The only constant thing in a Creative Life is change.

In any life, really. It just feels like those walking a particularly rocky, uncertain path riiight along the cliffside of uncertainty and exhilaration, tiny fragments of our sanity tumbling down to the raging azure waters below; yeah that’s a special kind of hellish constant change saved for the ones striving to climb towards some kind of “success” in our art.

And like clockwork, the ephemeral notion of what our path ‘should’ look like is often a façade; instead pitfalls, snakes, oasis’, and a myriad of other surprises waiting for us along the way.

I recently asked a friend how she was doing. Seemed like an innocent enough pleasantry. It’d been a minute since we’d connected in a professional sense and her response, “My life is full of constant change.” immediately glowed on my computer screen. Calling me to laugh, commiserate, and ultimately, write this. Because the level of truth in that simple phrase was so universal; of course I had to dissect it.

We’re Creatives in the industry. Eeking out a living by cobbling together all the things we love to do that make life, well, worth it! The joy is, supposedly, in the doing of—the writing, the editing, the interviews and script analyzing et cetera et cetera. Each piece leading to a different opportunity, bit of insight, or spark of inspiration.

It literally never ends.

Some might see it as exhausting. A constant hustle. Which, sure, it can feel like at times. But it’s also okay to settle into the certainty of the concept that while we keep moving forward, there will always be detours and stops signs and unexpected green lights. If we’re open to it, approach the change with calm intention, there’s usually a silver lining. Seeing the good in things leads to more good things. See how that works? Now apply liberally.

Consider: if we’re doing the creative work solely for a perceived outcome—fame, money, status—we’re missing a whole lot along the way. We’re missing the point; actually.

Last year was a …“phase,” we’ll call it. I think, I can bravely articulate out loud now three months on the other side of it all, it was the closest I’ve ever come to quitting writing.

I know. Shhh. Don’t tell my bosses.

It was not a great place to be in. A hollow place. The decision didn’t feel aligned. And I never did pull the trigger. I passively made other plan Bs.

I was also so fucking miserable.

Then I became the cliché.

While I was busy making plans that twisted my stomach and kept me in bed past my alarm in the morning, Life happened. The Life I thought wasn’t meant for me, after all. My own, tiny little miracle occurred instead that, one day, I might be brave enough to share about as well.

It was an external force that pulled me back into the Creative Life, and while, yes, I was ecstatically happy and walked around in a fog of total, utter, disbelief for weeks—it was also an uncomfortable bucket of ice-cold water drenching my soul.

It was a change I’d been hoping for so desperately for so long, and while I threw myself into it with everything I had, I realized something else: Life keeps going. The next change will come, and you have to keep pivoting no matter if you get everything you’ve ever wanted or failed utterly.

So, what do you do?

During one of our walking therapy sessions—not actual therapy, but what best friends do for each other just by being there and listening—I heard the way she spoke about her retirement job plans. Yes, getting another job after retiring from her career. Something ‘for fun’ that would give her joy and keep her busy after the kids are gone. She also spoke about other possible things I could do. You know, other than the whole writing/editing thing I’d devoted myself to for the last 25 years. And the most important thing I got out of that conversation was that no matter what, my spirited friend would fully invest herself in whatever job she had. She’d make it work, and she’d enjoy it!

That’s a talent, I think. A gift, actually. That no matter what, you could be happy where you are.

It’s not to say I’ve never been happy where I am. Because here, where I’m sitting at my desk right now watching the pine trees wave outside my bay window, the dog curled up in the bed beside my chair, and a homemade lavender latte steaming in my favourite mug from an artist on Vancouver Island waiting for my typing pause; well, here—and everything and everyone that goes with this—is pretty damn good.

But where I am when it comes to my writing? That’s perhaps another story. A constantly evolving one between joy and fear and satisfaction and loathing. It helps to define the outcome of the writing, and then let it go.

Seems counter-intuitive, yeah?

That’s the practice part of the ‘writing practice.’  We can and should set goals if we ever intend to share our stories with an audience. But then it’s time to just do the work. Spill the story and characters and worlds that we were meant to tell onto the page. There’s a time for editing and critiques and all of that later. And every single part of the writing journey will bring about change that further influences that story.

It’s pretty cool. And in my opinion, why we intend to weave these stories into the cultural consciousness rather than keep them hidden away in a private journal in the recesses of our nightstand.

So, maybe it’s about changing how we think about the creative process. Then making those little micro-adjustments, one at a time.  Or everything all at once; it’s your process, you do you! Drastic change can disinfect the slate for fresh creativity as well. What’ll it make space for, I wonder?

More change, is my guess.

*Feature image by Jorm Sangsorn (Adobe)

Screenwriter, podcaster, professor; Lindsay Stidham is a powerhouse writer. She is also, quite possibly even more important, an advocate for other screenwriters. Stidham learned from the best and is leveraging that knowledge to pay it forward to the next generation of screenwriters. Amidst the uncertainty of Hollywood, she is the real deal.

Becoming Katie Couric … Kind of.

Stidham’s eclectic upbringing began attending elementary school in the Netherlands before moving Stateside. “My dad wanted us to feel American, and so he moved us back to Florida, which is a very shocking place to move after living in the Netherlands. I went to junior high, high school and undergrad in Florida; I went to the University of Florida and majored in journalism. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I just initially thought that I was going to be Katie Couric.

"Someone actually recently asked if I’ve always had a bob, and I said yes. I mean, not in high school, I had long hair then. But at University they said, ‘Nobody will take you seriously if you have long hair.’ So those were my days of journalism school: If you want anybody to take you seriously, cut your hair. I did, and immediately landed the anchor position—so it worked out for me,” she laughs.

“I worked for local NPR stations, and I did the local news. And, you know, it was really good training to be a writer. You had to start out with who, what, where, why. The why most importantly.”

Then came the journalism offer in Kansas, but Stidham chose to follow the yellow brick road down a different path.

“I was like, I don't know if I want to move to Kansas for very little money and report on, like, cats in trees, but that's where you start in broadcast journalism. Which, I get that; you have to pay your dues. It's just like film in that way, that you have to pay your dues so heavily. So, I went, well, if I'm gonna be broke, let's go for the gold!

"And I also did a lot of improv in college, took a bunch of creative writing classes, and that got me wondering, what does it feel like to write fiction? The combo of all those things is I really enjoy inventing stories, and I was a cocky, gung-ho twenty-one-year-old dying to live in a city! I wanted to live in New York or Los Angeles, I didn’t want to move anywhere else. So, I thought, maybe film school can get me there?”

Lindsay applied to several film schools and then made the move to L.A. at twenty-one to study screenwriting at the American Film Institute. “I was thrilled they took me! And when you get into AFI, you go,” she laughs easily—as though that feat were an easy thing.

Breaking In Big Time: The Sundance Connection

“I got really lucky, and I got a posse of people at AFI. I made several films with Drake Doremus, who was also my writing partner at the time. And I also attribute a lot of this to my mentor, Barry Sabath. He’s my mentor to this day, and I adore him. He really advocated for some of our early films. Barry’s still an incredible teacher over at AFI.

It was also the first recession I’ve survived, and [the Mumblecore genre] was exploding—we felt very inspired by Mumblecore. We thought if this is a movie, then we can make one. So, we shot a film called Douchebag for very little money that went to Sundance. It was really two actors, a sound person, Drake, myself, and the DP, and that was pretty much it! We made a little Mumblecore rom-com, and it was so fun. We made three movies together, back-to-back: Spooner, Douchebag, and MoonPie.”

Full Circle Momentum from Student to Teacher

Stidham is currently paying it forward to the next generation of screenwriters in her professor role at USC.  

Prior to that, “I started at the New York Film Academy. At the time there were some other AFI people teaching there who recommended me. Then I took a little break and helped launch some start-ups, so I worked in tech for a while. Launching start-ups felt like exactly the same business, to be honest,” Stidham recalls.

“Crazy grind, raising the money and financing. How long can you last? How long can your pipeline of money last, basically, and then on the other end, hopefully you're selling something successfully. Otherwise, your startup is gonna end!” She chuckles. “It was honestly like my production experience of having made three really small movies at that point that helped. I realized, ‘oh, this is just the same grind as making movies—and I really missed [doing that].

Then I had a friend recommend me for a job at USC, and I'm still at USC. I feel like USC really taught me how to be a teacher. I love teaching screenwriting there.”

Screenwriter At Heart

When she’s not teaching others how to, Stidham is writing, most recently, Antipasta, a romantic historical drama that was a Stowe Story Labs Selected Project 2025.

“Lately, I've been living in historical fiction, which I really enjoy. I feel like it gets people's attention, because you can sort of say it’s IP. Although my latest is really made up, based on the mythology of the time when Mussolini banned pasta in Italy. That part is true, but historically it’s not well-documented. But there was a resistance movement of making and sharing pasta with others—the anti-fascist movement in Italy was grounded in feeding each other pasta. Right now, it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written. But I haven’t taken it out yet, so we’ll see,” she laughs.

Stidham’s hustle mentality is real, with several other projects on the go as well. Another historical, called Punks Never Die that’s “Way more grounded in reality. I've spent a lot of time interviewing Alice Bag of the Bags [one of L.A.’s earliest punk bands]; she’s awesome! It’s a three POV story between three different women, and Alice is one of them, Esther Wong, who owns Madame Wong's is another. Esther has since passed away, so there's definitely a bit of invention around her story. Although, many people have spent years of their life going to that club, and I've met a lot of them. I also got to meet the person who booked back in the day, Paul Greenstein, and he has been an incredible resource as well. Then there's a character who is a writer, and she is invented. She's an aspiring punk journalist. I have been collaborating with producer Joyce Liu-Countryman and that working relationship has been fantastic.

I also have a pilot that has, like, I feel like been an ‘almost’ a million times. It’s called Couple World, and it's a sci-fi rom com. And in couple world, if you are not coupled by the time you're 30, you are disappeared—you become ‘Invisisingle.'”

While Stidham loves writing in the television landscape, “I’ve had more success in features. So, I have a tendency to write those more.”

Bits and Pieces, for example. A road-trip horror comedy that’s in development with Neon Heart about a queer man and his best female friend, who also happens to be pregnant, “Because we realize that story has not been told, which is crazy! So, to me, that's a really unique combo of people, and I definitely have a dream cast for it, and I hope that we are able to make the movie. I’ve been [working on] that one for a long time, and just learning that that's the way with features; sometimes it's years of your life.”

All these projects are proof that, as a screenwriter, you are your best advocate; believe and keep going.

The First Five Podz

In keeping with her journalistic and teaching roots, Stidham’s come full circle from radio to podcast with the recent launch of the awesome little podcast: "The First Five Podz" with Wonder Peak Media. Yet another form of both hustle that’s filled with heart, as Stidham’s goal with the podcast is education for screenwriters.

“I always have too many ideas in my head. Just constantly. And Daniel literally just called me on the phone one day to see if I had a podcast idea. And I said, I have five. Then I think I only pitched him "The First Five" and he was like, ‘That one, that one, that one.’

"Daniel Herther is a talented producer that I know through writing. I really hope I get to work with him eventually in that capacity, as well. He’s good at spotting trends. And he's like, everything is going to be YouTube. I think he's correct, everything is going to be YouTube.

"And I love media of all forms, which may be to my detriment,” Stidham chuckles, because “I say yes to probably too many things! But my very first job in media was a radio station. And I love audio. I always have. I love journalism, still. I like interviewing people, and I’m curious about people, as well. And from the teaching perspective, I like the idea of tearing down the gates and making screenwriting education available to everybody.

"I think you're ready to write one if you’ve read a bunch [of screenplays]. So, studying scripts, obviously, is really satisfying to me, and that's the premise of the podcast. We delve into the first five pages of original scripts and famous scripts. I'm hoping to be able to shoot a series about the Oscar scripts this year, if I can squeeze it in.

"A lot of times my students come in [never having read a script]; it's crazy to me that you want to write a screenplay, and you've never read one! And I want to say, 90% of the time when they start my class, they've never read a script. So, hey, if I can advocate for people to actually read screenplays, I love that idea. And also to make the education available and universal to everyone, I think is important. We need more perspectives than we're getting right now from Hollywood.” And that’s exactly what "The First Five Podz" offers, available to stream wherever you listen to your podcasts.

It can be a beautiful thing, venturing into uncharted media.

“It's getting a chance to reconnect with friends; it’s forcing me to reach out to people I already love and adore and don't see or talk to enough. I have a wealth of so many talented friends, so no shortage of people to interview.

Of course, everybody wants to monetize, I'm not gonna lie. I'm doing this as hopefully, eventually, an extra income stream. And I am the type of person that would love to reinvest it in more media. I’m trying to finance one movie personally, and or raise the money for that movie, and then also helping to sell [it] to others, more in the studio system. So, my dream in general, is to have a media empire and be able to just refinance money into films in a perfect world. I love to finance other people's movies, too. That would be a freaking dream!

"And I do think podcasts are—especially now that everything is visual, and everything is video—a super powerful way to test a TV idea. I have two TV pilot ideas that I might do in podcast form, because they're really simple. I have access. All you need is your iPhone now to shoot a podcast premise of a pilot. It's like, why not?”

But back to "The First Five!"

“We are open to outside guests! I love meeting people, expand my network and know what inspires other people and keeps them going. Right now, we're going through so many changes in the business. DM us!”

Advice From Along the Way

“If you’ve got a wave, you gotta ride it,” Stidham advises, and, “Don’t let something sit in development too long.” It’s all about balance and keeping momentum. Something Stidham admits she still struggles with personally. “While too long in development can be the kiss of death, keep in mind the relationships you have with people in the business are incredibly intimate. If you’re making a movie with someone, it’s as intense as dating.” Still think you can work together? Amazing. Also, have a short in your back pocket; the feature written already. Because in Hollywood, it’s all about IP. And Stidham has several.

Solid advice all around from someone so prolific.

Join our Symposium "Beyond the Happy Ending: The Psychology of the Rom Com," taught by Lindsay Stidham

*Feature photo: Lindsay Stidham

Y’all know that meme that’s been floating around where a man asks an elephant to climb a tree? In case you haven’t seen it, here’s what I’m referencing.

The idea is that what’s easy for some (aka, asking a monkey to climb a tree) is not doable for others (like an elephant, fish, or a penguin). Part of being a good teacher is recognizing your student’s strengths and weaknesses and adjusting accordingly.

This is exactly the situation I found myself in recently, working with a new writing client. He simply was not understanding the core concept that I was trying to convey, and it was leading to a lot of frustration on both ends.

“You need to show, not tell,” I said, for about the fifth time, “Telling the reader information is never as impactful as showing it to them.”

“But I feel like I am doing that!” He repeated, as he emphatically pointed to a line in his screenplay.

I shook my head. “This isn’t actually telling. What you’re really doing here is …” I’ll skip the exact wording, but I tried to explain the idea in another way.

Long story short: it still didn’t make sense to him.

This session was going nowhere fast. I was at a crossroads.

But then … something hit me. I realized I wasn’t taking my own advice.

I was trying to tell my client about “show, don’t tell.” What I needed to do was show him.

So, I opened up Youtube and started looking up scenes. We were going to watch classic moments from great films, and I’d use those to illustrate my point. And my god, did it work. Everything clicked after this.

Some people are conceptual learners; they can grasp complex topics just by talking and thinking about them. But this guy was a visual learner. He needed to see an example in order to comprehend it.

And that made me wonder … How many of you out there are also visual learners? I’m betting a ton. So, today, we’re going to have a little lesson on “show, don’t tell.” Using the exact same examples I showed my client.

But before we get into all that, let’s set a baseline …

WHY IS “SHOW, DON’T TELL” IMPORTANT?

“Show, don’t tell” is a foundational principle across all forms of storytelling because readers and audiences connect most deeply to experiences they can observe rather than information they’re simply handed. When a writer tells us what something means, or what a character feels, why a moment matters, how we should interpret it, etc, the reader stays at a distance, receiving conclusions instead of forming them.

Showing, on the other hand, uses concrete details, actions, choices, and consequences to let meaning emerge naturally. A clenched jaw, a delayed reply, an empty chair at the table can communicate far more than a sentence explaining sadness or anger. This approach turns the reader into an active participant, piecing together emotion and intent on their own. In screenwriting especially, it engages your eyes, ears, and brain simultaneously. Which makes the experience much more fulfilling to the audience.

When you show the reader or audience information, it makes them engage more deeply in the story. Because they are figuring things out for themselves. When you just tell it to them, it more often than not comes across as flat and uninteresting.

Let’s look specifically at an example that tells, rather than shows.

This is a long clip … DON’T WATCH THE WHOLE THING. But start at 01:45 (we queued it up for you) and stick with this as long as you can (until around 05:00, if you make it that far) ...

Neil Breen's Double Down:  

This is from a Neil Breen movie. A filmmaker who is famous for making movies that are so bad, they’re good. Do you see how … lame that opening was? Sure, we saw him typing on a laptop, etc., but at the same time …

He told us he was a fighter pilot …

He told us he used to be in love …

He told us he was a James Bond-esque super spy …

Did any of that really land with you? I didn’t with me. It all felt pretty weak.

Telling the reader information is never as powerful as showing it. To get the most out of your writing, you want to craft scenes and moments where the audience knows what’s going on inside a character’s head without the need to tell it to us. That’s part of excellent storytelling.

With that out of the way, let’s get into the examples, and we’ll start with one of my favorite movies ever …

A FEW GOOD MEN - THE COURTROOM CLIMAX

This movie is all about Tom Cruise’s character (Dan Kaffee) investigating an incident with a dead cadet on a military base. Through his research, Kaffee knows that the “official” story being provided about how the victim died is bullshit, but the only way he can prove that is to get Jack Nicholson (Col. Nathan Jessup) to mess up and admit that in court. This will not be an easy task. Screwing this up will have severe ramifications to Kaffee’s career.

Kaffee calls Jessup to the stand and peppers him with questions. Jessup deftly dodges them. And then this happens (watch from the beginning of the clip to around 1:00) ...

When this clip opens, Kaffee has a decision to make. Thus far, he has gotten nowhere with this witness. And pressing further serves to risk his own career. Kaffee makes the decision to press on, demanding Jessup sit down when he tries to leave.

The beauty of this scene happens at 00:58. Kaffee goes to drink a glass of water, and as he brings it to his mouth, his hand trembles and shakes.

The character doesn’t walk over to his colleagues and say, “Guys, I’m going to press this round of questioning, but I’m really scared.” He doesn’t say, “I know what I’m about to do is dangerous and extremely risky.”

Instead, Sorkin shows us that Kaffee is terrified of what he’s about to do. But he’s going to do it anyway. We know what Kaffee is thinking and feeling without needing any words to describe it.

You liked that example? Cool, I’ve got more. This time we’re watching:

CHILDREN OF MEN - THE BABY IS BORN

Another classic, but in case you’re unfamiliar …

This semi-apocalyptic tale takes place in a world where women have all become infertile. Governments have collapsed and global politics have shifted for the worse because of this.

The protagonist (Theo) has spent all movie protecting a pregnant woman from harm. The first pregnant woman this universe has seen in YEARS. He’s sheltered her, guided her, and right before this, he ran into an active war zone to make sure she faced no harm.

And then this happens …

Mere minutes before this, bombs were exploding and guns were firing … But then everything suddenly stops once the baby is revealed. Every character in this universe is in awe of the child. Everyone stops what they’re doing to look upon it.

Again, people don’t walk into frame and go “wow, this is a huge moment. Holy crap, we’re saved! Maybe the world isn’t doomed!” That’s telling information. Instead, without using words, this scene showcases how important this is for the people of this story. Frankly, their silence communicates more than dialogue ever could.

I got one more for you, and we’re changing mediums now. Let’s look at an example from TV.

BREAKING BAD - THE DISCARDED PLATE

This is early in season one. Walter White is in the beginning stages of his descent to Pablo Escobar status. And in this episode (103) he’s got a thug chained up in his basement, and he’s trying to decide what to do.

His soul wants to let him go. But his brain knows it’s safer to kill him. But can he do that? Is he that type of man? Will the thug keep his word and not seek retribution? Many questions run through Walt’s mind …

Walter spends most of the episode talking to the thug. He learns his name. Gets to know him, and decides “yeah, I can’t kill you. I’ll let you go.” But earlier in the episode, it’s critical to know that Walter brought him food, and accidentally shattered the ceramic plate the sandwich was on.

And then he discovers this …

Right as he’s about to let the thug go, Walt has a thought. He takes the pieces of the discarded plate and puts them back together like a puzzle. And he comes to the terrible realization that one of them is missing.

The thug has it. And it’s clear he’s planning to kill Walter with it the moment he’s released.

Again, the writing here elevates this scene. Because we don’t need to be told what Walt is thinking to understand it. We’re shown the relevant information and allowed to figure things out for ourselves. The writers trust that we (the audience) are smart enough to piece things together if they give us the proper clues along the way.

At its core, “show, don’t tell” is about trust. Trusting that your audience is paying attention. Trusting that they can connect dots. Trusting that meaning doesn’t have to be explained to be understood.

When you show, you invite the reader into the story as a participant instead of treating them like a passive observer. And once a reader feels involved—once they feel like they’re discovering something instead of being lectured—that’s when storytelling stops being informational and starts being memorable.

Godspeed y’all, and happy writing.

*Feature photo: "Breaking Bad" episode 103

Julia Morizawa is a multi-tool talent with over 20 years of experience in film, television, new media, theater, and fiction podcasting. Her script Something About the Tide placed in Script Pipeline's Screenwriting Competition, and her short film Dragonfly placed in the top 5 of Film Pipeline's Shorts Competition.

There have been films and documentaries about the bombing of Tokyo. Haven’t seen anything quite like Dragonfly though, in this style and from this perspective.

Why was it important for you to touch upon the subject?

When I was in my early-twenties, I interviewed my parents. At some point in the interview, I asked my mom if she knew anything about what her own parents (my maternal grandparents) experienced during the war—what we call WWII. My mom stated something along the lines of, “They were living in Tokyo, but there was a big fire, so they had to move back to the family farm.” I didn’t explore the subject further for several years. But when I finally did, it was me, typing into Google, “Big fire, Tokyo, 1940s?” And that’s when I first heard about the Tokyo Firebombing of March 9-10, 1945. In fact, that was the first time I had ever heard about any firebombings in Japan during WWII. I had been taught about the atomic bombings or Hiroshima and Nagasaki in school, but that was it. So it was important for me to touch on the subject, 1) Because I was shocked I had never heard of these firebombings and felt it might be a part of history—like many parts of history—that was too quickly being erased and forgotten, and 2) Because I felt like this story was a way to pay homage to or, perhaps, connect with my maternal grandparents whom I never met.

This 2D animation style, to me, fit the film beautifully. That juxtaposition of the horrors of the bombing and this innocent sort of look and feel. Assuming that was intentional? How did the animation come together, in finding an animator and writing with budget in mind. I’m seeing a lot more screenwriters trying to get animated projects off the ground, so any tips for them?

Everything was intentional, but not always from a purely creative perspective. The choice of animation style came from both a visual and tonal choice, as well as a budgetary one. I knew going into this project that my budget was going to be low. I ended up financing the film through self funds, crowdfunding, and a couple of EPs who came on later in the process and who were already friends of mine.

Going in, I knew my biggest visual and tonal inspiration was going to be Miyazaki—specifically My Neighbor Totoro, which is set in the 1950s Japanese countryside. This aesthetic and other similar comps were included in the pitch deck that I sent out to department heads while hiring, including potential animators. I interviewed several animation directors and invited three of them to create some concept art for the film, to see who might be the best fit in terms of style and aesthetic.

Our Animation Director, Maria Marta Linero, was one of those animators and we ultimately chose to work together. She brought on her partner, Eva Benitez, from their company, Roly Poly Animation, and the majority of the film was animated by this two-women powerhouse of a team. Eva was the lead animator, while Maria, as the Animation Director, created the storyboard animatic, all the concept and character art, the environments, and handled all the animation post-production. The team worked on a very low budget, I think because this was their first narrative short film and because they loved the story. I would not choose to do another animated project on such a low budget again because I am painfully aware that most of the team was woefully underpaid.

As such, my biggest piece of advice for screenwriters looking to get animated projects off the ground is to 1) Learn animation yourself, if you haven’t already— learning how to do stop-motion animation is now something on my personal bucket list, and/or 2) Allow your project to have the budget it needs, even if it is still a “low-budget” film by industry standards. I’d also suggest keeping it as short as the story will allow; kill your darlings. I look back at the script for Dragonfly sometimes, and I’m like, “Oof.” I think cuts could have been made, and there was quite a bit of adapting during the animation process to keep it as short as possible.

We had talked before about preserving oral history from those who lived through certain events firsthand, in a documentary sense. Do you feel like the urgency of that is dying? To you, how significant is putting history into a digestible form? And along those lines, what is ultimately more easily impactful in this current landscape: documentary or narrative?

I actually feel like the urgency of preserving oral history, particularly documenting lived experience, is increasing. Or perhaps I’m just surrounded by those communities and peers more so than I have been before in my life. With media so accessible to the general public today, it’s becoming the norm to document everything. Just think about how many videos we see on social media each day of someone’s meal, or someone’s partner coming home from work, or someone in line at the store. With so many people having access to something like an iPhone, I think it’s becoming more of a thing for the younger generation to be like, “Oh, maybe I should ask mom and dad or grandma and grandpa some questions and record it on my phone.”

Now, whether or not this type of video and/or audio documentation still has a growing urgency in the mainstream, or beyond social media, I don’t know. I think we’re living in a world and time where half the days we’re emotionally motivated to learn and act, and then half the days we just want to check out and scroll through cute animal videos.

I don’t love the idea of making history more “digestible” because I think it can too easily cross the line into “sugarcoating” or even editing history—editing the truth. But I do think there’s a higher risk of losing your audience if something is too hard to watch. I think we need both, and everything in between, because if the point is to share these stories with as many people as possible and to enact change, then we need to accept that each person is going to have a different taste or preference or emotional capacity for how they ingest stories and the truth. I honestly don’t have any legitimate insight into whether documentary or narrative is more easily impactful, but similarly, we need both if we want to get to the widest audience. Narrative might have a better chance in the mainstream and in pop culture, but documentary is what we get shown in school (at least it was when I was a kid), so I say, let’s keep doing it all.

Besides Dragonfly making the finals of Film Pipeline, your script Something About the Tide, a coming-of-age dramedy, placed in Script Pipeline as well. A very different project, but one that also felt personal—and one you’re looking to produce.

For the many writers out there with similar lower-budget dramas, where would you advise they start in pulling together all the pieces. Producers, talent, financiers, etc.? For someone going in cold, they need to find those relationships, but how?

For me and Something About the Tide, specifically, it started with a script. I wanted an awesome writing sample. And then I entered it in a lot of contests and tried going the route where it gets shared with industry professionals, so that maybe the script would get optioned and/or maybe I could land some representation. And then, because the story is so personal, I just realized that I really just wanted to produce the film myself. But, you know, ideally with a team of more experienced producers and folks with better connections in the industry than me.

So for other screenwriters, I’d say, finding a producer is first. If you’re not also a director, then attaching a director is next. Some of it is longer-term relationship building, some of it is going out on a limb and making cold calls. Our lead producer, Ashley Song, is one of the first people I connected with when moving from Los Angeles to Portland during the pandemic. She co-owns a studio up here, and she has more producing experience than me. After the screenplay won a small development grant through a program that her studio was running, I asked her to come on board as a producer, and she said, “Yes.”

Our director, Desdemona Chiang, was a cold email that I happened to send at the right time. Des has decades of experience directing for theatre and transitioned into film and TV during the pandemic. She’s looking to build her credits and experience in film, and I happened to reach out to her during that little pocket where she was making that career transition. Our casting director, Karyn Casl, is a friend of Des’ and attended our live pitch at Tribeca in 2024. She loved our pitch, but likely came on board more so because of Des. She happened to know the lead male actor we wanted to attach personally already. And so on and so forth.

Financing … well, we’re still working on that, and what we do have I can’t speak publicly on yet. But so far, it’s been a combination of equity investors, grants, and utilizing our state’s film incentives. Most relationships I’ve built have been built through working on other projects. I’m an introvert—yes, I’ve made connections with people by meeting them at film festivals and events, but the people I typically actually work with are people I’ve met in a professional environment, like on another project or in a class or at a lab/fellowship.

How has being an actress informed your writing, or how you approach certain projects, indie or otherwise?

I would say that my background as an actor has forced me to read a lot and a lot and a lot of scripts. And sometimes not even a full script, but scenes and sides and excerpts. You learn a lot about screenwriting just by reading scripts—and especially by reading them aloud. Every time an actor gets an audition, we have to break down the script (or at least the scene we’ve been provided). So we get really good at script analysis–every punctuation mark, the difference between delivering a period versus a comma or an em-dash versus an ellipses. And we often have to create our own backstory. I’ve written dozens and dozens of character autobiographies for roles, often more than the writer had written for that particular character. I would recommend that all screenwriters and directors take an acting class—a scene study class, specifically.

Listen, I’m not an established enough actor to be choosy about my gigs (although I would argue that I should allow myself to be more choosy regardless), but I think when you’ve worked across various mediums and budget levels, it’s important to adapt. One thing that being an actor has helped me in terms of approaching projects is in regards to pay. I worked for many years for no pay as an actor, because I was building my resume and my reel, or whatever. Now as I’ve focused more on writing and producing, I’m making those same sacrifices to build my credits. But I have a wiser perspective about it. I say “no” way more than I did 20 years ago. I have much better boundaries.

Big question, so soap box it to your heart’s content … What’s your take on the current indie environment? From getting financing to securing distribution? Where are we at, and where do you see things going?

I honestly don’t have the bandwidth to soapbox it right now. Everyone is telling me—because I’m in the midst of doing it now—it’s near-impossible to get an indie film financed. Screenwriters aren’t selling scripts anymore, they’re getting their scripts optioned for a very low rate. Financiers are not taking risks on indie films, especially if they don’t have a “bankable actor” attached (and “bankable” is not the same as “name,” which is not the same as “recognizable”). Apparently indie filmmakers are getting offered distribution deals of zero dollars. Zero dollars! Like, what?!

I think these shifts (or declines) in the film industry are motivating indie filmmakers to do “crazy” things like self-fund and self-distribute. Easier said than done, but that’s what I’m seeing more and more. Hollywood will probably keep making its $200M blockbusters and sometimes hitting the jackpot and sometimes losing $150M, but I guess they’re OK with that. I don’t think the big guys are really ever going to open their doors to true indie, low-budget film, no matter how many low-budget films win Oscars. So, we’ve just gotta do it ourselves. It’s tough, though. I’m genuinely starting to believe that perseverance is the only difference between “success” and “failure” when you don’t have nepotism or wealth in your hand.

You’ve written in other genres, you’ve published books and short stories. A lot of screenwriters are becoming multi-tool talents. A story that might not fit for one medium might for another.

Was this out of choice or necessity? Is the market evolving in such a way where writers have to consider other mediums, or become genre agnostic within reason? If so, what does that reflect about the industry and audience habits?

For me, I think there are just so many storytelling formats that I love that I’m keen on dipping my toe in everything. Jack of all trades, master of none, perhaps? But I am a huge advocate for adapting your story into a different format as a necessity. You have a feature screenplay for a deeply personal story that you’re still passionate about after 10 years? Yes, yes! Adapt that thing into an audio drama that you can self-produce and self-distribute. Or turn it into a novel that you can self-publish.

And yes, I do think writers and filmmakers and artists need to be open to adapting into other roles and mediums and genres in today’s industry. But I honestly don’t know if that’s specific to the entertainment industry. I don’t think it has anything to do with the audience. I mean, I know software engineers who became experts at some coding system I can’t name and that system became obsolete seemingly overnight. I know writers who are college professors, insurance agents who drive Uber. I think it’s all part of a much larger conversation about, well, capitalism.

Must answer without a second of thought, gut reactions only: what’s your favorite—not the best, but your favorite—animated film of all time?

Spirited Away.

Welcome to our new "Dear Max" column, where writers can (anonymously) ask questions of a top editor from one of the "Big 5" publishing houses.

To learn more about Max and how to submit a question, read here.

Miss Max,

I would like to offer my advice on your sourdough starter; mine is kickin'!

I would also like to ask a question. Do agents not like to represent writers with no credentials? Why is my talent not enough?

~ Undaunted Debut

Dear Undaunted,

I’ve got a friend making cookies from her 200+-year-old starter, and yet my brand-new one languishes. I’ll never meet the Highlander this way, so any tips are welcome!

Being a debut author is wonderful and scary, because you only get one chance to make that first impression.

In my experience, agents love debut authors. It’s refreshing and exciting to deal with someone with a completely blank slate. Agents love discovering new voices, and are honestly relieved to not have to explain (or excuse) a low sales track, why there’s a 10-year gap between books, or why a publisher didn’t pick up the author’s next book. Editors are equally thrilled because they all want to be the person to spot the next big thing.

With a debut author, the work usually speaks for itself—unlike the baggage an established author brings with them. Your bio at this point is only a value-add. Your credential is that you wrote a whole entire book, congratulations! That makes you a professional writer! It’s great if you’ve got other qualifications (MFA, other publication credits—even short stories or NF articles), and even better if you’ve got a slew of followers on social media, but these are only secondary to the quality of your manuscript.

There are a bunch of agents out there looking just for debut work like yours. Maybe give a newer agent a chance, and you can grow together!

~ Max

Max:

I have a literary nonfiction manuscript—a memoir centered on rebuilding after severe disability—that was runner-up for the AWP Sue William Silverman Prize and has received an endorsement from Cheryl Strayed, among other award-winning authors. Despite that, I’m getting little traction with agents and publishers.

From your perspective as an editor, what are the most common reasons a project like this still fails to gain representation? How can a writer determine what the issue is?

Much thanks!

~ Prizes and Prejudice

Dear Prizes and Prejudice,

First, hey, that’s amazing, congratulations on the prize and endorsements! Also, love seeing disability representation in fiction and non-fiction, so thank you for putting your voice out there.

Without knowing the details, I have the sense that what you’ve written clearly resonates, but may be a rather niche topic. I’m wondering if you’re querying the right agents. All non-fiction agents are not made the same, and I definitely have seen some out there looking specifically for disability-themed topics.

You may be casting your net too wide, remember you want to attract the one right fish rather than lure in 100 that won’t end up biting. Here’s a resource you may want to try (note: I haven’t vetted it, so caveat emptor).

~ Max

Max,

Is it possible to self publish a YA book or children’s book and still attract a literary agent/publisher?

~ Young and Alone

Dear Young and Alone,

Absolutely! Have you not noticed how many of the big bestsellers coming from Big 5 publishers are re-releases of self-published successes? Particularly in the YA field (also: dark fantasy, dark romance … anything “dark”).

If your self-published work does well you can always sell various rights, even after you’ve published it (audio, print, ebook … generally, they’ll be knocking down your door). But also having a self-published book out there that works makes your next title extremely attractive to agents and publishers. However, that means your self-published work has to be a success.

You have to be strategic about it. You can’t just put whatever you finish on Amazon and let that speak for you. You have to do all the hard work of promoting and marketing all by your lonesome to make sure it gets in front of readers.

For it to be a “success” in these terms usually means something recent (last 2 years) that has maybe 1,000 reviews, and a solid social media presence for you (that shows me that you’ve got a built-in readership).

If your work wasn’t the resounding success you’d hoped, I’d actually take it down. There are a lot of reasons—life intervened, and you didn’t have the opportunity to market it—things happen. But, unfortunately, that’s only going to hurt your brand.

Better to erase it and start from scratch than have a faux pas follow you for your career.

Anyway, self-publishing well is a badge of courage, plus, bunches of agents are specializing in self-published authors these days, so find one of those and get some advice on what to do next!

~ Max

Have a question for Max?
Email questions to info@pipelineartists.com. Please use "Question for Dear Max" in your subject line.

A creative partnership, like any marriage, can have its moments of bliss and, at other times, be a battlefield. Even the strongest creative partnerships hit rough patches. In fact, any successful project you've encountered has likely overcome at least one major creative dispute.

Remember, as in any relationship, you are two distinct individuals. Yes, initial attraction is usually based on shared interests, but it’s the differences that often provide a refreshing sense of balance. Since every individual possesses a unique vision and creative perspective, a complete and perfect alignment of ideas is rare.

Conflict should not be mistaken for dysfunction. When rooted in mutual trust and respect, it’s often a healthy indicator of investment and care in a project. While some conflicts turn into nasty power struggles, disagreements within solid relationships can be constructive.

In a previous article, I discussed the foundations of the writer-producer relationship. As that relationship matures, it will ultimately be tested. Like any long-term partnership, the writer-producer relationship isn’t defined by whether conflict exists, but how it’s handled and resolved.

Why Conflict is Normal (And Even Healthy)

If you and your collaborator agree on everything, that’s probably not a good sign.

The core reason conflict is so common in writer-producer relationships comes down to something pretty fundamental: you’re both wired differently, and that’s by design.

Writers are, at their core, chasing emotional truth with their stories. They’re asking: Will the audience feel something? Am I telling the best story possible? Are my characters going through full arcs?

Producers, on the other hand, are holding about fifteen other balls in the air at the same time—budget constraints, market viability, casting realities, and whether the whole thing is actually going to get made.

Neither perspective is wrong. In fact, you need both.

The key distinction to keep in mind is between productive tension and destructive conflict.

Productive tension sounds like “I hear what you’re saying, but I think there’s a stronger version of this—let me show you.”

Destructive conflict sounds like two people talking past each other for over an hour until someone storms off.

One pushes the project forward. The other just pushes people away.

The goal was never to have a conflict-free partnership. The goal is to have a functional one—and knowing the difference is half the battle!

The Major Conflict Zones

Ok, so we’ve established that conflict is healthy.

But let’s be real—not all creative disagreements are created equal.

Some can be quick speed bumps while others are full-on roadblocks. Knowing where the most common flashpoints occur means you can spot them early, approach them with a cooler head, and resolve them before they fully derail the entire project.

Here are some of the big ones of note:

Plot and Story Direction

This is probably the most common battleground, and it’s easy to understand why. The writer has spent weeks, months, sometimes years living inside a story. They know exactly why the protagonist has to make that choice in Act Two, why the major plot twist needs to land precisely as it does, and why changing the ending would unravel everything that came before.

Meanwhile, the producer is getting notes from the financier or studio, who think the ending is “too dark to market to a wide audience,” or that research suggests a different direction would perform better for a particular demographic.

Cue the standoff.

The “but that’s not what this story needs!” vs. “but that’s not what the audience wants!” tension is one of the oldest debates in Hollywood, and it ain’t going away anytime soon. The truth, inconveniently, usually lives somewhere in the middle.

Character Arcs

Writers are fiercely, often irrationally, protective of their characters, believing their unique understanding is unmatched.

So, when a producer comes in and says, “Can we make her a little more likable?” or “Do we really need him to fail this badly?” or worst of all, “The studio wants to age the character up by ten years”—it can feel like a personal attack.

The tension here lives right at the intersection of artistic integrity and commercial appeal. A producer isn’t always wrong to flag that a character feels alienating or uncastable. But a writer isn’t always wrong to push back when those notes start to sand off everything that made the character interesting in the first place.

This one requires a lot of listening on both sides, along with a clear, shared understanding of who these characters are at their core.

Tone and Overall Creative Direction

Here’s a sneaky one.

Plot disagreements are easy to point to. Character disputes have a focal point.

But tone?

Tone is harder to pin down, which is exactly what makes it so tricky to resolve.

Is this a dark psychological thriller or a prestige drama with thriller elements? Is this a comedy with heart or a drama with jokes? Is the overall feeling of this world gritty and grounded, or heightened and stylized?

These are questions that should get answered in the first meeting. Still, they have a funny habit of resurfacing again and again throughout production and usually at the worst possible moments.

Tone conflicts are often less obvious than you might expect. They often show up disguised as a note about a single scene feeling “off,” a disagreement about a music choice, or a debate about a costume that seems wildly out of proportion to what’s actually being argued about.

Nine times out of ten, if you find yourself in a circular argument about something that feels minor, there’s a bigger tonal disagreement lurking underneath it.

The Business vs. the Art

And then there’s this big one that quietly underpins almost every other disagreement on the list.

Budgets are real. Schedules are real. Audience expectations are real.

A producer's role is to constantly balance the various realities of a project, which inevitably requires making creative decisions that can be deeply frustrating for a writer. This could include cutting an expensive location, scaling back an ambitious set piece, or incorporating a studio note that misses the core story.

The perceived conflict between business and art is a shallow cliche. Producers focused on the quality of the project are essential to a story’s creation, and writers who question poor feedback are simply being professional, not difficult. Real conflict arises when one side completely dismisses the other’s point of view.

Somewhere in almost every project is a moment where the business reality and the artistic vision find a way to coexist—and usually, it makes the work stronger than it would have been with unlimited resources and zero constraints.

So, How Do You Fix It?

Okay, you’re in the middle of a creative disagreement. Tensions are high. Both of you are convinced you’re right. And the deadline isn’t getting any further away.

What do you actually do?

None of it is magic, and all of it requires both parties to show up with at least a baseline willingness to work it out. Here are a few tried-and-true strategies that have a proven track record.

And they work a lot better than the alternative.

Get Back to the North Star

When things get heated, the single most effective reset button is returning to the original creative vision you both agreed on from the start.

Not your version of it. Not their version of it. The shared version. The one that got you both excited enough to work together in the first place.

Ask the question out loud: “Does this decision serve the story we both said we wanted to tell?”

It sounds almost too simple, but it’s remarkably effective at cutting through the noise. Suddenly, the argument isn’t about who’s right. Instead, it’s about whether a specific choice is serving a shared goal.

That’s a much more productive conversation to be having!

Separate the Idea from the Ego

This one is easier said than done, yet it might be the single most important skill in any long-term creative partnership. When someone pushes back on your idea, it doesn’t mean they’re pushing back on you.

And when you’re the one doing the pushing back, it’s worth asking yourself honestly: am I objecting because this is genuinely wrong for the project, or because it wasn’t my idea?

The goal of the partnership was never to win arguments. It was to make something great. The moment you can genuinely internalize that, the whole dynamic shifts.

The “Yes, And” Approach

If you’ve ever taken an improv class, you’re already very familiar with this one. The foundational rule of improv is that you never shut down your scene partner’s idea. You accept it and build on it.

Yes, and.

It keeps the energy moving forward instead of slamming into a wall.

Applied to creative conflict, this means resisting the urge to immediately reject an idea that doesn't sit right with you. Instead, follow it for a minute. Say yes to the kernel of it and see where it leads you. You might find that the instinct behind the idea was actually sound, even if the execution wasn’t quite there yet.

And if you still don't like where it goes? Now you have a much more specific, constructive reason why, which is a lot more useful than a flat "no."

Knowing When to Walk Away

For all the talk of productive tension and resolution strategies, there's an honest conversation that needs to happen here too: sometimes a creative partnership genuinely isn't working, and no amount of conversations or third-party mediators will fix it.

That's hard to admit, especially when you're in the middle of a project you care about. But the reality is that not every collaboration goes the distance. Recognizing this early enough to do something about it gracefully is a professional skill in itself.

The warning signs usually aren't subtle once you know what you're looking for. A clear indicator is when every single creative discussion feels like a conflict, especially if one person consistently feels dismissed, overridden, or undervalued. If your core visions for the project have become so drastically different that you are pursuing two separate outcomes, the fundamental issues are apparent. If the trust is gone, you’ll know; take these signals seriously.

The way you handle a creative split matters well beyond a single project. Remember, relationships and reputation are key factors in the entertainment industry, and boy, does it have a long memory.

Parting ways respectfully is a strategic necessity. Instead of resorting to scorched-earth tactics, do your best to end your partnership with honesty and mutual respect.

It’s simply smart business.

The person you’re separating from today could easily become a future collaborator, employer, or key decision-maker you’ll need to work with again in the future.

What a graceful exit actually looks like in practice: clear communication about why it isn't working, honoring whatever contractual and creative obligations exist, and resisting the very human urge to relitigate every grievance on the way out the door.

It's not always easy.

It's almost always worth it.

The Best Partnerships Are Built, Not Born

Here’s what all of this really comes down to: there is no such thing as a great creative partnership that didn’t have to work at it.

The writer-producer relationships that produce the best work aren't the ones where everything came easily. They're the ones where two people cared enough about the project to fight for it, cared enough about each other to fight fairly, and had the humility to recognize that what came out of the friction was better than what either of them would have made alone.

Conflict isn't a detour on the road to great work. For the most successful creative teams in the industry, it is an essential part of that journey.

Whether you're a seasoned producer who's been through this rodeo more times than you can count, or a writer stepping into your first real creative partnership and wondering why it's suddenly so complicated, the fundamentals are the same.

Know your north star. Respect the other person's role. Fight for the work, not for the win. And when things get hard, which they will, resist the urge to make it personal.

The best creative partnerships are built conversation by conversation, compromise by compromise, and yes, argument by argument. They're not perfect. But then again, neither is anything worth making.

*Feature image by fran_kie (Adobe)

Join our free Symposium, "Proven Framework for Successful Collaboration" with Rea Frey and Lauren Nossett.

As a film critic, optioned screenwriter, let alone an avid film fan since the 70s, I’m frequently asked what I miss the most in movies these days. In a word?

Pacing.

Call it fallout from MTV, Michael Bay, or TikTok, but most films simply move too fast, are edited almost frenetically, and barely take the time to breathe as they tell their story. And whatever the genre, the sense of ebb and flow, fast and slow, indeed the speed and rhythm at which the story unfolds, is today told in far too rushed a manner. It feels like the determination of how quickly or slowly scenes, actions, and information are delivered to the audience are being done by someone with ADHD rather than an experienced screenwriter, director, or editor.

Frankly, such over-energized pacing is ruining storytelling. It creates bad habits in viewers, too. They all want it fast and easy now. Audiences want to be told the plot idea within a movie three, four times now to make sure they get what’s occurring, as Matt Damon recently grumbled.

Dazzle us with technique and whiz-bang theatrics. Why show one big-ass chase or fight scene, when you can show five? Energy levels feel supersized too in all such ventures as well, and it makes for movies that are overstuffed with bluster and bombast rather than well-thought-out plots, richer characterizations, and greater substance.

In the recent Wuthering Heights remake, starring Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi, the characterizations are noisy, the production design is all dialed up to an 11, and even the lust from the two seems based on crashing into each other in rainstorms and windy gusts rather than two people ripping bodices.

But what’s a screenwriter to do when pitching to studio execs who fear that any subtlety will be lost on an increasingly distracted audience?

I remember pitching a horror movie executive once on a vampire script I’d written, and before I got done rattling off my logline, he’d interrupted me to ask if there was bloodletting on every page. I said no, and he started to shut me down because that’s what he was after. I asked him how blood on every page without ebb and flow could last for 90 minutes without seeming ludicrous. He didn’t care about it making sense, he just wanted non-stop, edge of your seat plasma splashing everywhere. I even asked him for an example of such, and he volunteered Saw. I told him the first film was quite subtle in its violence and bloodletting, opting for building its chills via the dread of death, not actual death. I opined that such is always more terrifying than mere gore even if Tom Savani is providing the effects.

He didn’t know who Savani was and our conversation ended right there.

And if it’s not blood on every page, it’s action every 10 minutes. If it’s not the elimination of relaxed transitioning to keep people on edge with smash cuts, it’s eliminating titles or anything else that reads as a lull. Too much plot, too many characters, too much score, hell, that makes a film special, right? No, it doesn’t. It mostly makes a film noisy, but try telling that to the powers that be that think CGI is the greatest thing since Marilyn Monroe’s bosom, or that A.I. can create the next Jennifer Lawrence, and the world will show up to watch such pseudo-animation. (“They did it for Avatar, didn’t they?” they’ll harangue.) And dammit, if people don’t know how to pay attention anymore and need a steady stream of shiny objects like a cat, then we’ll meet them where they are and make it easy for them to go from one jolt to the next.

Is that any way to make a film? And yet, we’re circling in on such as norms.

I suppose we all should recognize this faster, bigger, brasher world as it has been with us for some time now. I remember when I was a kid in the 1970s being told that the computer would make life so much easier that we’d soon be enjoying a “leisure society.” It would be one with four-hour work weeks and tons of down time for hobbies since workloads would be diminished by technology. (In fifth grade, I wondered if machines would soon start brushing my teeth like George Jetson on his cartoon program.)

But ultimately, the exact opposite happened. Technology saved time, sure, but companies got greedy, thinking that they didn’t need so many employees because of computers, so they cut the work force and soon, every employee was doing the work of two while computers added to their workload by helping open new doors of consideration regarding marketing territories, global reach, broader audiences, etc.

Today, almost everyone working in corporate America is doing the work of three employees. So much for leisure, right?

And from there, the race never stopped. Pacing was left in the dust. The demand for productivity sped up even more. Global marketing became the goal of everyone. 24/7 access became a necessity. The Internet taught us to click and digest everything in byte-sized pieces. 400 TV channels became the standard versus the four of early television. The FCC allowed commercials to be cut from the standard 60 seconds to 30 seconds, so audiences were inundated with twice the shill. And TV shows went from 26 minutes of content in a 30-minute pod in the 1970s to 22 minutes of content in the 1980s to make room for more commercials.

We were under siege and we didn’t fully realize it.

By the time MTV turned songs into mini films, we were all brushing up against ADHD. Televised sports went manic, throwing all kinds of graphics, stats, color, and bombast at viewers to avoid any lulls in the action. News followed suit with Fox News breathlessly making every hour one that was chock full of breaking stories, loud opining, and arguments de rigeur. (Paddy Chayefsky sure saw that coming, didn’t he?) Commercials were tested and those that mentioned the product name the most got the best recall scores. Movie trailers gave up two-thirds of the film away to lure audiences in by showing “the best parts.” And studio readers and screenplay contests told us our scripts better be grabbers a mere five pages into our story or it would end up on the dismissed heap.

This is exactly how pacing in storytelling died. It was a funeral foretold for decades.

By the time Michael Bay left the world of directing breakneck commercials to direct breakneck action pictures, the dye was cast. Quick cuts. Cameras constantly moving. Stories cutting out exposition. Dialogue being shortened to a few sentences. (Sylvester Stallone once mused that the perfect screenplay would have one word in it. Hey, Sly, was that word, “Yo”?) All these trends became increasingly the norm of action and started to infiltrate other genres as well. Soon, tiresome tricks were employed to keep audiences engaged. One of the worst tropes ever is now standard issue from films to TV miniseries to the average episode of NCIS. Start with a dramatic scene from the middle story to grab that audience. Such front-loading of the form is a cheap and often misrepresenting ploy, but hot damn if it doesn’t do the trick most every time for a gullible audience.

Can you imagine if a smart and elegant thriller like 1975’s Three Days of the Condor was made today? The original film from director Sydney Pollack had a modest, steady tension to it, punctuated by brilliant moments of incredible danger and even death. But could a thriller take almost 15 minutes to introduce its first set-piece today? Doubtful. But that was the case in Condor, as Robert Redford’s CIA wonk did a lunch run and missed all his literary brownstone colleagues getting gunned down by professional assassins. Today, most directors or writers, certainly executives, would want the film to start with that slaughter and then flashback to how we got there.

Interestingly, with Redford’s passing in September of 2025, I revisited Condor and was even more impressed by its discipline and refusal to ever go off the rails. It’s a conspiracy thriller, sure, but it’s cool, steady one; one that builds character via time and pacing, including showing them literally thinking for many seconds at a time taking up valuable screen time.

Such thoughtfulness applies to Redford’s hero Joe Turner, as well as his nemesis Joubert (a hit man played with so much Zen by Max von Sydow, he could have his own ASMR channel.) Both are thoughtful, cautious men; the kind who think before acting. And having such intellectual characteristics forces both to turn their cat-and-mouse game into something more akin to chess.

Would such character building, intellectual gamesmanship, and a cool, deliberate pace pass muster in the thriller world today? Could Redford, one of our greatest actors, even have such a career as he had given that his reactive style of acting is hardly the norm in these noisy times?

Probably not. After all, taking one’s time just isn’t the acceptable anymore, nor is vulnerability of characters, let alone someone who fears handling a gun. Let’s hope Hollywood never remakes Three Days of the Condor. They’ll ruin it.

Stakes are so diminished these days as well. Where are genuine stakes when a superhero cannot be defeated? (I’m taking to you, MCU and DC.) Where are the stakes in any franchise character who will always live to fight another day? (It’s why the first John Wick is the only one that really worked thoroughly.) And when the stakes aren’t about saving the world, but merely about falling in love or building a friendship, is it any wonder that filmed rom-coms and movie comedies have all but died on the vine?

There is hope though.

For starters, my editors at Pipeline recognized pacing as a growing problem in the film world and encouraged me to write this article. Additionally, evidence has shown that cineplex audiences are feeling the fatigue from over-inflated, over-hyped, and hyper-active tentpoles, and once again, craving something far more grounded, original, and not another sequels or reboot. Formula has never been less attractive. That’s why Barbie, Oppenheimer, Everything Everywhere All at Once, Sinners, and One Battle After Another have made such an impression on moviegoers worldwide and gotten them back into the theaters. They’re big movies, of course, but they felt vital, substantive, and even unpredictable. They had pacing too; not every scene was dialed up to 11.

What also is an encouraging for narratives slowing down and telling their stories with more deliberation is the uptick in media lawsuits. Yes, legal actions are filing fast and furious against social media companies for their brazen attempts to manipulate algorithms to keep audience attention spans addicted to the rapid-fire diets offered on the likes of Meta and TikTok. Reels, short form videos, and truncated storytelling may make for great click bait, faster income based on shorter run times, and lots of likes leading to breakout stars, but such material is getting thin and becoming societally problematic. Teenagers have become addicted to such forms of info, not to mention anxiety-laden, depressed, with atrophying bodies far beyond their years. Face it, we’re all being manipulated like rodents on a wheel. Over 40 states have filed lawsuits against Meta alone alleging that its platforms are designed to deliberately addict children.

Perhaps this gives all those in the entertainment field a genuine opportunity to reassess their work, their audiences, and better ways to connect. A good story, well told, with proper pacing, seems like a natural way to engage audiences, but that takes talent, will, and expertise. It isn’t the low-hanging fruit that an algorithm can deliver. And if A.I. is going to be a useful and respected tool, let’s make sure its primary purpose isn’t to put people out of work or let algorithms turn them into Pavlov’s dog. Let’s use A.I. to find information faster, determine strategies that help the world more thoroughly, and build safer systems for touching people’s lives without abusing the privilege. And let’s do it at a pace that makes A.I. a good story as well, not the villain it’s become to most people these past years.

It reminds me of the words of wisdom from my late, great grandmother, “Slow down and don’t eat so fast. You want to enjoy your food. And that starts with actually tasting it.”

*Featured image created by Jeffrey York

POP QUIZ TIME!!

Hey, stop! You can’t click away! It’s against the rules. By opening this article you unknowingly signed the Pipeline Artists terms of service and are now contractually obligated to take this test.

Yes, I’m serious. Don’t make me call a lawyer.

Anyway, fear not, because the test is easy: you only have to answer a single question …

What is the most undervalued screenwriting skill?

Don’t worry, this isn’t a timed test. Go on, take all the time you need to think about it. I’ll wait.

("JEOPARDY!" MUSIC PLAYS … RIP MY MAN ALEX TREBEK)

Did you answer plotting? If you did, that’s wrong. I would hazard to say that’s overvalued, actually.

What’s your next guess? Crafting great characters? Thematic implementation? Both wrong. Which actually pains me to say, because I love a good theme.

No, I’d reckon that the most under-appreciated skill a screenwriter can have is space management. Which will probably surprise all of you, given that I literally never hear anyone talk about this.

Any creative endeavor needs to be cognizant about time. People’s lives are busier than ever, and our attention spans are constantly strained. Things that require less commitment are often viewed as easier asks. And this applies doubly as much when working in a medium with a hard page count (like screenwriting). You can’t go over 120 pages in a document (caveat—sure, technically you can, but technically you can also go outside right now and eat a clump of dirt for dinner. Both are things I wouldn’t recommend).

The point is, being efficient with your page count is a very good thing. Because the first thing every single reader does is check how long a PDF is. And the shorter your script is, the faster it’s getting read. Period.

What makes this hard, though, is script format. Frankly, this thing sucks for writers. The blank spaces, the margins, the indents … A simple scene with just two characters talking can easily become 10+ pages if you aren’t careful. And in a 100-page script, that’s 10% of your total runtime! Egads!

This is why I want you all to become a master. Not just of storytelling, but of script format. You need to learn how this darn thing works to make it work for you … not against you. And today, I’m going to share a few tricks I’ve found that can really make an impact by the time you write FIN.

Let’s start off with a basic sin I see writers make all the time …

KILL YOUR WIDOWS

In writing, a widow is a single word that hangs over the edge of a sentence creating a whole new line. In practice, they look something like this:

You see that? That stupid little word I circled in red?

Yeah, we hate that loser. He’s awful. The literal worst. Why? Because he blocks us from using all of this beautiful space (see below)!

You know what this area I’ve highlighted in yellow is? A waste. You’re losing almost an entire line that you could be filling with words and instead putting nothing there. That’s hella inefficient.

So, we’re gonna fix that. How? It’s easy, just look at this…

Look! We killed the widow! Hooray!

But … How did that happen? Take another look to confirm.

We cut a single character from the sentence.

Not an entire word. Heck, we didn’t change the meaning of the sentence at all.

We cut one single measly keystroke. And in return, we got a whole line of text back to work with.

That’s … a crazy good trade. Almost as good as the Yankees getting Babe Ruth for $100,000.

We took “is not” (6 keystrokes, when counting the space bar) and instead wrote “ain’t” (5 keystrokes) and got a whole line back.

“But Spike!” you cry, “Ain’t ain’t a word!”

… And? Your point is … what, exactly? It serves the exact same purpose in the story, and would you like to guess how many scripts I have passed on in my life because they used the word “ain’t?”

Exactly zero. None. Zilch.

Trust me, it’s fine.

Anyway, let’s move on to another little tip I absolutely love implementing …

YOU CAN (SPARINGLY) BEND THE RULES WITH PUNCTUATION

I almost intentionally mis-punctuated that sentence, but I’m sure my editors will have none of that.

But, no, seriously. You can do the same thing with periods, too. Take this bad boy as an example:

We have the same problem as last time. There’s an ugly old widow falling under our beautiful sentence. But this time, there’s no easy character to cut. We don’t have a word to contract or switch around to buy us that necessary space.

… Or do we? Because I can actually fix this whole thing by just doing this …

How’d I do that? The wordage of the sentence is exactly the same, but somehow, I still killed the widow?

Have you noticed it yet?

I took off the period at the end of the sentence.

GASP!! But you can’t do that!! That’s … that’s … UNGRAMMATICAL!!!!!!!!!

Why not? I just did. And it saved me a whole line. And again, I’ll repeat myself … You wanna guess how many scripts in my life (15 years of reading for agencies, production companies, networks, and contests) I’ve passed on a screenplay because it skipped a period?

Zero. None. Zilch.

At the end of the day, getting that line back is more valuable than one measly period. So, go ahead and kill it off! I give you permission. You can really do it.

There are a few caveats to mention with this:

1) You can only do this when a line is ended at the edge of a page and nothing comes after it. If you need to have a clear sentence with something else following it, then yeah, you’ll need a period.

2) You don’t ever want to reduce clarity in exchange for page count. I’m not saying never use periods, especially in larger paragraphs. I’m saying if you don’t need a period to understand “okay this is clearly a stand-alone sentence” then it might make sense to cut it.

Anyway, moving on … The next one is short, but it’s often overlooked (and don’t worry … this is totally within the rules):

USE DOUBLE DIALOGUE WHEN OVERLAP IS REAL

Technically double dialogue is only supposed to be used when two characters are talking over each other. Yes, you don’t want to use this too much.

But I also read tons of scripts that COULD use this function and very rarely do. If you’re unfamiliar, double dialogue looks like this:

In this script I wrote a few years ago, I wanted the sound of the self-checkout registers to be overwhelming. To come in quick succession and bombard the reader for thematic impact.

I also wanted to be space efficient, because horror movies in particular are best when they’re short—I saved at least four lines by double-dialoguing them at the end of this scene. It achieved both goals, and I was very happy with the result.

Again, this is not a trick I would overload your script with. You don’t want to do this too much.

But if you have a scene where characters are fighting and they legit would be talking over each other, why not gain some all-important space back at the same time? In my mind, it’s worth it.

I’ve got one final topic to cover, and this is a biggie. Honestly one of my personal pet-peeves:

AVOID BIG DEAD ZONES IN YOUR WRITING

This almost always occurs at the end of a page, when a scene heading starts off the next one. This is, sadly, just the way scene headings work.

Script format is NOT user friendly. There are a ton of very annoying aspects to it. And in many, many instances, it fights with you. Just like it’s doing here:

This image captures the bottom of one page and the top of another. And because of the way it’s currently written, a scene heading falls on the top of a new page.

Because of the way margins work in script format, new scene headings take up the most room. They need a ridiculous amount of space to fit in when compared to action description. Which can lead to massive blocks of space at the end of a page not getting used.

But, if you manipulate your writing a little bit, you can solve this. By just doing this …

You make a killer trade. You just took away one line from the top page, which moved the scene heading up. And in return, you got at least 2 lines back (though it’s more like 2.5 lines with how scene headings are formatted.

That’s a crazy good deal. In baseball terms, that’s called “receiving extreme surplus value.”

And you know what? This is not even the most egregious case I’ve seen. I have seen scripts where it was clear if the writer reworked their writing a smidge, they would get 3 … 4 … maybe even 5 lines back! That’s like sending a bunch of scrubs in exchange for Luka Doncic (shots fired)!!

So please, I beg all of you … Don’t be merely “a writer.” Become a master of screenplay format. Learn how it works. Learn the flaws of the system.

And then learn how to exploit them to your advantage.

Godspeed y’all, and happy writing.

*Feature image by fran_kie (Adobe)

TRIGGER WARNING: This article discusses #MeToo and sexual assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Living in Los Angeles means access to the gorgeous beaches, stellar tacos, and hearing stories about celebrities. Many of these stories range from delightful to hilarious, but a few of them are eyebrow-raising or even horrifying.

Someone you know scored a short for a certain celeb, or helped produce something, or went to one of their infamous parties. Maybe you heard, as this author did, through the grapevine, that one of those famous people was a “sex pest” or a “psychopath.”

And if you lived in Los Angeles or worked in Hollywood when a certain individual was allegedly accused of sexual and/or emotional abuse by several women, it was not shocking to you, because you had heard whispers for ages.

Now imagine our collective shock if a studio announced a new movie, and that the script is being helmed by … that same alleged abuser outed years ago. A person who hasn't worked in Hollywood since he was accused by multiple women of sexual abuse, who has the glorious opportunity to work on a massive franchise film.

Yeah, um … what fucking gives?

This town has had a long, sordid history with sexual abuse and assault. A rape case in the 1920s rocked Tinseltown, with many referring to it as the industry’s first major scandal. Sexual exploitation during the Golden Age of Hollywood, complete with fixers to keep crimes quiet. Then another landmark assault case happened in the 1940s involving a major star. In the 1970s, an accomplished director absconded to Europe after being convicted on charges of sexual assault against a minor. Many more such instances of sexual assault and abuse continued to occur in the entertainment industry. Of course, exposés published by The New York Times and The New Yorker helped lead to the downfall of a major movie mogul and kick off the #MeToo movement, with guys like this, and this guy, and this guy, and many, many, maaaany more.

The list, sadly, goes on, and on, and on.

Plenty of #MeToo dissenters came forward, crying that it had “gone too far.” That the movement was “ruining lives.” And yet, many of these individuals continue to find work. Even if it’s a fall from grace a la Lydia Tar, it’s still work. In fact, another director accused of rape in 2017 is having a Paramount comeback as well, reportedly after (checks notes) the current President of the United States asked for a franchise revival. “Went too far.” Sure, Jan.

Abusers, particularly those with some level of power, tend to use it on vulnerable people to get what they want. Many sexual abusers will use persuasion, manipulation, isolation, deception, and pressure to silence victims. Furthermore, they often have a level of authority, meaning that victims can feel especially powerless to speak out against them. The fact that so many can act with impunity makes victims far less likely to come forward.

So–

Hollywood loves sequels, right? Let’s reboot #MeToo. The sequel takes down even more sexual abusers, assaulters, and harassers. This time the 94% of women who have experienced some form of sexual harassment, or worse, in Hollywood all get their stories told, without fear of castigation or censorship. Victims are righteous, and the bad guys lose. Maybe they pull a Promising Young Woman. Who knows, we’re just spitballin’ here.

But all jokes aside ...

Hollywood cannot continue to allow those called out for abusive behaviors to keep working, lest we perpetuate cycles of abuse forever. When major studios continue to hire known criminals, it creates hostile sets in which no major productions can feel safe and secure to thrive.

It'll end up with boycotts.

Bad press that leads to commercial flops.

It'll prevent fresher talent from getting their foot in the door on new projects that can energize a studio, much like Sinners and Weapons did last year.

Most importantly, it’s gutting to victims, who deserve empathy and justice, not another slap in the face.

We cannot keep hiring the same abusers—alleged or proven in a court of law—to run our town, direct our movies and shows, and be the creative faces of our work. We cannot allow criminal behavior to run rampant without consequence. We have to ensure everyone’s safety and health to keep making great art. That begins with all of us educating ourselves, listening without judgment, and actively calling out these moments to protect ourselves and others.

Furthermore, even if someone's alleged crimes have never been proven in a court of law, why take the risk? We have so many hungry writers, directors, actors, and the like, chomping at the bit to make their mark. This town is lousy with talent.

Why does an industry that has shown itself to be so risk-averse in the last two decades insist on taking on legal, ethical, and moral risk? Just because someone's had previous success does not mean it wipes out their record; rather, hiring an alleged sexual assaulter creates a massive risk for everyone.

Give up-and-coming talent a break (see: our long list of Script Pipeline finalists and winners!) instead of going back to the same tired pool of alleged abusers who create unsafe work environments and legal vulnerabilities for all involved, and you'll find a lot less baggage.

Hiring "the known" will never move Hollywood past the shame and injustice of #MeToo.

*Feature image by JEGAS RA (Adobe)

Who wants access to the brain of a top editor from a "Big 5" publishing house?

You do, that's who. And we're here to provide it.

Meet Maxine "Max" Perkins. Don't bother Googling. It's a pseudonym, which will enable the advice to be as honest as possible. Don't worry. You, too, may remain anonymous. What's fair is fair. We want you to feel totally comfortable asking any and all of those burning questions.

So, who is Max?

"Max" may be a fictional name, but her credentials are very real, even with redactions.

Max is an editor at REDACTED (a “Big 5’ publishing house), and has previously held editorial positions at independent publishing houses and commercial publishers. Among the authors she’s worked with are REDACTED  (The New York Times bestselling author), REDACTED  (another one of those), REDACTED  (author whose TV show adaptation you watch), and REDACTED (author who you don’t know but your mom totally reads). She’s presented workshops across the world, taught writing and publishing at various universities and MFA programs, and written a bunch of things that have been published that you may or may not have read. Hollywood has asked her to consult (but she doesn’t like the weather), she wishes she spoke Esperanto, and can never get her sourdough startup to work. Someday, she and her cat will live on a houseboat, but until then, she’s answering your questions.

How to Submit Questions

Simple. Just email info@pipelineartists.com, and we'll forward your questions to Max. Your questions will be posted under a pseudonym, so don't be shy.

*Please use "Question for Dear Max" in your subject line.

We’ll also be choosing one question a month from our Instagram posts, so make sure you’re following us @pipelineartists.

Then check back here every month for a new article full of expert advice. We can't promise every question will get answered, but we can promise the answers will be delivered with honesty, respect and accuracy.

At Pipeline we have an iron-clad rule: Tell our readers what they need to hear, not necessarily what they want to hear. So, buckle up.

*Feature image by vali_111 (Adobe)

Eric Anthony Glover is writing the heroes we need on television. Compassionate, aspirational, and therefore, inspirational. If you’re into sci-fi, you might’ve caught his credits on the CW’s “Tom Swift” and more recently, Glover is boldly going where a talented few writers have gone before: deep into the lore of “Star Trek” with the franchise’s latest addition to the Trek-verse, “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy.”

He found his way into the “Starfleet” writing room because, “One of my bosses on 'Tom Swift' remembered me fondly enough, and I felt the same way about her. When she got hired as a co-showrunner on 'Starfleet Academy,' she asked me to come along. While I felt that the opportunity was huge, I didn't have a ton of education going into it regarding 'Star Trek' in particular, and thankfully, she was still just as welcoming.”

Glover brushed up on key episodes at his co-showrunner’s direction, along with plenty of help from a Trekkie friend coupled with on-the-job learning. Sure, Glover found that “Sometimes there were slightly rude awakenings about what the show needed from me and how I needed to approach it. But overall, it was a very, very positive experience getting to know this universe.”

That’s the beauty of a writers’ room: every person brings their specialty to the table to create a cohesive, wonderful hour of television for show’s audience to enjoy. Just because someone didn’t grow up adoring the cult phenomenon, doesn’t mean they aren’t welcome now. That’s the beauty inherent to “Star Trek”—inclusion, unity, and compassion are core values.

The Power of Sci-Fi

“Sci-fi has been my bread and butter of entertainment since I was a kid. I grew up reading Goosebumps and Animorphs books. Watching television was just a complete exercise in geekery for me, and I was lucky enough to be able to apply that to my professional life. I've only been in this industry for maybe five or so years, but the two jobs I've had have been sci-fi, so I feel extremely lucky.”

Listening to Glover eloquently articulate why he loves sci-fi turns out to be a solid reason, perhaps, why it’s not only loved by so many—but also needed in our cultural consciousness, as well.

“People have power in sci-fi that they don't tend to have in real life. And often we're looking at conflict through the lens of someone who wants to do good and has the extraordinary ability to actually do good. With superheroes in particular, that's something that appeals to me. But even without them, I mean, the characters that I have written for in “Star Trek” and “Tom Swift” have technology in their hands; inventions, formulas, that allow them to save the day in ways that are cathartic for me in the real world. It takes a lot of hard work to do any good. It takes a lot of progress by inches. But there's a fantasy element to seeing people in extraordinary circumstances respond with extraordinary measures to what isn't right and being able to correct that quickly and entertainingly and bombastically. That's appealed to me for a long time.”

In a world where the call seems to be more and more for morally grey characters because they’re what are deemed more interesting, it can feel like the lawful good characters in the media we’re given are dwindling. Is it really because that’s what audiences want, or is it because that’s what the taste makers say they’re looking for?

The stories Glover’s contributed to defy that characters must be morally grey to be interesting, and herald decency and empathy in a way that’s endearing, entertaining, and quite frankly, necessary. There’s a reason he’s got ties to the Man of Steel, aside from just being a charming human to chat with.

“My friends call me Superman from how much passion I have for [him]. I’ve been in love with the character since middle school. A friend of mine said that one of the reasons Superman appeals to him is because when we think about power, we say things like, ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’ but the exception is Superman. It's someone who has these God-like abilities but is the gentlest soul with the most compassion. He chooses not to use his power disproportionately, but instead stops people from harming others. He weeps for people. He loves them fiercely. He wants the best for them. He is selfless. That’s the kind of person I'd like to be, and if more people acted that way, I think the world would be a much better place. So he's had my heart for a long time for a reason.”

His favorite? All-time classic: “Chris Reeves, in spades. He's just wonderful to watch. I rewatched the original ‘70s Superman just before seeing the 2025 one, and the kindness and self-assurance, the love that he has for people; it's just all emanating from him. It's so well written and so well acted. But it is hard to choose! There have been plenty of great incarnations.”

An Origin Story Made For TV

Glover’s own screenwriter origin story is ever-so-humbly: “I had a lot of help. I got into a couple of fellowships that happened to be running at the same time, and people who served as mentors to me in them were people I felt I could rely on. When I was looking for a new manager, I told them I was on the hunt. They both happened to know the same person. That person read my work, and he and his team, within six months, got me a couple of showrunner meetings, and the second one was for “Tom Swift,” which I ended up on. So, I had my mentors in my corner, these new reps in my corner, and of course, everyone who'd given me feedback on my work beforehand, peers in my writing group, friends; people who were invested in my success. They told me what I needed to hear in order for me to grow.

I'd say my skills were sharpened by a bunch of compassionate people in my life who took time to make sure that I was presenting my best self when giving samples to people. And those reps and those mentors really stepped up for me. And of course, the people who hired me, they gave me a chance, too, and I'm forever grateful for that.”

Glover joined that peer writing group while in his fellowships, and those relationships have stuck with him since, a testament to the theory that what you put out, you get back. It helps having solid writing chops and being the kind of person others want to be around.

“It’s a writing group that began before the pandemic. These are people that I text almost on a daily basis, and they've been critical to my development. They are in different stages of their own journeys when it comes to breaking in, but I've really come to trust their advice. They're funny and smart, brilliant writers of their own merit, and just being in their corner and having them be in mine has been just so mutually beneficial. I owe a lot to them.”

A solid lesson for screenwriters starting out: Writing feels like a lonely journey a lot of the time, but television and film is a collaborative medium. Not only do the humans making it benefit from having peers they can trust, so does good story.

Before Television, There Was Film

“I had a screenwriting class at Sarah Lawrence College, my alma mater for my undergrad years, and that was a feature writing class. Essentially, TV wasn't exactly what it is now, back when I was in college. So that was all I could imagine as my path. I got into my first fellowship with a feature. But then I had a fantastic teacher [in one of those fellowships] who showed me a bit of a formula for how to get into a pilot. And once I tried my first one, and once it got some traction, I just discovered this whole new subset of an entertainment industry I was already trying to break into and that paid a lot of dividends, much faster than being a feature writer at the time.

TV writing just seems to be the thing that has had the most momentum for me, but movies are a love of mine, too. I'd love, love to be in that space as well.”

Glover also has a published sci-fi graphic novel called Black Star based on an unproduced feature of his. “I feel really, really fortunate that that happened. I've written some digital comics since, and I'm looking to write more! Comics are, oh my gosh; movies, television and comic books, those are like Dream Team interests of mine! Being able to write in any one of those spaces for the rest of my life would make me extremely happy.”

And in a world of multi-hyphenate creators, does Glover feel like it’s a necessity to write all the things?

“TV isn't what it was even in a year ago. Or at least since the strike ... things have shifted. Things are a little bit harder. In my circles, for the most part, people are still invested in television. They haven't pivoted. They know that there are jobs out there, even though there are fewer of them. I certainly have friends who are all features, but they're the minority. For the most part, it seems like TV is still where most people are investing, including me.”

Optimism For the Next Gen With ‘Star Trek: Starfleet Academy’

“The best thing I've gotten out of writing for Star Trek' is seeing how compassionate that institution is, how aspirational. It's an IP that's focused on making sure that our common humanity—even though we're talking about aliens most of the time—is paramount to our concerns.

"It's an intellectual property that is really focused on keeping its eye on the ball of what society should look like. It's just been an honor to write for a universe that is based so deeply in empathy and recognizing the dignity of other people who may not look or worship or sound like you.

"I have gotten so much out of seeing that kind of universe come to fruition in a new way on ['Starfleet Academy']. We were still trying to make something new with the show, but it was all within the same paradigm of, at the end of the day, the Federation. The Federation does the right thing. The idea that an institution that has thousands of people could still be working towards a common good, it's unfortunately refreshing,” Glover chuckles a little.

“I think 'Star Trek' kind of threads that needle of presenting very utopian values. We’re allowed to dream with this show about a better world in which we treat each other with respect and love constantly, and that that love is institutional, the bureaucracy that sometimes pops up is still trying to do the right thing—it's this massive movement of people who are trying to gather a community, who are inviting people in; passionately so. I got to play in a playground where kindness was the default, and I don't see that very often.”

In his role as Executive Story Editor, Glover was also fortunate in knowing “my ideas wouldn't necessarily be dismissed because I was one of the lower ranked people in the room. I was in a position where a lot of people who had more experience than me, or had higher titles than me, they could have thrown their weight around and used their positions as weapons. But instead, it was kind of a ‘best idea wins’ room where authority figures manned the ship and managed our vision. But other than that, it had a democratic feel to it. I felt that this was a room that invited the popcorning, invited as many ideas as we could generate from whoever could generate them. And that made me feel really good and like an equal. So. that was an amazing part of that experience.”

It was also nice for Glover to work with “Star Trek” experts, so “I just kind of got to still be myself, even though it would have been ideal to know everything from the jump."

"But part of being himself was “Really just pitching my heart out. I'd say my other role in the room, if we’re being less technical, is I was always the guy that was looking for and trying to add, like, a human heartbeat. I think there are other people who shared my tastes and my values when it came to making sure that we had upper arcs and character development.

"I love action. I'm a guy who likes space lasers and stuff; that's all fantastic. But I would say that my role when it came to what kind of part I would play in our typical conversations came down to, okay, what is this person's deal? How are they going to go grow through the season? How are they going to grow this episode? What do they want, and what's going to happen if they don't get it? Those were my priorities, even though I wasn't alone in that at all.”

And the Trekkies?

“The fans are so cool. My episode, co-written with the show’s co-creator Gaia Violo, just came out a couple of weeks ago, and I've gotten DMs and friend requests and tweets from people who said how much ['Vox in Excelso'] meant to them.

"I think I walked into this whole experience expecting that people would be a lot more fiercely protective of their baby, because 'Star Trek' means so much to them. And some people are, and I understand that passion for sure, but there were other people who were just open to what our show was trying to do, and they were effusive in expressing how much love they had for it. So, that's made it incredibly easy to handle,” Glover says with an easy smile.

Aside from the fans, Glover’s stories of fellow writers, the cast, and crew sound as welcoming and supportive as the Federation itself. He effuses on their merits, kindness and light in a way that rings true of my interviewee; and in an instant, it’s easy to understand why the show evokes the messaging and tone it does. It’s the Superman-esque creatives bringing it to life for us mere humans.

And because like attracts like, “I've been amazed at how many kind people there are in this industry. I've heard a lot about how cutthroat it is, and to a certain extent, of course, that's true. But what was mesmerizing from the very beginning of my own journey is how many people were willing to do things for me that I could not possibly repay them in any meaningful way, and they still helped. They were true altruists. I'm indebted to them forever, and I'll try my best to make sure that they're appreciated. I feel I have to pay that forward as much as I can. I hope anyone reading this will have the same takeaway.”

Parting Wise Words From the Screenwriting Trenches

At some future stardate from now, Glover might look back on his career and impart the following wisdom on himself; helpful to us other screenwriting cadets trying to work our way up the ranks still.

“Making sure that I keep in touch better with people I've met in generals. I haven't done the ideal thing of like, keeping a grid and keeping track of the last time I contacted someone. And genuinely, not from a networking perspective.

"People have short memories. They’ve got a lot going on, and the longer you wait to reach back out, the harder it'll be for them to remember why they love you, and why they should go to bat for you. It's not that anyone is purposely ignoring you, but after a certain amount of time has gone by, it's harder for people to make you a priority.”

And nothing beats a solid script. As writers, we may like to do anything but the writing sometimes, but if it’s a professional path you seek: The script really needs to be killer.

“So far, something that surprised me about what lends itself most to success—that even though I have killer reps who are assertive on my part, and even though I have friends who go to bat for me, even though I have a network of people who really do champion me, the number one x factor that seems to edge me a little bit closer to opportunities, are scripts that speak for themselves.

"I've had people come back to me and be like, ‘Hey, I read this script of yours’ that I didn't hand them because the script had enough juice in order to turn some heads and to let people, of their own volition, pass my work along. That's done so much networking for me that I didn't expect.

"We talk a lot about networking and making sure that we have relationships, and of course, that is crucial. But when you have a script that makes the mileage easier and more efficient for you, it just does so much of the heavy lifting. So, my personal take right now is just coming up with dynamite scripts, having them vetted by peers, by writers groups, not just by executives, not just by people who are compassionate with me, but those not afraid to tell me the truth as well. Those are just invaluable resources that make it so that these scripts of mine don't have as many blind spots and can make my calling card sing and speak for itself. The scripts are the heart of the matter.”

And for Glover, it’s his voice in particular that makes those scripts sing.

“I tend to get the most compliments about voice. People appreciate how relevant my scripts are. I tend to dress up social issues in sci-fi, that can go a long way with people. But largely the compliments are about my craft, the dialogue, how much suspense or how much fun they were having, how much catharsis there was.

"Even though I write sci-fi, there's a sample about the Black Panther Party, and that one tends to be meaningful to folks, because they can feel how much emotion was driving the writing of it. It's a very emotional script. A lot of heated opinions, a lot of characters who I care about from a historical perspective, become a mouthpiece for my own rage, my own anger about how our society works currently, and that seems to be what people tend to appreciate when they're telling me what they liked about my script. But it tends to come down to voice most of the time.”

Writing professionally has been Glover’s dream his whole life. It’s quite possibly the dream of most people reading this interview, too. So what would his parting words be to everyone following along; the newcomers still waiting for their own break. To himself back in the day, waiting to break in?

Glover chooses his words very carefully to explain, “It can be tempting and easy to pin a lot of your self-worth on your profession. And I think when you live in a system, in a society, that promotes exactly that, whether on purpose or not, I would have told myself to invest not only in the writing but in making sure that I was the kind of person who could feel whole and loved and confident whether or not my writing career was going okay.

"I exist in an industry that is not always the meritocracy, does not always reward hard work or kindness or efforts to be fair, and because of that, I cannot possibly measure my value by that system. I have to be able to look at my own life, the people I love, my sphere of influence, my family, my friends, and just know that I'm treating them right. Know that I'm being as decent as humanly possible from day to day. Being a successful writer? That's a hell of a bonus, and it's one that I've been able to enjoy for the past five years.

"More important than any of that is being a decent person, so that when things fall apart, when deals don't come through, when I'm being rejected, when an idea of mine doesn't land, when I'm pitching it, when a strike happens, when I'm on the back foot professionally, when all of it blows up; I’m still able to remember what matters in my life is that I treat people well, that they treat me well, too, and that we lessen the suffering of others. The rest is just icing.”

You can catch Glover’s episodes of “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy” streaming now on Paramount+.

*Feature photo: Eric Anthony Glover by Michelle Kinney

Every now and then, I invite my parents to go to the movies. We live in a small community, and mostly it’s the big blockbusters that come here. And mostly, we're not all that interested in the big blockbusters. My life would be no different if there were never another Marvel film. I don’t need to see Star Wars, Episode XXXII. Sometimes, though, a film comes that we just have to see. Or, if I'm totally honest, a film comes that I just have to see, and that I hope they will enjoy. When that happens, I invite the folks, and they always say yes, because they are good people and good sports. Always, these outings conclude at the local brewpub, where, over glorious wood-fired pizza and a large pitcher of microbrew, we dissect the film we've just seen and have a grand old time.

Over the years, we've seen Oppenheimer and The Blind Side, Zero Dark Thirty and American Horse, The Boys in the Boat and Philomena, Air and Argo and American Sniper. We saw the Hunger Games trilogy together, and Skyfall, and every single Harry Potter film, but not before my father re-read the book. He’s been retired for many years, but he’s still a scientist at heart, and he does his research.

In 2013, we took a film field trip to see Dallas Buyers Club. Afterward, like always, we repaired to the local brewpub to debrief. Dallas Buyers Club is a powerful film, and was well worth seeing on a big screen. There was much to notice about it, much to discuss, much to debate. We sat for hours, nursing our pints, eventually moving from pizza to a gigantic eclair shared three ways. Great film, great night, great indigestion.

I didn’t know it then, but that outing marked the beginning of a set of obsessions that have only grown over time. Those obsessions have to do with how stories can move people and change them, with how, in particular, stories can unite people across differences in ways no other medium can. Today, more than a decade later, these obsessions have shaped themselves into concentrated, mission-driven work: They underwrite not only our Substack, but also the Story Incubator Writing Lab, the nonprofit Maurice and I founded with the goal of supporting storytelling that moves us, individually and collectively, past our rigid partisan divisions and into a flourishing, expansive post-partisan era.

I. Obligatory Plot Summary, Without Which this Piece Won’t Make Much Sense

I used to teach English. Which means I used to teach writing. Not creative writing, but analytical writing: critical essays about literature. I taught for years at the University of Pennsylvania. Before that, I taught as a grad student at the University of Michigan. At one point, Maurice and I spent a year teaching high school English in a boarding school — itself a wild story for another day. Always, when speaking to students about what constitutes good analytical writing, I harped and harped and harped some more about Rule Number One: Do not write a plot summary. Plot summary is not literary criticism. It is storytelling that is trying to pass as literary criticism. I lectured at length about the difference between the two, and warned students that turning in a plot summary in lieu of an actual work of analysis would not be a good move for their grade.

Years and years of preaching about the evils of plot summary — and yet: here I am, breaking Rule Number One. Reader, if you’ve never seen the film, or if you saw it long ago and your memory of it isn’t all that fresh, this plot summary is for you. If you know the film well, please do skip ahead!

Starring Matthew McConaughey, Jared Leto, and Jennifer Garner, Dallas Buyers Club tells the true story of Ron Woodroof, a Texas cowboy who is diagnosed with advanced HIV/AIDS in 1985. The doctors give Ron 30 days to live — and refuse to give him the then-experimental drug AZT. Instead, they tell him to join a support group and wish him luck.

But Ron isn’t ready to die ...

Continue reading the full article by Erin O'Connor on "The Story Rules Project."

*Feature image Dallas Buyers Club (Truth Entertainment / Voltage Pictures)

There are few emails more intoxicating than a version of: “Loved your script. Let’s chat!”

You get that instant rush of adrenaline. Someone liked your work! Someone wants to work with you!

For a brief moment, it feels like there’s real momentum here. You’re one step closer to seeing your words turned into reality.

This is where writers often fall into the emotional trap of equating “interest” with “momentum.” I recommend you pump the brakes and take a moment to decide on your next steps carefully.

Think about it this way—you’ve spent years crafting a script, but far less time evaluating the person you’re about to hand it off to. And that’s how projects end up stalled, diluted, or quietly forgotten in development limbo.

The right producer doesn’t just “like” your script—they champion it. So, it only makes sense you take some time to get to know the person you’re about to spend the next couple of months or years with, right?

A quick Google or IMDb search can provide a useful snapshot of a producer’s background. And while a resume of impressive credits may appear to offer a sense of security, they don’t quite paint the whole picture. Sure, it’d be great to work with someone who has a laundry list of established credits. However, I wouldn’t discount that young, ambitious up-and-comer seeking their first produced one either.

Think of this initial phase of vetting a producer as a crucial job interview or a significant first date. Why are you interested in each other? What do you both have to bring to the table, and how can you benefit from that? Most importantly, what is the general “vibe” you get from them?

Hint: always, always, always trust your gut.

THE FIRST CALL

Trust me, it’s easy to put on rose-colored glasses and get swept up in the romanticism of that first chat with a potential producer, especially if they’re super passionate, high-energy, or just ooze charisma. And while that surface-level charm is nice, you absolutely must keep your antenna up for the real signals, both good and bad.

How a producer talks about your script is important. Did they actually read past page 30? Or did they read A.I.-generated coverage from their assistant? Do they reference specific moments? Do they understand your intent? Do they respect your voice?

A crucial initial indicator is the nature of the questions a producer poses about your script; you want to hear good ones, such as:

• “What inspired this?”
• “What version of this movie do you see?”
• “What do you not want this to become?”

These are very pointed, targeted questions that feel personal. They bring you into the conversation and talk with you, not at you. Questions like these mean this producer sees you as a collaborative partner, respects your work, and aims to maintain its integrity.

There are also various techniques to ensure they actually read the script. An extreme example that comes to mind was when Ben Affleck and Matt Damon threw in a graphic sex scene between the two main characters in GOOD WILL HUNTING. Studio execs never raised this as a concern in their meetings, except for one, who is the person they ultimately chose.

You don’t necessarily need to test your future producing partner in this way. If they’re asking detailed, targeted questions about certain aspects of your script that are both accurate and correct, then maybe you’re onto something.

Finally, there’s the energy test. When you’re talking to a producer, you should leave feeling energized, not deflated. Curious, not concerned. SEEN, not processed as another piece of business.

Keeping all of this in mind, here are four helpful “vibe check” pillars to help guide your decision-making in this process.

THE FOUR CORE VIBE CHECK PILLARS

Taste Alignment

Just because your movie falls into the same genre of movies a certain producer has made previously doesn’t necessarily mean you two have the same taste. Do NOT be afraid to ask probing questions, such as:

• What was it about this script that resonated with you so much?
• Where do you see this living—theatrical, streaming, etc.?
• What is working and better yet, what isn’t working for you and why?

Observe whether a producer truly gets what you wrote. Be wary if they seem to be chasing market trends rather than being committed to protecting the unique tone of your project. A good producer will offer genuine, honest feedback, not just what they think the writer wants to hear.

Advocacy vs. Ownership

One big question to ask in that first conversation is, “How do you typically collaborate with writers during development?”

The producer you want in your corner is a dedicated advocate for your work, fighting the good fight for it when you’re not present. They are skilled at pitching and selling the project to executives and talent with whom they have established relationships. They can accurately translate your creative vision and intentions, eliminating the need to constantly check back with you to ensure your message is conveyed correctly.

Be wary if you start to feel unsupported or replaced. An attitude of “we’ll take it from here, kid” is a major red flag. While a degree of trust is necessary for them to handle the project and do what they should do best, many writers find themselves waiting months for updates, with the producer offering little more than a shrug about the script’s progress.

Communication

Communication is crucial. Once you hand off your script, how well does your new partner keep you informed? Set clear expectations right away, including a timeline for next steps and when to expect regular updates. You should not be left hanging; a solid producer will make sure you always know where things stand.

A producer who respects your time builds trust by being consistent. This means checking in regularly and giving you a prompt heads-up when anything significant happens. If you feel like you’re always waiting around with zero communication, consider that a big warning sign.

Finally, be aware that early behaviors are often permanent ones. In this business, chaos now equals chaos later.

Momentum DNA

Producers can generally be sorted into two groups: those who acquire and those who move projects.

Some producers focus on acquisition. I’ve worked with a few who sought to “take down” as many projects as possible, essentially hoarding them so competitors couldn’t. While that’s one business strategy, having a pile of sixty scripts eventually just becomes sixty scripts gathering dust.

The more effective producers, the movers, focus on conversion. This comes from acquiring a project and immediately having a clear, aggressive plan to push it to the next level.

You can quickly gauge their approach to this by asking such questions as:

“What are the next steps after this?”

“What would success look like in 90 days?”

YOU’RE ALLOWED TO CHOOSE

Being “picked” should not be your end goal; it’s just the beginning of a professional partnership.

As a writer, you have the right to explore your options; date around, take multiple meetings, compare the different paths your suitors are proposing. Don’t be afraid to decline a partnership if it’s not the right fit. This sort of clarity is seen as professionalism, not arrogance, and won’t necessarily burn bridges if handled correctly.

Choosing the right producer is essential: they strengthen your script, make the development and production process manageable, and inspire future collaboration. The wrong one, conversely, will deplete your time, energy, and confidence, often under the guise of being helpful.

Don’t ignore early warning signs—a bad feeling rarely improves. As I said before, always trust your gut.

Like any relationship, the connection between writer and producer will inevitably encounter trials and challenges as you move from development towards production and beyond. I’ll cover all of that in a subsequent article, where we enter the next phase of the relationship and understand how to navigate those hurdles, including recognizing the signs of a successful collaboration and knowing when it’s time to cut and run.

*Feature image by Cristina Conti (Adobe)

You read that right, brothers and sisters.

No cap, as the kids say (many of whom, believe it or not, still want to see movies in a theater).

The greatest deal in town outside of staying at home and double-locking your doors hasn't changed much, despite claims otherwise from the Fussbudget®️ community. Sitting in a dark room with strangers watching moving pictures you may or may not like? Oh, baby. That's the ticket. Literally.

You're probably thinking—"how can my family of five go to the movies on the cheap?"

Well. I guess you don't. That's a fair and honorable life decision, but I don't know how a family of five does anything for under $4,000.

At any rate, without waxing poetic about why the timeless art of cinema matters to culture, the bottom line is:

Either we start going to movies, or the movies start going away. This isn't some grand lie perpetuated by doomsayers, it's pure economics.

So if you're convinced movies are the most expensive thing ever ...

Here are a collection of ~2-hour activities that, while enjoyable in moderation, are more expensive than going to your local folksy cineplex:

*the following is based entirely on anecdotal evidence. I'm not researching the median price of entertainment in every major North American city plus Europe and Greater Asia, but it's probably pretty accurate, you don't need to factcheck.

1. Bowling. Yes, bowling. The classic rich man's sport. Now roughly $80/hour (!) per lane depending on your town. Includes rental of someone else's shoes.
2. Arcades. Gather 'round for a sec ... I remember going to Chuck E. Cheese with two $5 bills, and it felt like I had Ocean's Eleven'd a token bank. A full afternoon of gaming including a break for that pizza with the white and orange cheese. You know what $10 gets you at Dave & Busters? I looked it up. A crispy cauliflower app. You can drop 50 bucks at any arcade in 15 minutes or less. I know this. I've lived it.
3. Going to the mall. You're simply not getting out of there without spending a minimum of $20. It's possible, but historically, it's never been done.
4. Museums. "Wait, aren't those free?" Yeah, I guess. Maybe the Lomita Railroad Museum. But have you gone to the Guggenheim lately? Walk in a circle for 25 minutes glancing at broken stained glass in a jar and whatnot for 30 bucks. And tbr, they deserve every last cent, too, but I'm including them for sake of argument.
5. Casino games. This is self-explanatory. Drinks may or may not be free. Never play 2/9 off-suit.
6. Brunch. A fake meal born from the wonders of capitalism.
7. Concerts. Get a Spotify subscription and a blindfold.
8. Comedy clubs. The current state of comedy may not justify a two drink minimum.
9. Sporting events. You know what happens when your team wins a World Series? $78 fountain drinks. *noting, however, that college sports are the best deal, but unless your name is my name, you're not wasting your time at a Long Beach State women's volleyball game. Though you should, they're very athletic and entertaining.
10. Escape rooms. Life is an escape room. That's free.
11. Mini golf. I'm not even gonna comment on how much this costs for what you get.
12. Regular golf. This doesn't really apply to most of you, and it doesn't fit the ~2-hour criteria. I'm just using this space as a plea to stay off the courses. They wanted to grow the game. It's grown now. It's too crowded. You don't know wtf you're doing out there anyway. Go to the movies. It's the Best Deal in America, I heard that somewhere.

*Feature image by Diego Ramirez (Pexels)

Don't let the title fool you, that's the actual headline.

A clarification Joshua and Jamie will similarly have to make in every conversation about their first produced feature, Untitled Home Invasion Romance (and yes, the title makes sense once you're a few minutes into the movie ...).

The crime/comedy is the directorial debut of actor Jason Biggs and features a top-notch cast. It's a Script Pipeline winner, so sure, we're biased, but it's legitimately a super fun watch. Go stream it.

You two won Script Pipeline with this screenplay (then titled Getaway) in August, 2017. So, a mere nine years from script to streaming … I kid, but honestly, filmmaking, as I’ve always said, is a wondrous miracle, and somehow that timeline isn’t too crazy. Give us the lowdown—how did it finally happen?

Josh Johnson: Yeah, nine years is definitely a long time! But sometimes movies take decades because they need the stars to align in a very specific way to get made. Although we had partnered with different producers over the years who were excited about the script, it ultimately took one with a clear vision for how the pieces fit together.

That was Jimmy Philémond-Montout, who we owe a lot to. He reached out to us about getting it to Jason’s agent at CAA, Brad Schenck. Jimmy knew Jason wanted to direct something wildly different than the comedies he’s known for and thought he’d be perfect. He was absolutely right.

That kicked off a chain reaction. Because Jason had recently done a movie with producer Brad Krevoy, he got it to him, who then took it to Paramount.

I personally really love how it turned out. Different from the original script, sure, as most films end up being, but to me it earned every ridiculous beat. How involved were you in the rewriting? Did [director/co-writer] Jason Biggs spearhead that? What was it like seeing a slightly altered version of your story on screen? Or was it more like, “Holy smokes, this is a real thing now,” and none of that really mattered from a creative standpoint?

Jamie Napoli: Thankfully, we were involved every step of the way, which is often not the case.

During the 2023 WGA strike, Josh and I decided on our own to do an overhaul of the script. We added the police chief character, brought to life by the ridiculously talented Anna Konkle, and created the “Mr. Softie” ED commercial (we may be nine years older than when we started, but we haven’t gotten any more mature).

Then Jason came onboard and brought a whole new bunch of brilliant ideas to the table. We lucked out in that Jason is an incredibly collaborative partner, and we were able to work with him through production and post to make the script producible and aligned with his vision. We couldn’t be happier with how it all turned out.

So, it’s very much, “Holy smokes, this is real now,” but also, “Holy smokes, this is good!”

Tell me about the set visit. Seeing your script coming to life before your little eyes.

JN: It was wild. By the time our tiny prop plane landed in Sudbury, Ontario (which stood in for upstate New York in the film), this story had lived in our heads for seven years. So, stepping on set felt like we were walking into some shared, recurring dream. The locations, particularly the main cabin, were stunning. The cast that Jason had assembled was basically our dream cast (I was already a big fan of Anna Konkle, Arturo Castro, and Justin Min, and then Meaghan Rath blew our freaking minds as Suzie). Same goes for the crew (Zach Kuperstein, who shot our favorite recent horror film, Barbarian, was our DP). So, it was reassuring to us that such talented people had come together to bring this story to life.

My usual anxiety with spending time on set as a writer is feeling like I have nothing to do. Fortunately, Jason created an incredibly collaborative experience where, for the weeks that we were there, Josh and I felt like we had a vital role to play and our ideas were listened to.

And our eyes are perfectly average-sized, thank you very much.

Between 2017 and now, you’ve had some near misses with other scripts, wrote on other projects, including a scripted podcast starring Jon Hamm …

What can other writers glean from your experience in playing this usually-very-exhausting waiting game? At some point you need to set a script aside and move on, wait for the right window?

JN: The only advice I can offer is to not play the waiting game. We do everything we can to get all of our scripts produced (and our reps at Bellevue Productions give us a fighting chance), but at the end of the day there are so many forces outside of our control that it would be counterproductive to pin all our hopes on one project or another.

We’ve found the best thing we can do for ourselves is to just keep working—writing new specs, producing Audible Originals and podcasts. We’ve had a few situations where a newer project opened the door to renewed interest in an older, shelved spec. At the very least, keeping multiple irons in the fire has allowed us to make a living doing what we love.

You’ve also written romp-y (is that a word, let’s make it a word) adventure scripts, a horror/thriller … what made you branch off into other genres? Or has it always been concept first, or character first, and you figure out what tone and genre it takes after the fact? Having read or helped develop, at least to a small extent, some of your other scripts, it always felt to me like, oh, this premise is good, it could have gone in several tonal directions.

JJ: Yep, you’ve got it exactly right. For us, it always starts with some combination of a great premise and exciting characters. If we’re both hooked by that, then it’s a good indication that something’s there. We never start with, “Let’s write a horror script” or put genre first, so that’s how we end up inevitably branching out. But one thing that remains consistent is that we gravitate towards stories where the main character is driven, and the story moves fast. That naturally favors certain genres over others, and lends itself to us always infusing some level of humor, giving each its own unique tone. Whether it’s thriller, horror, adventure, etc., we can’t stop ourselves from pitching each other elements that make us laugh.

I have to ask every writing team this: how do you make that work, and for as long as you have? The sheer idea of writing with someone else gives me an arrhythmia.

JN: A big challenge of writing together is communication. Unlike a lot of solo writers, Josh and I have to plan and outline extensively to make sure we both know and are on board with the journey we’re about to go on together. Before we ever open Final Draft, we spend weeks talking through every aspect of the story and its characters, and also how we want the audience to experience them.

And then it helps that Josh has a very calming presence, which probably does more to lower my heart rate than cause an arrhythmia.

It’s dicey to get a film financed, to find a champion for it with the influence and drive to actually move it forward. But for every manager or exec telling me indie film is “dead,” there’s an indie filmmaker saying, “I have financing now, we’re shooting next month.”

From your perspective, as writers who have crossed into different mediums with film and TV and podcasts, what’s the state of the industry? Where do you think the flaws are, and what are some things filmmakers and execs are doing the right way?

JJ: We live in a strange era of filmmaking where it’s never been easier to make a movie (grab your iPhone), but it’s never been harder to make a living making movies. There are so many different things competing for your attention now, which wasn’t the case 30 years ago. As video games, social media, and podcasting grow, the amount of time people spend watching movies and TV shrinks, which means the financing that used to all be concentrated in Hollywood is now dispersed.

It’s hard to say exactly what people are doing right or wrong because there are greater economic and technological forces at play dictating things, and filmmakers and execs are just trying to survive. My dream scenario is that media conglomerates don’t merge, studios take creative/financial risks, and A.I. doesn’t take over the world, but I have a hard time seeing any of that changing. So, we have to adapt.

For us specifically, while our hearts are in traditional theaters, our main goal is to tell stories. We’ve had a great time pursuing TV, as well as narrative and documentary podcasts. Maybe a video game is next? No matter what, we’ll continue writing movies, but we’d be lying if we said there are more opportunities than fewer with each passing year. If anyone out there has the secret to save cinema and the well-being of those who make it, let us know.

Touching upon some of the near misses, what lessons did you learn? The good and the bad. What mistakes might you both have made?

JN: A mistake that we’ve made a few times is not trusting our guts when it comes to people who we know don’t have our best interests in mind. I think it’s usually pretty clear from the outset whether a potential producer or collaborator respects you or not, which should be the bare minimum for working with someone. And yet, we’ve ignored our instincts in the past because we thought, “Well, even if this person is kind of a jerk, maybe they can help us get this made.” And pretty much in every instance, it came back to bite us.

On the flip side, we’ve had plenty of wonderful experiences in this industry where our positive feelings from an initial meeting were proven right, and—whether or not the project materialized—we felt lucky to have had that collaborative relationship. The whole UHIR team is an example of that … as are you, Matt. We feel really lucky to have had you in our corner for all these years now.

So, basically, the point is: trust your gut!

Best comedy all-time. Go.

JN: I’m biased because I spent two years working for the Zuckers, but I think Airplane! is in a league of its own.

JJ: For a classic, I’ve gotta agree with Jamie and say Airplane!. But the ones I grew up with that still crack me up are Napoleon Dynamite and Superbad.

And since this is a dual interview, another bonus final question …

Most influential film for each of you (unless it’s the same film, which, okay, but that would take the writing team moniker too far).

JN: This is a little embarrassing, but Garden State (more specifically, the Garden State Making-Of doc) was the movie that made me want to write movies. So when I saw that Jason had included Death Cab and other early-2000s indie rock on the UHIR soundtrack, the moody teenage boy inside my heart did a little jump for joy.

JJ: I had a similar experience. My very first film school was watching and re-watching the behind-the-scenes extras on The Lord of the Rings Extended Edition DVD set, so that’ll always hold a special place for me. I was just a kid in Iowa, as far from Hollywood as you can get, and watching New Zealanders create Middle-Earth convinced me that anything’s possible.

*Feature Photo: Joshua Paul Johnson (r) and Jamie Napoli (l)