Before my readers who aren’t fellow screenwriters assume that I’m suffering from a bout of Tourette’s, I’ll start with this disclaimer; I am writing my own follow up to this article. If you are a screenwriter, then you’ve already seen it, and the odds are pretty good that you’ve encountered this attitude in person. Perhaps you’ve even stifled the urge to spew out the same rant when another writer asked you to give their work a once over. Reading scripts is hard work. An entire world that is meant to be seen, heard and emotionally experienced, starts as nothing but courier new, spaced across a white page. The ability to make that world jump out of its mono-spaced font is quite rare.
So that’s why I don’t entirely understand a phenomenon I have experienced since I became a screenwriter; everyone wants to read my scripts! When you hear the first person request a gander, there is no better feeling. You’ve poured an elaborate ensemble and a full story, arced like a rainbow, out of your head and into the tangible world. You can’t wait for someone else to experience it and then, of course, tell you it’s just as amazing as you think it is. But it only takes a few e-mails sent into the abyss of “never heard from again” before you realize how few people actually mean it. There are those constant readers, and by that I mean the ones you are actually related to. You have enough history with family to guilt them into giving you a read and review. But it’s almost a guarantee that no one else, even the best of your friends, will ever read your script. Even on the rare occasion that they find time in their busy lives that is not already occupied by Facebook to scan through your heart and soul in paper form, they will never tell you what they thought of it.
I’ve learned my lesson. Let them ask. Let them ask again. See if they actually send you an e-mail about it. Tell them that if you send your script, you’ll want to know what they thought. Add the caveat that it need not be more than a few sentences, basic reactions, less words than one would utter when leaving a movie theater. Tell them over and over again that a bad review will not mean the end of your friendship. We all learn from our mistakes. Tell them to take their time, we all have full lives to manage. Forgive their first few “I just haven’t had time yet” responses. Continue to be that good friend and communicator that you are. But it won’t matter if you get a thousand yeses and words of good intention, they are not going to read shit.
So your creative mastery floats out into the internet ether. Drafts one through thirteen have been sent to someone at some point, and could have been bounced around to any other human sharing your electronic cloud. And all you hear is crickets chirping. I know that when one of my films actually gets made, I will only get reviews from those paid to publish them, and those who think it’s their duty to share their opinion in all CAPS on every comment stream they come in contact with. But it won’t matter. My script will be a fucking movie! The people who want to see it can drive their asses to the theater and pay (what will probably be a good $45 by then) for a seat. You won’t have to ask me. You won’t have to ask me again. You won’t have to make promises you can’t keep. You won’t have to feel the guilt of having broken those promises. Just buy me a cocktail and all is forgiven. Then go see my fucking movie. You’ll wish you had read the script.
It never dawned on me to say I would read something and not read it. But I guess for some people it is like saying “we should do lunch” — a social pleasantry spoken without real intent.
Anyway, I love to read, I love to read new stuff, and as a writer (of a different sort) I hugely appreciate when people read and give feedback on my stuff (it does usually take arm-twisting) so if you’re ever looking for someone to read your script, send it my way.
I GUARANTEE I will read it. And Gabe can confirm that I only make guarantees I intend to stand behind.
P.S. It is an easy guarantee to make because I already know your work is groovy.
I already HAVE read your fucking script and I fucking liked it!
AND I really liked Josh Olson’s blog. Substitute the word “songwriter” for “screenwriter” and “song” for “script” and I fit right into Josh’s rant – maybe a little less coarse, however.
And you can put in “I’m playing at such-and-such writer’s nite. Come hear me” and guess what? Most don’t show up. (Especially when they say, “I’ll try to come”.
Our worlds aren’t so far apart.
AHHH! Sisterguilt! sisterguilt! I promise I will read your script, which is on my nightstand, really. It is even relatively high up in the pile of crap on my nightstand – higher than the books I bought at the used book shop two months ago, under a library book and a single barrette (I can’t find the other one). I think I have a pair of glasses in there somewhere too, and since I can’t find my Kindle charger, I suspect it is also hiding in the pile. I’ve discovered that to read your screenplays I need to A. read them all at once, I can’t pick them up and put them down like I can with a novel, I don’t know why. and B. be in the mood for science fiction, which isn’t my thing normally. but I will read it. I will put it on top of the library book even, which means the library book will probably go overdue, then I will have to explain myself to the head of circulation, who I technically outrank by a lot, but I still feel guilty having overdue library books. I’ll read it, for what my comments are worth. Love, Biggest Sister!