You’ve been cast as a side character. Here are 3 tips to make your few minutes on-stage count.

If you are the type of person who did not receive enough attention from their parents in childhood and are now desperately seeking that attention in the spotlight, then you are probably familiar with this type of frustration.

You wanted to be the star of the show. To have the most stage time. To be the main face on the promo poster.

But alas… after hours of tireless audition prep, and wishful thinking…

You got cast as a side role instead.

Your dreams are crushed. Your rejection sensitivity is triggered. Your frustration is real.

Now you think to yourself, “Am I doomed to play an insignificant part that no one remembers… again?”

If you are this type of person and this does sound familiar to you, first of all, please seek help. The stage will not heal your parent issues, I guarantee you that.

Now.

Jokes aside, yes, it is a common desire among theatre enthusiasts to want to be the most prominent person in the spotlight and to receive the loudest applause.

As a result, many actors have developed a false misconception that the only roles that matter are the main ones.

Not only because side characters have objectively less stage time, but also because it feels like there just aren’t enough opportunities to do something exciting with a small role.

But worry not, because with this blog, I aim to prove you wrong ;)

Humor me this…

What would it be like to have a “Lion King” without Timon and Pumba?

A “Beauty and the Beast” without Lumière and Mrs. Potts?

A “Shrek 2” without Puss in Boots?

Do you see where I’m going with this?

Though seemingly insignificant, once you remove a side character, the story is suddenly void of… spark.

While yes, you can, in theory, have “The Lion King” without Timon and Pumba, and the plot would still work (ish?), I imagine your gut reaction to even assuming such a thing is “Hell no! Bring the goofy boys back!”

Interesting, isn’t it?

It’s almost like side characters can and do fulfill an extremely important role in a story. Bringing emotional depth and carrying important plot beats.

Contrary to what you may expect from a theatre person like myself, I actually LOVE playing side characters.

Why?

Not only is it less rehearsal time and fewer lines to learn (though admittedly, those are bonuses).

But because I believe it’s always fun as an actor to take the few minutes of the stage time you have and to come up with a creative way to utilize them.

We already know the main character will be great and memorable due to the amount of time they have to develop their story.

But how can you do the same with a side character?

In this blog, I will share with you the three tips that will, in my opinion, help you maximize the potential of your small role and make your side-character-acting a fulfilling experience.

I will support each step with examples of side characters I have acted as in WILDe Theatre. And may have won a few awards for.

So, without further ado, here are the three tips.

Tip 1 - Understand your purpose in the story

When developing the role you’ve been cast as, I encourage you to first and foremost think more deeply about your character’s purpose in the story.

There is always a reason the author created side characters, and I can assure you none of them are placed in the story “just cuz”.

Otherwise, why would they be there in the first place?

Think about it.

What theme(s) does your character represent? What narrative values do they contradict or support?

Is it to serve as an antithesis to the main character and\or to challenge their ideology?

Is it to bring a comic relief to an otherwise very dark story?

Or is it, perhaps, to highlight a certain characteristic of the world the story takes place in?

Even if you are only on-stage for a few minutes, I encourage you to treat your character as a fully fleshed-out individual with a complete backstory, a moral compass and a goal.

Example

Take Maya Wolfsheim - the character I acted as back in “The Great Gatsby the Musical”.

Up until the moment we meet Maya Wolfsheim, our understanding of the world of Gatsby is simple - it’s a world of wealth, abundance and lavish, champagne-soaked galas where everyone is rich, successful and seemingly happy.

Gatsby himself represents that dashing side of New York—his endless success stories, his well-connected network of wealthy businessmen and celebrities, his massive mansion, hell, even his amber car all point to the fact that our main character lives in a utopia of sorts.

But then… In comes Maya Wolfsheim.

A dangerous criminal who wears human teeth as jewellery and has single-handedly overturned the World Series baseball. A woman who stands behind Gatsby’s success.

It is only when we meet Maya Wolfsheim that we realize - Gatsby’s world is a facade.

A fake utopia that was built on crime, corruption and, perhaps even murder.

Maya appears on-stage for only a few minutes, yet her presence looms. Like the judging eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. Like a threatening reminder, that at any moment that beautiful facade of Jay’s successful life may fall apart like a card house.

With all of this in mind, Maya’s role in the story becomes clear - to showcase a different, darker, but also a true side to the world of Gatsby.

Maya isn’t just an evil-looking femme fatale who had that one funny interaction with Nick at Speakeasy.

She is a representation of lies and corruption that serve as the foundation of Gatsby’s fake world.

After realizing this, everything I did for Maya Wolfsheim’s character made sense and served this single purpose.

She wore a red dress because red is the color of danger - a warning and a reminder that Gatsby’s world is fragile and may fall apart (foreshadowing the end of the story).

She acts seductively but has an evil demeanor because that is what Gatsby’s world is - beautiful on the outside, corrupt on the inside.

She is heartless because Gatsby’s real world is void of love and care (nobody showed up to Gatsby's funeral when he died…).

Her musical number looked like an uncanny puppet show / a spider web because that is how the world of Gatsby works - you sell your soul to crime to gain access to wealth, but you pay a grand price of being trapped in servitude to a cold, unloving system.

And that’s how we turned a small character with less than 3 full scenes in the entire show into a fully fleshed out persona with a concrete image and a meaningful goal in the story.

The rest is cosmetics ;)

Now the next question is, how do we make the complex purpose of a side character clear to the audience in just a few minutes of stage time?

Tip 2 - Define your characters’ “archetype” and keep it simple

You have seen them in basically any story ever written.

Character archetypes.

A simple, comprehensible set of characteristics assigned to a single person.

A gentle giant who seems threatening on the outside but is actually very kind.

An incompetent ruler who holds a position of power but is yet to learn to use it.

A wise magician who guides the hero's journey.

You probably already have a few examples in your mind for each of those archetypes:

Shrek as the gentle giant.

Joffrey Baratheon as the incompetent ruler.

Gandalf as the wise magician.

Archetypes in stories exist for a reason. They are easy, recognizable patterns of behaviours or symbolic figures that are familiar to humans across cultures.

Because character archetypes are so well-known and repetitive, once an archetype is introduced, it becomes very easy for the audience to set expectations for the said character’s personality and behaviour.

We meet a giant who seems shy - we expect to witness his journey to discovering himself while being challenged by his grotesque appearance.

We come across a stubborn, bratty prince - we are thrilled to see what lessons he will learn to eventually grow into a wise, responsible ruler.

We get introduced to an old, friendly magician - we expect to hear some words of advice and showcases of wisdom.

So… how does all of this tie back to building your side character?

I believe when you only have a few minutes to tell a full story, archetypes can be a great way to showcase a very complex persona with just a few recognizable characteristics.

Sometimes even with the most basic stylistic choices and a few lines of dialogue you can establish very concrete archetypes, setting predictable expectations for the audience to follow.

Now, does that mean your side character should be void of complexity and only follow a cliche “stereotype” to be memorable?

Absolutely not.

I’m not saying “make your character fit perfectly into a strict, limited category”.

What I am saying is, try to think of ways to make your role’s motives and values as simple and as comprehensible as possible from the get-go, and let the rest of the decisions you make about this character fit that single image.

If your side character’s archetype is simple, it is a no-brainer for the audience to cheer for them when their values are endorsed and to be shocked when their values are challenged (or the other way round if it’s an antagonistic character), thus leaving a lasting impression in the show...

Example

Back in Romeo and Juliet the musical, I played a small character whom most people will barely remember from the original play scripts - Paris Capulet.

And yet I must admit it was probably one of the most entertaining roles I have ever played.

So what made Paris Capulette special from the character archetype perspective?

As discussed earlier, I started by defining my character’s role in the story, which was pretty obvious - to serve as the antithesis to both Tybalt (a man who genuinely loved Juliet but never saw her for who she really was) and Romeo (someone who not only loved Juliet but made her feel seen and understood).

Paris also “loved” Juliet, but his love, in contrast to Tybalt’s or Romeo's, was never centred around her, but rather around his own ego.

Everything he did “for her” was in truth for a selfish reason. To boost his status. To show his rich friends that he got the most beautiful girl. Perhaps even to win some adoration from Juliet’s mother ;)

With that in mind, Paris’s character archetype drew itself - a selfish spoiled man who always gets what he wants and severely overestimates his own greatness.

A “rich frat boy”, if you may. Gaston from “Beauty and the Beast” type of character.

All I needed to do next was to make it immediately clear to the audience who I was as a character.

Wear a suit and a perfectly slicked man bun and walk into a scene with a bottle of Sauvignon to show that I am a pretentious rich man.

(Imagine if, instead, I walked on-stage with a can of beer and untidy clothing… It would have made a completely different first impression, wouldn’t it?)

Flirt with literally everyone, including Juliet’s mom and the audience to show how laughably highly I think of myself.

Kiss Juliet’s hand in a practiced, exaggerated manner to show how all of this is just a performance to Paris, not a genuine act of affection.

And there we have it. In just 3 minutes of on-stage time, we plant a very specific image in the audience’s mind. A spoiled rich asshole who wants to win the main character’s heart but is destined to fail due to his arrogance.

Later on, when the audience sees Paris “lose” Juliet to Romeo, it is easy for them to laugh at my character’s pathetic downfall and to enjoy seeing him get “punished” for his selfishness.

A very simple character image with a very simple motive resulting in a hilarious and memorable sub-plot within a larger story.

Creating an archetype for Paris helped me set immediate, predictable expectations for the role without the need to go through a multiple-scene-long character-building journey.

And I invite you to do the same for your role, should you be blessed with a chance to make the most out of your few minutes of stage time.

Speaking of which, what exactly CAN you do to make your side character shine?

Tip 3 - Get creative and make a SHOW

Ok, this section has become a bit too philosophical now that I have written it, but I hope it still brings the point across.

Regardless of the type of production you participate in, I believe your sole job as performer is to create a show that leaves an impression.

It doesn’t matter if you are the main character or a dancer number five. Every person in a production serves a greater purpose - to effectively deliver the main message of the story, and to invoke emotions within the audience.

Be it to disgust them, to make them laugh, to make them feel hopeful, or sad, or philosophical, or impressed by how much can be done with the make-believe magic of the stage.

Actors are storytellers. And so are you.

Theatre is a place where things that aren’t feasible in the normal world suddenly become “real”.

A place where people collectively agree to close their eyes on the laws of physics and “accuracy” of what’s happening before their eyes and to simply let themselves enjoy the story.

For just two and a half hours, you and your cast mates are able to bring imaginary characters to life, to build a world that doesn’t exist, and to make magic possible.

And even if your role in this collective hallucination act is small, the moment you set your foot on-stage you gain the power to make literally anything real.

So, go make it happen!

The creative potential of the stage is endless. You don’t need hyper-realistic equipment to make the audience believe you are on the moon if you act like you are wearing a space suit.

You don’t need to buy special effect kits to make people think you have magic powers if you move your body through space like you are casting a spell.

What I’m trying to say is, don’t let yourself be limited to what’s written on the script.

Get creative. Use what you and your theatre already has. Brainstorm ideas with your directors and cast mates. Ask for help from the people who have the skills you need to make something happen (WILDe Theatre is very rich in talent, I remind you!)

A crazy interpretive dance to deliver an emotion of your character - why not?

A dramatic, heartbreaking monologue to reveal your character’s big secret - why not?

An oddly specific item for your costume to bring a bit of humor to your character - why not?

Hell, a swordfighting duel between you and your rival - Why. The hell. Not?

(Obviously, please consider the limits of the production as well as the budget and the safety rules, but you get what I mean.)

And finally, the most important thing of all (and this has already been said multiple times in the other authors’ pieces written in this blog series, but I will say it again) - have fun!

The energy of an actor is very contagious.

If you love your character, so will the audience.

If you are enthusiastic about the ideas you are bringing on-stage, your cast mates will be too.

If you are enjoying the small role you were given and are giving it all the love and care it deserves, the people WILL feel it.

If you had made a decision to bring yourself to theatre, it means you already have dreams, aspirations and a creative potential waiting to be freed.

I am not here to tell you what to do with your character or how to make a good show, because you already know how.

And at the end of the day, big or small, it is your character.

Your chance to shine.

Your story to tell…

In sum

If you wish to make the most out of your short time on-stage as a side character, start by clearly defining your role in the story:

• The values you represent

• Your relation to the world and the other characters

• The message your role needs to deliver

Once your purpose in the story becomes clear, think of the most simple and identifiable way you can bring your characters’ personality across in relation to that purpose.

• What “archetype” do you fit in?

• What tools can you use to clearly showcase your motivations and values? (Think mannerisms, costume design, behavioral choices, props, etc.)

And finally, don’t be afraid to get creative. Think of interesting ways you can bring across your characters’ unique personality, values and beliefs. A dance? A song? A unique prop? An intense dialogue or a monologue? A fight? Use the magic of the stage to make a memorable show!

Remember, you only have a few minutes.

So, why not make those minutes count? ;)

Written by Juliana Boboshko, a veteran of WILDe, actress and a member of 4th and 5th Boards!

You can find Juliana on Instagram: @jules_the_sparrow

Let's Review: Monologues

Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene. These are the first words of possibly the most well-known piece of theatre in history: Romeo & Juliet. The narrator, who only appears twice in the play, takes a moment to set the stage, uninterrupted and without anything else to distract the audience from what they’re saying. In other words, the narrator performs a monologue. Monologues are a staple of theatre and, although to a lesser extent, film. A staple we love to quote and one we often use as a key source of characterization study when reviewing pre-established scripts. It’s an invaluable resource when writing for stage or screen and possibly one of the most entry-friendly ways into writing dramatically.

Today, we'll take a look at the Monologue: what they are and what they do, how we can go about writing one, and finally, why and when they work. Thank you for reading, now Let's Review.

I. You’ve Got Me Monologuing – Or a non-official typology

Although not completely one to one, monologues can be categorized in a few key types:

1.      As a form of narration, which we will call Expositionary Monologues. These are often delivered directly to the audience and help establish the world or setting in which the piece will operate. Some examples include the opening narration of Romeo & Juliet, as well as narration by Galadriel opening the first Lord of the Rings movie. A common trope for Expositionary Monologues is prophecy, which allows a writer to quickly get a reader up to date not just on what is happening, but also what will happen over the course of the story.

2.      As a form of philosophizing or self-reflecting, which we will call Verbalizing Monologues. These are delivered by a character to themselves and often reflect the inner thoughts of the character, helping to relate to their point of view or actions without having to dramatize it into a multi-actor scene. This type of monologuing is most often found in works written for stage. The equivalent tool in film comes out in camera-work, showing a level of detailed facial expressions that are hard to capture when working with a physical stage. Examples of Verbalizing Monologues are found in Hamlet’s “To be, or not to be” monologue, helping understand the mental anguish he is in and his struggles between action and inaction, and McBeth’s “Is this a dagger” monologue, showing the start of his paranoia and regret over his betrayal.

3.      As a form of positioning the character in relation to others, which we will call a Statement Monologue. While the first two types are most often delivered with a character alone, the Statement Monologue is almost exclusively performed by a character in relation to others. The most widely known trope is that of a ‘villain monologue’, where the antagonist of a story proudly explains their plans and how they despise the protagonist of the story, helping to create clear relationships between different characters. Dramatic examples include Shylock’s “If you prick me, do I not bleed” monologue from the Merchant of Venice, where Shylock decreases the distance between the antisemitic citizens of Venice and its Jewish population, or the “You can’t handle the truth” speech delivered in the movie A Few Good Men, clearly setting up the differences between Daniel and Colonel Jessup.

4.      As a form of persuading or motivating others, which we will call a Rallying Monologue. Where most of the other subtypes may not often be used in film, the Rallying monologue is the exception. Usually performed by the main protagonist, we see examples in movies like Independence Day, many fantasy and science-fiction movies like Lord of the Rings and Dune and in television series like the West Wing. The key element of the Rallying Monologue as opposed to a Statement Monologue is that while a Statement monologue serves to outline who characters are in relation to one another, the Rallying Monologue goes further to try and change the belief or action of another character to that of the protagonist.

5.      As a form of direct audience address, which we will call a Directed Monologue. The literary term for this is an ‘Apostrophe’ and is distinct from narration because the characters remain within the story, as opposed to looking at it and narrating it from the outside. Fleabag makes extensive use of this by acknowledging the fact that the story is being told to the audience as a participant in the story, which is its key differentiator from the Verbalizing Monologue. Another example of this is the explainer-type Directed monologue, usually found at the end of detective stories or whodunits and delivered by the main character, helping the audience to understand and ‘solve’ the mystery.

From these broad subtypes, a few key questions seem to emerge:

-          Who is the character speaking to?

-          What is the purpose of the monologue?

-          Is what is being said objectively true (Narration, Verbalizing) or subjective (Statement, Directed, Rallying)?

-          Is the character aware of who they’re monologuing to?

With these in mind, we can begin to design our own Monologue.

II. Or not to be, that is the question – Or the mechanics of writing a monologue

There are a few things we need to engage with a monologue. First, monologues depend on the context of the play (and the context in which they were written) to resonate. Second, a monologue has to deliver some kind of message. Third, monologues are directed to a certain audience and finally, they are delivered by a character. Together, we can refer to these elements as CMAC and depend on them as we begin to build our monologue.

Context is the most broad and usually determined by the script you choose or write. We can define context as ‘the entire set of facts and circumstances around the action happening on stage/screen’. This can be as expansive as early 19^th century France (Les Miserables), Middle Earth in the Third Age (Lord of the Rings) or 1940s Europe (Saving Private Ryan) or as small as a living room over the course of a day (Carnage) or a piece of garden (A Bug’s Life). A quick structure to get to context is by naming a place and a time. After deciding on a context, we can populate it by adding detail. What defines your context? What important elements belong to it? What kind of struggles were happening at the time? What kind of victories? Where are we? What cultural elements will impact or shape our context?

If you want to write a monologue yourself, quickly sketch out 3-5 Contexts. For each of the contexts, answer the following questions:

1.      What cultural elements or factors are present? Which one(s) is/are dominant?

2.      What does life look like for someone within your context?

3.      How is your life different from the lives of people within your context?

After establishing a context, we have to determine the Message. The message is a clear statement that describes what the monologue is about. It can be as simple as “The monologue describes someone’s day” or “The monologue is about dealing with grief.” This will become your guiding line throughout writing the monologue. Whenever you ask yourself what comes next, you refer back to the message statement and connect whatever you are writing to that. A general rule of thumb is that a monologue can have multiple messages, but never more than one at the same time. A monologue like Romeo’s goes from “I am in love with her” to “We can’t be together” to “I have to find a way”. This guides the audience through a line of thinking that a singular “I love her” would not have captured. For directors, this is referred to as the ‘through line of action’ (Stanislavski, Meisner).

For your monologue, determine whether there is one or multiple messages. Write each of them down in a one-sentence statement on different pieces of paper. Which order should the messages take? Determine the order and label them with a number.

Audience seems simple at first but determines a lot regarding how a monologue is structured. The audience at the start of a play may only know a surface-level amount about the story or may not know anything at all. Characters within the story should know the context of the play (or at least those they would realistically have access to. From our earlier typology, we can broadly say a monologue can be directed at Self, a different Character (or characters) or the Watching Audience. When making this determination, think about what your audience knows at the beginning of the monologue and what they should know by the end. Also keep in mind that although the Watching Audience may not be the targeted audience of the monologue, they will be the ones experiencing it in the end. Hiding information from the Watching Audience will create a risk that they may miss it. That is okay. Make sure that this is a conscious decision when writing the monologue and be aware of the risk.

For your monologue, determine your audience. Write down what they know before and after the monologue and how this changes how they feel or think about the character. For each message, write down 2-5 key points you want to bring across to the viewing audience. What risks do you see? What opportunities arise from this specific choice of audience?

Finally, we get to Character. By this point, you will have an idea of the context of your monologue, what you want to say and who you want to say it to. Character determines how you deliver the monologue. Characters, on the most abstract level, are a walking ‘mini-context’ of thoughts and ideas, both about themselves and the world around them. By determining how your character works, you will understand how your monologue should be delivered. This includes the conscious (how does the character think) and unconscious (how does the character feel) parts, as well as the visible (what language do they use, how do they talk).

For your monologue, we start by sketching out a character:

1.      In a few lines, describe the character’s context (how does it differ from the context we established at the start?) What does it mean to be this character in this context?

2.      In a few words, describe how the character talks (short, eloquent, clipped, upbeat, cheerful, dour, angry, mischievous, lisping, stuttering, verbose, dry).

3.      For each of your messages, determine the following:

a.      Does your character know what the message means?

b.      How does your character want other people to look at them?

c.      How does your character think of/look at themselves?

d.      What does your character think of the Audience?

4.      For all of the above, determine with each Message and Key-point how this interacts with your character. Does it scare them? Are they happy about it? Do they want to hide it? Do they want to be proud of it?

If you followed along with the practical exercises, what you have now is a clearly defined context, a planned outline of messages and key points in a chronological order, a clearly defined recipient / audience of the monologue and an outline of the character that is supposed to perform it. All that is left to do is to write the monologue itself.

III. Everyone can cook – Or what makes your monologues work

Armed with the above outline and with a clear idea where our monologue fits in the typology, we can begin writing it. Ultimately, what makes the text of a monologue work and stick with the audience is highly subjective and differs from writer to writer. However, there are some key guiderails to help you make your monologue flow.

-          A monologue is personal. Whether delivered full of facts or incoherently and straight from the heart, it will forever change how we view the character. It reveals what might be hidden or it clearly shows that the character is hiding something. The point is not to solely deliver a speech or debate. These can be done in many other places outside of film and theatre. Where our craft differs is the fact that we add a layer of emotionality to what is said.

-          A monologue is spoken. A great practice for writing monologues is to speak it out loud as you finish (parts of) it. You will immediately hear where lines need to be adjusted and what does or does not sound good to you.

-          A monologue is heard. Going together with the former, it helps to deliver your monologue to someone you know to see whether they understand what it is you’re trying to say and how you’re trying to say it. If follow along and engage, chances are your audience can too.

-          A monologue is fleeting. Unlike written works or recorded speeches, dramatic monologues exist only for so long as they take to be performed. This means that whatever messages you want to share, it should be possible to follow them even if the audience cannot review what is being said. Limit the amounts of simile and metaphor to one or two striking elements and add extra emphasis on the personal elements, which will stick much longer than recollection of the actual text.

-          Finally, a monologue is rehearsed/planned. This is important. Sitting down and writing a monologue means thinking about and feeling out everything we have reviewed so far. It is different from the impromptu speech or improv theater because we intentionally create our narrative and give ourselves time to prepare it. Relying solely on improvisation and a very rough sketch can yield tremendous results, but will ultimately not allow you to repeat it reliably.

Before we finish: There are books on writing that strongly encourage you to simplify your messages to something everyone can understand. This does not mean that you should dumb down your message or intended idea because your audience won’t understand. Film and Theatre as a medium are sometimes not meant to be understood or even enjoyed by everyone. This is especially true for monologues that exist as individual pieces. By treating our audience with respect and viewing them as complex individuals with their own perceptions and ideas, we encourage them to interact and engage with our writing. This is the core of dramatic craft and ultimately what differentiates passable writing from truly unique and exciting monologues.

IV. So this is Monologues? – Or the thing in review.

Today, we have reviewed monologues: what they are, how they are structured and what makes them work. If you followed along with our exercises, you made a clear outline and, based on our writing takeaways, have possibly even finished a full monologue! You now have a working, basic understanding of what it takes to write one and in doing so, have thought about how to perform it or direct someone else performing it. If you’re not quite ready yet, keep going and finish the project. It need not be long, even a page is enough to say you’ve written a monologue.

Read it, show it to someone and/or start the next one.

If we approach theatre as a craft that takes some time and practice to get used to, you’ll see that you begin to improve very quickly. Repeat the exercises and write a few short or mid-length monologues before going into a long one. Read publicly available monologue collections and apply our review to them to be able to take what makes them work and add the tricks to your toolbox.

If you are excited to share your work, please send it to wilde.eur@gmail.com. If you want, we can provide feedback or help you overcome a challenge.

Until then and see you next time where we add an extra dimension for Let’s Review: Dialogue

Written by Thomas van Eijl, a dedicated member of the Writing Committee and a veteran of WILDe

You can find Thomas on Instagram: @thomas_the_dutchman

3 things that make a screenwriter - and 3 things that break one

Will you become a screenwriter?

At the end of the day, that’s the honest question.

First off, let’s get the deets out of the way: you will probably never become a famous screenwriter, and you will probably struggle to sell a seven-figure script. That’s just statistics - no hard feelings.

That’s not what this question is about.

Will you become a screenwriter: will you trade your soul for sitting in front of Final Draft, writing 2 words an hour, then slamming your laptop, then getting a coffee, then pacing around the room for that perfect twist, then lurching back to your work in a frantic attempt to write down your next brilliant idea - and more importantly, will you be able to do this for days, for months, for years, for hundreds of scripts?

I must preface this list by saying I’m still not sure which side of the fence I fall on. I’ve definitely written a lot of scripts, and that mass definitely had its flaws. I sat in front of my own plan today, and I could not write a word - not even the 2 words an hour I so haughtily wrote about earlier. It made me afraid, and it made me curious.

What makes someone write - and what makes one stop writing?

I hope to answer that question for myself and anyone that is wondering. So, in the best Buzzfeed tradition, let’s think through 3 things that make a scriptwriter - and 3 things that break one - together.

Make 1: watching movies

I know, I know. To be a screenwriter, you have to watch movies. Shocker.

Still, you’d be surprised how many people that want to be screenwriters don’t actually watch a lot of films. I say this somewhat vulnerably as someone who regularly stops watching for months - and has to make a conscious effort to pull myself out and watch something for Pete’s sake. (Shoutout to my sister, an insane movie nerd, who drags me into movie theaters and puts on films I want to watch. Her mind terrifies me and I could never be her. Thanks Nastya.)

There is another group: people that restrict themselves completely arbitrarily. “I won’t watch it if it was made after 1990”, “I won’t watch it if it’s black and white”, “I won’t watch it if it’s under 60% on Rotten Tomatoes”.

You need to consume fast food to be a chef. You need to know Picasso to be a painter. Sometimes, you need to see animal guts daily if you want to be a vet.

Sometimes, you just aren’t a movie aficionado. That’s okay too. After all, there are a scary number of movie classics I haven’t watched, and I will one day catch up with that list.

But if film, by choice or by need, is something you must get into, you need to watch film.

How do I get there?

• Start with the classics. Don’t fall into my trap and watch the oldies that everyone talks about. If you don’t see why they’re iconic, at least you form your own opinion;

• Fall in love with its versatility. Citizen Kane, The Room and Avatar are all movies. Good or bad, funny or scary, pretty or real - they’re all films. Isn’t that cool?

• Don’t be ashamed to be kind to yourself. Maybe, as you watch on, you will discover that this is not for you. And that’s okay!

Break 1: not seeing your movie and story

Not in some beautiful poetic sense. Can you actually see what you’re writing about? That’s often the deciding call.

For the longest time, I was convinced I had aphantasia. After all, the apple test landed me between a 4 and a 5 on a good day, and I still cannot picture anything actually moving in my mind’s eye. With training (Reddit helps *shudder*), I was able to inch that to a 3-4 rating, and I’m glad I did.

This doesn’t matter too much when you write fiction books, but screenplays are strictly visual. There’s no way around it. (Sorry, first person POVs, you’ll stay confined to novels.)

Simply put, if you can’t see it and you can’t hear it - it has no room in a script and will only serve to waste the real estate of your work. You have 120 minutes max to make your point, and while you might cherish what your characters are thinking or feeling, if your client, director or industry worker can’t put it on a screen, it’s a lost cause.

As you can imagine, not knowing exactly how each moment looks in a scene, how the audience sees the woes of your characters, and what the audience is perceiving, not just seeing, hurts your point pretty badly.

How do I fix this?

• Write a whole script without any dialogue. Words are a crutch for your inner voice - so tell it to shut up and pass the mic to your mind’s eye.

• Watch movies intentionally. Observe, take visual notes, shamelessly steal tricks from the gurus. Ask yourself - why did this old white man point the camera that way?

• Daydream. Put your laptop down and let your 15-year-old self dream. My hot take: this is a valid and necessary part of writing, especially of a script.

Make 2: falling deeply in love with your story

A “good" story is subjective. You may doubt your screenplay is any good, but for someone else, it can be their saving grace that pulls them out of misery. I loved Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (before JKR became who she is now, just saying); to others, it was a bunch of nonsense, and they made sure to tell me about it.

Often, the key to being a good (screen)writer is simply that - being able to love your script, your story and your characters.

This ‘make’ is the bread and butter of how we writers live.

Your passion relies on being deeply infatuated with every crevice of your screenplay, understanding exactly what place in your heart your story occupies, and why it draws you to wake up, pick up a laptop and keep on writing. That passion is contagious - and is often the immediate hook to make what you do truly a good work.

If your heart is not on fire for the story that you’re trying to tell, if you don’t want to shout your key message from the rooftops, if you aren’t just slightly crazy about your blorbos and your plot beats - then sorry to say, your well will be dry very soon.

We writers are fundamentally lovers. In a very messed up way, we love our own minds.

How do I get there?

• Indulge yourself. Pick a storyline that has happened to you, a character that represents a dear friend, or a lore detail that represents something only you know.

• Praise yourself very casually. The little thumbs-ups you give yourself along the way boost your confidence by a lot. Wrote a nice page or two? Tell yourself ‘good job’!

• Don’t hesitate to kill your darlings. It’s different if screenwriting is your income, but if you have the luxury of writing for yourself, don’t start if you don’t believe in an idea.

Break 2: being too smart

To all the people who think they are extremely smart and cool and sexy and fabulous - chapeau, but you, too, can suck sometimes, actually.

The average audience member is tired and doesn’t want to think. That’s not cynical commentary on the state of the world, that’s the reality of the bodies we live in. Most people don’t actually want to think even more when their brain is already being too loud. That’s how we got TikTok to take off.

Your story must be simple, and that is an essential need.

Now, what about the arthouse and the indie and the conceptual? Yes, it still pays to be simple, sharp and direct about the premise, or people will yawn themselves out of the theatre. (And notice how so many people do avoid the above for this very reason.)

In Save the Cat, Blake Snyder posits that if you can’t summarize your idea in 1 sentence, studios won’t give it the time of day. Blake Snyder’s concern with money above all is a thought for another day, but in this instance, I agree: your story must resonate with everyone, be full of raw, understandable feelings, and deliver on them in a punchy way.

Often, the smartasses of the world don’t have the heart to do this.

How do I fix this?

• Run a simple checklist. Is your idea clearly understood by everyone? Do you know why they feel that way? Do you see them staying for the whole 90-120 minutes?

• Summarize the movies that became icons in 10 words max. Ordinary farmboy rebels and stomps a dictator. Yep, I can see why millennial teenagers loved Star Wars;

• Feel your own feelings, deeply. You’d be surprised how much more profound and relatable your stories get once you stop intellectualizing and cry for yourself.

Make 3: locking in

Screenwriting is a lot less fun than people think. A lot of your time is spent forcing yourself to write just a little bit. Yes, without a podcast to muddle your brain with words. Yes, without a YouTube short to rot your brain further. Yes, without a girl treat to keep you going (okay, maybe that one’s alright sometimes).

At the end of the day, all you can do is write - and that’s actually pretty frustrating.

Sometimes, you will fail to even open that damn project file. Sometimes, the world will seem like it’s out to get you and your creation. Sometimes, your dopamine rush wears off and you just don’t see the point anymore.

And yet, you must keep writing.

Your idea is probably awesome, but nobody is going to read it until it’s done, and chasing the next sparkling butterfly is what kills your work the fastest. Screenwriting is often seen as this passionate, driven, inspired hobby. Most of the time, it’s plain boring discipline.

Being comfortable with being lazy, stupid or depressed - and writing anyway. That’s often what makes or breaks a script.

If this process isn’t done, who’s going to care about your great concept of an idea?

How do I get there?

• Remember your key message. If you don’t burn to tell the world something, you’ll run out of gas. What made you write this in the first place? Hold on to that;

• Use a calendar! Scripts, fundamentally, are a boring numbers game. X pages by Y date - that’s the formula, and it’s much more trusty than chasing a vibe;

• Rest, a lot, and don’t be a dick to yourself about it, but write at least something every single damn day. Sometimes, all it will be is 1 line, and that’s ok.

Break 3: going by the vibes

You are in love and you know how to write - great! Perhaps you can even attract your audience’s attention, impart some knowledge upon them, or inspire them.

Turns out, once your big writer pants are on, you might discover you don’t know how to write.

For my part, I was convinced for quite some time that I understood how storytelling works. After all, I could finish a story, and people liked it. When I started writing for others, though, I quickly realized there is much more for me to learn than what I could do without deep study. What do you tell the person you’re writing for when they come back with “the pace just feels kind of off”? When they “just hate how this guy sounds”? When “idk, I don’t really feel the narrative” is your only feedback piece?

You try to learn. A lot.

There are a lot of ways to do so. Story structures (Hero’s Journey, Save the Cat, the story circle, etc.), numerous books on (screen)writing (Syd Field’s ”Screenplay”, Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero with A Thousand Faces”, Stephen King’s “On Writing”), countless podcasts (not really a podcast kind of gal, but someone out there must be) - a lot of variety exists for you, and it’s a mandatory step to writing quality and knowing how you did it.

How do I fix it?

• Research what you would like to do, then dive deeply into that genre, that trope, that audience. Research what the best in the field use, then pick up that theory;

• Consume a lot of media. Movies are a must, we already established that, but even reading, playing video games or listening to music exposes you to stories;

• Be humble. You’re not too good to study. You’re not too advanced for the basics. You aren’t a prodigy that can succeed without understanding how you did all that.

Well, that’s the list.

If anyone ever finishes this all the way through, I’m in your corner. Every writer worth their chops must go through a crisis sometimes, and if that’s where you are at, consider this a badge of honor and a ‘you made it’ moment.

Will we become screenwriters? Dude, I don’t know. But I’m here for the ride, and until my engine dies, I will continue the drive.

Now, if you’ve made it this far, can you maybe message me? I’m stuck writing a scene about washing blood from white hair.

Written by Anna Galtsova, a dedicated Writing Committee member!

You can find Anna on Instagram: @gal.tsova