes I just have to reach into the script like a giant crane and tear out huge portions that aren’t working, or that don’t serve the story. Using the wrecking ball on a script is painful but necessary.
Many of these decisions I can make on my own, after I’ve tucked the first draft away for awhile, then come back to it fresh and see things instantly that need cleaning up. But many glaring holes are revealed to me through feedback from fellow writers who read my work.
I learn a lot about rewriting from reading produced scripts and comparing them to the finished films. I was shocked to observe that not one word of David Franzoni’s first draft of “Gladiator” made it to the silver screen. When John Logan and William Nicholson came on board for rewrites, they did a lot more than change a name from “Narcissus” to “Maximus”.
When I finally realized my own “Cumberland’s Gold” needed a major overhaul, I ended up tossing probably forty percent from the tenth draft in favor of new material. Better material.
And the only way I arrived at that better material was to force myself to concentrate on the story and think through a hundred ways one event could lead to another. Consider a dozen different lines of dialog that might be possible for a single moment. Or invent entirely new obstacles for my heroes to overcome.
Every draft brings you closer to a great script. In my next post I’ll explore this further. Now… go work on that rewrite! Guess I better, too.
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