I’m a Web guy by trade and a writer by compulsion. But as an Internet professional, I often talk myself into believing that I can find out anything I need to know online and in moments. With the right tool, search query or resources, I can prepare to talk intelligently about a subject a short while before getting up in front of an audience. I can do the research for an important phone call on the fly or I can turn myself into an authority in the field of one of my clients with only an hour of Web research.
But experience and knowledge still counts for something. In fact, it counts for a lot of things. I just finished one of those floppy dead tree things called a book. It’s a book about writing for films, or rather, how to work as a film writer in the business. It deals with agents, managers, producers, meetings, meet-and-greets, pitching, contests, etc. I should have read it more than a year ago when I finished my first script. It would have saved me from sounding like a moron in any number of emails and phone calls. If you’re interested in the business of writing, and if you ever have any plans to talk to someone in the film industry about a script you have written, buy this book and take a couple of hours to read it.
The book "Breakfast with Sharks" is pretty damn good.
I do have a certain disdain for the “how-to write” books. Let me say that “Breakfast with Sharks” isn’t one of those. The how-tos are only marginally useful. They tend to give you an entire set of rules that are only applicable in very specific situations, and they can turn any aspiring writer into an imatative hack who churns out lifeless approximations of great film (or fiction) writing. It’s much better to learn by watching actual films with a critical eye, or reading real scripts and then forgetting all the rules and formulas. Indeed, the few times that “Breakfast” strays into giving guidance on style tend to be it’s weakest points. For example, writer Michael Lent cautions beginners to “avoid the giant talking heads,” warning against long speeches. I heard this chestunt even before I started writing scripts. But my first script, which did well in any number of contests and has been praised for its originality, broke this rule in the first five pages. In fact, it’s entire premise is about a guy whos thing is to deliver long speeches. It’s called The Eulogoist. Monologue drives the whole script. Of course there’s also plenty of action, nakedness, twists, shoot-em-ups and a one-liner or two.
The only valuable section, I used to believe, of a screenwriting book, was that part in the back that showed you how to format your script: here’s a scene heading, this is a character, this is the dialog, this is the action, this is a phone call, etc, etc. My one book on the actual screenwriting process is dog-eared for that section. The rest is worthless.
But Breakfast with Sharks is sound writing career advice. It’s a textbook on how not to sound like a hick from Missouri when you’re talking with producers (even if you actually are a hick from Missouri). I’m taking my first trip to LA in a couple weeks to attend a film festival. I’ve also managed to arrange a couple meetings. I’m much less bewildered having read Lent’s book.
